#*tucks hair behind my ear with one of her rats* is she single | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cyborg-franky · 2 years

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Trade!

Trade with my bestie @howlingartbean I hope I did your girl justice. This was a alot of fun to write and it got away from me, I got very inspired and rolled with it.

Thatch x OC SFW Song used 'My Sharona' - Paddy and the Rats WC: 1,314

Thatch smiled to himself, enjoying the ocean breeze on his face, closing his eyes he accepted the gift that rolled in over the sea, the breeze that gracefully –and with mercy– filled their sails and kept the Moby on her journey to a new adventure.

He sighed content, a man that had everything in the world but didn’t take a single thing for granted. He retrieved the cigarette tucked behind his ear before finding his lighter, clicking it to life, and watching the flame ignite the end. Taking a drag he enjoyed the simplicity of the ocean this time of night.

Everyone was free of their duties save for a few watchmen and Marco who was on constant standby. He watched as the last rays of golden sunlight spilled across the horizon, melting into a plethora of indigos and pinks as the night started to consume the last of the day.

“Thatch!”

“Hey there beautiful, have fun helping Ace today?” he replied to the woman who launched herself across the deck at him.

Landing in his arms, sitting on his knee, she cupped his face in her hands and stared at him with eyes full of love. Calypso waited for Thatch to remove his cigarette before she peppered his face with kisses –every inch– of his face covered in the love of a Goddess.

“It was alright, I learned things but Ace isn’t as fun to be around as you,” Calypso said with a little sigh, feeling one of Thatch’s hands over one of her own.

The way he held it close to his face, turning and kissing the palm, made her giggle at the simple act of affection. She soon let his face go, allowing him to carry on his vice, taking a drag before exhaling into the air. She twirled the smoke around her finger as it rose higher.

“Don’t tell him that.” Thatch said with a grin, brushing back wavy curls, and tucking a loose strand behind her ear.

She chuckled and threw arms around his neck, watching as he carried on smoking, her eyes roamed over his form before she noticed something propped up against the box he was sitting on. She got up, ignoring Thatch's confused look as she pointed to the guitar leaning against him.

“What’s that?”

“A guitar?” he offered with a quirked brow.

Calypso nodded like she knew what that was when really, she had no clue. Thatch finished his cigarette, standing to walk to the side of the ship flicking the end over the side to which Calypso gave him a frown, her nose wrinkled in distaste of the action before he apologized.

“Sorry, Pumpkin’ I’m getting used to thinking of the sea as part of you, just old habits die hard.” He saw her face soften, a small nod in acceptance.

“So, what does a guitar do?” Calypso asked as she plucked one of the strings, jumping when it made a sound that echoed.

“You make music with it, wanna see?” he offered and she nodded, excited to learn more about the human world, to learn more about what her lover liked to do, what he was good at, wanting it all.

He picked up the instrument and slung the strap over his shoulder as he started to play, it was a jolly tune that Calypso tapped her foot with –or tried anyway– and she smiled from where she sat on the crate Thatch had been occupying a moment ago.

“I’ve heard this once or twice, sailors like this guitar, right? I remember being part of the waves and hearing the song that accompanied this fill the air, the sense of joy in their words filled me with something I couldn’t explain at the time,” she said and closed her eyes.

The music swelled, bolder, stronger as Thatch smiled watching how she basked in each note, the way the wind played with her hair, she truly was a bewitching beauty. He started to sing and her eyes fluttered open, the smile on her face growing as she laughed happily.

“At night a thunder's rising

Huge like it never was before

Then our ship is riding

Let's pray for all the accursed souls”

Thatch sang as he played the guitar with all his heart, enjoying how she started to get into the rhythm of the song, he watched her scoot over on the crate and he sat down, perched on the edge as he tapped his foot in time with her clapping.

“Where is my sweet lil' liar?

When it's all breaking down and sink

Losing her feels too dire

I realized she disappeared.”

Calypso felt him swaying with the music he played and she tried to match his pace, she loved his energy, she loved his voice and the music he played. She was glad she’d given up the ocean to be with this wonderful human.

The night had claimed the sky, and the string lights that dangled from pole to pole up and down the deck had since come to life, trying to match the glittering stars above the lovers as they celebrated another moment of life with one another.

“You cried a river when I had to go

Burned down the house to the ground in the town's barrio

I had to take you and come along the way

You pushed me to hell and I know it's where I don't wanna stay.”

Thatch sang louder and playfully bumped into her each time she slipped out of the rythme which made her giggle all the more and try and match him once more. The two started to gather attention from passing members of the crew.

Marco had been about to go get another coffee when he approached the two, the lopsided smile on his face grew as he shook his head but watched as Calypso and Thatch both gestured for him to join them. He shrugged and grabbed an empty mop bucket, sitting on the floor in front of the couple, he started to bang the bottom of the bucket in time, matching Thatch and adding to the growing musical number.

Ace was next, a look of confusion on his face when he saw the other commanders and Calypso having a grand old time together. He looked around and spotted a neglected washboard, abandoned after duties that day, and started to make noise with the item.

“Ooh, my Sharona,

Ooh, my Sharona's gone.”

More and more members of the crew sat and joined the couple, a small band had formed as the night grew. Those who didn't pick up an instrument –makeshift or not– all joined in with Thatch’s singing and Calypso’s clapping.

Thatch smiled and watched Calypso enjoying herself, the biggest smile on her face, she was so colorful and vibrant. She was the sea itself, full of life, joy, wonders, a treasure no man truly deserved, and yet she was his.

Calypso watched Thatch, how perfect he was, how no human in all her forevers had ever captured her heart. She loved him more than any living being could love another. He was her heart and soul, she was all-powerful and men quivered before her and prayed for her mercy, and yet this man, this silly little chef who sang shanties and made awful food puns was the one who tamed the waves.

The song drew to a close, clapping and cheering, Thatch bowing his head as he glanced around the area, so many friends gathered, joining in the song.

“Alright then, how about another?” he asked and Calypso nodded, the cheers around them uring him to continue.

Which he gladly did…

“What shall we do with the drunken sailor?”

May these times never end she thought to herself, heart so full of love as the ship sailed through the night, the music filling the air. The night was theirs.

#thatch x oc #one piece own character #thatch x own character

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unoscraft · 2 years

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"Heaven for Angel"

Written by Sean Mathew Torres

“I struggle, we all struggle, but realize what your struggle is.”

My name’s Angel. I’m a trans woman living in New York City, the home to bustling cars, city lights, very vulgar drivers, lots of rats, and one-dollar pizzas. It really doesn’t live up to the hype people say it is. There are a lot of people suffering, sleeping in alleys, hustling any way they can in the piers. I used to be one of them, and here’s how I first thought I escaped it. It was 1983, it was freezing cold outside. I was on my way to hustle; it was the only thing I could do at the time. Try finding work as a trans woman in the eighties, while surviving off of ramen packets; warm if you’re lucky. I wore my fur coat I invested $20 in with a cheap nightgown in a matching lavender color that was slightly warmer of a shade underneath. I was wearing my favorite white boots, but they got wet from the damp wood the piers were made of.

There wasn’t exactly a schedule for girls with the same work as me, as long as it was dark and late. You’d get picked up by white rich men fast. But this time I was in a rush; my girlfriends were a lot earlier to the spot than me. I ran as fast as I could in this dimly lit street I always walk by, its scary but you get used to it. I was holding the other side of my fur coat as I ran, it was cold, breezy, and I felt the cold wind whoosh through my skin and hair. My boots made the sound of loud clunking but it was muffled because of the wet wood. I felt a strong gust of wind completely flowing my hair, and for a moment I stopped and inhaled the cold. Even though I smoke I always love the way the cold air flushing through my lungs.

I snapped back from my melancholy moment and saw my girlfriends waiting for me, they were all waving at me as they stood by the light pole as one of them puffs a cigarette with the smoke following the air their hands were making. I smiled and rushed over, making big steps so I can get their faster. Smiling and tucking my hair behind my ear and I say “Hey dolls!”. Us trans sisters say dolls to each other, it’s just the way we speak. Talia blows out a smoke as she holds her cigarette away from her mouth and she says in an energetic tone “Girl… we’ve been waiting for you. You went home early yesterday and you missed this guy asking for you! He’s right over there waiting!” as she points out to a man in this business suit sitting in his car with this demure music with his hands resting on the wheel staring at me and my friends. I turn around away from the wind as it blows through the coils of my hair. I slowly walk up to this car with its window only halfway down, he looks at me and smiles. I look at him with a straight face and I said with a strong tone “Its fifty for the night, twenty for thirty minutes.”. He gives me a warm smile and looked right at my eyes and says “Alright, fifty.”, I look back at my friends giving them the signal to call the police if they don’t see me come home tomorrow as a joke, laughing. Even if this guy was a serial killer, I knew I didn’t have a single hope for the police saving or finding me, people like me are the last priority.

I look back at the guy in his seat, eyeing him up and down. He was clearly flushed and nervous at my presence. I thought it was cute, he didn’t look bad either, he was tall, pale, and his hair was probably undone from a hairstyle he was wearing earlier his day. He looked at me but he looked down as if he was scared to look at my eyes as if he wasn’t looking directly at me earlier. He uttered shakingly “Y-you’re very beautiful...”, I thought it was stupid but adorable. “You do know I’m transexual right?” I asked him as I tilted my head looking at him smirking. He finally looked me in the eye and said “It’s what I admire about you, it’s like you’re free being you and its amazing. I’ve always envied that.”. I took a deep sigh and looked away for a moment staring at the road, almost blanking out. I say in a calm tone, “What is there to envy? You do know how lucky you are right? You’re white, you have a job, you have a house. I’m here selling my soul to you people to get what, scraps?” I said without tearing up, I’ve always made a point on this so I’m desensitized to the idea that this is what I am; this is what I’ll have to do. He looked down in silence for a moment recollecting what I just said. I look back at him, seeing him turn pale then slowly go red. “Please, get out.”, I look at him confused. “Please get out!” He shouts as I arch my brow, opening the car door and stepping out like he wanted. He speeds off, his car blowing smoke to my face as I just stand dumbfounded. Finally, the cold air blows once again on my face as I look up and stare at the stars. I whisper to myself, “I guess were going hungry again tonight.”.

#SeanMathewTorres #FlashFiction

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hyketeria · 3 months

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As she had insisted with her mother, repeatedly, she had not lost her watch. Platinum silver. An elegant tear - drop face. White gold inlay for the dials and time markings. A delicate network of gears. And a silver oxide battery. It was a gorgeous piece of metal and glass craftsmanship, surely. But so were the many other wrist - watches that lay neatly in the padded jewelry box tucked into the second drawer of her third wardrobe dresser. Only none of those had a silver oxide battery. I know where my watch is, mother. It's not lost. Besides, it wasn't as if she could wear her watch to the company. She'd already been asked (nicely, too, according to the head administrator, though to anyone else's standards, to call it even polite would've been a stretch ) twice now to leave her. . . valuables. . . at home.

All of this is to say that Olga had, inevitably, shown up late to the company that day. Swept in on the winds of the rising rain - storm, she'd struggled on her own to prop open the heavy side - stage door, a monstrous beast of fortified old red oak, the wind shoving back against her, as she slowly coaxed her bicycle inside. Straining still, Olga planted her feet and formed two triangles: the first by placing one foot forward and the other back; the second by holding her arms at an angle against the door. It would not do to have the door slam, thereby announcing to the entire company, the rats in the rafters, and the bodies buried beneath that Miss Kowalska had, once again, failed to arrive on time. She braced herself and pushed back against the door to slow its closing until the lock clicked with a nearly imperceptible tick.

At first, she had mistaken it for quiet, but it didn't take long to realize the absence that perfused the theatre's halls was, in fact, silence. By this time, warm - ups and schedules would have already been done and reviewed. A brief intermission, then, to allow the dancers a chance to prepare for the first practice set, and for the instructors to gossip. But where was the loud and living hum of mingled conversation? The resounding echoes of piano scales? Wiping the rainwater from her face, she followed the familiar way towards the principle practice hall. No one passed her in the opposite direction. In a few more steps, Olga would discover why. In another few steps, Olga turned and flown from the shadow's of the stage's entrance, heart pounding, and only a single name on her mind.

ROZALIYA, WHERE ARE YOU? / @koldnuya

She had not seen her friend among all those gathered on the sound - stage. Of course, she wouldn't be among them. Rozaliya. Having forgotten her rain - coat, the storm had soaked right through the layers of her active - wear, right through to her dance clothes, right through to the bone. Still, the young heiress did not slow in her search, opening doors as quietly as possible, and kept her ear trained for the sound of unwanted company. What you seek shall always be in the place last searched. And there she was. Behind the last door, inside one of old solo suites. Without even a pause to breathe a sigh of relief, Olga quickly reached with a cold hand, her own green eyes wide but alert, made to look even larger as well as her cheekbones more gaunt than they were, by the rain - soaked hair matted to her temples and cheeks.

" Rozaliya, thank goodness, alright. Alright, come quickly. And quietly. Something's wrong. "

#koldnuya #in - character.#starter.#<3

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drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years

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Day 124: Joke

"Draco?" Harry asked as he twisted his fingers in Draco's hair.

He hummed, feeling too content and comfortable to use any actual words or even lift his head from where it was resting over Harry's heart. Lightly he trailed his fingers over Harry's rib cage in response.

"Do you think-" he broke off and Draco felt him swallow, "I want to tell my friends about us."

He froze for a moment, unable to quite believe his ears.

"Or not," he said hurriedly, "If you're not-"

Draco sat up and pressed his lips to Harry's because he knew it was the fastest way to get him to stop talking. And because he couldn't quite believe that he would ever be someone that the other man would want to tell the world about, he'd never imagined Harry would be proud to be with him.

Harry sighed into the kiss, wrapping Draco tighter in his arms.

When Draco pulled back he said, "Do you mean it?"

The corner of Harry's mouth tipped up and he nodded, "If it's okay with you." He brushed his fingers over Draco's cheek, "I really like you," he confessed, "and it just keeps getting harder and harder not to tell my friends how happy you make me."

Draco swallowed past the lump in his throat, "Really?" he whispered.

Harry nodded, tucking a strand of Draco's hair behind his ear. "Would you come with me? Maybe we could go out to dinner with them?"

"Yeah," he said, "Yes, if you want me to."

"I'd like that," Harry replied.

"Can we tell my friends, too?"

The smile that Harry gave him made him a little breathless, "If you want to."

"I'll owl them tomorrow."

Harry kissed him again and if they didn't get much more talking and planning done for a while after that who could blame them? They had far better things to do.

(Read more below the cut)

As fate would have it, they went out to brunch with Pansy, Blaise, and Greg first. They met at a muggle restaurant that wasn't far from Harry's apartment and when they arrived, Draco's friends were quite taken off guard by Harry's presence.

Harry held the door for them and Draco stepped through, Pansy following close behind and hissing, "What the bloody hell is Potter doing here?"

"Relax," he said, hooking her arm through his and following the hostess to a table.

After they ordered drinks Draco cleared his throat, "There's something I wanted to tell all of you," he started and Harry draped his arm over the back of the chair behind him, brushing his thumb over Draco's tricep in a silent show of support. "Harry and I are dating," he said, glancing over at Harry and giving him a little smile.

"I'm sorry?" Pansy asked and Draco glanced over at his friends' shocked faces.

"We've been seeing each other for a few months," he said.

"And we're serious about each other," Harry added.

Draco nodded, "So we thought it was time to start telling our friends."

Pansy blinked at him and Blaise was still staring with his jaw dropped but Greg just nodded, "Congratulations."

"Thank you," Harry said with a smile at Greg.

Greg looked between the two of them, gave a nod, then opened his menu, "So what's good here?" he asked and Harry started to list off some of the dishes they'd enjoyed when they'd come on lazy Saturday mornings.

He glanced across the table to find Pansy still staring with an inscrutable look and Draco felt a tingle of apprehension at the base of his spine.

Everything was fine while they ordered and ate their breakfasts, it wasn't until Harry got up to use the loo that Pansy started to speak frankly.

"Draco, you're not serious," she hissed.

"About?"

"You dating Harry Potter! This is an elaborate joke, even for you, how on earth did you manage to convince him to go along with it?"

He shook his head, "I'm completely serious. We ran into each other at work, started talking and realized how much we enjoyed doing that. Then we started fucking and realized how much we enjoyed doing that too. And it just makes sense," he said with a little shrug. "We spend all of our free time together and I can't even remember the last time I slept in my own flat-"

"Draco, be reasonable," Blaise said. "He can't possibly," he broke off as though he didn't want to finish that sentence.

"He can't possibly what?" Draco asked, putting years of practice making his voice sound cold as ice to good use.

"Darling, it's just that you're you," she said, "And he's Harry bloody Potter."

"The press is going to destroy you," Blaise added. "Imagine those headlines."

Pansy shook her head, "And not only that but don't you think that Potter is going to end up with someone that the wizarding world will approve of? A wife who'll give him three kids, a home, the whole nine yards."

"I think it's nice," Greg said. "He looks happy, you look happy. What more is there?"

"Thanks, Greg," he replied with a nod.

"Oh sure, trust the person who's been single all his life to give you dating advice," Pansy said, rolling her eyes. "By all standards, he's too good for you and everyone knows it."

Blaise cleared his throat then, "What do you all think of ordering a few of those delicious looking cinnamon buns to share?" he asked.

"Sounds good to me," Harry replied as he slid back into his seat and bumped his knee against Draco's. "The only real question is if you want the iced ones or the honey ones," he said, turning to look at Draco, "What do you think, love?" he asked.

Draco looked at him and something cracked in his heart, Pansy and Blaise were right. Harry Potter was a dream and it couldn't last. He swallowed, "Let's do the iced one."

He supposed a little while longer before he talked some sense into Harry wouldn't hurt too much.

----------

Harry was in a great mood when they got back to his flat. "Well," he said as he toed his shoes off at the door, "That went well, didn't it?" he asked.

He didn't reply, he just stared at the other man and wondered how to tell him that they were never going to be able to work.

"Tea?" Harry asked, oblivious to Draco's inner turmoil as he headed into the kitchen without waiting for a response.

"You should break up with me," he blurted.

Whatever Harry had been holding shattered as it hit the floor. "Shite," he murmured. "Reparo." Then he returned to where Draco was still standing, a few feet away from the door. "I'm sorry?" he asked.

Draco couldn't quite meet his eye, "You should break up with me now," he said, "Before either of us can get more invested."

"Draco, what-?"

He shook his head and a tear slipped out, "You're too good for me, Harry, and when the press catches wind of this-"

"Stop it," Harry said, clasped Draco's shoulders, "What on earth has gotten into you?"

"Even my friends, the people who have loved me through some pretty dark places, say it's true!" he exclaimed, "Even my friends think you're too good for me, that I'm being delusional."

Harry took his hands in his and it was only then that Draco realized he was trembling. "Hey," he murmured, leaning in so their foreheads were touching. "Your friends are arseholes. I am not too good for you. Draco, I can't even match my socks properly."

And it was such a ridiculous thing to say that a startled laugh burst from his mouth.

Harry tilted his head up to kiss his nose. "Look, they won't be the last people who spout of complete nonsense about us. I'm sure that comes with the territory," he added. "But it doesn't change who you are."

"An ex-death eater," he said. "A school bully, a complete-"

"That's not who you are," Harry said, leaning back so he could see Draco more clearly. "It might have been a part of who you were but it's not who you are." He pressed a kiss to Draco's cheek, "You are brilliant," he said, "and you are gorgeous, and you're kind. And you've got a wicked sense of humor. You're passionate and you work hard."

"I've had to."

Harry nodded, "You're not the boy you were when we were in school just as I'm not the boy that I was when we were in school."

"But people will always remember-"

"What they think or remember doesn't matter," he said. "Because I know who you are and I don't give a rat's arse about what they think."

"I don't know, Harry," he said softly. "My past-"

"Do you think I'm the person they paint me to be?" he asked.

Draco shook his head, "Of course not but the wizarding world isn't going to accept this."

"I love you," he said simply. "And you, as you are, are more than enough."

"It's not going to be easy," Draco said softly.

The other man kissed him softly, "You're probably right," he said. "But I'm all in, if you are."

He pulled Harry into a tight hug and Harry hugged him back, "I'm in," he whispered.

"Then that's all we need," Harry said with a nod.

And Harry was right their friends came around but they found that they could weather the storms. There wasn't any trial or challenge they couldn't overcome when they were both willing to fight for the other.

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Day 123: Feather | Day 125: Accidental Bonding (Part 1)

#100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #one year of drarry drabbles #drarry ficlet #drarry drabbles #coming out to friends #love #sorry i'm pretty tired today so this definitely isn't my best work

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snelbz · 3 years

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Aisle Twenty-Two

A/N: A short fluffy Elorcan piece @tacmc and I wrote a few weeks back, based on the following tweet. Enjoy!

It had been a long day and to top it off, Elide was not looking forward to stopping at the grocery store. But she was out of milk, needed to buy cat food, and was almost out of wine.

If it weren’t for the wine, she would have waited until tomorrow, but that was the only thing that would keep her going for the rest of the week. If she had any hope of making it to Friday, she’d need to go tonight.

She was halfway down the chip aisle when she heard a familiar laugh that had her halting in place.

The sound alone had chills creeping down the back of her neck, her palms starting to sweat on the bar of the cart.

“Elide Lochan?”

That voice. She loathed that voice.

Ignore, ignore, ignore. Elide turned to the long shelf of bagged chips, looking as if her only thoughts were on the bags and the labels that covered them.

Chips.

The only decision she had to make was of chips.

“Hey, Elide?”

The voice grew closer and she grabbed the first bag she could get her hands on and moved her cart along, hurrying for the aisle that housed her favorite beverages.

She didn’t hear him approach until there was a hand on her shoulder. She turned and found blonde hair, the bluest of eyes and a dashing smile staring down at her.

“I thought that was you,” he said, that grin growing. “It’s been a while.”

Not nearly long enough, she thought, but forced an awkward smile. “Roland, hey. Sorry, I’ve got…a lot on my mind.”

There was nothing but horrible memories from her short relationship with Roland Haviliard. He was a pompous, stuck up prick. He was all about appearances and his reputation, which Elide had apparently not fit into.

And yet, the smile on his face told her otherwise. “You look great.”

“So do you.” The lie rolled off her tongue too easily.

“Shopping?” he asked, as Elide went to roll her cart off to the next aisle.

Are you kidding me? She wanted to say. Obviously, she was shopping. What else would she be doing in a grocery store?

“Have to eat,” she said, matter-of-factly. But then she added, “We have to eat.”

Roland blinked, obviously catching the hint she was dishing out. We. “You’re with someone?”

“Yeah,” she said, smoothly, hoping he didn’t notice the way her eyes flicked behind him, searching for someone, anyone. “He’s grabbing a few things for himself and meeting me before we check out.”

It was clear from the look in his eyes that Roland didn’t believe her. He glanced down at her cart.

Cat food, chips, ice cream.

The most quintessential single girl shopping list.

“I’ve been meaning to call you, but didn’t know if you had the same number,” he said, placing a hand on her cart, effectively keeping her where she stood. “Things kind of…went to shit for us. I hate how things ended.”

You mean, how you dumped me and then left me with the bill for our very expensive dinner, she thought, eyes narrowing slightly.

“No, new number,” she lied, smoothly. She’d had the same number since she was sixteen. “Lost all of my contacts, too.”

“That’s a shame,” he replied. “You could text me sometime.”

“I said I’m with someone, Roland,” she snapped, an edge to her tone.

Roland snorted. “Really, Elide? Come on, just let me have your number.”

Before she could say anything more, a tall, muscular figure rounded the corner. His shoulders were broad, his arms covered in tattoos. His shoulder-length hair was tied back, his jaw set hard as he pushed his cart through the aisle.

Elain lost all control of her impulsive decision making skills. “Babe! Hey, grab me a bottle of...that moscato, please?”

His dark eyebrows raised as he realized she was talking to him. Roland’s did as well, especially as he turned to see the hulking, mass of a man she’d spoken to.

The man’s dark eyes connected with hers and she tried to convey her panic and desperation in just a few seconds, with no words, before Roland turned back to her.

The smile that split the handsome man’s features was terrifying. She couldn’t tell if he was about to go along with her plan or rat her out, and she held her breath as he began to walk closer.

But then he grabbed the big bottle of white wine and she let out a quiet, relieved sigh.

“Here you go, babe,” he said, setting the bottle in her basket. She expected that to be that, and to be left to her own devices again, when the man surprised her by extending his hand towards Roland. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure. I’m Lorcan.”

“Yeah, this is Lorcan,” Elide repeated, turning to Roland.

Roland looked back and forth between Lorcan and Elide before clearing his throat. “Hey, I’m Roland.”

“Roland and I used to be…friends,” Elide said, looking up at the handsome brute of a man.

He truly was handsome.

“We used to date,” Roland clarified, his words clipped.

The man - Lorcan, Elide amended in her head - sucked on a tooth and nodded. “I think used to are the operative words here, so if you’ll excuse us, we need to finish our grocery shopping so we can grab dinner.”

Elide could have sworn she saw Roland’s face change three shades, but compared to Lorcan, he was scrawny.

Lorcan turned to her and asked, “Ready, babe?”

“Definitely,” she sighed, and turned to Roland. “Nice to see you.”

She pushed her cart away and turned, walking down a few more aisles, before pausing and letting out a deep breath.

She heard another cart stop behind her and turned to find Lorcan there.

Her cheeks burned red. “I’m so sorry for roping you into that, but I needed an escape. He had me cornered and I couldn’t get away.”

“I get it,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “He looked like an asshole, anyway.”

“He is,” Elide said, before she could think better of it.

Lorcan chuckled. “That’s fair. Glad I could help. I’m Lorcan, by the way.”

“Elide,” she said, holding out her hand.

Lorcan shook it, that little, conniving smile remaining. “Wine is on me, by the way.”

“What?” Elide asked, brow raised.

“Moscato,” he said, nodding toward the bottle of white wine. “It’s on me.”

She blinked. “You…don’t have to do that.”

“What if I want to? I think you owe me,” he said, crossing her arms across his broad chest.

“I owe you so you want to buy me wine?” She asked, laughing quietly.

He shrugged. “I could buy you dinner instead. Since we just told your douchey ex we were getting dinner anyways.”

Elide was stunned into silence. “You want to buy me dinner?”

“Most people would call it a date,” he replied, smirking. The smirk faded. “Unless you have a boyfriend and we’re just looking for a momentary escape.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she replied, far too quickly, if the smirk returning to his handsome face was any indication.

“So, dinner then?” he asked, that grin remaining. “Or, just the wine?”

Elide nibbled on her lip.

This was insane. She had just met this man. She knew nothing about this man. This man, this random man, who was asking her to dinner.

This random, handsome man.

“How do I know that you’re not a serial killer?” Elide asked, at last.

Lorcan snorted. “You’re the one that came onto me, remember? How do I know that you’re not a serial killer?”

“I’m fairly sure you could overpower me if I tried to kill you,” she said, chuckling.

“Is that a challenge?” He asked, his eyebrows raising. Elide laughed, which made Lorcan smile.

“Dinner sounds nice,” she admitted, tucking her loose hair behind her ear.

“So it’s a date?” He asked, smirking down at her.

She smiled, feeling butterflies in her stomach for the first time in a long time. “It’s a date.”

#elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #Elorcan #throne of glass #lorcan lochan #tog #snelbz tacmc collab #snacmc

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mochegato · 3 years

Text

You’re Mine

Continuation of Mine Protector

“Yeah, I made it home safe.” Marinette didn’t even try to hide the exasperation in her voice. She tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder as she locked her front door behind her. “You do realize I literally fight crime in this city, right? I can handle a few blocks.” She paused to listen to him as she hung up her coat and purse and turning on the lights. She let out a sigh. “Yes, even after a few drinks. For crying out loud. How much do you think I drank?”

She rolled her eyes and giggled at his response. She moved toward the kitchen and let out a garbled mix between a squeak and screech, nearly dropping the phone. She fumbled to recover the phone with a glare. “No, no. It’s okay, K… Adrien. It’s just a vermin found its way into my apartment.” She paused again. “Uh, huh. I’m going to have to take care of this. I’ll talk to you later. Safe flight,” she answered distractedly.

She shot a withering glare at the vermin. “Make a copy of my key last time you were here? Without my permission?”

“No,” Red Hood answered coldly. “Your security just sucks.”

Marinette’s eyes narrowed further. “No, it really doesn’t.”

“Well, maybe I'm just that good at getting into places,” he answered with a mockingly sweet voice.

Marinette hummed in agreement. “Most rats are.” She took off her shoes and slung them toward the bedroom. She looked back up in mock surprise. “You still here?”

“Worried your little boy toy is going to come back and get upset?” he growled. “Or worried he’ll hurt himself trying to fight me.”

“My…” she stared at him while the pieces fit into place. “You’ve been following me,” she scowled at him, “How creepy is that? And take off that damned helmet… and mask,” she added quickly realizing he was probably wearing both like the dramatic asshole he was. “If you’re going to continue to embarrass yourself the least you can do is face me like the rat you are.”

“I wasn’t following you,” he growled. “I was on patrol. You weren’t exactly being discrete. Trying to get my attention, were you?”

Marinette scoffed and leaned toward him. “You never even entered my mind,” she responded in a sickeningly sweet voice. “And for the record, if he wanted you hurt, you’d be dead.”

Jason scoffed back. “Please that twink couldn’t hurt a kitten on its deathbed, let alone me.”

“That ‘twink’ has a higher kill count than you,” she hissed back defensively and immediately slapped her hand over her mouth. That information wasn’t helpful or hers to give.

Jason stared at her for a few seconds. “And you’re okay with him?” he roared at her, his face contorting in anger. “You can’t even be seen with me because I take out disgusting, perverted, wastes of polluted air, WHO TORTURE AND KILL innocent kids. But you can fuck him?”

“Excuse me!” she gaped at him before narrowing her eyes at him. “My sex life is none of your business. And there’s a difference.”

“Oh I’m dying to hear it. I’m dying to hear why I’m not the exception… again. Why everyone else gets a break but me. Why everyone else gets a second chance but me,” he yelled back. “So tell me, what’s so special about Teacher’s Pet. What makes him the exception?” She glared at him squeezing her lips together to stop from revealing any more of Adrien’s secrets. Jason grinned maliciously at her and leaned closer. “He must be awfully good in bed to warrant a second chance from the Manifestation of Morality.”

“Because it was an accident!” she yelled back at him, her anger boiling too wildly to contain. She narrowed her eyes at him. “He lost control once, just once for a few moments, and that’s all it took to kill billions.” The room was silent as Jason stared at her, her panting breaths the only sound until she started again. “And he doesn’t even remember it. I made it like it never happened and made sure he never found out. So it’s just me. Just I know. Just I remember it.

“He has no idea how much power he has, but he has an idea and the thought that he has a infinitesimal fraction of the power he really has terrifies him. He has nightmares about it.” She looked away with a frustrated frown. “He can destroy the world if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. That’s the difference, Jason. He could but he wouldn’t.”

Jason glared at her, his nostrils flaring. “Well good for him. He sounds amazing. Perfectly perfect for you. You two can be non-lethal heroes fighting crime… together. Gotham’s new crime fighting power couple. They’ll throw parades for you.”

“You sound jealous,” she scoffed. He stared at her, lips pressed together so tight she couldn’t see any pink. She gave him a harsh, biting smile. “Then perish.” She turned away to get a drink of water missing the way his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed.

“Far be it from me to interfere with your happiness,” he gritted out. “Just worried about your safety, not to mention your future, with pretty boy if you’re using him to get my attention.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow and set down the water bottle she’d just filled. “Where was that concern two weeks ago when you tried to shoot me? And what would Little Miss Green Hair think about that concern?” she hissed back accusingly.

Jason stared at her for a few seconds. “I shot near you for appearances. You were never in danger. You’re the one that doesn’t want anyone to know we’re… that we…” he faltered for how to finish the sentence. What were they? He didn’t even know let alone have words to describe it. He focused on the second part of what she said instead. “And that’s Jenny. You saw me talking with one of my lieutenants and decided to jump on the first dick you came across?”

“I did NOT jump on anything! And don’t think so highly of yourself, you conceited prick. Your romantic interest in anything that moves doesn’t determine my actions,” Marinette shrieked at him.

Jason leaned toward her with a smug look on his face. “So what was Teacher’s Pet?”

“Teacher’s Pet was…” She stopped herself before she continued that sentence. It wasn’t his business. Adrien wasn’t his business. And he had absolutely no right to be upset about her talking to someone when he was… when he… She furrowed her brow in frustration and pushed her face in his. “So you’re allowed to screw whoever you come across but I’m a whore if I talk to a man?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? You’re bringing someone home with you every night this week and you’re completely innocent but I have a female working for me and I’m a whore mongering asshole?” he demanded.

“What about Miss Green Hair? You two were doing an awful lot more than just talking when I saw you two. And she has been quite, what’s the word,” she tapped her lips with her glass of water she hadn’t filled yet, as if in thought, “effusive in her descriptions of your interactions to anyone who would listen. All around town. Do you know how many times I’ve heard about your girlfriend and all the escapades you two have been up to?” she hissed at him. “And all the many places you’ve been up to it?”

Jason gaped at her. “You two are quite the gossip in Gotham. Every henchman and rogue wants to talk about it. Every. Single. Time. We encounter one of them. But, far be it from me to interfere with your happiness.” She smirked back at him condescendingly, pulling her lips tight enough for the trembling not to be noticeable. She leaned into the anger, trying to focus on that feeling rather than the feeling like a broken, ridged knife cutting through her.

He stalked over to her and loomed over her. She stood her ground, refusing to back away from him and give him that satisfaction, her smirk deepening with resolve. “I never touched her. I never even hugged her goodbye. She’s a damned liar if she said anything different,” he growled, leaning his face closer to hers until his lips were centimeters from hers.

Marinette’s smirk faltered and morphed into uncertainty. “I have absolutely no interest in her as anything other than an employee and after tonight she won’t be that anymore either. And jealousy,” his eyes flicked between her lips and her eyes, looking for any signs of hesitance, or more overt permission, “doesn’t begin to describe it.”

Her eyes darkened and her breath became labored. She reached her hand up to touch his face but let her hand hover just shy of touching him, unsure if she was allowed or if she wanted what would come next. She looked up to meet his eyes through half lidded eyes. She finally let her fingers caress his face and Jason broke. He grabbed her by the hips and pulled her flush against him. He pressed his lips against hers in a hard, bruising, possessive kiss. Marinette pushed back just as desperately. She wound her arms around his neck and tugged him down to her level so she could intensify the kiss.

She pulled away just enough to speak, her forehead pressed against his, her hands still around his neck, clinging to him, keeping him from moving away, her breath fanning over his lips. “Why?” She searched his eyes desperately, needing to know what this was, what this meant.

“Because you’re mine.” He pulled her in for another hard, overpowering kiss, his tongue caressing hers, his teeth nipping her lips. He ran his hands down her sides to her butt and grabbed it hard enough to leave bruises. She moaned into his mouth and pulled him closer. He lifted her up and settled her around her waist and continued to massage her butt. He pushed her against the counter, supporting her weight on it while his hands roamed her thighs and belly.

“You’re mine,” he repeated against her neck as he kissed a line of open mouthed, wet kisses down to her clavicle, drawing soft, breathless whimpers. “You’re mine,” he said again. This time he pulled away from her, his eyes sought hers out, a questioning look in them, seeking confirmation, seeking agreement from her that she wanted to be his.

She nodded breathlessly. “Yours. If you’re mine too.” She pulled his shirt off to get access to his chest and pulled him against her, laying kisses along his upper chest and neck.

He hissed as her nails raked across his back. He brought her face back up to meet his and nodded, whispering “Only yours. Always yours,” before ripping her shirt off of her.

<><><><><>

Jason carded his fingers through Marinette’s hair as she laid on him, her head resting on his bare chest. She hummed in appreciation and nuzzled further into his chest, running her hands lightly over his naked sides and hips. He chuckled and shimmied slightly under her fingers, threatening to knock her off of him. She looked up at him with an amused smirk. “Careful, Pixie. That’s dangerous,” he warned with a smile.

Marinette chuckled and rested her head back down, smiling against his chest. “I’ll take my chances.”

Jason smiled back and started carding his fingers through her hair again. After a few moments, his brow scrunched up, almost too lightly to see. He wet his lips slowly as he prepared himself for the next question. “So what about that guy?” He was forcing his voice to sound casual about the question despite his racing heart.

“Hmmm?” she hummed questioningly.

“I’m just…” he started, not sure how to finish the thought. “What are we now?”

She looked up at him with a frown. She started to shy away from him, reaching for a sheet to cover herself for the important conversation he’d started. His question had popped the utopic bubble they had created, allowing reality to come flooding in. “I... I don't know.”

“Are we dating? Boyfriend girlfriend? Fuck buddies?”

“We're not...” she started, aghast at the suggestion, but snapped her mouth closed and pulled away from him to pull the sheet around herself. “It’s… is that all it is for you?” Her eyes filling with hurt.

Jason scowled and pulled her down for another searing kiss. He wove his fingers into her hair, pulling her head closer to hiss her harder. He wound his other arm around her waist, turning them over so he was hovering over her. He pulled away just enough to trace her face lightly, staring deeply into her eyes. “This is a lot more to me. You’re a lot more to me.”

Marinette let out a relieved breath and offered a gentle smile. “Me too.” She ran her fingers along his jaw and cupped his face with a soft look. Suddenly her face turned strained because Jason was right. What were they? What could they be? She searched his eyes. She loved being with him. She loved their time together and the feeling of his fingers on her body.

But it wasn’t that easy was it? Just him and her and how they felt. Reality was more complicated than that. Marinette hated reality; reality where Jason could be cold blooded, reality where she could be sanctimonious, reality where he killed, reality where she had to fight him, reality where she wasn’t allowed to plan a future with him. “I… we…” she took a deep breath and looked up at him again, her eyes shimmering. “I can't be with a crime boss.”

Jason looked away and nodded in understanding. He knew that was how she felt. He knew where she stood. She’d never tried to hide it. She’d always been honest with him. He started to roll off of her but she pulled him back to her. “But I…” her voice was verging on desperate. Jason looked back up, hope back in his eyes. “It's more than just...” she floundered, trying to figure out the words.

He brushed nonexistent hairs from her brow. “I just know,” he started, cutting her off, “I don't want to see anyone but you. I don't want to touch anyone but you. I don't want to be with anyone but you. And the idea of you with anyone else hurts.”

Marinette nodded and traced his face gently with her fingertips. “I don't want to be with anyone but you either. And the thought of you with someone else kills me.”

Jason turned on his side, propping himself up on his elbow and lightly tracing her jaw. “So... what about Teacher’s Pet?”

Marinette smiled and turned toward him. “He's a friend. A really good friend. Almost a brother. He…” she thought if how to phrase it. She trusted Jason. Probably more than she should and he already knew her secret, but Adrien's secret wasn't hers to tell, despite how much she’d stupidly already given away. But, she wanted him to understand how important Adrien was to her. So half-truth it would have to be. Not a lie, but not telling his secret either. “He was a hero for a short while. He saved my life more than a few times. He was visiting for a few days and slept on my couch. He just flew home tonight.”

“So…” he prompted, a relieved smile starting to grace his face.

“So, not romantic. Platonic relationship. Familial. And happens to be a teacher so… amazingly accurate name, by the way,” she grinned up at him.

Jason smiled back at her as he leaned down to kiss her gently, softly and stroked his nose against hers, resting his forehead against hers. “Thank God,” he whispered.

“And Jenny?” she asked tentatively.

“I’ll let her live out of deference to you, but I’ll need to choose a new lieutenant.”

She shifted her eyes to the side for a moment as she thought. “Beth would be good, or Glenn. I like Glenn.”

“Glenn can’t keep his mouth shut when you’re around,” Jason grumbled playfully.

“I know,” she smiled up at him, her eyes shimmering with mirth. “That’s why I like him.” Jason rolled his eyes but smiled. “He said I remind him of his daughter, so I think he’s kind of protective a little bit.”

Jason groaned and buried his head in her shoulder. “Well now I have to choose him.”

Marinette giggled and pushed up to peck his lips. She bit her lip and looked into his eyes anxiously. “So where does that leave us? Not dating, but not not dating…”

Jason quirked his lips to the side and furrowed his brow in thought. “That leaves us as us. Not official, but together. I’m not giving up my work helping Gotham and neither are you so… Still enemies but... with benefits.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Marinette giggled and hooked her leg over his hip and pushing him back until she was straddling him. “I better be the only enemy getting those benefits. Or ally for that matter. Or neither.”

Jason smiled at the change of position. He cupped her face and worked his hand behind her head to pull her down for a kiss. “You are. And you?”

Marinette kissed him sweetly and smiled against his lips. “You're the only one getting those benefits, too. Have been since we met.”

Jason nodded. “Me too.” He pulled her down for a longer, more intense kiss. “Marinette, I…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. It wasn’t the right time to say it. They weren’t ready for him to say it. But even if he couldn’t say it, he still felt it. He knew what the jealousy he had felt meant. He knew what the anxiousness he felt when he was going to see her meant. He knew what the tightening in his chest when she left meant. He knew what he was feeling, but he couldn’t put it out there. Not yet. “…I hope you’re ready for this.” He shot her a devilish grin before turning them over again and pulling the sheet away.

Tags:

@jasonette-july-event @maribatserver @aespades @jayjayspixiepop

#maribat #Jasonette #Jasonette July #Jasonette July 2021 #prompt - Then Perish #Jasonette Mine

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punkrockmads · 3 years

Text

Found Family

Abby Anderson x F! Reader Mini Series

FINAL CHAPTER

Song Used: Dear One, Mary Lambert

Chapter Fourteen; Dear One

*TWO YEARS OLD*

"I look ridiculous." I groan, adjusting the pale blue dress Kayla had helped me fix up a few weeks ago.

"You look beautiful." Kayla assures, running her hands down the lacy sides to smooth them out. I look at myself in the mirror. I have to admit, the dress is very beautiful. A beautiful ruffled skirt and rose patterned lace sides and metal buttons along the back, all a soft periwinkle color. I even let Kayla put a small braid in my hair on the right side, tucking it as well as the rest of my hair behind my ear. Kayla stands beside me, pulling me into a hug. "This dress really suits you." She says.

"I never thought I'd be getting married." I say with a nervous laugh. "I didn't think weddings were still a thing after the outbreak."

"Yet here you are." Kayla smiles. "You're about to marry the love of your life." I smile, feeling my hands shake.

"I'm nervous. Why am I nervous?!" I laugh. "I shouldn't be nervous!"

"Awww!" Kayla chuckles. "You're just excited! It's adorable!" She fixes her hair, loose strands of red falling out of her ponytail. The pink sundress she wears is the same style as the small white one she found for Evangeline.

"I can't wait to see Abby." I sigh, hugging Kayla. "Thank you for everything. You've planned an amazing wedding, Kayla."

"I'm your best friend!" Kayla smiles. "It's my job!" A knock at the office door pulls our attention toward it. Lev stands there wearing the same suit he wore when Evangeline was born. Kayla fixed it up so it would fit him better, seeing as it was too long in the first place.

"Y/N!" Lev smiles, running up and hugging me. "I'm here to walk you down the aisle!"

"Oh God it's already time?!" I feel my heart race in my chest, reaching into my pocket for the yellow paper I had written my vows on months ago. "Okay okay. Let me just go over these one more time."

"Nope!" Lev links his left arm with my right. "We're going now!" I turn around to look at Kayla. She gives me a warm smile, grabbing a bouquet Evangeline had helped her make.

"I'll see you out there!" Kayla whispers, hugging me tightly before walking out the door and around the corner.

"Lev." I mumble, staring straight ahead as I slowly walk with him out the door. "I'm terrified."

"Don't be." Lev says, squeezing my hand. "Remember, it's about you and Abby. Everyone who's here is here because they love you guys. They support you. You and Abby are the only people that matter right now, so just pretend it's only the two of you in this church."

"You're right." I nod, taking a deep breath. The music gets louder as we walk closer to the doors of the main room. She Keeps Me Warm by Mary Lambert. A song Abby and I have slow danced to a million times. "Thank you, Lev."

"You're welcome." Lev says as we stop right before the doors. "Ready?" I nod again, pushing the doors open and walking in with Lev. The flower petals Evangeline had thrown earlier litter the dark wooden floor. All of our friends and neighbors turn to watch. I can feel their stares, but the only stare that matters to me in this moment is Abby's. Her eyes are locked on mine, a huge smile on her face. I feel myself tear up, seeing how beautiful she looks. She decided to wear a suit that matches Lev's. It fits her perfectly, making her look like as incredible as a marble statue. A tear falls down my cheek as Lev lets go of my arm, standing me right in front of Abby. I take her hands in mine.

"You look beautiful." Abby whispers, tears sparkling in her eyes.

"You should see yourself." I whisper back, laughing quietly.

"Mommy!" A familiar squeaky voice calls from the front row. Evangeline wriggles her way out of the arms of Kayla's little sister, running towards me as the crowd laughs. I bend down and open my arms for her as she runs into them. I lift her up, holding her close as Abby and I pepper her face with kisses. "Can I stay?" Evangeline asks, wanting to stay close by her moms.

"Yes you can." I nod, smiling as I set her down by my feet. She sits cross legged beside me, watching as Abby and I listen to Kayla's mother, Eileen, speak a bit about the two of us. I can't tear my eyes away from Abby's, feeling so safe and at home here with her. The whole world seems to disappear when I look at her. I don't even notice Eileen say it's time for vows until Abby lets go of my hands, pulling a piece of notebook paper out of her pocket.

"Okay." Abby sighs, her hands shaking. "Y/N..." She looks at me with so much love and joy. "When we first met, you were floating down a river trying to figure out how the hell you were going to survive. And when I saved you, you threatened me. Even though you had no weapons and you looked like a half-dead drowned rat." Abby and I laugh at the memory. "That's when I realized 'Oh fuck, I'm falling in love!' Then you trusted me, you came home with me and let me give you safety and food and comfort. It kinda felt like bring a wild animal into my home for the first time."

Abby's chuckle is cut off by a sniffle. "When you woke up screaming one night after a nightmare and asked me to stay with you, I knew I wanted to protect you and do anything I possibly could to make you happy and give you the life you deserve just like you've done for me. You've been through so much and you're still the strongest woman I've ever known. You gave me your heart. You've shown me a love I never thought I deserved until I met you. Fuck, you even gave me my own family! I wanna spend the rest of my life loving you and treasuring every single moment I have with you and our family. I love you so much." Abby wipes her tears away as I reach into my pocket for my vows.

I wipe my own tears away as I look at my writing. "Well." I pause, chuckling a bit. "I mean how the hell am I gonna top that?" The guests and Abby laugh at me as I take a deep breath. "I'm not great with words or romance... or people, really. But, when I met you, I felt this comfort and love I had never felt before and it made me want to try to love people again. When I told you about my past, you didn't judge me. You supported me every step of the way and stepped in to raise Evangeline as our baby. You are my angel. You are my savior. I..." I sniffle, wiping away more tears. "I should probably get to the vows before I start sobbing." I laugh. "Abby and I fell in love with Mary Lambert's music after I forced her to listen to it with me and... one of her songs has always stuck with me and made me think of her. So... Abby, I'm gonna use it as my vows to you, if that's okay." Abby laughs quietly, nodding and urging me to continue.

I take a deep breath. "Where did you come from, bright star? What heaven did you leap from, dear love? How can I say your name without the sound of Autumn underneath my tongue? Without acknowledging the lovers who bent me in half? Bless them for bringing me to you. How can I say your name without also breathing the words 'My God, I found you!'" I pause, taking a deep breath as I feel tears pour down my cheeks. "How can I ever speak again with this mouth when it has found where it belongs? When you touch me, I am a bed of calla lillies. I will make a house for you and fill it with evergreens. I will paint sunsets on every wall so you can only see beautiful things." Abby watches me, sobbing quietly as her smile grows even bigger.

"How can I say 'love' without wanting to fold myself into you like a thousand paper cranes. Dear one, I was halved the moment I was born. The other piece of me is inside of your mouth. And I was found whole the moment you spoke." Every single eye in the room is teary, Abby full on sobbing as I pull her in for a tight hug. She hugs back, whispering 'I love you' over and over into my hair as she holds me in her arms.

"That was absolutely beautiful." Eileen says to us, wiping a few of her own tears away. "Now. If there are no objections, let's continue. Abigail, do you take Y/N to be your wife, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"

Abby pulls away, locking eyes with me as she squeezes my hands. "I do." She nods, smiling at me. Her eyes shimmer, full of pure love.

"And Y/N..." Eileen pauses. "Do you take Abigail to be your wife, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"

"Damn right, I do!" I grin, squeezing Abby's hands as I nod at her.

"By the power vested in me. I now pronounce you, Mrs. And Mrs. Anderson. You may kiss." I waste no time grabbing Abby by her shirt collar and pulling her in for a long, passionate kiss. She immediately kisses back, her arms wrapping around me as the guests cheer. We pull away once our lungs are screaming for air, pressing our foreheads together.

"Holy shit." I whisper, chuckling with Abby as I look into her beautiful hazel eyes.

"Holy shit." Abby repeats, laughing harder. "I love you so fucking much."

"I love you too." I reply, kissing her once more. We pull away in surprise when Lev yells.

"Party time!!" Lev cheers, waving his hands in the air. He runs towards us, wrapping his arms around both of us as I pick up a giggling Evangeline. Kayla follows close behind.

"Group hug!!" Kayla yells, squeezing us. I wrap an arm around Abby, resting my forehead against hers once more.

"I love you guys so much." I smile, finding comfort in the arms of my loved ones. Abby gently puts a hand on the back of my neck, gently guiding me up for one more kiss. I let my eyes fall shut.

"We finally made that last name official." Abby smiles against my lips once we pull away.

"Yeah." I hum. "We finally did."

END

#the last of us #the last of us 2 #tlou2 #tlou #lgbtq #abby tlou #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #lev tlou

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awanderingtortoise · 3 years

Text

a/n: first of all, i would like to thank my genius brain for answering the ask this stemmed from privately, therefore losing all access to it and anything i typed in reply. i would also like to thank google docs for housing the backup copy of this fic, ensuring my panic lasted only half the time it could have. finally (and the only serious thing here) ty to @nabrizoya for giving this idea during my 'i cant write banter only dad jokes help' panic, i loved it and wrote far more on it than i expected.

laughter in the rain

ao3

word count: 2.1k of pure fluff and crack

blurb: in which Nikolai is much too found of puns while Zoya is the polar opposite, and a young, incredibly chaotic Squaller child wreaks absolute havoc on literally everything.

(from tumblr ask: how about nikolai interacting with zoya's students and them finding nikolai's dad jokes funnier than zoya does (though she does secretly enjoy them)

----

Zoya knew she was in for it when she agreed to teach Damyen to summon lightning. Possible consequences listed themselves in her head without regard for her anxiety: Getting half her hair burned off. An emergency fire drill, minus the drill, at the Little Palace. Possibly a few roasted pigeons falling from the sky. The ten-year old Squaller was undeniably one of her most gifted students, possessing a striking talent for both the Small Science and utter chaos. Unsurprising, really, considering the child both worshiped Nikolai and had a disposition remarkably close to the latter’s. Zoya’s rant on the young Grisha amused him to no end.

“A miniature me,” Nikolai mused, glancing thoughtfully at Zoya as he sat on the edge of their bed. “And shaping up to be quite the handful.”

“You have no idea,” she grumbled, brushing out a stubborn tangle in her hair, eyes still bleary from her slumber or lack thereof. She’d slept terribly and dreamt her kefta had been on fire. Though she was never much for fortune-tellers or prophetic hogwash, she had an inkling this particular dream would soon be reality. “You could be brothers with how much you have in common. Insubordinate. Endless chatter. Utterly chaotic.”

“Handsome?” Nikolai suggested, inspecting his boots before putting them on. “Charismatic and startlingly intelligent? Really, my dear; you don’t have to be quite so negative.”

“I’m likely about to be set on fire. I have every right to be negative.”

“Now, now,” He said soothingly. “I’m sure it will be a very- enlightening experience.”

Zoya froze mid-brush stroke, turning to give him a withering glare. “Nikolai,” she hissed.

He grinned. “Yes?”

“We have talked about this.”

“Have we?”

“No more puns,” Zoya ordered. For every joke Nikolai in his love for infuriating humor could crack, these were the worst. The only people in the palace that found them amusing were Tolya and Nikolai himself. Which meant, of course, that Tolya was the only one Nikolai didn’t subject to this banal torture.

“Why?” Nikolai whined. “I find them rather electrifying, don’t you?”

She slammed her brush onto the table and stalked towards him, seizing his wrist. “I will blow you out the window. I will tie you to a tree and let Damyen use you for target practice.”

“From the sound of him, he wouldn’t dare. He loves me.”

“He’s also remarkably similar to you and has every ounce of your taste for drama. He might, and if he doesn’t you have my word that I will do it myself.” Zoya let her eyes flash silver, static crackling in the air.

“Alright,” Nikolai sighed, unperturbed by the display. “Fine. I concede. It’s but a trifle. A storm in a teacup, if you w- ow !”

She had sent a small shock through his arm, and now scoffed at the reaction to her handiwork. “Consider this a warning,” she sniffed, before turning to leave the room. “I have a Squaller to teach.”

“Storming off, are we- ow- ”

Only once the door was safely slammed behind her did she let her frown shift, lips quirking upwards. “Damnable idiot,” she muttered, smile clear in her voice.

“You love me for it,” Nikolai called from inside the room.

Zoya scowled. She’d need to have the walls thickened.

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

To Zoya’s right, a flock of very terrified and slightly singed geese squawked and took to the skies. Their nest lay in a steaming pile of ash. She raised a single eyebrow at her pupil. “Damyen, this is-”

“Awesome!” He cackled, gathering the ash in his hands and tossing it in the air like confetti. The flakes drifted down, settling in Zoya’s hair and eyelashes.

“I was going to say dismal. I do not recall asking you to set birds on fire. Your aim is terrible.”

“But I shot lighting!” He stared at his fingertips with such utter reverence for himself that Zoya didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“If you want to shoot lighting without setting your friends alight, I’d suggest you learn to hit your mark,” She said as sternly as possible. He’d picked up on the skill remarkably quickly, in all honesty, and the currents he summoned were more than good for a start. She was impressed, but her approval would only be gained with sufficient effort. And after more than a few sharp comments. “You aim worse than a blind mole rat. Again.”

Damyen sighed but brought his hands together once more, brow knitting in concentration as lightning began to form in his palm. Strands of his bronze hair fell onto his face and he squinted through them at the target. Adjusted his hands. Squinted again.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Zoya muttered. “Perhaps you’re waiting for the Saints to come riding down on a shiny chariot?”

He snorted, apparently genuinely amused, then let the bolt fly. At the same moment, a golden-haired figure strolled into the lightning’s path.

Zoya shrieked, hurtling a gust of wind towards Nikolai and blowing him to the ground. The streak of electricity slammed perfectly into the target’s center, setting the whole thing aflame. Damyen whooped, throwing up his hands and sending wind blowing every which way; scattering leaves into the air as Nikolai groaned and swore from his spot in the grass.

“Hello,” He said weakly. “Atmosphere’s rather charged around here, don’t you think?”

She huffed and pulled him to his feet, glaring daggers.

“No shocks,” Nikolai noted.

“I may change my mind. Care to explain yourself, Lantsov? In the habit of trying to kill yourself?”

“I hardly need to try. I’m a magnet for life threatening situations. Though I’ll admit that today it was a personal decision.” He beamed, spreading his hands. “I simply wanted to help you make good on your threat.”

Zoya rolled her eyes. “Why are you here? Has something come up with the Fjerdans? Did the Kerch renegotiate the trade-”

“Zoya, Zoya, Zoya,” Nikolai sighed, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “You worry too much.”

“I worry exactly the right amount for this fickle country. Answer the question, or I truly will have him target you.”

“Is it so hard to believe I came here only to see you?”

“Yes.”

“You wound me. But if you must know, I thought I could be of some assistance.”

“As target practice?”

He wrinkled his nose. “I’ve had quite enough of that. As a mentor. As a bribe, perhaps; for your little firecracker over there.” He glanced at Damyen, still stripping trees of their hard-earned leaves and seemingly unaware that he’d nearly killed his beloved idol. “You seemed like you could use some help.”

She raised her chin disdainfully. “I am perfectly capable of wrangling the little-”

A loud crack sounded and the sky darkened rapidly, clouds swarming over their heads as rain began to pour furiously in a matter of seconds. A few meters away, a bright flash enveloped a tree, sending the trunk bursting into flames.

“Damyen!” Zoya screeched.

The boy stared at her, wide-eyed and grinning in a mix of elation and fear. “I made a storm, Your Highness!”

“Congratulations. Now do you mind stopping before you kill us all?”

“But I-” His eyes found Nikolai and realization set in as he beamed and the rain poured even harder. “Your Highness- es !”

Another boom, and a second, larger tree was wreathed in electricity and fire. It groaned, wobbling dangerously before crashing to the ground.

Nikolai’s brow furrowed, squinting against the pouring rain. “That,” he started. “Was a centuries-old sacred cypress planted by the first Lantsov kings. Now firewood. Impressive.”

Damyen’s chest puffed with pride.

“You can fawn over each other later,” Zoya snapped. “Damyen, enough with the storm. Turn it off before you start a forest fire.”

He grinned sheepishly. “How?”

She muttered obscenities, raising her hands and dispelling the clouds with a flick of her wrists. The sky cleared, small patches of pouring rain left to quell the still-burning trees as Nikolai whistled appreciatively, clapping; and Damyen gave a small bow. Saints, these two would be the death of her.

“So,” Nikolai said, soft enough that Damyen couldn’t hear. “Changed your mind?”

She sighed. “Fine. Make your attempt. You’ve always loved trying your hand at the impossible.”

“Improbable,” he corrected, then strolled over to Damyen, running a hand through the golden strands plastered to his forehead. Soaking wet and almost cooked alive, and he still looked every bit the regal prince; she thought, a grudging, now-familiar fondness rushing through her like a horrible, tooth-rotting sweet. She scowled.

“Lovely morning,” The prince greeted. Damyen bent over in a hasty bow, but Nikolai waved his hand. “No need. Are you the wonderfully gifted Squaller her Highness speaks of so highly?”

Zoya snorted, but Damyen’s eyes practically doubled in size. “She does?”

“Oh, yes,” Nikolai said seriously. “You’re quite talented, I hear.” He lowered his voice to a theatrical whisper. “Just between the two of us,” muttered Nikolai, very much loud enough for Zoya to be able to hear. “I think you remind her of herself, when she was your age.”

She opened her mouth; ‘What utter bullshit,’ already on the tip of her tongue but Nikolai raised a gloved finger, eyes twinkling. With much effort, she clamped her mouth shut.

Damyen seemed he might faint on the spot. Nikolai went on. “Really, there’s quite a lot you two have in common. Powerful. Willful. In possession of a rather strong attachment to me.”

The young Grisha was eating up his words. Zoya wanted to strangle the both of them.

Nikolai took a seat on a faintly smoking tree stump. “You seem to have quite a lot going on for you, learning to summon lighting and all. A rather current affair, don’t you think?”

The silence seemed to stretch on infinitely. Then Damyen gave a toothy grin and guffawed far, far louder than that sorry excuse for a joke deserved.

“Oh for Saints’ sake, Nikolai,” she groaned, shoving her face into her hands.

“Zoya, dear; no need to thunder about like that,” Nikolai said soothingly. Damyen bit his cheek in an attempt to control himself, but whatever smidgen of respect he had left for her kept him silent for barely a second before he burst into a fit of giggles.

Zoya threw her arms up in frustration and from the clouds a deep, deafening roar answered her-- how’s that for thundering, you nincompoop-- as the sky flashed once more, bright streaks lacing every cloud in an intricate web. Damyen’s gleeful expression faltered at the sight but Nikolai only grinned wider, patting Damyen on the shoulder before standing and holding a hand out to catch the rain.

“Don’t let her dampen your spirits,” he called sagely over the rumble, and it took a good amount of self control not to smite him on the spot. Nikolai flashed a thumbs-up at the boy before jogging over to the spot where Zoya stood, arms crossed and glaring. He clasped her hand in his, opening his mouth to speak.

“Not one word,” she warned. “Not a single pun or I will have Tolya read you every Ravkan epic in existence while dangling you off the palace roof.”

“No puns,” he promised. “For now. I only ask that perhaps you let the sun shine through-”

“I will not sugarcoat my instructions for whatever reason.”

“The storm, my dear,” he said gently. “Not your teaching methods. We’re nearly soaked through.”

She glanced towards his dripping sleeves and the damp fabric of her own kefta. “Fine,” Zoya muttered grudgingly, raising her free hand to call away the storm and let the clouds fade to fog. “But enough of this foolery. I can’t have Damyen running around being able to summon lightning and having no idea how to wrangle it. He has to learn.”

“And he will. Let me work my magic and I’ll have him perfectly eager to learn to control his.”

“Without the puns.”

“With slightly less puns?” He asked, brow knit together as if the fate of his jokes were a matter of life and death.

Zoya frowned, but Nikolai’s pleading look wore away at her and she sighed. “Slightly less puns.”

His eyes lit up and he beamed, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “You won’t regret this,” he promised.

“Oh, I will,” she remarked drily. “But perhaps not enough to shock you again if you can manage the walking fire hazard.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” He bowed theatrically before turning and running back to Damyen with a ridiculous grin on his face, sunlight gilding his hair and shining in his gaze; his form so full of light that she couldn’t help but smile.

“Nikolai,” she called after him.

He turned, cocking his head. “Nazyalensky? Is everything alright?”

Zoya closed her eyes, sighing deeply. She opened her palm, summoning the smallest thundercloud, letting raindrops pool in her outstretched hand. “Right as rain, Lantsov.”

He laughed, and the sound, golden and unrestrained and bright, was worth every joke she’d ever have to endure.

#zoyalai #i am an idiot #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #horrible puns terrible puns #nikolai duology #grishaverse #tortoise tries to write #me

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btsinwonderland · 3 years

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A Drop of Poison - Ch. 14: The Ball

A Loki fanfiction!

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It was a day before the ball and you sat in the Great Hall with Pom, Mo, and Valkyrie eating breakfast. A smattering of eggs, bacon, stuffed sausage, hash browns, and toast laid in front of you. You took a small piece of toast and buttered it lightly. Another yawn escaped your lips and blinked several times, trying to shake the feeling of tiny rocks rubbing on your eyeballs.

“How was Hogsmeade?” Mo said dejectedly. His parents had sent him quite the howler after the events in the Forbidden Forest. They banned him from all outdoor excursions and he had to stay in the school for the rest of the year.

Valkyrie shrugged. “It was alright, we just tried on some dresses, and I may or may not have seen Nila naked,” she said, smiling at you and Pom.

Mo raised his head with wide eyes. “You did not.”

Just then, Nila came by and sat down beside Mo. “Hey!” she said, leaning over Mo and grabbing a piece of bacon. Mo was stock still and flushed.

You giggled with Valkyrie. “Morning, Nila.”

Valkyrie raised a brow. “So, do we all have dates?”

You blushed, thinking about Nathan Gill, but more so thinking about Professor Laufeyson’s instructions.

You will go to the ball with this boy,

You will dance with him, have a drink, and do what young girls do at balls.

You gulped, thinking about the last thing he said.

And at the end of the night, you will come to my room, and I will punish you for all of it.

“Y-yes,” you said. Then Pom meekly said “yes” with a small blush. You looked at her, surprised that she had mentioned nothing. Then the three of you looked at Mo and Nila, who looked away from each other uncomfortably.

Nila spoke, a little miffed, “I was asked by Thomas, Jury, Mirwich, and Ali.”

You raised your brows, “wow, that’s great, Nila!”

Mo’s expression darkened, and he turned away further as Nila continued talking. “But I said no.”

She slowly turned towards Mo and looked at him. He looked back, trying to conceal a smile. “And what were you waiting for?” he said.

Valkyrie looked at you and rolled her eyes. You could tell she was itching to interrupt them with some blunt statement like, “just fuck already!”, but you hit her thigh under the table to shut her up.

“I was waiting for this stupid boy to ask me, but he hasn’t seemed to get a clue yet,” Nila said, curling a lock of hair on her finger.

There were a few seconds of anticipation. You saw the realization on Pom’s face, and she brightened immediately. Valkyrie’s leg twitched; she was getting so impatient.

Mo got up and knelt in front of Nila and took her hand. “Nila Odesa, will you go to the ball with me?”

Nila reddened, but nodded profusely.

“You didn’t need to embarrass her,” you said, laughing.

Then, Mo and Nila bid you three adieu and left for a walk in the courtyard. You laughed alongside Valkyrie and Pom at the awkwardness of it all, but you were happy for them. Then, a thought dawned on you, and you turned to Valkyrie.

“Valkyrie, do you have a date?” you said.

Her mouth twitched as if she wanted to say something specific, but she threw you a smirk. “On what planet would I not have one, my sweet Hufflepuff?”

Before you could ask further questions, she changed the subject. “So. Blood on the walls. Was it a prank or not?”

Your heart sank, and all levity fled. The teachers had cleared out the hall upon their arrival. They later confirmed it was all rat blood, and most of the students thought it was a pre-Halloween ball prank. Though you recalled the tension on Headmistress Frigga’s face when she made the announcement. She was holding back.

“What if it’s real?” Pom said. “There is a beast out there. What if it’s not done? What if...that thing...comes after Ken again?” She twisted her napkin in her hands.

You took her hand as a flash of evil yellow eyes surfaced in your mind, and you concealed a shudder. “He’s safe here. As long as we stay in the school, it’ll be okay.” Even though the words came out confidently, you did not feel them. Were you truly safe at school? If it was real, then who had written the message?

“What did they mean by, ‘enemies of the heir, beware’?” Valkyrie said. “Who’s the heir?”

“And of what?” Pom said.

The three of you were quite puzzled about it and your conversation eventually went in circles. You thought about asking Leah, from the switcher book, if she might have some answers. A part of you thought perhaps you should bring this up to your friends; the fact that you had conversations with a book that spoke to you, which was still weird even to Hogwarts standards. But when you opened your mouth, you found yourself stuffing more potatoes into it and forgot what you wanted to say.

The windows closest to the ceiling opened up and owls flew in with morning mail. They dropped letters, packages, and newspapers to the students. Pom caught a letter in a pink envelope while Valkyrie caught Mo’s paper. You were not expecting anything but glanced up to see a large package hurtling towards you, which you caught just before it pegged you in the face.

The package was in a black box with a silver bow tied around it. You touched the bow and rubbed the softness; it was velvet.

“What’s that?” Pom said.

“I don’t know,” you said as you undid the bow. The box opened up to reveal a swath of cool fabric. It was black chiffon with lace patterns all over it. You lifted the fabric out of the box to reveal a beautiful black dress. You gasped at the heft, not too heavy, but it definitely carried some weight. The side of it glittered at the hip while the neck was where the black fabric stooped down to reveal a daring neckline that was covered by translucent chiffon.

“Woah,” Valkyrie and Pom said. “Who sent you that!”

You looked in the box and saw an envelope with a single card with the message: Happy Halloween.

There was a black velvet box underneath the envelope that you did not notice before. You let Valkyrie and Pom occupy themselves with the dress while you popped it open. There was a dark glint as the open box revealed a studded necklace of bright green emeralds. You already had guessed who this was from, but the emeralds were his way of signing it off. A quiet laugh escaped you from how heavy-handed it was, but you felt moved by the thought of his gift. It all seemed far too expensive to take, though he would not listen to a single word you said to oppose it. He would certainly be upset if you did not wear this when he saw you at the ball. You sighed and gave in. Professor Laufeyson was the sort of man that did not even need to be present to sway your choices. You knew that he knew you were utterly wrapped around his fingers.

Valkyrie and Pom sent a tirade of questions your way, but you chalked it up to a secret admirer and that you did not know. You stuffed everything back in the box and popped a bite of sausage into your mouth as you headed out of the Great Hall in a mad shuffle. “See you at the ball tomorrow!” You told them.

The rest of the day passed in a blur as you attended your classes. There was no potions class today, and you just wanted it to end so you could see him. You were slightly alarmed at how your concern for his life had now grown into a mild obsession with the man. A part of you lied to yourself and said that you were still only trying to prevent him from dying, like in your visions. But you knew it was far more than that now. Even if Heimdall came and told you he saw a prophecy that Professor Laufeyson would never die, you could not bear to be away from him. He had taken over your mind in ways that even your visions never could.

You glanced out the window from your common room at the darkness and looked around, blinking. The day really had passed in a blur since you could barely remember your classes. Fatigue hit you like a train as you changed into your nightgown. You fell into bed like a stone and, though you feared sleep these days from knowing what toothy nightmares awaited you, it was also what you desperately needed.

***

It was the night of the ball and you stood in your room and looked at the girl in the mirror. She was definitely not anybody you recognized. There was something cooler, more confident about her. She was in a gorgeous black dress that fit her every single curve. The emerald necklace laid around her neck immaculately, and provided the perfect statement piece to the outfit. You glanced at the plunging neckline and bit your lip. Your breasts were not very large, but this dress accentuated the swell of them. Upon doing a little turn in front of the mirror, you appreciated the curve of your rear with a bashful smile.

You shook your head at the mirror, not believing it, but also thrilled. Tucking a stray baby hair behind your ear, you left your room to head over to the ball. The walk through the halls was busy, with beautifully dressed students heading over to the Great Hall. The boys looked older and more handsome with their suits and dress robes. Some wore a sprig of flowers on their lapel while some fashioned a moving brooch that crawled along their pocket. The flurry of dresses of all colours and shapes and sizes excited your senses.

“Freya?” a voice said from behind you.

You turned around and saw Nathan in black dress robes. His eyes widened when he looked at you. “Wow, you look beautiful - I mean, you’re always pretty - but this - like - wow.”

A laugh bubbled up from your lips as he stumbled for the words. He laughed with you and then held out his arm for you to take. You slid your arm around his and the both of you walked into the Great Hall together.

Though you had spent the last seven years marvelling at the grandiosity of the Great Hall, it still took your breath away. Candles were lit amidst jack-o’-lanterns which floated in the ceiling. There was an ethereal aura of a glittering golden glow that swirled through the air. It moved as you walked through it. The tables were lined with crisp white linens and the centre stage was ready for dancing. There was a band at the far end of the hall that played gentle cocktail music. You spotted a rather grumpy looking group of large toads beside the band and wondered curiously which part of the concert they would make an appearance.

It was a little embarrassing once you realized that everyone you passed was staring at you. You looked into the eyes of people who saw you every day, but this time, they looked at you differently. The staring was perhaps supposed to be flattering, but the long gazes and gawks made you slightly uncomfortable and so you stared at the floor.

You spotted Nila, who wore the peach coloured dress she had bought from Gladrags. She looked beautiful. Her heels were nearly four inches high, and she towered over you. You smiled brightly and gave her a delicate hug. She stared at you, eyes wide. “You look gorgeous, Freya!”

Mo came by with swirling blue drinks and raised his brows when he saw you with Nathan. You told him to “shut it” under your breath and he winked at you.

“There’s Pom!” Nila said, and all of you drifted through the room, chatting along the way.

Pom was with a tall boy that you did not recognize. He had sandy skin and looked to be slightly younger than her. Brown curls fell around his temple and he smiled with deep dimples. She was looking beautiful in her short purple dress and ankle boots. Pom looked at you and audibly gasped. She showered you with compliments until you were sure that you would pass out from the embarrassment, but you smiled and nodded. After several minutes of catching up, you excused yourself and went for a drink.

The cool blue liquid slid down your throat and you exhaled after a few more gulps. You looked around from the drinks table at everyone. Couples surrounded the dancefloor, itching to dance. More students trickled in from the entrances and you saw Headmistress Frigga approach the stage. Her dress was a beautiful grey that almost looked silver. Flowers were pleated into the long braid down her back. You continued to look around the room, searching; where was he?

When you arrived back to the group, the Headmistress began her announcement.

“Welcome, teachers and students, to the annual Halloween Ball! Tonight will be a night of merriment and festivity. It shall be one to remember! Now, to send us off, let us begin with the customary dance.”

She stepped towards the stage, and Heimdall walked towards her. He was in more traditional dress robes but looked more like a king as he took her hand and led her into the centre stage. The band played a waltz and the two of them moved like swans in the water. Professor Fandral brought in Professor Sif and they danced. One by one, the teachers all started to dance. You saw a flash of red and gasped when you saw Valkyrie being twirled in the arms of Professor Odinson. He wore a black tuxedo and looked as handsome as a movie star. But it was Valkyrie that held your eye; she was show-stopping. Her red dress billowed as she danced and the slit opened just enough for your heart to race, but closed back up just as you got excited. You raised an eyebrow at her when she caught your eye and she laughed.

You looked at each of the teachers, and still could not see Professor Laufeyson. Just as your heart sank at the notion of him missing the ball, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned to see Professor Laufeyson holding out his hand. Your breath hitched in your throat when you looked at him. His hair was gelled back, and he held one hand out to you, with the other bent politely behind him. He wore a black suit with a silken green vest and tie that stood in contrast with his fair skin. He seemed to glow in the warm light of the Great Hall. His eyes twinkled and his cheeks were positively rosy. Your heart dashed into a mad rhythm as you took in his presence. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?” He said.

Pom, Mo, Nila and Nathan stood stock still, shocked. You took his hand without thinking twice or even looking back at your friends and Nathan.

“Good evening, Miss Eves,” he said, whisking you away and onto the dancefloor. He looked at you with a hungry gaze. “You look ravishing.”

You gulped as you placed one hand on his shoulder and one in his hand. His free hand was placed on the small of your back. When you glanced up at him, it was hard to remember your footing. “You clean up well yourself, master,” you said, lowering your voice for the last part.

He smiled at you and twirled you around as the music rose in pace. “My apologies for stealing you away from your date before the night has even begun,” he said without remorse.

You laughed. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty of time to get into trouble,” you said with a grin.

He raised a brow at you and pulled you closer. His arms were firm, and his body led you through the unfamiliar footwork with ease. You fell into step with him and your bodies felt as one, moving fluidly across the dance floor. He whipped you about and held you close all alongside with the music. Every time you turned back into him and your body slammed against his, you felt your desire increase exponentially. Now and then Professor Laufeyson would glance at your visible cleavage and you suppressed a smile. In a room filled with people who stared, he could look unblinkingly at you and you would not flinch. When his eyes were upon you, it felt as though you were flying.

During a slower part of the dance, you looked past him and noticed everyone looking at you again. No, not just you, but the two of you. Your face flushed, and you hesitated for a brief second as your thoughts grounded themselves again.

“Careful, any sudden moves and I’ll rip you to shreds,” Professor Laufeyson said under his breath. “At least, that’s what they all think.”

“Everyone is watching,” you said apprehensively.

He spun you around and dipped you back. A devilish smile stretched across his face. “Miss Eves, are you ashamed to be seen with the most evil man in Hogwarts?”

You shook your head as you brought you back up. “No, and you are not evil.”

The music swelled, and he spun you several times; you were thrilled and dizzy all at once. He ran a hand across your back, leaned in close, nearly inappropriate. “Oh my dear girl, you have no idea what I am.” His voice sounded almost sad, but when you tried to look into his eyes, he deflected your gaze by turning to the stage and clapping for the band.

Nathan approached the both of you hesitantly. “May I steal her back, Professor?”

You did not want to leave him, but any more sensual dances and you would become a puddly mess. Professor Laufeyson nodded and handed you over to Nathan, a gleam in his eyes that told you, ‘see you later’, as a sort of warning.

The next dance was more upbeat and now most of the students joined in and some teachers stepped away. You laughed when you observed the head of your house, Professor Bjorn, dancing rather erratically with himself. Then you noticed he was holding a ferret in his hand and doing a waltz. Valkyrie came over to you and gave you a tight hug. You held her close and both of you shouted each other’s ear over the music at the same time.

“Did I just see you dancing with Professor Odinson?”

“Did you just dance with Laufeyson?”

You both smiled widely at each other and broke into laughter. Arms still entangled, you jostled her gently. “What is going on between you two?” You said, glancing at her and then at Professor Odinson, who was now in conversation with Headmistress Frigga over by the tables.

Valkyrie looked down and then back up at you. “I have a lot to tell you,” she said. But then her eyes grew suspicious. “And what have you got to tell me? Shaggin’ the bad boy now?” She clicked her tongue and looked you up and down, impressed. “My sweet Hufflepuff, always surprising me.”

You hit her shoulder. “Stop it! I am not shagging him…” Not yet, at least...

“Can I cut in?” Nathan said, dancing over to you. You disentangled from Valkyrie who gave you a ‘this isn’t over’ look. You danced together in a big group with Pom, her date Vlad, Nila and Mo, and Valkyrie. Some other members of the Quidditch team came over and joined as well.

The music sped up into a fast-paced rock number as all of you jumped in the newly formed dance circle to show off your best moves. You laughed when Mo started raising the roof and waving his arms in the air and at one point you, Pom, Nila, and Valkyrie made a conga line while the boys watched you sway your hips. The song shifted into another tune seamlessly, and when you heard the croaking of the toads and you undeniably lost your shit.

“This is my JAM!” you said, grabbing Nathan by the hand and dancing away. He perked up at your moves and you spent the next hour sweating, swaying, jumping and having the time of your life.

After another half an hour, you were panting as you yelled, “I need a break!” And left them all on the stage. Your feet got sore but in a good ‘dancing pains’ kind of way. You went to refresh yourself and catch some air. Upon sneaking out the door, you did not realize that Nathan followed you until he gently grabbed your arm as you descended the stairs towards the garden. You jumped and nearly tripped on the stairs when he caught you and held you close.

“Careful,” he said, flashing you a gorgeous smile. You were frozen in place with a small flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

He leaned in and you thought about pushing him away, but your arms stayed still as he kissed you. It was not intrusive; it was more of a questioning sort of kiss. This kiss would have been perfect a month ago, when your life was normal and you weren’t falling for a mysterious man who may or may not be doomed.

He pulled away but continued to hold you. “You’re beautiful, Freya,” he said.

The slight flutter of butterflies now sank into stones from your guilt. You should not have led him on. “Nathan,” you said, taking a deep breath and stepping away from him. “You are so sweet, and handsome, and honestly, a lot of fun…”

“But you want to stay just friends?” he said, with a knowing look.

You looked up at him and nodded. “I’m sorry,” you said.

He seemed slightly crestfallen, but the smile never left his face. “It’s okay, and you’re pretty fun too.”

“Thank you for being such a great date,” you said.

He laughed and nodded, leaving you to go back inside. You appreciated what a gentleman he was about the whole thing. Many of your friends had rejected boys only to receive scorn, disdain, and sometimes downright violence. It warmed you to know that Nathan was one of the good ones and you hoped he would find someone extra special.

The night air was cool, and a gentle wind fanned against your skin. You closed your eyes as you wandered into the gardens. You looked at your watch and realized that it was nearly midnight. The balloons would explode at the stroke of midnight and the tiny pumpkins would be there to surprise everyone. You thought about returning, but the thought of tiny pumpkins nipping at your ankles was just not as appealing as spending your time in the night air surrounded by flowers and beautiful trees. You had gotten your fill of the Halloween prank last year, when the stone gargoyles had sprung to life and puked all over you and Valkyrie. Mo had laughed up a storm until a gargoyle flew across the Great Hall and vomited right on his head.

“Did the Headmistress not advise you to avoid wandering about alone?”

Your heart leapt at his voice. “I’m not alone,” you said, not looking back yet, and continued walking down the trail of gardens. A long row of willows stood gorgeously with their sweeping leaves blowing in the breeze.

He fell into step with you, a hand on your lower back. His touch made your chest tighten. Where else might his hands go?

“Thank you, by the way,” you said.

He glanced at you, not clear on your meaning.

“For the dress and necklace. I only wore them since I knew you would curse me if I didn’t,” you said with a teasing smile.

He chuckled. “That’s right, I would have.”

For several minutes, the both of you silently walked through the gardens; smelling the flowers without speaking. It was peaceful and not terribly awkward. There was a comfort that had set in when you were around him. However, after a certain amount of silence, you wondered why the man who loved to talk so much was particularly taciturn.

“You’re quiet tonight,” you said boldly. Perhaps it was the overexertion from dancing or the dress that gave you the delusional idea you could coax the truth out of this man, but regardless, you tried.

He shifted closer to you. “Perhaps I’m plotting to kidnap you as a part of my master plan, and lock you in a tower,” he said mischievously. You laughed loudly at his response.

“Do you always laugh when the villain reveals their grand plans?” he said, smiling. Though his smile did not reach his eyes.

You pushed him as you walked. “You’re not a villain,” you said.

“And how do you know that?” he said, stopping underneath a tall tree. You had wandered back towards the castle. The warm glow of the candles and pumpkins inside illuminated the windows in an orange light, as if the entire castle itself were one gigantic jack-o’-lantern.

There was a rustling, and you stepped away from Professor Laufeyson in case it was a student, or worse, a teacher, and a couple walked by. However, they barely glanced at the two of you, for they were far too busy searching for somewhere to...well...finish off the night. When they walked around the corner in a hushed fit of giggles and quiet moans, you took a step towards Professor Laufeyson again.

“I know you’re not a villain because there is warmth in your heart,” you said, placing a hand on his chest.

The moonlight reflected off his eyes and illuminated his face. You noticed a look of utter desperation in his expression that you had never seen before. It was there for only a second before it vanished with a raised brow. “What you see is a fire, Miss Eves; dangerous if you get too close,” he said and seized you with a grin. You wrapped your arms around him and his lips touched yours in a passionate embrace.

Your core awakened from the feel of his tongue gliding across your lips and the strength of his arms gripping you so tightly that you might break. But you wanted him closer, tighter. You bit his upper lip as he took a hand and palmed your breast through the fabric of your dress. It was as if a new feral hunger hit you. It took all your strength of will to not strip bare right in the garden and let him take you. You tangled your fingers through his hair and moaned as his hand grazed the most sensitive part of your breast.

A scream tore through the air. You broke the kiss and immediately felt the chill of the night. Screams erupted from the Great Hall. You and Professor Laufeyson glanced at each other before seeing several students run out the door in terror. Some were frantically moving about as if they were trying to get something off of their bodies. A boy was thrashing so hard that he ran down the stairs, knocking several people over along the way.

“It’s not supposed to be like that, they’re just pumpkins,” you said to Professor Laufeyson, alarmed at the chaos that ensued from the castle. What was going on?

It was then you saw a girl, completely pale and red-haired in a light blue dress. At first you thought she wore a strange patterned glove, but in fact, there were large black masses covering her arm. They wriggled over her skin and she screamed and shouted, “get them off! Get them off me!”

You both were about to run over to the crowd of students when a shriek closer to you echoed through the garden. “Help me! Please!” It was in the direction where the couple from earlier had gone.

You and Professor Laufeyson ran over to the couple and you saw the boy was crawling away on his hands and knees while the girl was trying to do the same. The boy shoved past you as the girl reached out for help.

A horrifying creature, about the size of a dog, was slithering through the garden. It was scaled and dark green with the body of a snake, but five times thicker. It had five heads protruding from its centre, and each head had a menacing pair of red eyes. Each head snapped its fangs at you and the girl. The creature hissed and lashed its barbed tail. You ran over to the girl and grabbed her by the arm to help her up.

The creature whipped its tail, and you pushed the girl away from it, right into Professor Laufeyson. You cried out when you felt its painful barbs against your leg. The creature hissed, and you saw five forked tongues, inches away from you. You tried reaching for your wand, but the pain had set in immediately and it was debilitating. You fell to your knees.

This was when the screaming and noise all slowed down, as if you were in a film. One moment the five heads reared back to bite you, the next, you saw an insanely bright green light. You heard someone screaming right next to your ear, and it annoyed you to the point you begged them to stop, only to realize that it was you that was screaming.

“What’s happening?” You said your words slurred.

Darkness edged your vision, and you saw Professor Laufeyson’s face above yours, looking terribly distressed. “Stay awake Freya! Stay awake!” It looked as if he was yelling at you, but his words sounded far away.

You felt yourself being carried, or floating away. Perhaps you were in the castle again? It was hard to tell. Your stomach was aching terribly and your whole body was sore. Shooting pain ran up your leg and your chest tightened. How you wished it would end, but as soon as the wave of pain ended, another wave rose. You thrashed back and forth trying to shake the feeling, but it would not stop. “Please, make it stop,” you screamed.

Darkness clouded your vision, and you saw Professor Laufeyson once again. This time he was saying things, but you could no longer hear him. “Loki,” you whispered, and everything went dark.

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amorgansgal · 3 years

Text

Moonlight as my Guide

Chapter Three of Cruel, Cruel World! If you’d like to read the first chapter it’s here, the 2nd chapter is here and you can read the whole thing on Ao3.

Warnings: Depiction of illness.

He has found himself thinking about her, the worry niggling at the back of his mind. It has been over two weeks and the rabbit they caught won’t last forever. Will she have been able to find more things to eat, will she have learnt how to use her husband’s rifle? He knows his presence will likely do her no good, that she would do better to not associate herself with an outlaw. And yet he finds himself riding along the path that runs by the train tracks, after he has made a visit to Annesburgh.

His horse, Cleopatra, trundles along, he’s not encouraging her with kicks to her side or clicks of his tongue. Arthur is too busy arguing in his mind that he shouldn’t visit Charlotte, he shouldn’t put her at risk, he shouldn’t care too deeply whether she lives or dies. But he’s already reached the Brandywine drop and is following the white, churning water that leaves cool droplets on his face. Perhaps it is part of dying. He must know, he has to be able to rest knowing that people are alive and well. Assumptions just won’t do anymore.

As Cleo trots lightly through the green swaying trees, the peaceful, quiet morning is interrupted by the loud crack of gunfire coming from Charlotte’s cabin. He immediately spurs his horse into a gallop and then once he’s near the entrance tumbles down from the saddle, foot almost catching in a stirrup. He runs up the rest of the hill, heart racing, desperate not to find her lying dead or begging for mercy at the hands of some thief looking for what little money she has!

He’s barely made it into the garden, when relief floods his heart as he hears Charlotte’s frustrated cry of, ‘Gosh darnit! Not a single one…’ and once he reaches the top of the hill, he sees her. She’s wearing the same blue blouse and plaid skirt, but both have evidently been cleaned and the skirt mended. She’s holding a rifle in her arms, her frustration all too evident as she kicks the ground with the toe of her boot.

She is busy reloading the gun, when she hears his footsteps and turns her head towards him. The frown she wears disappears within an instance and she smiles joyfully on seeing him. ‘Oh, hey there!’

He finds himself warmly returning the smile. ‘How you feelin’ Ma’am?’

‘Much better than I’ve felt in a long time, I… If we hadn’t caught that rabbit, I don’t think I’d have made it another day.’

‘Well, you look better.’

Her face is clear from the mud and tears, her skin looks clean and soft, though flushed from sunlight and the cold wind that blows down from the surrounding hills. A few strands of her dark hair have fallen loose from her bun, they shift lightly against the breeze. Arthur feels a strange urge to reach out and tuck them behind her ears, to feel the dark hair that is lined with silver against his hand, to cup her face in his hands and feel the warm flush.

‘Better and determined, thanks to you. And if I’m going to learn to hunt, I figured it was time I learned how to use Cal’s gun properly.’

She turns back to a row of glass bottles that have been set up on a crate and rests the gun against her shoulder.

‘And how’s that workin’ out for ya?’ he asks.

‘Well, let’s just say my prey is looking decidedly unscathed.’ She aims carefully, and then fires. The gun ricochets upwards almost out of her hands and she staggers back a little, chuckling at her efforts.

‘But the end of labour is to gain leisure, is that not what Aristotle said?’ She suddenly looks flustered, gazing down at the ground and Arthur moves the gun away from her face, so it is instead pointing out towards the entrance near the road.

‘Well, I… I don’t know much about Aristotle, but erm, I know a thing or two about shooting a gun.’ He gently turns her around to face the target again. ‘Look you gotta hold steady and firm.’ He places his hands on her shoulders, positioning the gun against the crook of her arm and straightening her back. The warmth of her bleeds through her shirt and he quickly pulls his hands away.

‘You just focus, breathe slowly and always pull the trigger on empty lungs.’ He gazes at her face, the small frown above her eyes and the eager, determined look in them is beautiful.

His eyes flick down her shoulders, her back, but before he goes any lower, he quickly walks round to her other side, anything to distract him from the way his mind is wandering. Christ’s sake, she’s a widow after all, her husband barely resting in his grave! He ignores the uncomfortable wave of shame that sweeps into his gut.

‘Here, I’ll show ya.’ He pulls his revolver from the holster and focuses on the bottles. ‘Okay… calm and steady… don’t snatch at the trigger.’ Arthur murmurs, more for Charlotte’s benefit than his. This is second nature to him, muscle memory. If he aims a gun he knows where the bullet will go. He aims at a green bottle and fires; the glass explodes and he just catches Charlotte’s gasp of amazement.

‘You make it look so easy,’ she says warmly.

‘Alright, you try now. Remember to breathe,’ he says, quickly brushing over her compliment.

She hoists the gun back to her shoulder, her green eyes narrowing on the target. ‘Wait to breathe out… wait to breathe out…’ she murmurs to herself. She fires, the bullet whizzes past the bottle, hitting the ground and sending a plume of dust into the air. Charlotte, however, smiles at him. ‘Would you look at that? I haven’t hit one that close all day!’

‘Not bad. Focus on the inhale, shoot on the exhale.’

She rolls her eyes at him good naturedly. ‘Come on, you got to give me some praise!’

‘I just did.’

She moves the gun back up and focuses on the bottles again, but her eyes suddenly dart over to the house and she gives a sigh. ‘Oh no, that wretched rat is back. Over there, do you see?’

Arthur glances over and sees a large brown rat scurrying by the undergrowth that surrounds the two buildings. The rat pokes its head up and sniffs the air, turning beady eyes on him. If he didn’t know better, he’d say the rat is glaring at him.

‘It’s been a thorn in my side ever since we moved here. Could you kill it?’

The words have barely left her mouth, when he fires the pistol and the rat is no more. Charlotte lets out a small gasp of surprise that turns into a chuckle of amusement.

‘Show off! Alright, let me try again.’

She raises the rifle and Arthur watches as her long fingers carefully hold the weight of the gun. Her hands are calloused and a little dirty, and he finds himself glancing down at his own. They almost match, though his are certainly rougher. He wonders what it would be like to clasp her hand in his.

‘Come on, come on…’ She shoots and one of the glass bottles explodes into a shower of glass. He grins and Charlotte staggers back a little as though she can’t quite believe it. ‘Yes! I hit it! I hit it, didn’t I?’

She lets out a breathless, excited laugh and turns to him with a warm smile. ‘What can I say? Thank you.’ Her green eyes are shining brilliantly, her lips parted in a delighted smile and she shifts closer to him. He should draw back, take a step away from her, but instead he finds himself entranced by the forest glade of her eyes. She looks into his own and just for a moment the trees and nearby river seem to fall silent, as though the world is holding its breath in anticipation.

It is Charlotte who draws back, a soft flush on her cheeks and she worries her lower lip. ‘I still have some of the rabbit left that I salted up. Would you join me for a meal? It’s the least I can do.’

He gives a short nod, now uncomfortable with his actions and trying to gaze anywhere but her eyes. As she leads the way to her cabin, he directs his attention to the hills and forest that surrounds the house, to avoid looking at the sway of her hips. Isn’t it bad enough that his own selfishness brings him to her door? Because he is seemingly determined to bring death and destruction to good people who don’t deserve it? Because he likes the way she smiles and looks at him and praises him.

They walk into the cabin, it’s a simple, rustic place. There’s a soft curtain with green leaves covering the window that looks out onto the backyard, a few cupboards line the walls most with books on them and there is table in the centre of the room. A warm fire is still burning in the grate and Charlotte throws another log when she passes it. On one of the cupboards, he sees a rudimentary trap that looks like it’s being repaired.

‘Go ahead and take a seat at the table. Food is just about done.’

He does as he is told and sits down. Charlotte grabs hold of a cloth and hefts the huge pot of stew over, then places on the table. She lets out a slight hiss and pulls her hands away quickly.

‘Well, it’s… it’s good and hot. I hope you enjoy it.’ She heads back to the cupboards and picks up two bowels, a large ladle and some cutlery. ‘You helped me catch it after all.’

She smiles at him and dishes the stew into the bowl, then passes him a spoon. ‘Bon appetit!’

‘Huh?’ he looks up in confusion and immediately feels bad on seeing the embarrassed flush that stains her cheeks. Goddammit, can’t he just keep his mouth shut and not be such an ignorant fool?

‘Please enjoy,’ she says, giving him a small smile. ‘And thank you again for everything. I really am grateful.’

‘Ahh,’ he shakes his head and reaches for his spoon. ‘It was nothing.’

‘You’re a good man.’

He gazes down at the bowl, shifting his spoon amongst the rich brown stew, the carrots and potatoes. He wished he didn’t keep hearing that. He wished people would stop saying it. He’s not. A good man is the last thing he could possibly be. He looks back up at her.

‘Oh, you don’t really know me.’

‘I know enough,’ she insists, her gentle smile warming him better than any stew. Although he’s always tempted to argue back and insist he’s not a good man, he finds himself focusing on the stew instead and quickly placing a spoonful in his mouth. He doesn’t want to disagree with Charlotte, she’s been far too kind to him, but she couldn’t be more wrong.

‘There’s always more to find in ourselves, you helped me to see that.’ She turns around and picks up another bowl from the counter. She sits back down and reaches over to the ladle in the stew pot. ‘My husband, Cal, was such an optimist. I found that to be very contagious.’

The stew is good, certainly better than Pearsons, though Arthur is aware that’s not a particularly hard feat. But it’s warming, rich and hearty, seasoned with small green herbs, a decent amount of pepper and salt. It runs hot down his throat and he suddenly finds his lungs burning, that deep desire to cough overriding everything. He tries to listen to Charlotte as she continues talking, hoping that her soothing, calm voice will distract him from painful ache in his chest.

‘But there’s a fine line between optimism and naiveté. We were both born with the silver spoon… banquets, butlers, valets…’

He gives a slight cough so he can speak, but it does nothing to soothe the burning claws that have entrenched themselves in his lungs. ‘Sounds terrible,’ he manages to rasp.

‘It was just… so many people, so many things. I was lost in it, I was crushed by it.’ She’s staring down at the stew, barely a mouthful has passed her lips. She looks back up at him, he avoids turning his head when he sees the deep look of trust in her eyes. He can’t hurt her, even if just purely by her knowing him.

‘My father was very overbearing. Then we came out here and I got crushed by this.’ She gazes around the room for a moment and then gives a light laugh. ‘You know I pictured myself picking fresh vegetables, sipping homemade wine, writing a great novel. But I turned out to be a far more pathetic anti-heroine than any I could ever pen.’

It sounds like a pretty dream and wouldn’t he like to be part of that dream. Helping to dig up potatoes, sipping wine with her on the porch, drawing her as she writes her great novel. But there isn’t a hope in hell that she would want him, she came here with her husband after all, she’s not looking for another man to take Cal’s place. It’s not like he has enough time to take his place, even if he wanted to.

‘Ah well… I reckon you’re going to be just fine.’ He coughs heavily. It’s getting worse, the claws sinking into his throat, till he can taste blood on his tongue and he can barely gasp for air.

Charlotte looks up at him, concern written all over her features. ‘Are you alright? Can I get you some water?’

‘No, I’m… I’m, I’m fine. I just um…’ He manages to get to his feet, trying to clear away the deep cough so he can continue talking to her, can listen to her talk about her family, her hopes, her plans. But right now, all he can concentrate on is the rasping cough, the tight burn of his lungs, the iron tang on his tongue that is mixed with the savoury taste of stew.

‘Yeah, thank you for this. I think it’s, it’s best if I ju… If I make…’ The cough takes every last bit of strength he had and leaves him gasping for air on his knees. He tries to inhale, but his body is wracked with the painful coughing. He hears Charlotte come to his side and through his half closed eyes, sees her hands reaching out to him, but shamefully he succumbs to the exhaustion his body has felt for far too long. The darkness swallows him up.

He wakes and it’s not with the soothing comfort of someone who is well rested, who relishes the warmth of their bed and the enjoys the gentle lull at the promise of a new day. He wakes with a cough, the gasping air rattling in his lungs and chest, his throat tight and heavy. He wakes on a small bed, by the looks of things one for a child, and slowly pushes himself up so he can get some air in his lungs.

There’s a small bedside table next to him, with a folded letter resting against a lacquered box with a brown lid and gold trim. White flowers decorate the lid and sides of the box. He picks up the letter and unfolds it. The neat script can only be Charlotte’s, it’s pretty and elegant to look at. No doubt something that was hammered into her from childhood. If she saw his rough scrawl she would probably laugh.

My dear Arthur,

I have gone out hunting. Not a phrase I thought any pen of mine would ever ink but nonetheless one I am very proud to finally be able to write. I am so very grateful to you for all the help and encouragement you've given me. You met me at one of my lowest points and showed me the way back to the person I really am. It pains me greatly to see your pain.

There is some money in the box on the nightstand. Please take it, I have more than I need back in the city and I'd like you to have it. Perhaps you can do some good with it or can use it to help yourself in some way.

Please take care and remain true to the man I know you are.

Yours fondly

Charlotte

He finds his thumb tracing the words ‘Yours fondly’ and quickly shakes his head. Damn fool that he is. He rereads the letter. Then looks up at the box. Should he take the money? Even if he did not use it himself, he could use it to help others.

He opens the lid and gazes down at the crisp bills inside the box. There looks to be about a hundred dollars in there. Arthur sighs and closes the lid. He’s got plenty of money and he’s trying to get rid of it by helping people. What does he need more money for now? What can he do with it when his time is rapidly running out? Better to leave it to Charlotte, so she may buy a horse or chickens or new boots, than to leave it to a man whose every step leads him closer to death.

Arthur grabs his hat from the bedside table and then reaches down to his satchel that has been left learning against the small cupboard. He pulls the bag open and takes out his journal, then slips Charlotte’s letter inside to keep it safe.

He looks around the room. There’s a chest of drawers with children’s books scattered over the surface and a pot containing some bird feathers. He walks over and picks up a leather-bound copy of fairy tales. Did these belong to Charlotte or did she hope to have a child who would sit in the small bed and read those stories under the comforting light of the gas lamp?

He looks back to the bed envisioning Charlotte resting against the bed frame, a girl cuddled next to her with dark hair and blue eyes shining with delight as Charlotte reads to her. Would she have looked up to find him in the doorway and grinned more wildly, leaping up from the bed with a shout of ‘Pa!’?

He clenches his hands into fists and pulls himself away from the thought. It’s not helpful to think that way, it’s not wise to think that way. Dreams of what could be or what might be have never helped him. Dutch’s dreams have spiralled into a hellish nightmare and even though Arthur spends most of his time encouraging everyone to leave as soon as they can, he is going to be trapped. There will only be one way out for Arthur Morgan.

#arthur morgan x charlotte balfour #arthur x charlotte #arlotte #arthur morgan #charlotte balfour #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #rdr2 #rdr #red dead redemption fanfiction #red dead redemption fanfic #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan fanfiction

27 notes · View notes

sevlgi · 4 years

Text

believe

requested: no

group: blackpink

pairing: jisoo x fem!reader

genre: fluff

contents: guardian angel!jisoo, near death instances, unlucky reader. [22/33].

warnings: none

synopsis: You’ve never believed in guardian angels, but that just might change when you’re saved from certain death 3 times in one week.

a/n: idk if I’ve ever seen anyone do a similar au... tell me if you have! also i’m actually hella proud of this one lmao

word count: 1.8k

Do guardian angels exist?

Well, that’s a subjective question, and there really isn’t a yes or no answer... But if yours does, they’re doing the shittiest job of the century.

The amount of times you’ve been hurt in the past, both physically and emotionally, is stupidly high. You’ve always had an aptitude for getting injured, stories of broken bones and gashes making up basically half of your entire life. Your friends and family pride themselves on having a fully loaded arsenal of embarrassing tales, practically making it a rite of passage to visit the hospital with you. And don’t even mention the heartbreaks- those just seem to follow you wherever you go.

When you move to a different city for what must be the 10th time, you vow that it’s going to be different, no matter how obvious it is that it won’t. You vow that there aren’t going to be any incidents that land you in the hospital, nor any relationships that just end in chaos.

Suffice to say, all of that goes haywire on your first day in town.

Without a car to drive you to work or any friends to hitchhike off of, you take the subway, line #224 to Solace Building. There just so happens to be a new girl group song you’re obsessed with, blasting on the highest possible volume in your earbuds, when you’re shoved from the back right into the subway tracks. “Fu-”

Time slows down as you start to fall, the dusty railways coming too close to your face for comfort before a warm hand wraps around yours, the socket of your arm straining to carry your entire weight as you’re jerked back sharply.

You collide with a warm body, soft curves lessening the impact and delicate, impossibly strong hands steadying you on either side of your waist. By all logic, you should’ve knocked your savior over, should be sprawled on the ground right now with dirty palms and a heat-flushed face. “Are you okay?”

When you step back sharply, you’re met with the sight of the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen in your life. Her heart-shaped smile and delicate features are framed with cascading brown hair, and she has ethereally flawless porcelain skin. She’s the kind of beautiful that makes the plainest outfit look designer, that could make you believe sea glass to be pure diamond. “Uh. Y-yeah. I’m good.”

“I’m glad,” she chuckles, smiling even wider and tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. Maybe she doesn’t realize the effect she has on you, humming as she dusts something invisible off your bag. “You should be more careful, Y/N, wouldn’t want someone as pretty as you being killed by a train.”

If it was anyone else, the words would sound creepy, especially with the added factor of the girl knowing your name. “How-- how do you know who I am?”

She juts her lips at the card hanging off your bag, your name written in big, bold letters. “Nametag. Y/N Y/L/N, employee in Solace Building?”

To hide the heat in your cheeks, you look to the floor and stutter out, “Well. Since you know my name, uh, isn’t it fitting that I know yours?”

It’s not nearly as smooth as you’d like it to be-- usually, the natural flirt in you would’ve made an appearance-- but the petite brunette extends a hand, tipped with gentle pink nails. “Jisoo. Kim Jisoo, if that’s helpful at all.”

Your next words are interrupted by your train arriving; when Jisoo doesn’t follow you on, you turn to look at her with your eyebrow quirked. “Are you...?”

“Not my train,” she smiles, shaking her head, even though it’s the only one arriving for hours where she stands. “Good to meet you, Y/N. Stay out of trouble!”

It’s an odd way to end a first meeting, but you don’t think much of it as you grab the nearest seat and pull out your phone to search her up. K-I-M J-I-S-O-O, you type, eyes scanning the screen fervently as the train starts.

Plenty of people show up-- after all, Kim Jisoo is not a rare name-- but none of the dozens of profiles you click through are the beautiful girl who saved your life. It’s too late when you look back out the window towards the station, the only thing you see becoming brick wall.

The next time you almost die, you’re just walking to the coffee shop across from your apartment.

The activity should be safe, considering that not many people in the area own cars. At first, you think you are safe, crossing the silent street with no problem and receiving your usual order just fine; you’re on your way back to your lonely little apartment when you hear the screeching of car tires on the road.

“Watch out!” someone screams, but you’re frozen in the middle of the crosswalk. You forget how there wasn’t a single car in the street when you were crossing as you stare at the grill coming close. The car doesn’t stop or slow down, and you scrunch your eyes shut with your arms raised up, just waiting for the impact.

It never comes. When you hesitantly open your eyes again, you find a familiar figure standing in front of you, the force of her hand having knocked your coffee onto your blouse. The car bumper is pressing into her bare leg, which is miraculously clean of a scratch or bruise, but she doesn’t seem to notice as she turns to grin at you.

“Sorry, I ruined your coffee,” Jisoo frowns, her hand coming up to almost touch the steaming stain on your chest. You stare at her mutely, following obediently when she grabs your wrist and pulls you back to the coffee shop. “Can I buy you another one?” she offers, plucking a napkin off a street-side table.

“Kim Jisoo?” you say disbelievingly, not even feeling it as she dabs the coffee away. “You again?”

“Me again,” she confirms, pulling some more napkins out of her purse with a smile on her face. “I hope you’re not disappointed; after all, I just saved you from dying. Again.”

“No, that’s not...” Taking a deep breath, you smile too, wrapping your fingers around her hand to gently brush her off. “It’s okay. I’m glad to see you, actually-- I searched for your profile to thank you, but I couldn’t find anything.”

Jisoo shrugs, opening the door to the coffee shop for you. “Oh, I’m not really on social media. If you wanted my number, you could’ve just asked.”

You laugh lightly, tossing the crushed cup in your hand into the trash. Of course it’s odd that she isn’t on social media in the 21st century-- with her face, you’d expect Jisoo to be a major influencer. “Then I’ll ask for it. Later.”

“Of course. Order what you want, I owe you one after all that,” she offers, plucking a couple loose 20 dollar bills out of her purse.

Once again, you’re faced with another weird habit of hers, but you order anyway and thank her after she pays. Before you can say anything else, though, she gets a text and frowns at her phone. “Oh, sorry, I have to go. Catch you next time?”

“Sure,” you answer, forgetting to tell her that she still forgot to give you her number. You stand dumbly on the sidewalk and watch her go, taking a deep breath and looking both ways before you set off towards your apartment for the second time that day.

Maybe next time?

The third, and hopefully last time, is the absolute weirdest of all.

You seem to have a thing for being knocked into ditches-- this time, a group of teenagers barrels into you while you’re walking by the side of the only river in your entire city. You open your mouth to tell them off, but before you can, an especially hard shove from an stocky little boy pushes you right into the water.

Luckily, the fall isn’t high, so you don’t hit the water with much force, but the boats cruising along and the recently terrible weather stir the current strong enough to pull you right under. In the icy water, you feel your fingers let go of the phone in your hand, your lungs slowly being crushed by the pressure of your surroundings.

It’s hard to tell how much time passes while you’re in the water. From what your doctors have told you, trauma is difficult to remember clearly for a while, but you vaguely feel hands linking in front of your chest and forearms bracing under your armpits to drag you out of the water.

The heat of the summer sun warms the stone under your back and you can hear whispers sounding around you as you flop onto the floor. Hands push hard on your breastbone, once, twice-

After maybe 30 pushes, fingers pinch your nose, and soft lips meet yours. It feels more like a kiss than CPR, no air really being blown into your mouth, but nonetheless, you feel water leaving your lungs, and you open your eyes in shock, coughing out loud.

To your (somewhat) shock, it’s the same girl hovering over you. Jisoo’s skirt is wet at her knees where she kneels beside you, her hands still hovering over your chest. She must’ve been the one giving CPR, then. Sitting up, you hack violently until most of the water’s out of your lungs, the other girl waving away all of the spectators. “How’re you feeling?” she asks, once you’re alone on the sidewalk.

Your hands move faster than your brain, pulling her forward by the nape of her neck until you kiss again, something about her tasting familiar in a way you can’t quite place. “Who are you?” you breathe once you’ve pulled away, searching her warm eyes for an answer.

She smiles again, handing you your miraculously dry phone instead of answering. It should be waterlogged and dead, but nothing seems to make sense when concered with Kim Jisoo. “How about you take me for dinner or something before asking the serious questions? Soup should be good to warm you up.”

Hand clasping in hers, you’re pulled to your feet with strength that doesn’t match her petite stature. You barely remember that you look like an almost-drowned rat, your lips purple with cold and your hair stringy with icy water. “Sure. Soup. But you need to answer me first.”

She exhales, hitching her bag higher up on her arm. “I’d say I’m your guardian angel, but you wouldn’t believe that, would you?”

“I wouldn’t,” you answer, eyes narrowing as you follow her down the street. “But maybe you can convince me. Over soup.”

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katymacsupernatural · 3 years

Text

The Depth of Ebony Part 11

Dean Winchester x Reader

Story Summary: A hell hound is needed to fulfill a spell. A hellhound is captured by TFW. But it turns to be more than they bargained for. Y/N becomes more than they bargained for.

Catch Up Here: Masterpost

“I liked the Hot Tamales,” you told Sam the next morning over a cup of coffee. “And the theater. It was different than I expected. But nice.”

“It’s always fun to go see a movie,” He answered as he flipped the pancake to the other side. “Dean and I never take enough time to do things like that. I’m glad you went.”

He placed the pancake in front of you, sitting down with his own. “Normally you go hunting? After Monsters? But you haven’t really done that since I’ve been here.”

He frowned, tucking a piece of his long hair back behind his ear. “No, we haven’t. We were worried about you, and the spell. And things have been quiet lately, so we’ve been staying around here. Trying to help you out.”

“I appreciate it. I really do. And I just hope I’m not becoming a...nuisance” you tried coming up with the right word just as Dean stepped into the room.

“What’s a nuisance?” He asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee before sitting down next to you.

“Hopefully not me,” you answered, taking a bite of the pancake, wondering if you would ever get used to the taste of food again. It was so full of flavor, so good after years of rotting meat.

“Hell no. We enjoy having you here,” Dean answered as he picked up a pancake and shoved it into his mouth. “And we still need to make sure that Alistair’s not coming back.”

The last part was a little harder to understand with his mouth full of pancakes. But his words created this warm fuzzy feeling inside you that you hadn’t felt for quite some time. Blushing slightly, you took another forkful of pancakes.

“But we do expect you to pull your weight,” Sam started to say just as Dean sank down beside him.

“Sammy give the girl a break. She’s been a Hell Hound forever. She needs to rest and relax. To figure herself out again,” Dean insisted, winking at you.

You couldn’t help but think that maybe Dean was flirting with you. Which you weren’t sure about. You really liked Dean, but the last time you started having feelings for someone, well look where that ended up. “I will gladly do whatever I need to. Cooking, cleaning. Anything. I know I’ll go crazy if I don’t help out a little bit.”

“Can you cook?” Dean asked, both brothers staring at you, waiting for your answer.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, standing up and taking your plate, along with Sam’s to the sink. “But I can do dishes.”

You worked hard to not be a nuisance in the next couple of days. Helping with the dishes, sweeping the library. This morning you had decided to be up before either Sam or Dean. In the kitchen, you pulled out one of the dusty cookbooks.

“Pancakes can’t be that hard,” you mumbled to yourself. The instructions seemed very simple, and all the ingredients were things you knew about. Humming to yourself, you began whipping up the ingredients. Sure, it had been forever since you had cooked, but it was quickly coming back to you. Sure, all of the equipment was different than you remembered, but you quickly made sense of it.

With the pancakes sizzling on the stove, you turned to the coffee pot. “Now how do I work you?” You muttered, lifting the lid of the coffee pot, staring inside. There were the coffee grounds from yesterday in some sort of paper basket. Gingerly picking it up, you tossed it into the trash just as Dean stumbled his way into the kitchen.

“Something smells amazing,” Dean yawned. “Where’s the coffee?”

“I’m trying to figure that out,” you whispered just as the smell of smoke filled the air. Turning back to the stove in alarm, you quickly pulled the black pancake from the griddle. “It was going well.”

“The rest look great,” he assured you. “But let me show you how to make the coffee.”

It was as simple as you imagined it to be. With only a couple of steps Dean had the coffee brewing. Sitting down and eating pancakes while you waited, you realized how much you were enjoying this. Spending time with Dean, getting used to being human once again. Dealing with all the new and fancy ways people lived now.

“You seem happy,” Dean smiled your way. “Settling in?”

Nodding as he stood up to pour two cups of coffee, you had to agree with him. You were happy. The happiest you had probably been in your life. Even before you had been turned into a Hell hound. Things were finally beginning to look up for you.

“I just want you to know that you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. I know you were worried you were overstaying your welcome, but I wanted to make sure that you knew you weren’t. We really enjoy having you here. I enjoy having you here.”

“Thank you,” you answered just as Sam came into the kitchen, his laptop in his hands.

“So get this,” he started off, ignoring the coffee and pancakes, setting his laptop in front of Dean. “I think I found us a hunt.”

You listened as they talked about the hunt. Something killing single men in Wyoming. You smiled as you watched them, how focused they were on the hunt already without even leaving the bunker. It made you want to watch them as they worked the case. As they stood up, getting ready to pack and leave, you began to realize they might leave you behind. And you weren’t sure you wanted to stay in the bunker by yourself.

“Dean,” you called out, and he stopped in his tracks. “What about me?”

Running a hand through his hair, he turned towards Sam. “Sam, what do you think?”

You could see the feelings and thoughts crossing Dean’s face. He was concerned and worried about you, but it also seemed as if he wanted to bring you along. But he wanted his brother’s opinion as well.

“I don’t know,” Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “It would be safer for her here. While she’s getting back on her feet. But it’s really not up to me.”

“What do you want to do?” Dean asked. “If you go, you’ll stay back while we do the main work. Maybe staying in the hotel. I don’t want to worry about you.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” you answered. “Please, let me go.”

Dean/Jensen Tags: @acortez82 @acreativelydifferentlove @adoptdontshoppets @a-girl-who-loves-disney @akshi8278 @bi-danvers0 @cap-just-said-language @colette2537 @deansgirl215 @flamencodiva @hamiltrash1411 @its-not-a-tulpa @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @justanotherwinchester @just-another-winchester @karouwinchester @keikoraventeller @krys198478 @librarygeekery @magssteenkamp @misspygmypie @mlovesstories @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @mrspeacem1nusone @nothinbuttrouble2 @ria132love @ruprecht0420 @screechingartisancashbailiff @sortaathief @superseejay721517 @squirrelnotsam @team-free-will-you-idjiot @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @thoughts-and-funnies @torn-and-frayed @tricksterdean @wonderfulworldofwinchester @woodworthti666 @beabutterfly987 @pink-sparkly-witch @sexyvixen7

Ebony Tags: @lady-phoenix-of-tardis @voltage-my2dlove @idksupernatural @deanfanatic @kalesrebellion @doctorlilo @brilovesdeanwinchester @parinarain @aiofheavenandhell @that-winged-rat

Forever Tags: @aditimukul @alexwinchester23 @algudaodoce03-blog @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @camelotandastronauts @caswinchester2000 @cpag7 @chelsea072498 @closetspngirl @deanwanddamons @docharleythegeekqueen @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @esoltis280 @tatted-trina6 @foxyjwls007 @gh0stgurl @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek @imsuperawkward @heyitscam99 @hobby27 @horsegirly99blog @imsuperawkward @internationalmusicteacher @iwriteaboutdean @jayankles @jensen-gal @justsomedreaming @just-another-busyfangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @linki-locks11 @littleblue5mcdork @lowlyapprentice @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @mogaruke @monkeymcpoopoo @musiclovinchic93 @nanie5 @percussiongirl2017 @plaid-lover-bay25 @roonyxx @ronja-uebrick @roxyspearing @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @simonsbluee @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman @superbadassnatural @thatcrazybookwormgeek @thewinchesterchronicles @valsworldofcreativity @vvinch3st3r @whimsicalrobots @winchester-writes @zombiewerewolfqueen

#the depth of ebony #dean winchester x reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural reader insert #katy writes #spn fanfic #dean x y/n #reader insert #y/n

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cicada-bones · 3 years

Text

The Warrior and the Wildfire

Chapter 5: Reunion

Here we go! The big one! Honestly I feel like this chapter might be even more emotional than chapter 65 when they finally get together. I hope you enjoy and are now forgiving me for that last cliffhanger!

(and also disclaimer i do NOT ship jon/sansa, that photo was just the right Vibe™ so please no one come for me)

word count: 5956

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Rowan tensed, the blood in his veins spiking with apprehension. The laughing group was just down the street, only a few blocks away from him. But they were hidden from his sight by a thick blanket of fog.

However, that meant that he was also hidden - so Rowan could take his time.

His senses strained as every sound, sight, and smell from within a quarter mile came streaming into him. He could hear everything, from the drops of fetid rainwater off a nearby gutter, to the whipping of the wind around a sharp corner, the pattering of rats’ paws in the alleyways, the snoring of an old man, warm in his bed, and the giggling of his daughter as she stayed up well past her bedtime, her soft hands rifling through a well-worn book.

Then there were the scents of the city. Rancid and foul place that it was, there were still some pleasant things to be found – such as the soft clouds of flour from a corner bakery just beginning to wake for the morning rush, burning sage and melting candlewax, a lavender sprig wilting in a nearby window, and –

And then he tasted it. The barest hint of jasmine, lemon verbena, and flickering embers. The scent of home.

The oath in his chest seemed to purr with delight.

Aelin was here. She was right here –

But she wasn’t alone.

Rowan could hear the quiet steps of one– no, two others. The first was small and light-footed, probably a young mortal woman, who smelled of mint and some kind of southern spice…almost like pepper and fig leaves. The other was a male, perhaps a young demi-Fae. Though his movements were quiet, his steps were far heavier, marking him at over 6 feet.

There was also the scent of blood about the male, which had Rowan’s hackles rising. But it was old and sour – likely an old wound whose infection had only just begun to heal over. And as their movements were light and unhindered, their conversation free and open, Rowan wasn’t particularly worried that a fight was brewing. But still, his guard stayed up.

The man’s true scent spoke of warm furs and roasting chestnuts and…and something else, something almost…familiar.

His thoughts distracted, trying to place the strange smell, Rowan unthinkingly shifted his stance, causing the soft scrape of leather on stone to echo through the fog.

And the tension in his body ratcheted to new heights as he felt the group fall abruptly silent.

All was still. Rowan’s hands began to sweat.

What if she wasn’t happy to see him? What if she ordered him back to Wendlyn?

Rowan did his best to rally his thoughts, as he slowly made his way forwards through the mist. Making sure that each of his movements were choreographed far in advance. He didn’t want to surprise them, particularly that strange male, whose scent he still could not place…

And then Rowan was breaking through the fog, and he could finally see them, could finally see her. Vaguely he heard the male and the young woman say something to each other, but Rowan couldn’t tear his eyes or ears away from the cloaked woman standing stock-still barely a dozen feet from him, her lovely scent billowing with shock.

Aelin’s face was covered with a hood, so he couldn’t see her reaction to him, couldn’t know if she recognized him. But then she was taking a hesitant step forwards and loosing a shuddering breath and a small, whimpering noise that was almost a sob. And suddenly, Rowan felt all of his worries disappear as easily as the morning snow beneath the midday sun.

It was Aelin. And of course she didn’t hate him, of course she was as relieved to see him as he was to see her.

And then she was running, running straight into his arms and Rowan could feel his every muscle, his every bone all the way through to his soul, sighing in relief. Relief that she was here, that they were together again. Relief that he was touching her once more.

Rowan grabbed Aelin and pulled her into his embrace, his arms wrapping completely around her small frame as she buried her head into his neck. He curled around her, breathing in her scent as if it were the last drops of water in a blistering desert, as if it were a life-saving elixir. As if her scent alone would take him from the brink of hell.

Rowan didn’t realize truly how much he’d missed her until that moment.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Rowan registered that she was crying.

“How did you get here? How did you find me?” Aelin pulled just far enough away that he could see the edges of her face beneath the hooded cloak; the pointed chin, the delicate nose, those beautiful, upturned lips –

Rowan slowly found his voice. “You made it clear my kind wouldn’t be welcome on your continent. So I stowed away on a ship. You’d mentioned a home in the slums, so when I arrived this evening, I wandered until I picked up your scent.”

As he spoke, his eyes scanned over her, carefully assessing.

She was changed. Even though only a month or so had passed since he last held her, Aelin seemed different. Older. She carried herself with more weight, more authority.

His mouth tightened. “You have a lot to tell me.”

She only nodded, gripping his shoulders even harder. And Rowan couldn’t say he was displeased with that.

Rowan carefully raised his right hand, and brushed it against the softness of her cheek, tucking a lock of golden hair behind her ear. “But you’re not hurt,” he said softly, needing to make absolutely sure. “You’re safe?”

Aelin just nodded again, burying her face in his chest.

Rowan felt as though the city could fall apart around them, and he would not move one inch. He would never be able to hold her for long enough.

“I thought I gave you an order to stay in Wendlyn.” It was almost a tease.

“I had my reasons, best spoken somewhere secure.” He didn’t like to evade the question, but he couldn’t speak of Lorcan in such an exposed place. So instead he changed the subject, “Your friends at the fortress say hello, by the way. I think they miss having an extra scullery maid. Especially Luca – especially in the mornings.”

Aelin laughed lightly, squeezing him once again. As if making sure he was real.

But tears still streamed down her cheeks, and Rowan found that he couldn’t keep his worry down any longer. Perhaps she was injured, and was keeping the truth from him, trying to keep him from worrying –

“Why are you crying?” he asked, trying and failing to push her back far enough so he could read her face.

She refused to move a single inch.

“I’m crying,” she sniffled, “because you smell so rutting bad my eyes are watering.”

Rowan let out a roar of laughter, the sound so wild that he heard the vermin in the alleys go silent. And the gaze of Aelin’s two companions really started bore into him.

But Rowan payed them no heed as Aelin finally pulled away from him, a wry smile curving her lips. “Bathing isn’t an option for a stowaway,” he said, finally letting her go, but flicking her nose before she could sidle out of his reach.

Aelin shoved him right back.

All Rowan wanted was to push her in return – to touch her, poke her, prod her, until she was snarling and writhing and snapping her teeth.

But the demi-Fae male at the other end of the alley was eyeing him carefully, his scent a potent mix of worry and aggression and protectiveness. And Rowan knew that he wouldn’t be patient for much longer.

“Are you just going to make them stand there all night?” Rowan asked.

“Since when are you a stickler for manners?” Aelin slung an arm around his waist, as if she was worried he would disappear on her. Neglecting, of course, to remember that it was she who disappeared on him, and not the other way around.

But instead of fighting the point, Rowan just put his arm around her shoulders as together, they turned and walked back to where her companions were waiting for them.

As they approached, Rowan fully turned over his attention to the two strangers, carefully cataloguing their every move, scent, and sound. Taking note of the muscles they favored, each blade hidden beneath their clothes.

The woman, an archer if ever he’d seen one, looked out of place. As if she were desperate to get out of their hair. The male, however, looked as though he wouldn’t move for all the world.

His every gesture thrilled towards Rowan, his instincts screaming at him challenge him, to measure himself against him. And as Rowan drew closer, he finally placed that familiar piece in his scent – or at least he thought he did.

The demi-Fae smelled of Aelin, the scent layered and complex. His first thought was that they were sharing a bed, an idea that clanged through him, uncomfortably. But the scent was too old, too deep – and once Rowan spotted that golden hair, that fair skin, he knew that he must be looking at the face of Aedion Ashryver.

Aelin’s cousin.

His face was mostly covered, but from what Rowan could see, the bones were strong and sharp. Unforgiving. But the male was young, barely into his twenties, and he was still coming into his power.

The Fae blood in his veins was strong, stronger even than Aelin’s in some ways. Rowan couldn’t tell if he could shift – but if he could, Aedion Ashryver might even be strong enough to rival any in Maeve’s court. Perhaps strong enough to rival even him.

And Rowan knew that Aedion wanted to find out. Wanted to challenge him. To prove himself, to Rowan, to their queen.

Rank would have to be established.

No matter the male’s strength, he was still but a boy. And though he was reportedly a fine warrior, Rowan was one of Maeve’s war-torn lieutenants, was Aelin’s bloodsworn. Her Second.

Aedion would have to find his place. Rowan could only hope that he would do so gracefully, without bloodshed. He doubted it would much endear him to Aelin if he killed her cousin in some ill-begotten contest.

Aelin pinched Rowan’s side, and as he hissed in response, Rowan realized that the two of them had been locked in a stare. So Rowan casually broke their gaze and pinched Aelin’s shoulder right back.

He had been playing these games for a long time, had been playing them well before Aedion’s grandfather, and his father, and his father before him, had been more than a flicker in his mother’s womb. Touching Aelin so informally, refusing to acknowledge that challenge burning in Aedion’s eyes – they were signs of dominance, attempts to put the boy in his place.

And Aedion knew that. But he didn’t say anything as Aelin turned back towards the group, saying, “Let’s get inside.”

But the other woman, the archer, was edging away from the group, her eyes flickering between him and Aedion. “I’ll see you later,” she said, not seeming to refer to anyone in particular. And she barely waited a moment for a reaction before sidling into the shadows and out of sight.

Rowan stored his curiosity away for another time as Aelin pulled him forwards through the mist, and they headed deeper into the slums. Aedion fell carefully into step behind them, and Rowan could sense that the male hadn’t given up. Far from avoided, their confrontation had been delayed, allowing the roiling tension between them to build and build and build.

Rowan tried to keep himself from looking forwards to it. To ridding the boy of his arrogance, and cementing his own place with their queen. He didn’t succeed.

Together, the three of them walked through the night, Rowan keeping careful note of every sound, every flicker of movement, every strange scent. And this far into the slums, there were many of those. He did his best to ignore the rot and filth and vomit.

He also tried to keep himself from focusing too much on that empty space between his body and Aelin’s, the way that it seemed to crackle with energy. The way that he wanted to make it disappear.

No matter how many resolutions he made, how many times he told himself that he couldn’t pursue her, that it would be a mistake to let themselves get any closer, it all seemed to go up in flames the second her eyes locked with his. The second her scent curled in his nostrils.

But he didn’t have a choice – he had to keep control of himself.

They walked together until they came upon an unremarkable wooden warehouse, and Aelin fell to a stop. For a moment, they paused while Rowan examined it – making note of every entrance and exit, every window, every dimension. Only once he was absolutely sure the building was empty did Rowan step aside, allowing Aelin to unlock the rolling metal door and enter.

Tugging him by the hand, she led him through a large storeroom, mostly empty besides a few stacks of wooden crates that smelled of ink, and towards a wooden staircase that led to the second level, where Rowan guessed they would find her apartment.

But whatever expectations he had unconsciously formed, once Aelin turned the lock on that bright green door and revealed her home to him, Rowan knew that there was no way he could have ever anticipated this.

The apartment was fit for a king. Plush, luscious couches, mahogany furniture, hardwood floors topped with soft woolen rugs, a carved marble fireplace, and just so many books. They were everywhere, on the large dining table at one side of the room, stacked on the floor by the couch, on shelves framing the fireplace, atop the mantelpiece – even piled high on one of the soft armchairs.

Aelin had carved out an oasis for herself, right in the middle of the least likely place imaginable.

While Rowan examined the apartment, Aedion had moved in from behind them and was now standing beside the fireplace, his hood still up, hands within easy reach of his weapons. Not that it would make a difference.

From what Rowan could see, there were at least two bedrooms and a kitchen in addition to this larger, shared space. But before he could make a thorough survey of the building, Aelin was tightening her grip on his arm and saying, “Aedion, meet Rowan. Rowan, meet Aedion. His Highness needs a bath or I’ll vomit if I have to sit next to him for more than a minute.” Then she was dragging him into the next room and shutting the door behind them.

For the life of him, Rowan didn’t know why it made a difference, this being alone with her. A simple closed door. But it did.

They were now in what Rowan could only suppose was her bedroom. Aelin was leaning against the closed door, and he could feel her studying him.

Rowan turned, studying her right back. Her lithe body was clothed in some tight-fitting material, though much of her silhouette was still obscured by that damned cloak. Along with most of her face.

But he didn’t miss it as Aelin bit her lip.

Against his will, Rowan’s eyes slid to her mouth, his blood running hot as the space between them went taut.

“Take off your hood,” Rowan said, his voice rougher than he intended.

Aelin crossed her arms. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine, Prince.”

He pursed his lips, then yanked back his hood. “From tears to sass in a few minutes. I’m glad the month apart hasn’t dimmed your usual good spirits.”

“Your hair! You cut it all off!” She rushed towards him, pulling off her own hood as the distance between them closed. And it took all of Rowan’s self-control not to reach out and touch her again.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Rowan didn’t know if that was due to a fault of memory, or if she actually had become more stunning during the month separating them, but he didn’t much care.

Her gold-and-turquoise eyes still pierced him through, and even though she no longer had her magic, they still seemed just as molten. But for some strange reason, she had decided to dye her hair a flat, uninteresting shade of red. It was dull, and did nothing for her pretty skin.

He wanted to scowl at it.

“Since you seemed to think that we would be doing a good amount of fighting here, shorter hair is more useful. Though I can’t say that your hair might be considered the same. You might as well have dyed it blue.”

“Hush. Your hair was so pretty. I was hoping you’d let me braid it one day. I suppose I’ll have to buy a pony instead.” She cocked her head, her eyes dangerous. “When you shift, will your hawk form be plucked, then?”

His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. Aelin barely kept her laugh in.

Rowan tried to change the subject, turning to look over the lavish bedroom. “You weren’t lying about your taste for luxury.”

That was an understatement. The space was beautiful and warm and welcoming – and not only because it was filled to the brim with her scent.

Candles dotted every surface, casting a soft warm light. The bed was in the corner, beside the entrance to an attached bathroom. And Rowan was sure that it would be more comfortable than any bed he had ever slept in. Across the room was another marble fireplace, the door to a very large closet, and a window gracing the adjacent wall. Along with yet more books.

“Not all of us enjoy living in warrior-squalor,” she said, grabbing his hand again. Rowan gave up on conversation and instead closed his fingers around hers. Another moment passed while they just looked at each other.

Those eyes – they were full of secrets. Of stories.

Rowan opened his mouth to demand that she explain everything, to explain why her cousin was here, why she seemed so heavy with worry, why the city was teeming with Valg – but Aelin cut him off before he could speak, pulling them into the bathroom.

She flitted about the room, lighting a few candles by the sink and on the ledge above the tub, saying, “I meant it about the bath.” She twisted the faucets and plugged the drain. “You stink.” She bent to grab a towel from the small cabinet by the toilet.

Rowan was starting to worry that she was purposely avoiding telling him what had happened this past month. His voice was flat as he said, “Tell me everything.”

Aelin was silent, grabbing a green vial of some gritty power and another of what he thought was an oil, and dumping generous amounts of each into the rising bathwater, turning it milky and opaque.

“I will, when you’re soaking in the bath and don’t smell like a vagrant.”

“If memory serves, you smelled even worse when we first met. And I didn’t shove you into the nearest trough in Varese.”

She just glared at him. “Funny.”

Rowan’s face almost split into a grin. “You made my eyes water for the entire damn journey to Mistward.”

“Just get in.”

Chuckling, Rowan obeyed her, and began the long process of undressing. Before he could wonder whether she would be staying to watch him strip, Aelin turned from the room, shrugging off her cloak and unstrapping her various weapons. But she neglected to shut the door behind her.

Rowan stripped anyways, discarding his clothes carelessly on the floor and placing his weapons atop the cabinet, next to all those mysterious bottles and vials. By the time she was done with him, she’d probably have him smelling the like a gods-damned flower shop.

Rowan just sighed, lowering himself carefully in the tub and shutting off the faucets. He had to keep himself from groaning at the delectable warmth – the hot bathwater was almost as pleasant as the relief of holding Aelin had been.

But only almost.

A few moments passed as Rowan began the sorry task of scrubbing away at the thick layer of dirt and grime covering him. All the while trying desperately to keep himself from listening too closely to the sounds of cloth on skin coming from the bedroom, as Aelin pulled off that tight black suit of hers and changed into something more comfortable.

It made Rowan wish that Aelin had drawn a colder bath.

By the time Aelin returned, the water was so clouded by soap and dirt that he doubted she could see anything beneath.

He could feel the weight of her gaze on him, her eyes flowing over all his exposed skin. But Rowan didn’t acknowledge her, instead continuing to scrub at his check and shoulders, splashing water on his face.

She only handed him a washcloth, saying, “Here.” And he wasn’t sure, but her voice almost seemed rougher than usual. Rowan just dunked the cloth in the water and began rubbing it over his face, his neck, his chest.

Aelin was still looking at him.

Another moment passed, and then she mutely handed him some lavender soap. Rowan sighed in resignation, accepting his fate. He would just have to smell like a flower shop – Lorcan would be shocked to see him now.

Then Aelin sat on the curved lip of the porcelain tub and began to speak.

She told him of her journey across the ocean, of the plans she had made and of losing her magic. Of arriving in Rifthold and immediately setting after Arobynn, and learning of what had happened here through the spring – of Dorian and Chaol and Aedion, and what they’d lost in the wake of the king’s wrath. How she’d discovered that Dorian was now possessed by a Valg. How she’d failed to kill him, but managed to save Aedion from certain death. She told him of meeting Nesryn, the woman from earlier, who was a pretty great shot. And of getting to know Lysandra and Evangeline, who were still trapped under Arobynn’s thumb.

She spoke very little of Chaol, and whether she had let him back into her life. And she said nothing at all of her plans for the future. But Rowan knew that he would have to be satisfied with what she did tell him. At least for now.

By the time her story of demons and danger and deceit was done, Rowan was nearly finished washing himself, and the bathwater was considerably less warm. Once again, Rowan found himself mourning their missing magics. Aelin would be able to keep the bath warm with less than half a thought.

Rowan absentmindedly raised the soap to his head, thinking to wash his hair with it, when Aelin squeaked. “You don’t use that in your hair!” she hissed, quickly standing up and rifling through the cabinet of bottles and vials.

Rowan scowled, seriously considering dolloping the lavender soap on his hair while she wasn’t looking. But patience won out.

“Rose, lemon verbena, or …” Aelin sniffed at the glass bottle. “Jasmine.” She squinted down at him.

Rowan just looked back up at her. Do I look like I care what you pick?

She clicked her tongue. “Jasmine it is, you buzzard.” She moved to stand just out of sight at the head of the bathtub, and before he really realized what was happening, Aelin had already dumped some of the sweet-smelling tonic on his head and her hands were brushing the top of his head, rubbing in the soap.

Rowan knew that he was supposed to stop this, knew that this was far, far too intimate. Knew that this was coming very close to breaking all of those careful rules he had set for himself.

But the second he felt her touch, all his resistance crumbled to dust.

Her fingers weren’t rough, but they weren’t too gentle, either. Aelin found exactly the right amount of pressure as she massaged the soap into his scalp, moving from his hairline to his ears to his neck and back again.

The scent of the oil wafted down towards him, mixed in with her own scent. And without thinking, Rowan took in a slow breath, luxuriating in the scent. It felt as though his face was being caressed with the taste of night-kissed jasmine.

Aelin’s fingers began playing with his hair. “I could still probably braid this,” she teased. “Very teensy-tiny braids, so – ”

Rowan growled, more out of habit than real irritation. He couldn’t help but lean into her touch, closing his eyes as he felt his whole body relax.

“You’re no better than a house cat.”

Rowan couldn’t even summon the will for a rebuttal. Instead, he let out a low noise in his throat, a sound of pure pleasure. It might as well have been a purr.

Rowan hardly cared.

He knew he’d probably yell at himself for this later. But Rowan also knew that he wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything. And no matter how upset he might be in a few hours, he knew he would never regret it.

Just as Rowan was beginning to wonder whether Aelin’s fingers were starting to prune, she spoke up. “You haven’t said anything about your magic.”

He tensed, and Aelin’s hands stilled. “What about it?”

Rowan felt her lean down to peer at his face, her hair sliding from behind her shoulders to stroke the back of his neck. It sent a warm shiver down his spine.

“I take it it’s gone,” she said. “How does it feel to be as powerless as a mortal?”

He opened his eyes, his brow falling into a scowl. “It’s not funny.”

“Do I look like I’m laughing?”

“I spent the first few days sick to my stomach and barely able to move. It was like having a blanket thrown over my senses.”

“And now?”

“And now I’m dealing with it.”

She poked him in the shoulder. “Grumpy, grumpy.”

Rowan snarled in annoyance – but it was more at the fact that she had removed her hands from his scalp than because of her teasing. Aelin only pursed her lips and pushed down on his shoulders, silently asking him to dunk his head underwater.

He did so, and by the time he emerged, Aelin was standing and holding out a bath towel for him to use. “I’m going to find you some clothes.”

“I have – ”

“Oh, no. Those are going right to the laundress. And you’ll get them back only if she can make them smell decent again. Until then, you’ll wear whatever I give you.”

“You’ve become a tyrant, Princess,” he said, taking the towel from her.

Aelin just rolled her eyes, turning away from the bathtub just as Rowan stood up, water sloshing everywhere. She didn’t look back at him, moving straight across the bedroom and directly into the huge closet.

Rowan was somehow simultaneously disappointed and very, very relieved. He didn’t know if he would be able to control himself if she saw him – her long looks were already heavy enough as it was.

But still, there was that other voice. The one that wanted her to see all of him. Just as he had already seen all of her.

Rowan shook himself slightly, then began toweling off. Thinking cold thoughts.

Once he was mostly dry, Rowan wrapped the towel tightly around his waist and walked through the bedroom, and into the absolutely massive closet. Only to find Aelin crouched on the floor, staring at the open drawer in front of her.

For a moment, Rowan just looked at her in confusion. But then he remembered.

All those years ago, before the king, before Endovier, Aelin had lived in this apartment with Sam. Right before he had been killed.

These must be his clothes.

“You don’t have to give those to me,” Rowan said, soft as he could.

Aelin started anyways, twisting in place to face him. For a moment, she only stared at him. And Rowan wasn’t sure if it was because of the scent of the dead boy swirling around them, escaping from the dresser full of his old clothing, or because Rowan had taken her off guard, but Aelin’s look was dazed. She looked completely at a loss for words.

She swallowed, then finally spoke. “Clean clothes are scarce in the house right now, and these are of no use sitting here.” She pulled out a pale shirt and held it up. “I hope it fits.”

Rowan looked at it apprehensively, then took it. Sam had been an eighteen-year-old mortal when he died, and his clothes definitely reflected that. Rowan had his doubts about ‘fit.’

Aelin quickly looked away from him, her face carefully blank as she rifled through the drawer for undershorts and pants. “I’ll get you proper clothes tomorrow. I’m pretty sure you’ll start a riot if the women of Rifthold see you walking down the streets in nothing but a towel.”

Rowan huffed a laugh that he hoped didn’t sound forced. He knew that Aelin would never stop mourning that boy, no matter how long she lived. But it was different now, being here. Where she had last seen him living and breathing.

It made it so much more real. That she had loved, and lost. Just as he had.

And Rowan couldn’t help but feel as though he were intruding.

But instead of pulling away, and leaving Aelin to wallow in that guilt and sadness alone, he stepped forwards, under the pretense of examining the contents of the closet. Thinking to help her the only way he knew how – with distraction.

But soon, he found himself entranced by them. So many luscious fabrics, exquisite embroideries, soft furs… “You wore all this?” He looked at her with wonder.

She nodded, quietly getting to her feet. Rowan flicked through a few of the garments, eyeing the tunics and dresses and shirts – some of which were the finest he had ever seen. “These are … very beautiful,” he admitted.

Aelin’s voice was soft. “I would have pegged you for a proud member of the anti-finery crowd.”

“Clothes are weapons, too,” he said, remembering all those times he had been stuck at court dinners, parties, festivals – with all that careful maneuvering. Fae playing games with each other for centuries, whole generations.

He continued searching through the closet, but then paused when he glanced a luxurious gown of pure black velvet. Its sleeves were made of tight, sheer silk, the neckline skimming just below the collarbones. And while the font was completely unadorned, the back nearly took his breath away.

A great, golden dragon roared down the spine of the garment, rendered perfectly in glittering metallic threads. Spraying a torrent of golden fire up to the neckline where it poured over the dress’ shoulders. It was so detailed that each scale was perfectly visible, as the serpentine dragon curled down the skirt of the dress to rest on the hemline, where the tail swung around the edge of the garment, as if lazily brushing the floor.

Rowan loosed a breath. “I like this one best.”

Aelin reach out a hand to brush to soft velvet sleeve. “I saw it in a shop when I was sixteen and bought it immediately. But when the dress was delivered a few weeks later, it seemed too…old. It overpowered the girl I was. So I never wore it, and it’s hung here for three years.”

As she spoke, Rowan ran a finger down the golden spine of the roaring, furious dragon, marveling at the rippling texture. “You’re not that girl anymore,” he said softly. “Someday, I want to see you wear this.”

Aelin looked up at him, meeting his gaze. The gold in her eyes just as molten and burning as the flames of that golden dragon.

“I missed you,” she breathed.

And the vulnerability, the pure openness he could see in her eyes made something in his gut clench tight. This was exactly what he was afraid of. Why he made all those gods-damned rules in the first place.

“We weren’t apart that long.” His voice was cold as ice.

Aelin scowled. “So? Am I not allowed to miss you?”

Rowan’s jaw clenched, and guilt was already swirling in his stomach for the lie he knew he had to tell. “I once told you that the people you care about are weapons to be used against you. Missing me was a foolish distraction.”

Aelin’s face darkened. “You’re a real charmer, you know that?”

When Rowan didn’t say anything, Aelin swallowed and pushed the clothes into his arms. “You can get dressed in here,” she tossed the words at him like a blade, walking out of the closet without another word.

Rowan made sure she didn’t see the way her tone had cut into him.

He breathed deep, shoving away those emotions to deal with them later. It didn’t matter if she thought him cold, or heartless. Not if it kept her safe.

So Rowan breathed again, and began trying to worm his way into a dead man’s clothes. Trying not to let that bother him too.

As practical as he was, the last thing Rowan wanted to do was put on the clothes of the mortal man Aelin’s had loved, and who loved her. It was like forcing himself into someone else’s love story, the unwelcome addition. The replacement that nobody wanted.

He stretched the undershorts over his thighs, and then carefully shrugged his way into the pants. They were too short, but they fit. Barely.

The shirt however was another story. Just looking at it Rowan knew that it would be too tight. So instead of risking tearing it, Rowan figured it would be better to go barechested.

He walked back into the bedroom to find that Aelin had gone into the bathroom. From the sound of it, she was washing her face. But this time, she had closed the door.

Rowan tried not to read too much into that gesture.

When she returned, her face darkening at the sight of him in the comically-small pants, he held the shirt out to her, saying, “The shirt is too small. I didn’t want to rip it.”

Aelin took it from him gingerly, then just looked at it for a moment, her expression unreadable. “I’ll go out first thing,” she said softly, then breathed in through her nose, quick and sharp. “Well, if you don’t mind meeting Aedion shirtless, I suppose we should go say hello.”

Rowan shook his head ever so slightly. “We need to talk.”

Aelin’s hackles instantly rose. “Good talk or bad talk?”

“The kind that will make me glad you don’t have access to your power so you don’t spew flames everywhere.”

“That was one incident, and if you ask me, your absolutely wonderful former lover deserved it.”

Rowan’s lips twitched, remembering. Remelle had certainly deserved it. And if Aelin hadn’t intervened, Rowan might have ended up doing something he would have regretted. Like murdering Remelle.

On second thought, maybe he wouldn’t have regretted it so much.

Aelin just sighed, “Now or later?”

“Later. It can wait a bit.”

She pursed her lips, then nodded, turning towards the door to the great room. Where Aedion was waiting for them.

···

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#warrior and the wildfire #rowaelin #rowan pov #rpov #queen of shadows #rowaelin ff

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be11atrixthestrange · 3 years

Text

A Bedtime Story

Also, my first Hinny fic!

I’ve hesitated to post a hinny for so long since the fandom intimidates me :). But here we go...

A Bedtime Story

It was a dark and cold evening, and after a long week at the Auror department, Harry was more than ready for a nightcap. Firewhiskey in hand, he settled onto the couch next to Ginny, who was wrapped up in a fleece blanket by the crackling fire. She snuggled up next to him, looping her arms around his waist as he draped one arm around her shoulder.

"Long day?" she asked.

"You have no idea." His fatigue was nothing out of the ordinary, as his new leadership position left him exhausted at the end of every week. He never saw Ron at work anymore since he left the department last year, which made the days at work seem endless. And of course, he missed the action of his prior position. He thought spending more time in the office and less in the field would help him conserve his energy, but soon found out that the lack of excitement just drained him more. Ginny knew all this, of course.

"Well thankfully, tomorrow is a day off for both of us," she said, reaching for Harry's glass of Firewhiskey and taking her own sip. "And the night is still young." She placed the glass on the coffee table. Before Harry could protest, she turned his face toward her and kissed him. Harry groaned through the kiss, and he felt Ginny smile against his lips. He was so tired, but Ginny had a way of convincing him he wasn't. So he conceded, gently pulling Ginny with him as he lowered himself to his back.

"Uncle Harry? Aunt Ginny?"

Harry and Ginny froze at the sound of Teddy's little voice calling from the staircase. Andromeda had been away for the past week, and Harry and Ginny were currently on day six of Teddy Duty. They didn't mind it one bit, but bedtime was turning out to be quite the struggle. It was the third time tonight that Teddy had come out of bed, and evidently they had gotten a little too comfortable with their privacy.

"Can you tell me a story?"

Ginny sighed. "What are you doing awake?" she asked, untangling herself from Harry's arms. She subtly straightened her shirt back out and Harry grinned, as if a five year old boy would have any idea what he was interrupting. "It's very late, Teddy."

"I can't sleep without a story!" said the blue-haired child as he entered the living room. When he came closer, Harry realized he had tears in his eyes.

Harry and Ginny exchanged a look of both frustration and concern. "What happened, Teddy?"

"I don't want to be alone! I'm too scared to sleep alone," he said, his hair deepening to a darker, more ominous shade of blue.

"Ok," said Harry, shifting over to make room for him. "We will tell you a story. And you can come be with us on the couch for a while. You don't need to be alone."

Teddy nodded eagerly, before running around to the front of the sofa, and diving into the cushion between Harry and Ginny, his hair lightening in it's blue shade.

"What kind of story do you want to hear?" asked Ginny as she draped her arm around his little shoulders. He leaned into her, placing his head up against her arm. Harry couldn't help but smile at the easy affection between the two.

"Magical creatures!" said Teddy.

"Magical creatures?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows. "Any particular kind of creatures?"

Teddy scrunched up his face in thought. "Way wolves."

Ginny looked at Teddy. "Way wolves? What are those?"

"Way wolves. The moon wolves."

"Oh. Do you mean werewolves?" said Harry cautiously, looking questioningly at Ginny, who shrugged.

"That's what I said," he replied, and his hair flickered red in frustration.

"Of course it is," said Ginny cheerfully. "We can tell you a story about a werewolf, if you'd like."

Teddy nodded in excitement before resting his head back down on Ginny's shoulder, and his hair settled at purple, as it did when he was content.

"We used to have a very good friend who was a werewolf," continued Harry. "He was a pretty cool bloke. Do you want to hear more about him?"

Teddy grinned. "Yes!"

"He was my teacher when I was in school. His name was Remus," said Harry. "Can you say Remus?"

"Wemus."

Ginny smiled. "Close enough," said Harry, before continuing his tale. "Remus became a werewolf when he was very young, and every single month, on the full moon, he would turn into a big scary wolf."

"Aaargh!" said Ginny abruptly, in imitation of a wolf growl, playfully digging her fingers into Teddy's side. Teddy shrieked then howled in laughter.

"Was he a mean way wolf?" he asked when he calmed down.

"No, he was a nice werewolf. But there are a lot of people who are afraid of werewolves, so he kept it a secret for a very long time. Every time the full moon came out, he would go out to the woods alone, and wait by himself until he could turn back into a human."

"He had to be alone? Was he sad?" asked Teddy, as his hair flashed blue again.

"I think he was very sad. It's lonely in the woods," said Harry. "I'd be pretty sad if I had to stay in the woods by myself. Wouldn't you?"

Teddy nodded, and snuggled up closer into Ginny's arms.

"One day, his three best friends found out that he was a werewolf. They discovered that he would disappear only when there was a full moon, so they asked him about it, and he told the truth."

"Uh oh," said Teddy. "Were they scared?"

"No, they weren't," said Harry. "But Remus thought they were scared, and it made him sad. Especially when they started spending more time together without him."

"Why?" said Teddy, as his hair brightened to an angry shade of red again.

"Well, Remus thought they didn't want to be his friend anymore, but it wasn't that. Do you know what it was?"

"What?" asked Teddy.

"They were working on a top secret project and wanted to surprise him. They were spending so much time together without Remus because they were brewing a magical potion that would help them turn into animals too."

"Like this?" Teddy scrunched up his face, and suddenly a pair of triangular puppy dog ears sprouted from the sides of his head.

"Exactly like that!" said Harry, as Ginny ruffled his ears. Teddy laughed as his ears slowly turned back into human ones. "But they couldn't do it as easily as you. They needed a potion to do it, and they could only pick one animal. It took more than a month to make the potion, and they didn't want to get caught, so that's why they were so sneaky about it."

"Did Wemus find out what they were doing?"

"He did. One night, under the full moon, he was in the woods by himself, and three more animals walked up to him. There was a dog, a rat, and a stag. He recognized them at once as his three best friends. And then he never had to spend a night alone in the woods again."

"I don't want to be alone either!" said Teddy.

"You don't have to be!" said Ginny. She reached for the two pillows that were behind her back and set them down on the coffee table, before motioning for Harry to do the same. He pulled the two pillows from his side and set them down next to hers.

Ginny took out her wand and pointed it at the first pillow, muttering a few incantations as it began to change shape. When she was done, the pillow resembled a stuffed animal puppy. "This is Padfoot!" she told Teddy as she handed it to him. He squealed in excitement.

Ginny did it again with the second pillow, altering until it looked like a little rat. "Wormtail." She repeated the process with the third, transfiguring it into a stag. "And Prongs."

Teddy reached for the other two pillows and hugged them into his chest, smiling, his hair swirling in color indecisively.

"There's one more!" said Ginny, as she turned her spellwork to the last pillow, and it reshaped into a wolf. "This one is Moony!" She placed the pillow on top of the pile of stuffed animals that Teddy was currently holding. Like his mother's, his hair had landed on bubblegum pink, as it always did when he was feeling truly happy.

"Wemus!"

"Yes! That one's Remus," said Harry. "He'll always be with you."

Teddy was smiling looking down at the stuffed animal. "I love wemus," he said as he hugged it closer.

"Remus loves you too," said Harry, as he reached a hand over to Teddy, ruffling his bright pink hair, as Ginny looked at him tenderly. "What do you say Teddy? Bedtime?"

Teddy nodded, standing up, still clutching his stuffed animals to his chest. Harry playfully chased him toward the stairs, roaring like a wolf as Teddy shrieked and giggled as he ran away from him. Harry couldn't help but laugh as he chased him all the way back to Teddy's room. Once tucked in, Teddy fell asleep quickly, while holding Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs close.

When Harry returned to the living room, Ginny was right where he left her, sipping away at Harry's forgotten firewhiskey, and looking admiringly at him.

"What's that look for?" asked Harry as he melted back into the couch next to her.

"Not so tired after all, are you?".

"What can I say? Chasing Teddy around gives me a lot more energy than sitting at a desk, filing paperwork-"

"You're gonna be an awesome dad," Ginny interrupted. "Maybe that's the new adventure you need," she said more softly.

Harry smiled at her, unable to ignore the jolt of excitement that Ginny's comment ignited. "Yeah. Maybe it is," he said, plucking the glass of firewhiskey from her fingers. "Anyway, where were we?" he said before kissing her again.

#hinny #hinny fluff #hinny fic #harry and ginny #hp fanfic #harry potter #ginny weasley #hp fandom #harry x ginny #domestic fluff

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jean-does-not-have-a-horseface · 4 years

Note

Can I request how did I get so lucky with Levi? Please and thank you!😁

I really wrote hurt/comfort just like that once again i-

I really really loved writing this one, it's very different from a lot of things I've written before, I hope you like it

Warnings: none really, two Kuchels tho but I made sure you won't mix them up

Pairing: Levi/ reader

Tags: Modern au, hurt/comfort, daddy Levi strikes again

Caramel Apple

Levi's foot blocks the sleek vandyke brown door from opening more than a few inches. Your eyes flicker between him and in the interior, begging to get a glimpse of the very reason you find yourself at his door again but his mascular form doesn't allow you to see much, only the shadow of his black leather couch and a few grey and copper tiles from the fireplace. It only makes you sigh in frustration as your anger starts to boil inside of you.

You've always been adamant about never entering his home again and even though you're never about to break the rules you've set for yourself tonight feels like the last straw of your sanity has been pulled. Levi is purposely not offering you to get inside, counting on the fact that you won't ask for permission to enter anyways.

"Levi, seriously, I just want to see Kuchel." Your eyes glint with anger as you speak to him in a steady tone, trying to cover your anger in such a fake way.

His choice of words though never seems to mind your tormenting patience as he lifts the words slip off of the tip of his tongue "None can do for this weekend, I'm sorry!"

"What?" Your eyes widen, your hands slightly shake "Levi I haven't seen my daughter in a week!"

It's only natural of you to demand to see your little girl. For a week now Levi has been calling you back to back, every single night, announcing to you that Kuchel wanted to stay with him, that she misses him and that she won't stop crying at the hearing of having to part ways with her father. And even if the slight rejection of your motherhood by the five year old hurt you to the core you knew much better than to try and part the two. Your break up had indeed tortured her pour little soul; she was lost between having to stay at two different houses she was forced to adjust to two separate lifestyles and her attachment to her after was getting the best of her. She didn't even want to go to school if it wasn't Levi driving her there. You could only comply to her wishes.

"It's not my fault you have dates to go to." He never gives you a chance to reply though as his eyes bore into yours with the faintest tint of mischief. "I have the weekend off so I'm taking Kuchel to Disneyland."

Between wondering whether this was too far fetched and thinking about what clothes to pack for Kuchel, Levi felt panicked. His stoic mask didn't let him show any regards towards your barely visible face, but inside his heart sank to his stomach, leaving him feel numb.

It was the first time in the two years that you had broken up that he had ever done something so selfish to you. So far he had been the perfect co parent, picking up Kuchel almost everyday to drop her at her pre school, always making sure that your days with your daughter were arranged evenly. Overall there has been nothing you could negatively accuse him for and he's so proud of the profile he has kept.

In the last month he's been feeling so conflicted internally that it's become unbearable. He's been through miserable, never ending nights feeling alone and abandoned. You wouldn't bring yourself to understand, he knows that very well, so telling you is off the table. Though there nights he wants you and his daughter by his side, there are mornings he wants to wake up and see the two of you cuddled on the other side of the bed just like once before.

"I'm really going to have to ask you to leave." The sound of his tongue clicking is louder than the words that leave his mouth. As his eyes stare into yours with an unreadable feeling plastered on them you can feel that anger, the one that has been boiling in your stomach for so long, staring to eat away your insides. "Kuchel is asleep and I don't want her sleep disturbe-"

Your jaw drops and your words refuse to let go off your tongue. Any hopes of trying to remain civil tonight have been thrown out of the window because you're simply not having it. There's not much you can do from standing behind his front door though. No begging will ever even convince him to let down his guard and he'd be right. That was part of the reason you wouldn't enter his house amymore nonetheless.

"I miss my baby Levi, you're being so unfair!Doesn't Kou miss me?"

Levi flinches at the nickname. There's a restrain in his heart that won't allow him to speak of anyone in nicknames ever again and you're at fault, because every little thing in his life screams your fucking name and he despises it. Nowadays it's only him and Kuchel that seem to be on the same side.

"Her name is Kuchel."

He's so cynical that you might let out that salty tear -the one your left eye has tried so hard to push back- run down your cheek and stain your face. You can only endure so much refusal to see your baby's face. Her tiny voice in nowhere to be heard, her angelic face nowhere to be seen and you want to breakdown.

Why should Levi care, you're still puzzled as to why. The way you've treated him lately has been so brutal and he doesn't deserve it, you know he doesn't although your demons don't take anyone and anything into consideration. The small bleak of the door is symbolic to you, it's a gesture that he doesn't want to let you in, but he allows you to have a small leak of his grayscale paradise.

You shouldn't be in a place to beg with him since you are in the wrong. Kuchel isn't a doll that the two of you should play with, she's a lovely little girl with very real emotions who's trying to comprehend yours and Levi's bullshit. Your bullshit.

If Levi had it his way, you knew he'd keep Kuchel as far from you as he could and Kuchel would agree without a second thought.

Between his loud growls and your sobbing imitations you manage to wake Kuchel up for her peaceful slumber. Her little raven head peaks from the corner of the leather couch, hair sleek despite her sleeping position. It makes you groan how much she looks like him at every aspect of her life, personality and appearance alike. It is as if he had birthed her out of his womb, not you.

Maybe that is part of the reason you feel so strained away.

Or maybe it iss her unforgiving gaze that is identical to her father's.

She doesn't exactly sparkle when she sees you but you attribute that to her only having just woken up. A little fist rubs on her closed eye lid, sweeping a few eyelashes away. Levi makes sure to pick them up from her cheek when he takes her in his arms.

"Hey mommy!"

Her enthusiasm seems to grow on her as her eyes gradually open. You hadn't seen her face in a long, agonising week, her sight made you week to your knees.

"Hey baby, ready to go home?" You beam, pushing the tears away.

"No!" She pouts "Daddy will take me to Rapunzel's castle tomorrow!"

To her it was such a big deal. The promise to see her favorite princess and her prince, to fight the most evil Gothel with her squeeky little voice, it all excited her way too much. Although you're in no place to ruin their fun -Levi has the right to spend his time with Kuchel however he pleases- but you have to admit it hurts. A lot.

Wanting to go to Disneyland was your most vivid childhood dream. The scenery had always fascinated you, there were so many things you had always wanted to do. And Levi had promised, while he was driving you to the hospital once your water had broke, that he'd take you along with Kuckel.

You open your mouth to speak but words never really come out as you take your defeat in. Your heart's sinking, your knees want to give up on supporting your whole weight but just as you're about to collapse two familiar voices catch your attention.

"Oi runts, what's with the commotion?"

"Kenny! Be a little kinder, hey love!"

Your face suddenly drops lower than it's ever possible. In panic you wonder if staying still will guard you from the sights of Kenny and Kuchel, but you're absurdly reminded that could never be the case.

"Im here to pick Kou up." You whisper, ashamed to look any of the Ackermans in their eyes. They really had you cornered like a rat now.

"Ah, aren't you guys going to Disneyland this weekend?" Kuchel smiles as she greets you with eagerness.

At this point Levi is forced to open the door. It's only rude to keep his family standing in the hallway of his apartment complex because you're in the midst of having a small fight. You're not sure if you want to get in, though, he never allows you to.

"It's only me and Kuchel, mom. What made you think (y/n) was coming?"

Kenny huffs at the words, clicking his tongue in annoyance. "Trouble in paradise?" He rightfully earns a death glare from his sister. His legs shot up on the coffee table, catching Levi's attention. Your little girl mumbles something about the table turning dirty once again and Levi agrees, sparing her the tiniest of smugs.

"Look (y/n)," the ravenette's attention turns to you once again "I think you should go, were flying early tomorrow, I promise I'll make up for this whole week someway."

With gloom in your eyes you turn on your feet, ready to storm off of the hallway, and down to the elevator. If you're not wanted here then it's fine. With a kiss on little Kuchel's forehead, you tuck her strands behind her ear and whisper a soft goodnight to her. Levi's door closes too fast, too sharp, too humiliating to your person and at this, you can't help but finally breakdown. Your legs don't even drag you to the end of his hallway. With your back against the nearest wall you collapse, hit tears making their appearance on the corners of your eyes.

"Don't be a little bitch Levi, your brat is not a doll you two pass to eachother, in case ya didn't notice." Inside the apartment Kenny's words sting like a thousand yellowjackets launching onto Levi's skin, but only because the old man speaks the truth. He keeps the arrogant comment about the language that should be used around his daughter to himself, he's eager to listen what his mother had to say on the situation.

"I still don't even know the reason you're not together anymore."

He doesn't either. He can't bring himself to remember the exact reason you had fallen apart or why you had acted to cold towards him two months ago. In a haze, that's probably only for the worst he pops Kuchel into Kenny's uninviting arms and picks up a shift space with his matching.

If he's surprised by your vulnerable position on the hallway he doesn't ever show. His twitching eyebrows betrays the tint of worry in his expression but your trembling lip doesn't allow you to utter words just yet. It'd only when he swoops to your level, knees touching the cold tiles of the floor while his eyes look directly in your face. His calloused hand comes to bed your cheek in order to provide you some sort of comfort for your exhausted head and to wipe a salty tear with his thumb. He isn't ever really soft like that, but you come to believe it's been so long without him that you've forgotten about his compassionate side.

"How did I get so lucky to be loved by someone like you, and how was I so stupid to make us go through this?"

Your words are hurting you more than you want to admit to. It's unfair, how you want to come undone, how time and space cease to exist in the moment, how you don't feel like you can keep your heart's insides to yourself.

"Im so sorry I left that morning but I was so, so afraid." You continue.

It was no secret. That particular night you had shared two months ago, wrapped in his sheets like old times had sparked so many flames or reconciliation between the two of you. Be it that it was you who showed up at his door or him that took you in, be it that you did this because you missed every tiny aspect of him that it was overwhelming. You can't even pinpoint a reason as to why the two of you were so natural together. But you have thrown your only chance away. And he won't even let you in his home.

"I was too, beats me as to what I would have done if I was in your place." His voice is tinted in melancholy but paradoxically his steel orbs never once fall from yours. "But I've spent so much time being mad at you that I can't even remember why im feeling this way in the first place."

Your hand shoots to his chest, only to grab at his plain gray crewneck in an attempt to pull him closer, close enough that your foreheads collide. Onyx shaggy strands engulf your vision as your heavy breaths mingle and your thoughts are finally able to come through mouth.

"Who are you and what have you done to the Levi I know." A muffled giggle comes out of your cries and a blink-and-you'll-miss-it smug appears on Levi's face. It catches you by surprise, the way his face lots up from only just a second is an image you've tried you convince yourself to forget but your mind always finds a way to come back to it.

His hand comes to rest on your nape, trapping the hair underneath his grip as he leans to give a kiss to your forehead.

"We'll talk about everything with caramel poisoned apples with Kuchel alright?" Your eyes lit up at his statement, glistening tears threatening to fall once again from your eyes. "Tch, don't look at me like that of course I bought three tickets."

You miss the way his eyes widened as you engulf him tightly in your arms, closing the painful space that had been separating you up until a few seconds ago. Maybe you won't kiss just yet, this isn't a lust filled moment. It's a moment of putting a new brick at that wall of trust you had wrecked a few years ago. With that inevitable fate and love that brought you back to eachother no matter what and a lot of patience the two of you are going to make it work. No excuses this time.

Was this short, was this enough? I honestly don't know I enjoyed this one because for once I figured the ending as I went along. Reading your guys comments makes me feel really good so if you want to drop a comment (or a request) don't be shy. Thanks for reading, it means a lot💞

#attack on titan #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi #snk x reader #aot x reader #shingeki no kyojin #snk #aot #captain levi #x reader #reader insert #levi heichou

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