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engie-ivy · 3 years

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Marlene’s little brother has a thing for Sirius, because who doesn't have a thing for Sirius? Marlene is freaking out, and everyone thinks it's just hilarious. Remus would've thought it was hilarious too, had Marlene’s little brother not been very close in age, cute, witty, and oh so bloody charming.

Somewhat longer fic that will be added to my Crush Confessions Series! 3756 words, so not that long. Wolfstar Fluff, of course😎

Muggle Charms

James Potter’s garden party is the event of the summer. Everyone gets together at the Potter estate for a day of listening to music, swimming in the lake (yes, there’s a lake on the grounds of the Potter estate), and playing friendly Quidditch matches. Mrs Potter walks around with all sorts of delicious foods, James and Sirius fly their brooms above the lake and make bets who dares to jump off from the greatest height, Mary and Emmeline are sunbathing and make bets who will need to be healed first.

It had started the summer after first year with just the four Marauders, but every year, their number has grown, and this year is the largest group thus far.

Marlene McKinnon is last to arrive, and, as usual, her arrival doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Everyone, come meet my little brother!” She shouts across the field.

The McKinnons have four children. Marlene’s mother and two of her siblings are Muggles, while the rest have magical abilities. Marlene’s sister is the oldest of the siblings. She’s a Muggle who works as a primary school teacher. Despite growing up with a father who’s a wizard, she has always felt slightly uncomfortable around magic, but she loves her family fiercely and is very protective over her younger siblings. As she’s much older than Marlene, she has always been more like a second mother.

Next comes Marlene’s older brother, who’s wizard, but has finished Hogwarts long ago. He now works in the Sales Department for a company that develops novel potions against levitation- and portkey-sickness. According to Marlene he’s a serious businessman by day, and a giant goofball by night.

Last is Marlene’s younger brother. He’s a Muggle, but where Marlene’s sister likes to pretend magic doesn’t exist, he thinks it mighty fascinating. He and Marlene are incredibly close, writing each other constantly and hanging out as often as they can when Marlene was home from Hogwarts. She has never brought him to James’ garden party, though. He works in the Food Service Industry, and the bright summer days on which James plans his parties are the days on which he most likely has to work. This year, however, he had managed to get the day off.

The first thing Remus thinks is that the McKinnons have good genes. He can’t really tell which of the two siblings is older, which means they must be very close in age. The boy has the same thick, blond hair and bright blue eyes as Marlene, as well as the same freckles from the sun. He’s short for a guy, barely taller than Marlene, but he’s quite muscular, with broad shoulders. All in all, Marlene’s younger brother is a very cute guy.

“Everyone, this is Miles!” Marlene says, when everyone has gathered around. “Let’s see... Here we have James Potter, he’s the host.”

Miles grins at James. “Some house you’ve got here, mate. Thanks for having me!”

James grins back and lifts his beer. “Cheers, mate!”

“James is Lily’s boyfriend,” Marlene says. “You’ve already met Lily-” Miles gives Lily a warm smile “-and of course you know Dorcas.”

“Hullo Dorky.”

“Hiya Miley.”

“And here we have my other girls, Alice Fortescue, Mary McDonald and Emmeline Vance.” Marlene points each of the girls out, and Miles gives them all a friendly nod.

“And these two are the Prewetts, Fabian and Gideon- don’t worry about who’s who, none of us actually knows.”

“Oi!”

“And this is Caradoc Dearborn, and this Benjy Fenwick, so miraculously you’re not the shortest guy here.”

“Marlene!”

“And here we have the rest of the renegades, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black.”

The chance in Miles is instant.

The polite smile he was wearing turns into a coy smile, as he gives Sirius a not-so-subtle once-over, though Remus doesn’t think it was ever meant to be subtle. Miles takes a step forward towards Sirius. “Well, hello there.”

Remus can’t blame him. He would’ve reacted the same had he been in Miles’ position (alright, maybe he would’ve turned into a blushing, stuttering mess and forget his own name if he were suddenly faced with a guy like Sirius, instead of step forward with an enticing smile and flirtatious greeting, but that’s beside the point). Sirius looks bloody amazing. His swimming trunks are clinging to his legs, and his damp hair is hanging over his bare chest, with little droplets dripping down his muscular body.

Sirius grins knowingly at Miles. “Hi.”

Marlene’s head whirls around from Miles to Sirius to Miles and back to Sirius, so fast Remus worries she might get a whiplash.

“No,” she says. “No, nope, uh-uh, absolutely not. Not. Happening. No.”

She steps between her brother and Sirius, facing the latter, and jabbing a finger against his chest. “You are not going to try anything on my little brother, got it?”

Sirius holds up his hands and takes a step back. “I only said hi.”

Marlene looks at him suspiciously, like she suspects Sirius saying hi is some sort of secret seduction technique (which would actually explain a lot).

“C’mon Marls.” Miles moves to stand next to his sister, and throws an arm over her shoulder. He winks at Sirius. “We all just want to have a good time, don’t we?”

Marlene’s face is getting more red by the second. Her fingers are clutching her cardboard plate, causing it to rumple. She’s clenching her jaw, while intently staring at the pair a bit further on the field.

“I can’t bloody believe it,” she hisses. “If Black thinks I’ll let him hook up with my little brother, he has another thing coming!”

Miles had managed to catch Sirius when he went to grab a drink, and they have been chatting apart from the rest of the group for about half an hour now, to Marlene’s great distress, and everyone else’s amusement. Well, everyone else except for Remus, but he thinks he’s been hiding it quite well.

Remus doesn’t know how the guy does it, but Miles somehow manages to stand closer and closer to Sirius. He’s looking up at him through his lashes, with those big blue eyes and that damned smile, sometimes even going as far as to bite his lip. Sirius has definitely been blushing at some point!

While Remus is the only one who can emphasize with Marlene’s distress over the situation, he really doesn’t like how she’s blaming it all on Sirius, while evidently its her brother who’s acting like a little minx.

“Honestly, Marlene,” Lily says, shaking her head. “Didn’t you talk to Miles about there being an incredibly hot, single gay guy present?”

Remus agrees. Marlene should’ve known what would happen when she decided to introduce her brother to Sirius! You cannot bring him here knowing Sirius is looking like he does, and expect him not to react!

Marlene huffs indignantly. “My little brother is a precious angel who’s not interested in such a thing as ‘hot, single men’!”

Lily looks at Miles and Sirius. Miles seems to be laughing at something Sirius said, and touches his upper arm while doing so, letting his hand slide down Sirius’ bicep. Lily turns her head back to Marlene and raises her eyebrow.

Marlene just folds her arms over her chest and pointedly looks away.

Later, when Miles reaches up to brush a strand of hair from Sirius’ face, Marlene’s face has taken on a more purple colour. By this time, she has started angrily chewing on her cardboard plate.

Luckily, everyone’s too busy making fun of Marlene to notice Remus looks like he’s going to be sick.

Normally, a day at the Potter estate flies by, but Remus is positive this day lasts at least three times as long. But Remus has been getting through it. He hopes that after today, he won’t see Miles McKinnon of ever again. Well, he mostly hopes Sirius won’t see Miles McKinnon ever again, he can admit that . To himself, that is.

Currently, he’s sitting down with James, having a butterbeer. Just when he thinks he might make it through these last hours without further additions to his misery, Marlene comes striding their way, Dorcas on her heels.

“Potter,” she says, stopping in front of them and placing her fists on her hips. “You’ve got something I need, and I want it now!”

“Sorry McKinnon,” James says with a smirk. “I’m a one woman man.”

“In your dreams, you wanker,” Marlene snaps. “You’ve got an Invisibility Cloak, no?”

James takes off his glasses and starts polishing them with his robes. “I may or may not possess such a thing.”

Marlene rolls her eyes. “After seven years of going to school with you, I think I can safely say that you do. Well, I need you to use it. Miles asked Black to take him on a tour around the lake.” She scrunches up her nose. “And you have to follow them so you can report back to me whether Black has kept his paws off of my little brother!”

“More the other way around,” Remus mutters, but Marlene hears and glares at him.

“My sweet and innocent little brother would never do such a thing! He simply... wants to see the surroundings and needs Black for directions.”

Dorcas throws her head back and cackles loudly. “The only directions your ‘sweet and innocent little brother’ is interested in, is the fastest way to get into Sirius Black’s pants!”

Marlene directs a deadly glare at her.

Just when Remus thinks at least Dorcas knows what she’s talking about, she continues. “C’mon Marls, Miles can make his own decisions. Let the boys have some fun!”

Let the boys have some fun? That’s not a good idea! That’s the opposite of a good idea! That’s a terrible idea!

“Well,” Remus says, managing to sound surprisingly calm. “We’re on Mr and Mrs Potter’s property, and Miles has only just been introduced to the gang. I mean, he and Sirius barely know each other. I’d say it’d be rather inappropriate if something happens between them here and now. You don’t want Marlene’s brother to give off the wrong impression.”

James sighs. “What if I lend you the Invisibility Cloak, and you can follow them yourself?”

“Oh, no!” Marlene holds up her hands and takes a step back. “There are certain things I don’t ever want to see my little brother do, or hear my little brother say. If I were to... accidentally stumble upon them, I’d either have to Obliviate myself, or be scarred for life.”

Remus snorts. Not so sure about her brother being so innocent after all, is she?

“Well, Padfoot’s my brother!” James argues.

“Remember when I put in a good word for you with Lily, and finally got her to agree to go on a date with you?” Marlene plays her final card, and effectively.

“Fine!” James puts down his butterbeer and gets up. “Remus, let’s go.”

“What? Me? Why?”

“Because you got me into this, Mr ‘it’d be inappropriate’. And besides, I’ll feel like some perverted Peeping Tom spying on them alone.”

“So better to have two Peeping Toms?” Remus argues, but he knows it’s an argument he’s not going to win.

That’s how Remus finds himself in the place he wants to be least of all, crouched down under the Invisibility Cloak with James, and, after casting a quick Silencio over their footsteps, following on Sirius and Miles on their ‘casual, totally not romantic, definitely not a date’ stroll.

“-and once I’ve gained enough experience, I’d like to come back to London and open my own restaurant!” Miles finishes.

“That’s amazing, Miles!” Sirius exclaims. “I’ll definitely frequent!”

“As long as you don’t expect any free food just because you’re so handsome,” Miles teases.

Sirius gasps in pretend-shock. “I would never use my looks for such purposes!”

“Right,” Miles chuckles. “You be careful, Sirius Black. A face like yours is a powerful weapon.”

“Wow,” James whispers admiringly. “He’s good!”

Remus grits his teeth. Of bloody course Miles McKinnon is all charming and smooth, chatting Sirius up.

“What about you?” Miles asks. “What are your plans for the future, now that you’re some kind of strong and powerful wizard?”

“I’m starting my Healer training soon!” Sirius beams, and Remus can’t help but smile at the pride in his voice.

“That’s... like a doctor, right?” Miles asks.

“Yeah,” Sirius replies. “But without the cutting people open.” He shudders. “Definitely no cutting people open.”

“Oi!” Miles protests, bumping his shoulder against Sirius. “Doctors cut people open to save lives, you know. They don’t do it for a laugh.”

“I’m sorry!” Sirius quickly says. “I didn’t mean to offend. It’s actually very impressive what Muggle doctors can do without magic, and the things they’ve come up with! I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Miles says, glancing at Sirius. “Don’t worry about it.”

Sirius smiles sheepishly. “Sorry. It’s just... I was raised in this really conservative pureblood Wizarding family. I’m always afraid I’ll say something Muggle-phobic without realising.”

“It’s okay, it wasn’t that bad, honestly.”

“Good,” Sirius says, relieved. “I’m just... trying to be better.”

Miles smiles softly at him. “Just the fact that you’re trying already makes you better.”

They walk in comfortable silence for a moment, until Miles speaks again. “That must’ve been hard though, growing up in a family like that. Marlene already mentioned you’re living here now. Is that why?”

Sirius nods. “I ran away from home the summer before. Best decision I’ve ever made.” There’s a tightness in his voice, though, and an emotion in his eyes that makes Remus want to run towards him and pull him into a hug.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Miles says sincerely. Then he gives Sirius a teasing smile. “Though I must say, it’s a good look on you, the whole ‘sexy rebel’-thing.”

Sirius barks a laugh, and the pained expression slides off his face. “Well, I’m glad my issues at least fit my anaesthetic!”

Remus doesn’t know whether he wants to bless Miles McKinnon for being able to turn Sirius’ mood around and make him smile, or whether he wants to curse Miles McKinnon for being able to turn Sirius’ mood around and make him smile.

“I bet you love provoking your family, don’t you?” Miles asks.

“That might just be my most favourite pastime,” Sirius replies sincerely.

Suddenly, Miles stops walking, so Sirius stops as well and turns back to face him.

Miles takes a step towards him. “I bet it would really provoke your family if you were to make out with a boy, a Muggle boy at that.”

Sirius swallows and his face slightly flushes. “That... That’ll definitely do the trick, yeah.”

Miles comes even closer, now almost standing chest-to-chest with Sirius, and he tilts his head up and leans in.

James still looks mighty impressed with Miles’ flirting tactics, while Remus wonders if the sound of his heart shattering might give them away.

Suddenly, Sirius steps back. “Wait, stop. I... I can’t.”

Miles looks disappointed, but not too shocked. “Why not?” He asks. Then he jabs his finger against Sirius’ chest, much like his sister did earlier. “And I swear to god, Sirius Black, if it’s because I’m a Muggle you can stick that wand of yours up your-”

“No, no, no!” Sirius quickly says, whilst letting out a breathless laugh. “It’s not you, really, it’s me.”

Miles gives Sirius a stern look, while placing his fists on his hips, making Remus wonder whether they’re sure Marlene and Miles aren’t twins. “If you’re gonna give me that lame excuse, at least elaborate what it is about ‘not me, but you’ that makes you reject me. I mean, I’m not proposing a marriage here!”

Sirius sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “There’s... someone else. I mean, there’s not really, I don’t have someone else, but I have feelings for someone else. So therefore this-” He gestures between himself and Miles. “Just doesn’t feel right.”

Remus exchanges a look with James, who looks just as stunned as he is by this information.

Miles, though, just folds his arms over his chest and looks at Sirius thoughtfully for a moment. “So, Lupin then?”

Remus freezes. What? Him? Oh no. He’s not sure he can bear to hear Sirius’ denial. ‘Lupin? Remus? No, of course not! What in Godric’s name gave you that idea? Why the hell would I fancy Remus?’

However, Sirius just sighs and looks down at his shoes. “I’m that obvious, huh?”

Remus stares dumbfounded. It’s... true? He feels an eruption of butterflies in his stomach. Well, he always feels some butterflies when he sees Sirius, but now it’s like all those butterflies had babies, and those babies had babies again, creating an immense flutter.

“Nah,” Miles says. “If I had known for sure, I wouldn’t have made a move. I only had a suspicion, but I decided to take a chance anyway. I’m not too surprised by this turn of events, though.”

“It’s really the only reason,” Sirius says. “Because you’re bloody great, you know that? You’re gonna make some guy really happy one day. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Miles groans. “ ‘Its not you, it’s me’, ‘anyone would be lucky to have you’. Shall we go before you start telling me we can still be friends?”

Sirius grins. “Normally I’d suggest we at least pretend to have had a good snog, just to see if Marlene’s face can get any more purple, but I don’t want to give Remus the wrong impression. Not that he’d care,” he adds with a mutter.

Miles stops walking again. “What? Are you seri- No, Marlene warned me not to say that. Really?”

Sirius just blinks at him.

Miles shakes his head. “I mean, you asked if you were being obvious, well, you were nothing compared to Lupin. Although, that could just be me. I couldn’t help but notice when he’s looking at me like he wants me to catch fire every time I come near you. Wait. You wizards can actually do that, can’t you?”

Remus huffs. He wouldn’t have actually set Miles on fire! At least he doesn’t think so.

Sirius frowns at Miles. “You must be mistaken. Remus is nothing but pure kindness! He always makes everyone feel welcome! You can’t help but like Remus!”

A warm feeling spreads through Remus’ chest.

Miles just looks at Sirius, shaking his head. “You’re actually in love, aren’t you?”

Sirius blushes and looks away.

“Well,” Miles says. “You should tell him how you feel. He clearly feels the same. Then you can both stop this pining.”

James, who just had to process the shock of one of his best friends fancying another one of his best friends, now has to process the shock of his best friends fancying each other. He’s staring at Remus, and consequently trips over a rock. He does manage to catch is balance, but he lets out a loud yelp.

Miles stares at the empty spot behind them on the path, surprised, but Sirius’ eyes narrow in suspicion. He lifts his wand, and the next moment a gush of wind blows the Invisibility Cloak off of Remus and James.

To his credit, Miles recovers pretty quickly from seeing two people appear seemingly out of nowhere, including the person they were just talking about. He blinks a couple of times, then says “I suppose this works as well.”

Remus and Sirius are just staring at each other.

“Uhm...” James says. “I was sent here by miss McKinnon to escort the younger McKinnon back to the estate.” Because apparently awkward situations make him talk like he’s an eighteen century nobleman. “Off we go, young lad.”

Miles doesn’t protest when James grabs his arm and starts dragging him away, but he does turn around to give Sirius a thumbs up.

“We were sent here by McKinnon,” Remus quickly says, when he and Sirius are alone. “She wanted to know if anything would happen between you and her brother.” Remus takes a deep breath. “And maybe I wanted to know if anything would happen between you and him myself as well,” he says softly.

“Were you jealous?” Sirius asks. It sounds curious, not angry, judgemental or smug, just curious.

Still, Remus can’t help but pout, and he looks away. “Of course I was jealous. Bloody Miles McKinnon, with his big blue eyes, batting those ridiculously long eyelashes at you, and being all cute, and witty, and charming.”

“You know, if you want Miles to snog you instead, you should hurry and you can probably still catch him,” Sirius says irritably.

“No!” Remus quickly says. “No. I just mean, I wish it was me. When he calls you handsome, when he brushes your hair away from your face, when he leans in to kiss you... I wish it was me doing those things.”

“Why don’t you?” Sirius whispers, staring at Remus intently.

“Because!” Remus says desperately. “Because I know how to be your friend, but if I even think about flirting with you, I turn into an awkward, rambling mess.”

The only thing that can possibly be going through Sirius’ mind right now is how the hell he let the sexy, confident, flirtatious boy walk away, to be stuck with the flustered heap of awkwardness that is Remus Lupin.

Remus stares down at his shoes. “I mean, I like you a lot, and also because I feel comfortable around you, I do, but when it comes to flirting, I suddenly get scared that you’ll laugh at me or something. I even think it’d be easier if you weren’t my friend, if we didn’t know each other so well. Then maybe I could-”

Remus stops talking when Sirius gently cups his cheek and tilts his head up. Slowly, ever so slowly, he leans in, giving Remus enough time to pull away had he wanted to. Which, for the record, he absolutely doesn’t. Sirius presses their lips together. And it’s...

Well, it’s not awkward at all.

It’s fireworks, and symphonies, and the sun breaking through the clouds. It’s a sense of belonging, and knowing all is right with the world, and a feeling of coming home.

Both boys are a little out of breath when they pull back, more because of the intense emotions than because the kiss had been that passionate.

“See?” Sirius smiles at Remus. “If I want you to stop rambling, I can always just... interrupt.”

“Rude,” Remus mutters, before pulling Sirius back into another kiss.

#my tumblr writing #crush confessions #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #james potter #marlene mckinnon #wolfstar fluff

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gveret-fic · 4 years

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A lil fic in which Gideon showers with her clothes on, changes in the dark, applies her face paint out of a manual, and doesn't touch herself ever. Well. Hardly ever.

HtN spoilers ahead!

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A bit anticlimactic, if you ask me, after slaying brain melting horror bees and swimming right out of hell, for my next great big challenge to be trying to figure out how to take a dump in a prudish little nun’s body without compromising its modesty.

Not to put too fine a point on it or anything, my sombre bathroom break micromanager, but you really didn’t stick the landing on this one. You had a letter for basically every contingency, like you had one for if God sneezed really hard and blew out the sun, I’m pretty sure, and then mine was basically just ‘fuck you, return to sender’. You just went and parked your porsche in my landing pad with the blasters still on and didn’t even bother to leave the DRY CLEANING ONLY tag on the upholstery. I had to come up with a virtue-preserving game plan all on my lonesome, you know.

And I've been such a good girl, Harrow, you'd be proud. Well, at least you'd be such an unexpectedly small, tiny, miniscule, astonishingly negligible amount of pissed off that it's basically pride at that point, right.

Don't get me wrong, it was a logistical nightmare. Ever tried to shower in multiple robes plus what I must assume are, like, pantaloons? The sonic flaps it all the fuck around, and let me tell you, getting spanked by heavy Ninth vestments is now officially off my kink list. Now, the other option is wet dog trapped in straightjacket, and I'm not too keen on that one either. But I stuck with it. It takes like 20 minutes, no joke, to struggle out of all your stupid layers in the dark, with my eyes closed, without touching any of your most hallowed skin. But I've got a knack for it now, you know? If I ever get the chance to get a lil frisky, maybe with a hot ghost or something I don't know, I can totally impress her with my wild 100% contact free striptease skills.

What I'm saying is, I've been such a super duper chaste and meticulous and ephemeral little make believe nun it's like I was never even here. So you gotta take that into consideration, Harrow, when you pass your terrible judgment once I tell you how I've sinned.

So, it happened when I was putting your face paint on. It wasn’t half bad, either. Really, it was half good. I’ve been practicing. I found this horrible little book full of the gnarliest, creepiest, just most hideous skull faces, and they all had these pretentious titles like The Palm of the Storm or The Young Boy’s Booger. Just your style, basically.

But I was looking at your face in the mirror—that’s the way paint application goes, Harrow, don’t pout—and I got stuck on your pinched, bloodless lips for some reason, and I forgot for a moment that it was me in your muscles, and I just thought, wow, you looked so sad. You always looked so goddamn sad, and no one ever did a fucking thing about it, least of all you, and in that moment I was so angry about it, I could smack you.

So naturally I reached out and I brushed your knuckle gently over your cheek. And lo, I wasn’t struck down on the spot. That gave me a bit of a confidence boost, I suppose. I ran your thumb under your eye, just a little avuncular half circle while thinking just the purest fucking thoughts, and it came away wet.

Really got you going, that one little barely there swipe. You needed this real bad, Nonagesimus. I needed this, too. We were gagging for it. We were crying for it. I needed you to be touched gently, so bad, and I needed even badder to be the one doing the touching. I knew you wouldn't want that, of course, don't feel the need to defend your honor. This was my best compromise, okay? I didn't have a lot to work with. This way you wouldn't really be touched and I wouldn't really be touching, but maybe we'd both get a little something out of it anyway.

This is maybe a good time to confess those thoughts weren't so totally super pure. They were maybe a little muddier, a little earthier, you know. Harrow, listen, I've been thinking a lot about your body, what with living in it for months and having only the one made up magazine to look at and being balls to the wall in love and all. Sorry. So when I tell you I've been thinking about running my fingertip over your eyebrow from glabella to sphenoid, what I'm saying is I've fantasized about the texture of each one of your big black goddamn eyebrow hairs so much my finger's never not tingly anymore. And when I wiped your eye with a tiny knuckle and ran that smooth little fingertip along your real ass eyebrow, Harrow, there was a definite fucking tingle, and I didn't fucking stop.

I traced the smooth plane of your frontal bone, the proud arch of your brow ridge. I dragged your fingertips over your temple and into the mass of your sweaty, overlong hair. The side of your finger grazed the shell of your ear, and you shivered—your ears are so sensitive, Nonageaimus, I thought this stuff only happened in porn—and I felt the full, terrifying shape of your skull in my hand. I cupped the back of your sore-ass neck in a palm and I squeezed just a little, just to let us know we were held, and I worked our fingertips into those nonexistent traps that still somehow managed to be clenched tighter than a stoma that's munched down on one too many emperors. I kneaded them good until they loosened just a bit, and we were still crying like a little bitch.

I squeezed your shoulder, the clavicle pressing sharply into our palm, and I stroked down your bicep, which did not deserve the name, by the way, and I brushed the inside of your elbow and I dragged the underside of your bitten fingernails up your forearm and over that terrifyingly delicate wrist and your doll sized soft palm and then I held your fucking hand.

Yeah, I laced our fucking fingers together, Harrow. Eat me.

I could feel your heart beating in our interdigital folds, I was holding your hand so hard and so intertwiney. And we were definitely feeling some kind of way just then. I had to sit down on your bony ass, your eyes leaking, your shoulders shaking, as I was having just the most mortifying little breakdown over holding my own hand.

I'm sorry, Harrow. I wanted to hug you a lot, these past few months. There were so many moments I wanted to reach outside of you, all like blerghgrgh sudden gorgeous beefy arm bursting out of your stomach to smack Shittier Gideon in the balls or give Shittier Tridentarius a purple nurple. I wanted to give you a pat on the head, tell you've been a good good doggie and you can take a lil break now. Wanted to rub your shoulders and arms all over, force a bit of warmth into em even if I've given up on muscle. Wanted to brace the heel of my palm at the small of your back, squeeze your hips and pull em back, run a hand along that spine to make it proud again, just to give you some support, just to see you stand up straight. Wanted to rub the frown right off your brow, poke your lil cheeks and make you snarl, give you something nice and tough to bite on. But mostly I just wanted to hold you.

I wanted to wrap you tight, so that you'd become a compact little package with well defined edges and maybe then you could open it all up and let it out. Only in my big stupid arms, I'd think selfishly, like some sort of grand duke of self delusion, would you finally feel safe enough to cry.

Nah. Who was I kidding? It was me who was crying. It was me who wanted to be comforted, to be touched kindly, to have her hand held, and it was only me who was getting anything out of doing this stupid weird creepy bullshit. I wasn't giving you shit, Nonagesimus. I just wanted to hold your hand.

I didn't let go, though. Again, Harrow, sorry. Your body didn't care that it was only you, only me. Your skin and your flesh and all those bits you didn't care about wanted this too, probably. The pressure, and the warmth, the illusion or the weird roundabout reality of another person who cares about you. Maybe I'm making excuses again. But I care about you, Harrow. You'll believe that much, won't you? I care about your body. I care about all the non-skeleton parts of you, even. Baffling, I know.

So I sat on your ass, and I bent your head over our joined hands, and I cried, and I didn't let go.

#harrow the ninth #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth spoilers #griddlehark #the locked tomb #my fic

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vateacancameos · 4 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Words: 1555 Fandom: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus Characters: Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Gideon Nav Additional Tags: Autumn, Established Relationship, Foliage, Picnics, Post-Canon, Post-Alecto, Banter, sort of but not really a wedding, perfect lyctorization, lyctor? i barely know her, One Shot, Victory Tour Series: Part 4 of snapshots of autumn Summary:

Part of the snapshots of autumn series, which tells stories of ladies in love during autumn, this story can be read independently.

Harrow and Gideon have won against God after several years of hardship apart. They deserve some time alone. Harrow grumps. Gideon frolics. The end.

Story:

“Holy shit, I’ve never seen this much color in my life,” Gideon groaned, head whipping every which way as if she’d miss something if she wasn’t looking at everything at once.

Harrow rolled her eyes and flapped her arms, hoping for a breeze. It was too warm, and the sun beat on her dark hair, making her sweat in her black robes. Gideon had stripped down to a tank and trousers in the shuttle, leaving her robe in a messy pile on Harrow’s seat.

“Are you frolicking?” asked Harrow, absolutely zero percent surprised, but feeling like she needed to at least make an effort at being annoyed. Gideon once said her resting bitch face was one of the things she loved most about her, so she tried to make it at least once a day. Gideon had argued that the point of RBF was its natural state, but she’d kissed Harrow anyway, then promptly wiped her mouth and “yeched” at the paint that had stuck to her lips.

read the rest under the cut

“Why shouldn’t I frolic?” Gideon yelled, halfway across the meadow they’d landed in. “We’re the good guys that beat the bad guys. We deserve a victory tour, adoring fans, parades, music lauding our heroic deeds.”

“Then why are we in a garish field on a foreign planet by ourselves?” Harrow pulled her robes away from her neck in hopes of coaxing a breeze to cool things down. The only thing it coaxed was a whiny bug that bit her on the back. “Ugh.”

“Because you don’t like crowds or music or anything fun, oh night mistress of zero fun.”

“So you brought me to hot meadow filled with bugs, sun, and bright colors? Are leaves even meant to have that many colors? I thought they were all green.”

“We did the dank and dead church thing yesterday. My turn to pick. And it’s not hot, it’s just a little warm from the sun. Also, Camilla said the colors were fantastic here this time of year. It’s called autumn.”

“I know what autumn is, dumb ass.” Harrow crossed her arms over her chest, even though it was far too warm to have anything touching.

Gideon sighed dramatically, made a final prance, then loped over to skid to a halt in front of Harrow, who raised an eyebrow. Gideon simply grinned.

“What are we doing here?”

“Looking at pretty colors! Have ever seen red this deep? Orange this bright? Gold this glimmering?” She waved her hand at the nearby trees at the edge of the meadow.

“Yes, I saw red this deep yesterday evening when you pricked your thumb while testing your blade. I see orange this bright always when I look at your ridiculous hair, and gold this glimmering every time I look in the mirror.”

Gideon winked one her own now-black eyes, which still threw Harrow off. At least they were the familiar black of the Ninth, and not the creepy oil sheen of God’s own. Thank God (no pun intended) that Gideon shared very little physically with her birth father, apart from their brown skin. And the horrendous sense of humor, but that wasn’t physical and therefore could be ignored by tuning the woman out. Which happened less these days, as Harrow was still so grateful to once again be able to talk to Gideon face to face, no longer parted by the River or physical distance.

“Come on.” Gideon grabbed Harrow’s hand, hauled her back to the shuttle, where she rummaged around until she reappeared with her robes and a knapsack that she slung onto her back. She grabbed Harrow’s hand again and this time hauled her to a nearby stand of trees, where she threw her rumpled robes onto the shaded ground in a sort of flat manner, then pulled the two of them down on top of it.

“Nav! You’re going to ruin your robes.”

“Better mine than yours. Although, you really should take those off. You’re going to roast. And there’s no need for roasting, I already think you’re hot.”

Harrow’s glower was hot enough to start a fire, but Gideon just laughed.

“Come on! We are the champions! Take a load off. Eat some lunch. Enjoy the views!”

“The colors are making my eyes hurt.”

But the protest was half-hearted. It was hard not getting caught up in Gideon’s enthusiasm. After the past couple of years, they deserved a break from the madness, and although this was so not her scene, she had to admit it was a nice change from space and people and death. She closed her eyes to feel the thalergy of an un-flipped planet, safe from future run-ins with Resurrection Beasts. The life wriggling around her was an unfamiliar shock, even after all the time she had spent flipping thalergy to thanergy during her training. It was nice to not think about wading into the disgusting, brackish waters of the River and taking all of this away. It was nicer seeing Gideon happy and goofy and alive, even if her eyes still weirded Harrow out. A small price to pay to have the person who understood her best back by her side. Forever. Well, for myriads at least. The perks of perfect lyctorization. This terrible meadow didn’t even seem that bad when she put it in that context.

Gideon sprawled on her side and leaned on an elbow as she dug through the knapsack, materializing a few half-smooshed sandwiches, apples, two bottles of something, and a box strong enough to come out of the knapsack unscathed.

“White bread, no crusts, bland tofu and cheese for Miss Picky,” Gideon dropped the sandwich in front of Harrow’s crossed legs, “and a gorgeous everything sandwich for me.” She kissed the package before unwrapping and taking a big bite, some sort of pink sauce dripping down her chin. She grinned. “Eat! And for Me’s sake, take off the damned robes. You’ll sweat out any calories otherwise. Plus, I have to sit with your stinky ass the whole way back in the shuttle.”

Harrow pinched the bridge of her nose. “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re not God. You can’t curse in your own name, Griddle.”

“God, daughter of God.” Gideon shrugged. “Same same.”

“Not remotely. Thank- somebody.”

“Thank me.”

“Definitely not.”

“Please, Harrow?”

“I’m not thanking you.”

Gideon waved a dismissive hand and furrowed her brow. Harrow knew that furrow. It meant she was about to be mother henned. “Not that. I mean, please relax. Eat. Enjoy the colors. Soon enough we’ll be back on dreary Ninth. Home sweet hole-in-the-planet. You’ll be busy running the House, I’ll be … I dunno, posing for tourists to feel my amazing biceps? Re-enacting the battles I fought in? Whatever.” She looked remarkably serious for once. “I just wanted us to have a little time to ourselves, before things get crazy again.”

Despite the solemnity, Harrow felt a grin lift a corner of her mouth. “This isn’t a victory tour. This is a honeymoon, isn’t it, Griddle?”

“What? No. Not- No.” Gideon looked away, scratching the back of her neck. “Just, ya know, some … quiet time.”

“What if I want it to be?”

Gideon whipped her head back around, eyes wide. “You’d want– But it’s– We’re not married.”

It was Harrow’s turn to pretend nonchalance. She shrugged. “Well, it’s just that there aren’t too many immortal people in the universe, and you’re the only one I can stand. I’m not about to go search out another partner, just after I got you trained up.”

A suddenly shy smile played at Gideon’s ever expressive mouth. “You like Pal and Cam well enough.”

“At a distance. I’m happy sending letters and visiting on occasion. But you’ve been by my side most of our lives. It’d be weird for you to leave.” Starting to panic after showing her hand, Harrow began to backtrack. “That is, if you want to. I know you hate the Ninth. And you have friends scattered all over. I’m sure you want–”

Her mouth was stopped by another mouth, warm and soft and comforting yet somehow exciting.

“Yes.” The words were whispered against her lips before the kissing began anew. Having this, for eternity, Harrow could get used to.

They eventually fell back onto a robe-covered ground softened by leaves that crunched. Harrow looked up into the fiery canopy above them as Gideon traced soft squiggles up and down her bare arm (yes, she’d finally removed the robe). The orange really was remarkably close to Nav’s hair. She could finally see the beauty in it that Gideon had seen upon landing. She didn’t want it forever, but for now, it was … very nice.

“So,” Gideon whispered into her ear. “I just realized that as your cavalier primary, and us being basically married, I can now say that I–”

“Don’t you dare, Nav. I had to hear it from Magnus already. I do not need an encore to that terrible joke.”

Gideon cackled and kissed Gideon’s cheek. “You’re no fun.”

🍁🍂🍁

Forever perfectly preserved on Harrow’s desk was a black metal frame, the clear plex displaying three leaves—one as red as blood, another gold as coins (or eyes), and the last the same riotous orange of Gideon’s hair. When asked what they were for, Gideon always answered first: “a marriage certificate.”

#locked tomb trilogy #gideon/harrow #harrow/gideon #fanfic #ficlet #autumn #autumn mood #meagan writes #ao3 #wlw #f/f #griddlehark

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truthofherdreams · 7 years

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spoiler alert

@emmabeauchamp bullied me into writing a Dreaming Prince/Captain Swan Soulmates AU with the tattoos thingy based on a tumblr post, which I did because I’m a good friend or something (ao3)

Gideon is a walking spoiler.

He figures it out when he's nine, glasses too big for his face, hiding under the covers with a book and a flashlight. He's always felt kinda bad, as long as he can remember, to have a soulmate tattoo about someone dying. About someone he doesn't know dying. Is it a person he'll meet in the future? Someone he will learn to care about? Someone important?

But suddenly he's nine, and reading under the covers way past his bedtime, and the loud gasp escapes his lips. He struggles, getting tangled in the blankets in his haste to reach his tattoo, but there is it. The messy handwriting, the words he's known by heart since he was four.

Gideon is nine when he starts Harry Potter.

His tattoo read, “Dude, I can't believe Dumbledore dies!”

Thankfully for him, his tattoo is high on his ribcage, so hiding it from the world isn't that big of a problem. It's not like he goes to the beach or the swimming pool that often anyway, and he has very little reasons to take his shirt off in public. Keeping it a secret is less complicated than he would have thought at first.

Not so thankfully, though, his life becomes a nightmare from now on. He meets Melody on his first day in high school, and she's so proud of her tattoo she wants everyone else to be too. Which means she wants to know everything about Gideon’s mark. Which means he has to try twice as hard to hide it away from her. He's pretty sure she thinks he's one of the very rare people who doesn't have a soulmate, and she pities him a little. Even his story about having a boring “Hey!” on his ribs doesn't convince her, not that Gideon tries to be particularly convincing. But it's still better than telling her the truth, isn't it?

The truth he has to keep to himself. And, seriously, it's ruining all the Harry Potter fun for him. When everyone else around him gets excited which each new book in the series being released, Gideon only feels dread in his stomach when he turns the pages. Is it finally it? The book where poor Albus Dumbledore meets his macabre destiny?

Once, he even wonders what would happen if he were to write to the author about it. Perhaps he would be the one to give her the idea, because Dumbledore was never meant to die but now she has to kill him off if it means some random kid from Maine can meet his soulmate. Or maybe she would backtrack on it and Gideon would be left with a meaningless tattoo for a soulmate he would never meet. Butterflies and hurricanes, the thought scary enough to stop him from grabbing a pen and a piece of paper.

Eight year of torture, the eight longest years of his life, before the fifth book comes out and puts him out of his misery for good. It’s almost a relief, really -- he’s probably the only one on Earth relieved that Dumbledore dies, and the thought alone makes his head spin. He doesn’t want to resent his soulmate for it, because it isn’t fair on the guy, but, really. His soulmate ruined Harry Potter for him. He kinda resents him, just a little.

Still, Melody is sitting in front of him at lunch, head in her hands, like the word crumbled around her and she doesn’t know how to react. Gideon would say he knows how she feels, but -- it wasn’t exactly a plot twist for him now, was it?

“It’s just a book,” he tells her, even if he knows it won’t change anything.

And, indeed, she glares at him, black hair falling in front of her eyes even when she huffs to push it away. She glares, before she squints. “Why are you reacting like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re not reacting at all.”

He shrugs, the truth sticking to the back of his teeth, before he remembers. It isn’t a secret anymore. It’s out there in the open for everyone to read, and it isn’t a secret he has to keep any longer. The sigh escapes his lips, loud and heavy, his shoulders sagging a little. Melody quirks an eyebrow at him, but still follows him outside the cafeteria when he gestures for her to follow him, the wheels of her chair squeaking on the floor. He finds an empty corridor easily -- everyone either in the cafeteria or outside during that time of the day -- and lifts his shirt up for her to see the words etched into his skin.

Unsurprisingly, she bursts into laughter.

…

Nothing happens during the following week, or month.

Gideon can guess why.

…

His hand in on Melody’s back, helping her down the stairs while she struggles with her crutches -- not for the first time, he offered to carry her, but she’s too proud to look weak in public. Her wheelchair is down the stairs, just next to the big screen, and so Gideon helps her down once almost everyone in the cinema has left the room. It’s only them and a handful of people, as they make their way down slowly. A bead of sweat rolls down Melody’s forehead, his hand reaching for her elbow, when he hears it.

“Dude, I can’t believe Dumbledore dies!”

Both he and Melody stop in their track, turning around as one to face the guy behind them. Medium-height, blond hair curling around a baseball cap, hoodie too big for his frame. That’s about everything Gideon sees of him, before he snaps.

“You! You’re the one!” The guy’s eyes widen, the pupils a deep green even in the darkness of the cinema, and Gideon barely has time to think, This is your soulmate, holy shit, before he goes on. “You ruined this for me! All of this! You ruined Harry Potter for me!”

The girl behind him -- she looks so much like him, only slightly older, that she can only be his sister -- loses it right here and then, laughing so loudly everyone else around them stops and stares. Not that Gideon cares all that much when, breaths laboured and heavy, he can only stare at the guy in front of him. Damn, but he’s pretty too, even if wildly confused.

“That’s not really how I imagined that being said,” he kind of half-mumbles.

His sister laughs louder. Melody huffs a snort too. Gideon only stares and stares and stares, unable to react, to answer, to do anything at all. And then the guy is smiling and he knows, truly, deeply, how fucked he is, because there are double dimples in his cheeks and sparkles in his eyes and this is your soulmate, goddammit, who cares about stupid Dumbledore.

From the corner of his eye, he sees that the blonde girl is now taking care of Melody, helping her down the stairs and, most likely, making sure to leave them some space. Gideon’s breath hitches in his throat at the thought, even more so when the other guy takes a step down and closer to him. He’s smaller than Gideon, not that it’s that difficult -- he’s been towering over everyone since he was about fourteen, too tall for his own good. And pretty. He’s so damn pretty Gideon has no idea where to go from there. He’s never been really good at the whole flirting thing, but everything happening right now makes it even worse.

“I’m Leo,” the boy says with the same mirthful grin.

I’m a mess, he wants to reply. But, instead and rather pitifully, “Gi--Gideon.”

“Nice to meet you,” Leo grins. “And sorry about the Dumbledore thing.”

“I will never forgive you,” Gideon deadpans. A little too much, maybe, because Leo’s smile drops for a moment, before he catches up with the poor attempt at humour and laughs softly. He has a beautiful laugh. The kind of laugh Gideon would very much like to hear all his life. Geez, five minutes and he’s so far gone it’s not even funny.

Leo puts his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and bites down on his bottom lip, drawing Gideon’s eyes to his mouth even as he moves closer still. Can you die of a heart attack so young? Maybe he’ll be the first one, a medical anomaly. “I can make it up to you, maybe?”

Call 911.

Help.

…

Emma sits on the hood of her car, eyes on her phone, when Leo gets out of the cinema. Even from afar and with his cap hiding half his face, she can see the smug grin on his face. Not that she blames him. Her little brother has always been more of a romantic fool than she ever was, has always believed his life could only be complete once he met his soulmate -- and why would he think otherwise anyway, with such a sweet tattoo on his bicep. She doesn’t blame him for the halo of happiness following him right now.

She doesn’t blame him, even if she tries her best to ignore the jealousy in the pit of her stomach. Sometimes, Emma wonders what her life would be like if she had never met Neal, if she had chosen another dark alley to come home faster, if she had left Ruby’s house just five minutes later. If she had never met Neal, and his stupid smiles and his stupid pickup line that matched the tattoo on her wrist. Neal and his lies, his deceits, his bullshit. Neal, who pretended to be her soulmate, just because.

“His name is Gideon,” Leo gloats once he’s close enough to the car.

“That’s a nerdy name if I’ve ever heard one,” Emma comments, just to be an asshole. Not that Leo cares, both because he’s used to their banter and because he’s too happy to care about anything right now. “But you’re into nerds so…”

“You’re into nerds,” he shoots back lamely.

She grins. “Got his number?”

Leo opens his mouth, before horror flashes through his eyes. It’s all Emma needs to lose her shit again, laughing out loud as she watches her baby brother stammer pitifully before he quickly says, “I’ll be back,” and runs back inside. Emma bites down on her lip, snickering to herself, before she shakes her head.

Romantic fool indeed.

When she checks her phone again, she has about three dozen Whatsapp notifications -- most of them from Anna on the girls’ group chat -- and she sighs loudly before opening the app. Knowing Leo, she has more than enough time to catch up on her friend’s shenanigans anyway. She’s scrolling through the conversation, mostly about Anna’s upcoming wedding, when she hears some kind of noise to her left.

Looking up, she finds one guy from the cinema walking toward the large dumpsters by the other side of the parking lot, his arms full of folded boxes. She looks at him from the corner of her eye, and he must sense it because he stops in his track and looks back. He’s wearing all black, from his pants to his shirt to the stupid cap on his head, which makes him look like some cat burglar in a Nickelodeon show, or something.

“Nobody ever told you it’s dangerous to be alone at night?”

A cold shiver runs down her spine at the word, and she fights the urge to scratch the skin of her wrist. It’s just a line. Nothing but a line. “Fuck off,” she mumbles instead, before she focuses back on her phone. Or at least tries to, because she can’t focus on anything beside those fucking words, can’t focus on anything beside the guy in the corner of her eyes who looks rightfully chastised.

“Sorry,” he says, taking a step forward, then stopping. He scratches his ear, and goes on, “It’s just -- don’t want anything happening to you, love.”

His English accent makes his vowels rounder and his pet name less annoying. When she looks back at him -- properly looks back, taking in his black hair and beard and the blue of his eyes -- he is almost blushing, like he’s actually embarrassed that his line was taken as anything but concern for a stranger. Which. It’s nice, she guesses. Not that she needs anyone’s concern, but it’s nice to know there are still a couple of good people on this stupid Earth.

“I know how to handle myself,” she answers. Then, because she sounds too much like an asshole, “But thanks. Appreciated.”

He smiles at her, a tight-lipped and awkward smile, before he takes a few steps toward the back door of the cinema. Thinks better of it. Comes back to her. Emma’s breath catches in her throat, her fingers reaching for the keys in her pocket so she can turn them into a makeshift weapon. Just in case, you never know.

“Listen, love. I know it’s bad form to ask those kinds of things because of privacy and all that, but would you mind telling me what your soulmate tattoo says?”

Emma’s mouth opens, her mind racing, her heart screaming. Run, run, run, it tells her. Run and save yourself, run and save me from breaking again. But her feet are stuck to the ground and her tongue to the roof of her mouth, and her mind is screaming and screaming and screaming.

“That’s personal,” she finds herself replying numbly when he takes another step forward and into her space. Close enough that she can see the scar on his cheek and the hope in his eyes. “Only to be shared with…”

“Your soulmate, I know.” He’s smiling now, his fingers reaching for the collar of his shirt. “But I’ve always been about leaps of faith, you see.”

And then he’s pulling his collar down, offering quite the view on his collarbone and his chest hair and Emma’s writing carved in black ink into his skin. The “Fuck off” in her loopy handwriting has something almost comical to it, in a very frightening way. She licks her lips, forcing herself to breath, not to move. She wants to run; she needs to run. Away, far away from him and his tattoo and its meaning. Far away from his hopefully eyes and tentative smile and beautiful face.

Instead, she finds herself reaching for her wrist, pulling up her sleeve. The cursive words are so tiny you need to look close if you want to read them. Not that Emma needs to. She’s read them enough to know them by heart, heard them twice already. Once by Neal, who was lying. And a second time by him, who isn’t.

“I can’t,” she whispers softly, “I can’t take a chance that this thing is wrong about you.”

When he takes a step forward this time, he’s so close she can count the freckles on his nose and feel his breath on her mouth, smell the burnt popcorn in his hair and on his shirt. The gasp gets stuck at the back on her throat when he takes her hand, his thumb rubbing circles against her palm.

He’s about to reply something -- some platitude she doesn’t need, perhaps -- when Leo calls her name from afar. His fingers slip away from her, leaving nothing but a shiver and the cold of the night in their wake. Emma refuses to miss his touch, and instead focuses on her brother jogging his way toward her, grin on his lips.

“Got his number. And a date.” He notices the guy then, and frowns. “Making friends?”

“Not really. Let’s go home.”

The guy opens his mouth once, twice, the hope in his eyes leaving place to a sad puppy face. Emma has to close her own eyes to stop herself from doing something stupid. Like believing soulmates are actually something in the cards for her. “You know where to find me,” he says so softly only she can hear.

When she slams the car’s door, it sounds like finality. Leo is still staring at her, before he mumbles something about how she can never let him have his moment and how she’s always stealing his thunder and making everything about herself, or something. She just turns the volume of the radio up to drown his rambling, and her own thoughts.

…

It takes five weeks.

But when she goes back, it’s not for a movie.

#cs ff #captain swan #dreaming prince #gideon french #prince leo #emma swan #killian jones #beautiful duckling #captain sex #ouat #otl: as you wish #fanfic #ff: ouat

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