#Just imagine me whistling like a tea kettle through all of this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cryptidghostgirl · 1 month

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A/N I have some requests in the chain above this one but wanted to post something that was a stand alone and not a part to another fic I wrote earlier because of how long I have been away. I promise the two requests lined up before this (pt 3 of till death do us part and pt 4 to cover up) will be out soon! Also, this request reminds me of Cinder by Marissa Meyer so there is some mild inspo from that in here (and loose quoting. sorry. I got carried away.).

What it Means to be a Person (Alastor x Cyborg!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Description: Y/n gave an arm and a leg to the fight against the exterminators and feels she has lost her humanity by the bionic replacements Lucifer and Charlie gifted her in return. Alastor reminds her that not all is lost, she can still dance, after all.

Warnings: Hurt//comfort. This might've ended up a little more angsty than intended and I kinda ran away with the prompt. Sorry about that.

Word Count: 2,246

Master Lists:

Master Lists

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Alastor Master List

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

“Imagine there was a cure, but it would cost you everything. What would you do?”

Y/n's question hung in the air of the dimly lit kitchen, echoing off the uncertainties late hours like this one always seemed to carry. Alastor froze where he stood by the stove, his hang halfway to the kettle whistling away upon it. He turned to face her where she sat at the far end of the rough hewn kitchen table, her head in her hands and her hair acting as a curtain, as a shield, hiding her face from view.

The meeting had been an accident. Alastor had found himself craving a cup of tea to accompany his late night preparations for tomorrows broadcast and when he had entered the kitchen, he had found her sitting there. Since the day Y/n had shown up at the hotel in all her bright and wild exuberance, Alastor had felt a connection with the girl. She was bubbly, a showman at heart with a soft spot for the macabre, how could he not automatically find a certain level of camaraderie with her? Everything had changed after the battle with Heaven a few weeks before.

Y/n had fought valiantly, using all her brains and brawn to protect the place she had come to call her home and the people she had discovered to be her family. The battle did not take her life, but she did give an arm and a leg to its hungry fervor. With Lucifer's help, Charlie had managed to get her an appointment with a well known doctor in Pentagram City. The man had given Y/n back her ability to stand, to reach for things, but had taken the mangled remains of her human form in the process. She had been brought back to square one, learning how to walk, to hold a pencil. She had been filled to the brim with wires that allowed her to control her new appendages.

The conversation had been an accident as well. Alastor hadn't meant to open the can of worms he was now sifting through. He had just spotted her sitting there, had casually asked how she was doing. Y/n was always so human, so much more human than he was capable of being. It was the only thing that had ever held him back from taking what he wanted, that wild and irrevocable humanity of hers.

"I would take the cure." Alastor replied after a moment, turning back to the stove and at last lifting the kettle, pouring the hot water into his favorite mug, "It would be better than the alternative."

With a decided intent in his step, he made his way over to her. The legs of the chair scraped dangerously across the floor as he pulled it out and took a seat beside her. Y/n looked up.

Alastor was shocked at what he saw. Y/n had been hiding since the battle, claiming that she was recuperating. No one had any reason to doubt her given the injuries she had sustained but now, Alastor was not so sure. Her eyes were sunken, dark circles dulling the pink of her cheeks. She was silver in the moonlight as it streamed through the window but she did not shine as she normally seemed to.

"I'm not human anymore."

Y/n's voice was cracked and raw, it only made him love her more. Out of all the creatures in Hell, she was the only one who would worry about such a thing, he was sure of it. Alastor had to stop himself from laughing, focusing on the heat of the cup held between his hands.

"You never were. You haven't been in a long time." he mused in response and Y/n sighed.

"I don't feel like a person anymore."

Again, another contradiction. Y/n was a demon, through and through. Not quite an overlord but powerful, well on her way to becoming one. There was nothing human about that in Alastor's eyes. The way he saw it, the moment a soul died they stopped being a person, no matter where in the afterlife they ended up. It was clear she would not agree. They had never talked of such matters before, it was an unexpected revelation. Alastor took a deep breath.

"Why?"

Y/n was silent, her eyes returning to the table as she traced the grains of the wood. It was unlike him, the concern, the curiosity for such an emotional matter. Alastor had long since given up on trying to make sense of the things she provoked in him. He tried again.

"How do you define being human? Is it what you look like? What you're made up of? Or is it who you are."

It was a clumsy attempt. There had been no need to provide comfort for a long time, not since Alastor had been alive. He was out of practice but, he supposed, caring for another was rather like riding a bike. Once you learned how it was done, you never really forgot.

"Who you are but..." Y/n's eyes met his once again, the conflict occuring behind them apparent.

She was unsheltered, the facade was gone. Alastor would consider himself close with the demon, closer perhaps than anyone else at the hotel but still, he had never seen her like this. His heart hurt.

"At the same time," she continued solemnly, "there is more to it than that."

"How do you define humanity?"

Y/n thought for a moment.

"Dancing. Spending time with friends, having people who care about you. Making meals together, reading books and poetry. Making art. Feeling one with the world around you, being a part of the earth we all come from."

Alastor held another laugh at bay. It wasn't out of the blue but, at the same time, there was something strange about hearing the words as they left her lips. He took a sip of his drink, the hot liquid worming its way down his throat and into his stomach.

"Doesn't the fact that you now find yourself to be inhuman at all show at least some of those?"

Y/n cocked her head to the side in confusion, her brow furrowing. Alastor sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"What I mean is that the reason you have those bionic limbs of yours at all is because you have people who care about you enough to get them for you and you cared enough about other people to give up what you originally had. If that isn't having people who care about you, spending time with friends, being one with the world around you, I don't know what is."

"But I am not of the earth any longer." Y/n ruefully replied.

"You are."

"How? I am naught but metal now. I traded steel for skin."

In the weakness of the night breeze, she seemed to slip into the skin she once wore. Flowery language, a posh, nearly transatlantic accent, shoulders straight and strong, all reminders of her upper class upbringing from so long ago. He could almost see her now as she must've been. It was a trick of the light.

"You were buried, right?"

Y/n nodded.

"I believe so. Beside my mother."

"Then you are forever of the earth."

"To the earth we must return," Y/n nodded after a moment in solemn agreement, "but I will never dance again."

Alastor had never even known it was something she had enjoyed. The time for questions was later, he got to his feet, his cup left abandoned on the table.

Alastor summoned his staff with a wave of his hand, leaning it against the sideboard as a soft song began playing from its speaker. Turning to Y/n once again, he offered her his hand. Y/n eyed it tentatively before reaching out her own to grab it.

With a shake of Alastor's head, she halted mid movement. He didn't need words to get his point across, Y/n just didn't like it. Lowering her hand, she raised the other. It was heavier, made from something other than flesh. There was an ungainly sense to the way she moved it. It didn't flow graceful through the air, it was too heavy for that. The metal of her fingers was cold and harsh against his palm as he helped her ineptly to her feet.

"Ella Fitzgerald." she mused softly, her eyes on his microphone.

"I didn't know you liked jazz."

Y/n's eyes met his once again and she gave him a half hearted smile.

"Growing up in the 1930s and being someone who held distaste towards jazz would have been an impossibility, wouldn't you agree?"

He had known she was alive sometime around the turn of the century but, that had been it. Alastor grinned from ear to ear at this subtle revelation.

"I knew there was a reason I liked you."

Letting go of her hand, Alastor took a step back. He bowed. Y/n couldn't help it, she laughed a little.

"What on earth are you doing?"

Alastor looked up at her, still bowing as their eyes met. Slowly, he straightened himself up, holding a hand out to her once again.

"Y/n, would you do me the absolute honor of sharing this dance?"

He had hoped his showmanship would make her smile, make her laugh even, the way it normally did. Instead, she withdrew her arms to her chest, taking a halting step backwards as she shook her head. Alastor's gaze softened. He had never seen her afraid before.

"Please."

"I..."

Y/n's eyes flitted wildly around the room, searching for any excuse, any fodder for her escape. At last, she relented, hesitantly placing her hand back into his own.

"Okay."

Her voice was soft, almost breathless. Alastor pulled her into him, snaking an arm around her waist as she placed her other on his shoulder.

"See?" he asked as they began to dance, "All is not lost to you."

There was nothing elegant about her movements. Y/n grimaced.

"But it is not the same either. Once I was something grand."

"Change is inevitable. You are still someone grand."

"Not change like this."

Alastor spun her out, catching Y/n in his arms as she almost tripped over the weight of her foot.

"Why do you hate it so much? Is it vanity?"

"Change is inevitable." Alastor said again and was overjoyed when Y/n rolled her eyes, smiling slightly as his response, "You're still beautiful, almost more so now."

This took her aback. The tingle of a question at the back of her mind was outweighed by shock. She stilled, still pressed close to Alastor as the music filtered softly into their ears.

"What?"

"Before you shined, but just on the inside." Alastor admitted, refusing to look away from her wide eyes even as he felt the heat rush to his cheeks, "Now you do on the outside as well, see?"

He held the hand he clasped tightly in his own up to the light streaming in through the window. The moon glinted off the silver surface of the metal, sending playful patterns scattering across the walls of the kitchen. Y/n's breath caught in her throat.

"And you can still dance. Why don't you help me with dinner tomorrow?"

It was something they had done on occasion before the extermination, cook for the inhabitants of the Hazbin Hotel together.

"Why are you doing this?"

The smile slipped from Alastor's face.

"I don't understand." Y/n shook her head, pushing herself away from Alastor and wrapping her arms around her torso, "Why are you doing all this for me?"

The answer was simple. Sometimes, the truest things in life are.

"Because I love you." he admitted, "And it pains me to see you like this."

"I..."

He had known it was too good to be true. The music stopped, his staff vanishing into thin air as quickly as it had appeared.

"I'll go. Just... make sure you get some sleep tonight, I know you havent been."

He was halfway to the door, mostly past her, when he felt the cool grip of her hand on the exposed skin of his wrist. Alastor stopped, he turned. There was a minute bravery in the act. Not that she had stopped him, that she had grabbed his arm. If anything, that was the most normal thing that had occurred all evening. No, it was the arm she had chosen to use, the one she held such conflict over and saw as something to be embarrassed about, ashamed of.

She stood tense in the moonlight, her free hand raised to her chest.

"I..."

Y/n's mind was spinning, her thoughts firing off at a thousand miles a minute. She wanted to say it, knew it was true, but something stopped her. She wasn't ready.

"Thank you, Alastor."

Alastor smiled softly, almost sadly over at her. Gently, he removed her hand from his wrist, holding it in his own and patting it gently.

"Always."

------

QUOTES REFERENCED (BECAUSE I REFUSE TO STEAL OTHERS WORK EVEN FOR A FANFICTION)

“Imagine there was a cure, but it would cost you everything. What would you do?” -> taken from “Imagine there was a cure, but finding it would cost you everything. It would completely ruin your life. What would you do?” in Cinder by Marissa Meyer

“Vanity is a factor," Y/n admitted, "but it is more a question of control. It is easier to trick others into perceiving you as beautiful if you can convince yourself you are beautiful. But mirrors have an uncanny way of telling the truth and I am not made up of the same materials I once was." -> taken from “Vanity is a factor, but it is more a question of control. It is easier to trick others into perceiving you as beautiful if you can convince yourself you are beautiful. But mirrors have an uncanny way of telling the truth.” in Cinder by Marissa Meyer

TAGS:

@willowshadenox @i-love-jafar @elfyeet @reader3 @lazygirlfanfic0-0@kahlan170@wendyphan01203-blog @fairyv-ice @clarakainda @lunaramune @mcueveryday @luxky-aish @peterpankat @corvid007

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jungle-angel · 5 months

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Winter Blues (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: It's the time of year when you're not feeling quite yourself, but thank God for your husband

You had come home later than usual after a long week, exhausted beyond all human reasoning and your body screaming for rest.

All week long it had been one thing after another, first with your students and then with having to prep for the holidays and stressful situations outside the home. You felt every last cell in your body screaming for you to rest, your head heavy and aching from the stress.

You parked the truck in the driveway, the snow falling heavily as you stepped out onto the driveway with the last minute supplies for Thanksgiving dinner. The stress had weighed so heavy on your mind that no sooner were you through the door than you cracked. The tears started falling from your eyes as you hung up your coat, scarf, hat and mittens.

Your crying must've been a little more noticeable than you initially thought when you felt a set of arms coiling around your waist and a soft cheek smushed against the back of your head.

"My sweet baby," Bob mumbled. "What's wrong?"

"Oh Bob," you whimpered. "I'm just.....I can't.....I can't right now."

"Shhhh," Bob hushed. "You come with me and get settled. I'll make you a hot mint tea and we'll pop in a movie."

You nodded as he kissed your cheek. He helped you over to the couch where a blanket had been messily tossed aside, no doubt from an afternoon nap he had taken. As soon as you heard the kettle on the stove beginning to whistle, Bob brought in two mugs full of steaming hot peppermint tea, one for you and one for himself.

You told him everything that had happened in your day, even the little things that seemed to be bothering you. You felt a little bad dumping it all on him at once, but you knew he was a good listener who would help you.

"Oh sweetheart," he said wistfully. "Don't let it get to you. I know it's easier said than done, but I don't want you to stress yourself out."

You snuggled a little closer to him, his warm body comforting and soothing like the mint tea you had both been drinking. "I know I shouldn't stress myself out like that but....."

"Hey," Bob said reassuringly. "You know I love you even when you're stressed out right?"

You nodded.

"So come here and lets get cozy," he said, drawing you closer and kissing your head.

Bob switched on a movie and when it began playing you laughed a little. "Really Bob?" you chuckled. "Isn't it a little too early for us to be watching Christmas Vacation?"

"It's never too early for a Christmas movie sweetheart," he said happily, gently stroking the back of your neck and pressing a sweeet kiss to your lips.

You both laughed throughout the movie, quoting it back and forth until you forgot the troubles of the day, the both of you warm and cozy under the covers and falling into the deepest sleep you could have imagined.

#top gun maverick #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #dagger squad

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jomiddlemarch · 15 days

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That it alone is high fantastical

“Oh, Mother, you’ll never guess! You’ll never guess in century of guessing!” Rilla cried out, sounding so much as she had as a little girl, for a moment, Anne could convince herself the War had never happened and that somewhere in Rainbow Valley, Walter sat writing a crown of sonnets in his leather-bound journal, his face dappled by the light, back braced against the bole of a birch tree, his grey eyes unfocused as he searched for his next word.

There was still a white stone in the graveyard. Shirley was in Toronto, having refused (albeit politely) to return to Glen St. Mary, much to Susan’s dismay, and Jem walked with a pronounced limp, his uneven gait announcing him as much as Mary’s voice.

There was a mystery there, Jem and Mary Vance, but Anne couldn’t see any way through it and Gilbert, lying beside her in bed, both of them tired but sleepless, told her not to try. Jem had seemed less removed, less falsely cheerful lately, and had begun talking about the medical course again, perhaps a specialty in obstetrics, a hospital practice. As far away from men dying in battle as he can get, Gilbert had observed and Anne had recalled Joyce’s little face, white as a mayflower blossom, and held her tongue.

Rilla, remarkably, given her exuberant entrance, had done the same in the absence of Anne’s response. Miss Oliver had left Ingleside some weeks ago, so there was no one to suggest Rilla either elaborate or calm herself, as her likeness to a whistling copper tea-kettle was increasingly pronounced.

“If I’ll never guess, dear, you must tell me,” Anne said. It was a relief that Rilla could still be the young girl she ought to be, for all that she wore Ken Ford’s diamond ring on her finger and was capable of a brisk, warm matronliness when it came to raising Jims, now reserved for the writing of letters to his new British stepmother and clucking over the missives she received.

“Faith Meredith has eloped!”

Anne did admit to herself she would never have guessed that, because for all her imagination, she wouldn’t have guessed something impossible.

“But, Rilla, Jem is with your father today, doing the Lowbridge rounds. Susan and I packed a lunch with plenty of pie for Dad and some of that flapjack Jem took to after being in England,” Anne said. He’d been in hospital in England, recovering from the injuries he’d sustained at the Front, in the prison camp, during his escape, none of which was spoken of. Only flapjack and stewed tea and how no cook in England was a patch on Susan and that you may tie to, uttered with some semblance of his old roguish humor.

“I didn’t say she married Jem, Mother!” Rilla exclaimed. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were bright. She had a look of Gilbert at his most delighted about him, an expression Anne remembered from their childhood. Anne opened her mouth to speak but Rilla interrupted.

“It’s Bertie Shakespeare Drew! Faith Meredith is Mrs. Bertie Shakespeare!” Rilla said.

If Anne hadn’t already been sitting down, she would have, suddenly and gracelessly. As it was, the shirt she’d been mending fell from her lap.

“That’s—why, Rilla, are you sure?”

“I heard it directly from Mary Vance,” Rilla said, lifting a hand to stop Anne from speaking. “And Miss Cornelia Bryant. You know Miss Cornelia has no taste for gossip. Miss Cornelia’d heard it from Mrs. Meredith—”

“Poor Rosemary,” Anne said, before she could stop herself.

“Why poor Rosemary? I suppose they thought Faith and Jem would make a go of it, at least, perhaps Reverend Meredith and Mrs. Meredith did, but the War’s done funny things to people and Faith and Jem, they just didn’t fit any longer,” Rilla said. Sometimes, Anne felt Rilla reminded her of someone she couldn’t name and realized her youngest daughter spoke with the wisdom Anne’s own mother might have had. Plenty of folks in the Glen would find such a thought eerie, but Anne was comforted, for all that she ought to be the one offering a thoughtful explanation rather than receiving it.

“I suppose I meant the surprise, an elopement—”

“They must not have wanted to wait. Or were afraid someone would try to talk them out of it. Bertie’s mother maybe,” Rilla said.

Rosemary or her father, Anne thought. Jem, if he’d been given the chance, perhaps. Perhaps not, if Rilla was correct.

“Bertie Shakespeare Drew,” Anne said. “I remember when he was born. He’s just Jem’s age.”

“He’s not much like you remember him, Mother. He’s all tall and stalwart now and they say he’s going in for engineering, that he learned quite a bit in France, found he had a talent for that sort of thing. And his ears don’t stick out quite so much anymore,” Rilla said.

“There’re more things on heav’n and earth,” Anne said, mangling the quote a bit, fairly certain Rilla would not correct her. “D’you suppose Faith calls him Bertie? Or his full name—it’s quite a mouthful.”

Queenly Faith Meredith, the undisputed beauty of Glen St. Mary, who had a sense of humor but also a sense of herself as beyond any teasing, now to be Mrs. Bertie Shakespeare Drew. Anne smiled to herself and thought how Mary Vance would find a way to make Jem grin over it all. She’s lucky to get him, Mary would say, reversing the order the Glen would have assumed, and Mary, canny and unexpectedly kind, would have the right of it, perhaps.

Susan would be quite outraged and the pastry of her next pie might suffer for it, but Gilbert had always taken an unchristian glee in Susan’s outrage and wouldn’t mind the pastry being a bit heavier. It was still the best piecrust on Prince Edward Island, now that Mrs. Rachel Lynde was no longer living to give Susan a run for her money.

“Miss Cornelia said Faith was heard to call him Will, when she spoke to her parents. It’s after Shakespeare of course, and because he was so determined they marry,” Rilla said.

“And because Faith wanted to,” Anne said. She wasn’t sure if she meant the elopement or the name, but it was all of a piece.

“Miss Cornelia said they’d gone to New York for their honeymoon and she hoped Faith didn’t come back with a bunch of silly Yankee airs but Mary and I didn’t think that was likely,” Rilla said, sitting down beside Anne, picking up the shirt and starting to sew.

“She didn’t come back from England any different, after all,” Rilla said.

“Except that she didn’t marry your brother,” Anne replied.

“D’you know, Mother, even without the War, I don’t think they’d ever have gone through with it, Faith and Jem,” Rilla said. “It was, how shall I put it, like a childhood fairy tale, the honorable knight and the maiden fair, all sorts of adventures they had in Rainbow Valley. They were always going to grow up. We all were.”

Not Walter, Anne’s heart said. Not Joyce.

“I’m glad of Ken’s name, anyway. And don’t worry, I wouldn’t elope for anything. I want our families around us, as many as we can get, even if we have to wait. We’re rather good at that,” Rilla said. She’d finished the one shirt and picked up another. She peered at it, frowned. “I can’t think what Dad does to his clothes—”

“I’ve made up a thousand stories to try to explain that and I still don’t think I’ve figured it out,” Anne said. “Some things, my darling girl, are beyond explanation.”

This one's for @freyafrida because I didn't manage to squeeze Faith/Bertie Shakespeare into my Jem/Mary fic...

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zmediaoutlet · 10 months

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murder in the city

for @wincestwednesdays - blood

They've started dimming the bunker lights at night. More like a real place, that way, a motel or a house to squat in. The concrete floors are cold on Sam's bare feet. Still doesn't totally know his way around, but that's all right. There are plenty of long nights ahead to figure out the layout. Or maybe not that many. He's been trying not to think about it, but. Lot of long nights.

The infirmary, the gun range, the library. The kitchen, and the coffeepot, and the newspaper left on the island with a couple of obits circled in thick sharpie, and it's probably meant to be a distraction for him but it's probably a real job, too. Sam leans over to check it out but his eyes blur and he sinks to his elbows, and then puts his forehead down to his clenched fists. His mouth tastes like pennies. All the time now, practically. In his throat the urge to cough rises and he breathes very carefully through his nose because he just—doesn't want to. He doesn't want to have to.

A box of black Lipton appeared on the shelves, when he kept coughing and hasn't stopped. He heats water in the old-school steel kettle, leaning against the stovetop, his fingers shoved in to the soft part of his throat next to his windpipe. Like if he strangles himself maybe that horrible tickling urge won't creep in. He keeps his eyes closed and feels his pulse thump against his fingertips, slow and steady. Imagines a day sometime soon when that'll change. Either staggering and erratic or all-too-fast—like years ago, in those worse days, when there was no unexplained tea as a clumsy attempt at care, when the iron-taste riming his teeth was all his own fault.

If all this goes the way he expects, it'll be yet another broken promise. His ears ring. It takes a second to swim past that to realize that, no, it's the kettle, whistling. God, he's tired.

"You gonna make your tea or do I gotta do it for you, Miss Marple?"

He jerks, turns. "I—sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up."

"Unless you made me have to pee I think you're innocent, this time," Dean says, but not really smiling. He's wearing the robe he claimed, hands deep in the pockets. Squinting at Sam across the kitchen like there's something to see.

Sam turns and busies himself with the kettle. Splashing over the tea bag, pouring too fast so that it judders out of the spout, spattering the back of his hand. He hisses, and for the hissing he's punished with not being able to keep the cough down, and it stings, god—stings so bad, not that deep down-in-the-lungs coughing that feels like it's actually doing something, like the one time he got the flu and thought he'd turn inside out, but just—scratching, shredding, making his eyes water and his mouth fill with—

"Jeez, you're a safety hazard," Dean says, and he's right there, at Sam's side, taking the kettle away, a clatter of the steel somewhere, and then his hand heavy between Sam's shoulderblades. Warm, patient, while Sam hacks and shudders and tries to remember how to take breaths that feel clean. "Yeah, okay. Get it out."

There's no getting it out. Sam inhales very cautiously through his nose and doesn't say it, because that would be cruel, and it's too late or maybe early to get into that kind of fight. Especially when Dean's warm against him, and soft in that robe. His arm slides down around Sam's back, and Sam doesn't need help walking but he lets Dean take him over to the sink, and he leans down with his elbows on the porcelain rim and washes his mouth clean, spitting. With the lights low he hopes Dean can't see the color.

He sits with his back to the table and watches Dean move around the kitchen. His space, like the library's Sam's. Dean wipes up the spilled water and puts the kettle back in its place and glances at Sam, and then goes to the pantry shelf where he's got a bottle of bourbon stashed and pours a healthy glug into Sam's mug. "Seriously?" Sam says, and Dean shrugs and then pours another mug full of bourbon for himself, and brings both of them over to the table. He holds Sam's out to him handle-first and says, "It's medicine," and Sam smiles at him, too tired to do otherwise. Dean clunks his mug against Sam's, very carefully, and Sam winds the trailing string of the teabag over his knuckles and takes a sip, cautious. Hot, both temperature and alcohol, but sweet too. Might not really help but it feels good, and that's something, at least.

Dean waits for him to swallow, and then drinks his own mug down in a single shot. Grimaces into it, when it's empty. He looks as tired as Sam feels. Maybe more. Sam sits forward and sets his hand on Dean's hip, sorry in this—thin, entirely inadequate way. Knowing he'd make the same choice all the same. Dean licks his lips and sets his mug on the table by Sam's shoulder and then steps between Sam's knees, and Sam puts his forehead to Dean's sternum and holds Dean around the waist. Warm dark. His mouth tastes like bourbon now, at least.

Fingers through Sam's hair, carding it off the back of his neck. "You slept through the night once, this week?"

He takes a deep, careful breath. Raw over his raw throat. He's not supposed to lie, anymore. He promised. Dean's always asking Sam to make promises he'll be forced to break. "Once, I think," he says.

Dean sighs but doesn't call him out. Maybe he doesn't want to fight, either. Ever since they moved in here it's been—good. Better. Dean happy to have a home and Sam just—well, it doesn't matter. He leaves his forehead against Dean's chest and feels his breath rise and fall, his fingers tucked just barely inside the elastic of his boxers, holding on. Dean has a place, here, the safest place either of them has ever seen, and all this knowledge at his fingertips, and if Sam manages not to screw up these trials then it'll be—worth it. The world safer and Dean… he'll be okay, Sam thinks. In this bunker their family gave them. It's worth it, for that.

"Can't believe I got up for this sappy crap," Dean says, very quiet.

"Thought you said you had to pee," Sam says, muffled, and Dean says, "I can multitask," and then tugs on Sam's hair at the back so he's forced to tip his head and look up, and before he can say anything Dean dips down and kisses him, soft with a closed mouth, just—pressing close. When their lips part with barely a sound he holds there, his forehead against Sam's and their noses brushing and his breath coming slow against Sam's mouth. Steady rhythm, like a heartbeat. Sam's anchored his whole life to it more than once. He touches Dean's throat and then drags his fingertips down, hooking the collar of his t-shirt, feeling that empty space where he used to wear—but that doesn't matter, now. Dean's here. Nothing matters more than that.

"You're wearing my shirt," Sam says, fingers caught in the v-neck.

"Finders keepers," Dean says, and then lifts up, and tucks Sam's hair behind both of his ears, and looks at him, eyes low and tender in the dim. "Man," he says, soft, and Sam doesn't know why, but then Dean touches his chin with one thumb and says, in a more normal voice, "Finish your tea, princess, and then come back to bed, huh? Cold down there without the human space heater."

"Not exactly selling it with your icicle feet," Sam says, and Dean shrugs, smiling at him kinda one-sided, but then he leaves the kitchen, and Sam's left there, listening to him scuff along the hall until he can't. He sits with his mug in both hands, looking at nothing across the empty kitchen. Since the first red spot he's been composing a note, mentally. Trying to figure how he could say everything that's worth saying. He never ends up writing anything down. Nothing he can think of comes close.

He drinks his tea. Leaves the mug by the sink knowing it'll make Dean bitch at him in the morning. His mouth still tastes like metal. But then—when he goes to Dean's room, he gets into bed and puts his arm around Dean's waist and puts his nose to the soft buzz of hair at the top of Dean's spine, and Dean sighs and pushes back against him, and he's warm against Sam's whole body except for his toes that tuck in behind Sam's ankle, freezing, like he's done since Sam's earliest memories. His skin like ice and then warming slowly against Sam's. What more could Sam ask for.

#wincest wednesday #my writing #wincest #the last couplet of this song #has driven me mad since the first time i heard it #do Not recommend the music video bc it's weird #but still:#always remember there was nothing worth sharing #like the love that let us share our name

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alexander-23 · 1 year

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Just Rest Honey (I’m Here)

A/N: I wrote this because i used to have such bad days like this because of my insomnia and honestly didn’t get to properly rest until i got meds and was at such piece. I don’t know if anyone else needs it, but here it is. Enjoy!

Warning: None? Sleep deprived reader? Insomnia?

Word Count: 784

Other Tags: fluff, tooth rotting fluff, soft Larissa Weems

I’m sitting at my desk while students sit on their own. I’ve tried countless times to get them to stop shouting and pay attention, but with the festival coming up, they are all so rambunctious. I hold my head in my hands with a pounding migraine making its way behind my eyes. The pain is awful and the fluorescent lights are no help. As some students talk about the games they will play, the door to my classroom opens and in walks a fellow teacher and Larissa. They look at the state of the classroom until their eyes land on me. Larissa comes to stand beside me, placing her hand on my arm.

“Dear, come with me. Mr. Beliro will watch over your class”

I look up at her as I stand from my seat and am unable to gauge her mood, though with the state of my classroom, I can’t imagine she’s very happy with me. I follow behind her out of my room and I can hear Mr. Berilo taking control of the room. We walk in silence which only gives my mind time to think the worst case possible and run through what might happen.

Will she yell at me? WILL I BE FIRED?! Oh god, I’m going to lose my job and Larissa will hate me!

I get so lost in thought, I don’t notice we are already approaching her office. I mindlessly follow her in, living in the worst case scenario. I feel her hands wrap around me and she guides me over to the couch she has by the fireplace and sits me down, but she doesn’t sit with me. Something warm and soft lays Over my shoulders and then Larissa is kneeling in front of me.

“Dear, when was the last time you slept?”

All I see is the concern on her face with such soft eyes and eyebrows somewhat knitted together. I simply shrug instead of speaking and look down. Her delicate hands cup my cheeks and lift my gaze to look into my eyes, and the only thing I can do is let go of a sob. I’m so exhausted and I’d do anything for everything to go away.

“Oh Y/N, honey,” she moves to sit beside me and pulls me into her arms, “I’ve got you darling, let it out”. I clutch to her as I cry, my tears staining her dress, but she doesn’t seem like she cares about that. She whispers encouraging words and rubs my back until my breathing evens out and my sobs become little whimpers. I feel so safe with her like nothing can hurt me, and all I want is to stay in this for a little while longer. Larissa pulls away slightly to look down at me, “why don’t we make you some tea to help you sleep?” I nod my head and let go, standing with her, and then she takes my hand.

She leads me into her private quarters to the kitchenette and lets me lean against her. She insists I go rest, but I can’t help but feel I need to be with her. She leans against the counter and holds me in her arms, playing with my hair. It’s been a while since I felt this relaxed and cared for. Her nails lightly scratch against my scalp and her body heat envelopes me.

“Someone seems comfortable” she lets out a little chuckle, however for me, it triggers my anxiety. I’m being too much, and I instinctively start to pull away. “Oh no no no dear, I'm sorry, I was only teasing. Come here little one” She opens her arms back to me, far too inviting for me not to shuffle my way back into her embrace.

The kettle begins to whistle, but instead of letting go of my, she works with one hand pouring my cup. She adds sugar and stirs it before lifting it to hand to me. I sip on my tea as she continues to comfort me, whispering reassuring words. Only when I'm done with my tea does she guide me towards the bed. I honestly thought she would send me to my room, I mean, she's done more than anyone else already. She helps me take off my shoes and then covers me with the blankets and duvet before walking around the bed to climb in herself. She shimmies closer until she can wrap her arm around me. I turn in her arms until we are facing each other, a sleepy smile on my face.

“Thank you” I whisper, the last thing I feel is her pulling me closer to her and a kiss placed on my forehead.

#reader insert #gwendoline christie #gwen christie #x y/n #larissa weems #principal larissa weems #principal Larissa Weems x reader #larissa weems x reader #larissa x reader #soft larissa weems #insomnia #insomniac reader #comfort character #comforting #comfort #gwendolineuniverse #gwendoline christie is a goddess

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pandoa · 2 years

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hi hi ! congrats on reaching 100 followers! may I request baby's breath, forget me nots with the theme comfort of home with a mundane, domestic afternoon situation with riddle <3 !

Baby’s breath ~ “promise me it’ll be forever”

Forget-me-nots ~ “even when your body turns old, gray, and worn, i will be yours for eternity”

~riddle rosehearts x gender neutral reader~

aaahh tysm anonie!!! i hope this is to your liking~ i tried capturing the domestic afternoon part of this imagine correctly but for some reason it took an embarrassingly long time to think?? idk perhaps i was just brain dead lol- enjoy!!

♡honey sweetened tea♡

Riddle thought your feelings for him were like honey smoothly poured into a dreamy cup of sweet tea. With just one sip, it pooled and spread throughout his body like an enchanting spell cast to draw him in. It left spiteful shudders run down his spine at the addicting sensation of the soothing drink reaching his mouth. It flowed down to his chest and stomach as it reached out to his shivering heart, in an attempt to engulf it with your fervent emotions. Every single ingredient of your flavorful affections comforted him in warmth he wished to bask in for as long as he could. You were simply so tender and sweet.

He watched as you stood there, briskly scurrying through Ramshackle’s surprisingly orderly kitchen, as you rummaged the cupboards searching for items to make him a narcotic cup of tea for his tiresome self. The stray hairs on your head were messily pulled back in a secure hairpin, you wore an adorably oversized apron that you had borrowed from your friend, Trey, all while the bursting whistles of the tea kettle created an oddly melodic harmony as you rushed to its side, eager to serve Riddle the precious drink you had made for him. Riddle would usually tell you to fix yourself up as the disheveled manner of your appearance was not very flattering in the presence of someone such as himself. But the way you struggled to keep one strand of hair out of your face hit him with waves of endearment for your simplicity, completely lovestruck.

He wondered if this was what it would be like to be loved by you. Unconditional occasions of adoration that were shown through your gentle acts of domesticity. It was so distant from any feeling he had ever experienced before. And his newfound sentiment only heightened Riddle’s longing to remain in this timeless moment with you a little while more.

“(Y/n),” the red-headed second year said almost in a faint whisper. He couldn’t contain himself anymore. You never failed to make his heart swell with an overwhelming sense of comfort and it moved him in ways he, himself, could not comprehend. “Promise me it’ll be forever,” Riddle mumbled as he fondly pointed his attention to the steam playfully dancing on the homely teacup cradled in your arms.

“Hm? Whatever do you mean, Riddle?”

“Oh, uhm…” Dear Seven, did he say that out loud?

“W-well, what I had meant was…” Curses. Why was he stuttering all of a sudden? This was unlike him. As Housewarden of the beloved Heartslabyul dorm, Riddle was required to carry himself with a certain firmness to his persona and dignity. However, all of his composure escaped through the very doors of your honey-scented home the moment he felt his hand brush against your own delicate one, reaching for the aromatic cup of tea you politely held out for him. “Us, here, simply relaxing in each other's presence. It is quite peaceful, no?”

You turned your gaze to the slightly embarrassed boy with a knowing and fond look gracing your face. You knew what his words had meant. And you wished the same thing. To remain beside each other, innocent and wholeheartedly true.

“Of course, Riddle. We can stay this way for as long as you’d like.”

“Because even when your body turns old, gray, and worn, I will be yours for eternity.”

a/n: i'll be honest, i almost forgot to add one of the prompts bc i wrote down the wrong one when planning this one out on a google doc- i feel so stupid my god

#twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #gender neutral reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle x reader #riddle x you #riddle twst #riddle twisted wonderland #twst riddle #heartslabyul #blossom grove prompt event

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jerzwriter · 1 year

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What's Forever For? Universe Miranda - Part 1

This fic is part of the What's Forever For? universe. For those who follow my T/C HC, their background is a little different here. A headcanon will be posted soon. 😊

Book: Open Heart (Post Series-Alternate Universe)

Pairing: Tobias Carrick x Casey (past)

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Divorce, heartbreak, child coping with divorce

Category: Angst/Short-Series/AU

Words: 3,050

Series Summary: Tobias & Casey signed the divorce papers. Feelings of guilt and fear of rejection kept both from admitting their true feelings... they didn't want their marriage to end. This short series will focus on how they move forward in the immediate aftermath of their divorce. We'll learn a little more about how they got here and watch as they try to move forward. It will take us from the night of their divorce to approximately 2-3 years in the future.

Chapter Summary: Tobias falls apart after his divorce is finalized. Casey does her best to hold herself together for the sake of her son. Two different women are there to help each of them through in different ways. It's night one of the beginning of the rest of their lives.

@choiceschallenge-may2023 | Breakup

This was not what she had planned this evening.

It was a cold and rainy night, even by New England standards. When the weatherman warned that it would feel more like winter was being ushered in than spring, he didn’t lie. After an especially tiring day at Edenbrook, a treacherous commute home was the last thing Miranda needed, but it made it even sweeter now that she was finally where she longed to be.

Her couch never looked so inviting, and she was sure her oversized grey sweatshirt and fuzzy socks never felt warmer. There was just one thing that could perfect this picture, she thought, as she pulled her long, chestnut brown locks into a messy bun atop her head… and that’s when her tea kettle whistled.

Her eyes shut as a content smile spread across her face, then she made her way to her tiny kitchen. She never stirring a dash of milk and sugar into her hot tea could bring her this much joy, but she wasn’t questioning it. Pulling her legs up under her, she nuzzled into her fluffy couch. The remnants of the cold that settled in her bones began to thaw at long last. Home. This is precisely where she wanted to be.

The image of that fleeting moment of bliss was still fresh in her mind as she hurried down a cold, dark Boston street. Her arms wrapped tightly around her body, as her coat seemed to be doing little to keep that cold from settling in her again. She saw the glow emitting from Donahue’s sign in the distance, and a mixture of relief and trepidation filled her.

“I’m almost there…” she muttered, unsure of what she was about to find.

Her shoulders fell as she sighed with relief when she opened the door and saw him. As pitiful a sight as he was, she had imagined much worse. Reggie shot her a nervous grin in her direction as she quickly moved through the now empty bar.

“Thank you for calling me,” she said as she approached the reason her night was upended.

She knew the bravado Tobias displayed when she called to check on him earlier was just that. But she never imagined he was sitting alone at Donahue’s, drinking away his pain. Looking at him, she was angry with herself. What kind of a friend wouldn’t realize and leave him to end up this way? But then again… it was complicated.

“I tried a couple of the guys first,” Reggie offered, halting his words when he saw Miranda had taken offense. “But it appears they’re all on duty tonight.”

“Yes, they are. But I can handle this,” she insisted with a plastered smile.

He looked so pitiful and defeated… hunched over the very spot where he usually held court. But there were no stupid jokes to be told tonight and none of his boisterous laughter to follow. The smile that sometimes seemed ever-present in his eyes was hidden behind heavy lids, and his smirk… that smirk that just left her… well, yeah… that was missing, too. The Tobias she knew had been replaced by a man who had spent the better part of the night attempting to numb the pain he chose not to face.

Miranda had her own feelings about his divorce, and like so many other feelings, she kept them largely to herself. No matter how much she believed that the painful present would lead him to a happier future, her friend was hurting, and she needed to get him home right now.

~~~~~

Tobias was shifting uncomfortably on the very place Miranda found her refuge just hours before. It was no fault of the couch; comfort wasn’t something Tobias would find any time soon.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this,” he groaned, his eyes shut tight to filter out even the dim lighting in the apartment. “I’m not your mess to clean up.”

“Hey,” she smiled as she assured him. “That’s what friends are for, right? I like to think you’d do the same for me.”

He didn’t have to say a word, for that answer was already known. Tobias had made bailing Dr. Miranda Barret out a side gig ever since he took the young intern under his wing at Mass Kenmore many years ago. She was so timid and unsure of herself back then, and the other interns smelled her blood in the water. Tobias went out of his way to help her see just how capable… how badass she was. And as Miranda continued to thrive, an unbreakable bond was formed.

Their friendship transcended the walls of the hospital. And one couldn’t blame her for hoping that one day they’d be more. He was a well-known physician who commanded respect. Charming, handsome, and oozing confidence… she had watched women far out of her league rendered speechless by him at a mere glance time and time again. Yes, he was a player, and she knew this was his game… but she was different. He showed her kindness, and his interest in her was pure, something she viewed with disdain at the time, but in the end, she was convinced it would be for the best. She wasn’t a nameless, faceless nobody who was here today and gone tomorrow. No, she’d be around for the long haul… and he wouldn’t be her attending forever.

She had to bide her time… enjoy the ride… she wasn’t ready for anything serious yet, anyway. But one day, things would be different. She was sure of it each time she saw him smile in her direction and every time someone mistook them for a couple. Yes, they’d correct them most times, but sometimes… they just let it go. Her residency would be over in six short months, and she was already dreaming up how she’d broach the topic of taking that next step until that night…

“Hey, are you going to the game tonight, Barrett?” his voice boomed from down the hall as he neared.

“Of course!” She gushed. “You know I never pass up a chance to see my favorite pitcher on the mound.”

“That’s my girl! And you’re coming out after, right?”

“You know it!”

“Good!” He smiled in a way she had never seen before, so relaxed, genuine… joyful. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to believe it as for her, until…. “Because there’s someone coming who I really want you to meet.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve kept it on the down low because, well… it’s out of character for me, I’ll admit… and I wanted to make sure it was real but… I’ve been seeing someone.”

“Oh… you have?” she deadpanned.

“Yeah, and I’ve been dying to introduce you. Her name’s Casey, and she’s a doctor at Edenbrook. You know I’ve never been a fan of commitment….”

“To put it mildly,” she smiled, trying to conceal the heartbreak she felt inside.

“Hey, be nice,” he chuckled. “Well, she’s changed all that. Miranda, I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve been dying for the two of you to meet. You’ll get along great; you have so much in common.”

“I’m… sure we do.”

“So, make sure you’re at Donahues,” he beamed. “It’s going to be a great night!”

“Miranda?” his gruff voice ushered her back to the present.

“Oh, yes,” she fumbled. “Sorry.”

He gratefully accepted the tall glass of water she offered, as well as the cool, damp rag she placed on his pounding head.

“This will have to do for now. I know your head hurts, but….”

“But I had a little too much to drink tonight,” he said with a wince.

“Yeah… you did. I thought you had Kyle tonight?”

“I did,�� he sighed. “But when we left the courthouse… we were both so down, and Casey asked if she could stop by to see him. I knew she’d feel better if he was with her tonight, so I told her she could take him home.”

Despite his condition, he didn’t miss Miranda’s brow rise at his words. Tobias’s best wishes for the two women getting along never came to be, and arguments could be made on both sides as to why. But right now, he was grateful to Miranda for refraining from sharing her opinions about the woman he still loved desperately, despite divorcing her earlier that day.

“It was very difficult,” he defended without realization. “For both of us, it was really… hard… and I thought she….”

“Tobias,” she interrupted. “You don’t have to explain. Your marriage ended today, and someone who was your everything for over a decade of your life is now… if it had been easy, I’d have to wonder about you… both of you.”

“Thanks,” he half smiled, his eyes wincing with pain.

“I wish you would have called me,” she whispered. “If I knew you were alone… the night didn’t have to be like this.”

“I’m not your problem,” he reiterated.

“You’re my friend,” she corrected again, mindlessly lacing her fingers with his. “You know I’ll always be here for you… don’t do this again, OK?”

Tobias smiled cautiously, squeezing her hand as his eyes began to shut. “I promise.”

“Now,” she said, adjusting a pillow on the end of her sofa, “why don’t you try to get some rest. You’ll wake up with one hell of a headache, but my hangover cure will be waiting for you.”

“Oh,” he said as he shifted to his side. “And what is that?”

“Well, you’ll just have to wait until the morning,” she teased. “T, before you go to sleep… is there anyone you need to let know … you’re OK?”

“I texted my Mom and told her I’m staying with a friend. And I called Kyle to say goodnight before so…” he began but drifted off to sleep before finishing the sentence.

“So you’re all set,” she smiled gently as she wrapped a soft fleece blanket around him. “Good night, Tobias.”

She turned around to look at him once more before leaving the room, quickly nixing the idea of returning to his side. Then, with a sad smile, she shut off the light and went to her room.

~~~~~

Brookline, MA

There was nothing like the scent of her little boy after he just finished his bath. And there was nothing that gave her more faith that she’d be able to move on… somehow… than the feeling of his little body pressed up against hers as he drifted off to sleep. Casey weaved her fingers through Kyle’s wavy brown hair, her soothing touch bringing as much comfort to her as it did to him.

The rollercoaster she was riding had taken her on twists and turns through every possible emotion today. And right now, she felt one she hadn’t expected to feel creeping up on her like a flower defiantly breaking through the pavement, Casey felt gratitude filling her soul. No matter how much her heart was broken or how many dreams she watched die… this little miracle was in her arms tonight solely because she and Tobias had fallen in love. He was a living, breathing testament to what they had once shared. He was born of a love she thought would never end… and now she knew it never would.

Confident he was asleep, she began to pull away and retreat to her room, but she was only a few steps away when his little voice summonsed her back.

“Mommy?” He mumbled.

“Yes, baby,” Casey replied, quickly returning to his side.

“How long are we going to stay with Gramma and Grampa?”

“I don’t know, sweetie, for a little while. Then you and I can find a nice new place of our own. We’ll make sure you have a nice big room and a nice yard, and it won’t be far away, so we can see them anytime you want.”

“And it won’t be far from Daddy, too, right, Mommy?”

“Of course, sweetheart. We’ll be sure to be close to Daddy too.”

“I miss Daddy,” he said in a soft voice that shattered the remnants of his mother’s heart. But he needed her to be strong, and she was intent on not letting him down.

“I know, Kyle; he misses you too. It will take us some time to get used to this, but I promise you, we’ll all be OK. You, me, and Daddy, too.”

“Promise?”

“I do,” Casey smiled so purely that the little boy had no option but to believe her.

“Good night, Mommy. I love you.”

Scooping him up in his arms, Casey held her son close, mustering up all her strength to conceal the tears that were aching to be released.

“I love you too, munchkin. Now get some sleep so we can get breakfast together in the morning like we planned.”

“OK, Mommy,” he smiled, and he was out like a light.

Casey’s breath hitched as she closed the bedroom door gently behind her. She had never felt more alone. Her parents were in their room just down the hall, and with a simple knock, she knew they’d be at her side; but she had already felt like she had imposed enough. She was a big girl, she had made her own big girl problems, and they graciously extended a parent's undying love to help her through, but she didn’t want to ask for anymore. So, she quietly tiptoed past their room to take refuge in her childhood bedroom.

She sat in bed for what felt like hours, though it had only been moments. Still silently berating herself for not telling Tobias her true feelings… but the papers were signed now… and they were over. Fear kept her from confessing her true feelings, and now she’d have a lifetime to wonder, what if… A big girl decision with big consequences, and now, they had no choice but to find their way to a new normal that neither wanted to embrace.

Her fingers ran along her phone case as she weighed the pros and cons in her mind. She wanted desperately to call him, yet it was also the last thing she wanted to do.

It wouldn’t hurt to let him know Kyle is asleep. To thank him one more time for letting him stay with me tonight, she thought. And as if it were ever a choice, her fingers were dialing the number into her phone. Her heart longed to hear his voice and feared it at the same time. But that fear was never realized, and that ache never soothed.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice answered.

Taken aback, Casey looked at her phone, relief flowing when she realized she had dialed his house phone. Like her, he was temporarily staying with his mother. While she may not have Tobias’s voice to soothe her, Vivian’s was almost as welcome.

“Vivian! Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry… I meant to dial Tobias and, well… I’m not exactly myself tonight, and… I called you. I hope you don’t….”

“There’s no need to apologize, dear,” Vivian comforted. “In fact, all things happen for a reason, and I’m so glad you called. I’ve been thinking of you but didn’t want to overstep. Are you… how are you holding up, Casey?”

Casey’s eyes clenched, nodding furiously as she sniffed back tears. Vivian offered her the mercy of pretending she didn’t hear, though deep inside, Casey knew she did.

“I’m doing all right,” Casey lied. “I need to be all right… for my son. Right? We’re all going to be fine.”

“Yes,” Vivian reassured. “It will be, I promise, it will.”

“I know,” Casey gulped. “I… I don’t mean to keep you, but is Tobias around? I just wanted to let him know Kyle is asleep and to thank him, I’m not sure how I would have gotten through tonight without Kyle here.”

“Tobias is already asleep,” Vivian covered, not for her son, but for Casey. They may not be married anymore, and she knew Casey was strong. But everyone had their limits, and Vivian wanted to do all she could to offer Casey some sense of comfort. “It was a rough night for all and….”

“I understand,” Casey jumped in. “I’m glad… I’m glad he’s asleep. Well, I should… I….” Casey couldn’t speak as another wave of grief washed over her. A realization that should have been clear hit her like a ton of bricks. Hiding her emotions was no longer an option.

“Casey, what is it?” Vivian implored.

“I just realized,” she breathed through sobs. “You’re not my mother-in-law anymore, you’re… you’re not….”

“Casey. Sweetheart, you take a deep breath, and you listen to me, OK? You are the mother of my only grandchild! You’re family, and nothing will ever change that. Besides, when you were in that courthouse today, you may have signed some papers, but my name was not on them. You are my daughter-in-law, Casey, and that will never change… do you hear?”

“Yes,” she wept freely. “Thank you, Vivian; I couldn’t bear losing you too.”

“That’s not a worry you need to carry. Now, are you OK? Do you want to get one of your parents while I wait?”

“No,” Casey insisted. “They are asleep. They’re asleep, just like Kyle and Tobias, and I should be asleep too. Tomorrow is a new day, right?”

“It most certainly is, dear. When you bring Kyle here tomorrow, we can have a cup of tea if you like. But only if you want to.”

“I, I’d love that. I… I need your help, Vivian. I need to learn how to be friends with Tobias… just friends… and I… I need your help.”

“You and Tobias are already friends, my dear. I know that’s true. But yes,” she sighed wearily. “It’s going to be an adjustment for all. But I’m here and will help you both any way I can.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, my dear. Now, please try to get some sleep.”

“I will.”

Casey closed her eyes, grateful that exhaustion finally closed the valve on all she was feeling today. Tomorrow was a new day, and no one knew what it held, but she was confident of one thing… she’d make it through. Survival was guaranteed… but living? That remained to be seen.

Tagging in reblog.

#open heart fanfic #open heart #open heart choices #tobias carrick #tobias carrick x mc #ALTERNATE UNIVERSE #playchoices fanfic #choices open heart #angst #choices fanfic

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ferrethyun · 1 year

Text

When The Moon Met The Earth

Pairing: Moon witch!Lee Minho x Male!Moon God!Reader

Genre: Acquaintances to lovers?, Hurt not really much comfort (Absolute minimal comfort), Angst and some fluff

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: Supernatural elements, minor slowburn but its 5k so its not that slow, angst oml, minho is a cry baby at the end, swearing at the end, Moon witch! Minho, Elemental witch! Chan, Eclectic witch! Changbin, Divination witch! Hyunjin, Healer! Jisung, Hedge witch! Felix, Witch! Seungmin, Shifter! Jeongin, Moon god! reader, Seungmin has a bit of a breakdown and thinks hes a failure, magical violence with consequences? (It was unintentional violence), hurt and basically no comfort whoops Please let me know if I missed any warnings!!

Notes: This was part of Clownrachas monthly prompts from october! (Very delayed i know) enjoy and if you have feed back id love to hear it!!

Tag list: @snow-pegasus, @wooyussy, @brownieracha

Having the god of the moon in your home was an odd experience and not one many would experience. Minho was sure of that at least. What he wasn’t sure about was how he felt having you watch his every single move. He hadn’t meant to summon you that night; what was supposed to be a simple blessing and offering ritual turned into having the physical manifestation of the moon watching him as he worked his way around the kitchen, spoons stirring pots on their own and herbs flying across the kitchen as Minho used his magic to bring them over. “You have a lovely home, Minho” You mused as you wandered around, opening cupboards and taking a peek as you saw fit.

“Don’t touch anything, please” Minho replied, voice echoing in the cabinet that he was rifling through, “Felix will have my head if his ingredients are even an inch out of place.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t touch a thing” Your eyes shimmering as they followed him, marvelling at the iridescent fabric of the skirt he wore as it flowed behind him, “It’s been so long since I’ve been down here. I’m simply a little curious.”

Minho's actions stilled “How long is ‘so long’?” He asked.

“Give or take a few millennia.” You hummed out, taking a seat on one of the bar stools next to the kitchen island. The kitchen fell into silence, the only noises coming from the stove as a pot bubbled away and the kettle next to it began to whistle. Clattering of cups caught your attention, eyes back on Minho as he placed two cups down on the counter and spooned in a few herbs.

“What are you making?” You asked, head tilted with curiosity as you tried to look around the witch.

“Chamomile tea,” Minho responded in a mumble, concentrating on making the two drinks, “It’s good for nerves.”

“But I’m not nervous?” Came your reply, confusion twitching in your brow.

“Never said you were. Besides, I’d imagine a simple herbal tea wouldn’t have much of an effect on a god” Minho sighed, placing one of the cups in front of you.

“You need not be nervous around me, dear starlight,” A soft smile blessing your features as you inhaled the sweet yet fresh scent of the tea, “You’ve been a devoted follower all these years, just like the rest of your family. Do you remember when you were younger?”

His nose scrunched, Minho couldn’t remember much of his childhood; an unfortunate mishap with a memory spell that he had tried when he was seventeen caused most of his childhood memories to disappear. The only things he could remember were important events and his family “I can’t say that I do.”

He watched as you took a sip of your tea and chuckled into the cup, the sound like gentle wind chimes in his ears “I remember the day you did that memory spell. Very unfortunate mispronunciation was your downfall with that spell, by the way-” Looking into the eyes of the other, mischief danced behind your own, “-When you were seven, your family were preparing to do a full moon ritual, you professed your love for me.”

Minho couldn’t help the scoff that tumbled from his lips “Absolutely not.”

“It's true, you know?” You grinned, “You looked up at me with such awe, turned to your family and started rambling about how much you loved me and that one day you were going to marry me. Of course, I understand at that age what childish words mean and that you only thought of me as ‘the moon’. You’ve been so devout all these years, dear starlight. I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to finally come and see you in person.”

“Please, don’t call me that.” Minho frowned the cup in his hand suddenly becoming the most interesting thing in the world.

“As you wish,” He could hear the way your smile dropped, “I want to get to know you better, Minho. I only have until the full moon till I have to go back; please, at least grant me one wish.”

The words from your mouth shocked Minho. A god asking for a wish? How absurd “What is it?”

“Let me get to know you as more than just one of my followers,” You replied softly, “Let me get to know you as Minho. As one of your coven. I want to know you.”

The following quiet days allowed you time to meet the other members of Minho's coven; what was unusual about the coven is that there seemed to not be one true leader. Instead, the coven was made up of witches from various paths of practice. First, there was Christopher, or Chan as he asked to be called, an elemental witch with a particular affinity for fire magic. Then there was Changbin, who identified himself as an eclectic witch, choosing to incorporate his magic into more mundane tasks such as working out or in his music instead of focusing solely on spells or rituals.

One evening you met Hyunjin and Felix. The two had faces that could not be easily forgotten, their high cheekbones and sharp eyes reminiscent of pixies. Having come from the same village growing up, the two knew each other very well. Hyunjin explained that while his magic was mostly utilised in divination, he would also consider himself a hedge witch much like Felix was.

As you spoke to the two, the feeling of something curling around your ankle startled you. Taking a few steps back, you looked down to meet wide black pupils and a mass of orange fur “Soonie!” Felix called out, crouching down to stroke at the cat's head. As he stroked the feline, two more cats came strolling past. You couldn’t help but wonder whose they were and where they had been the past few days; given that you hadn’t left the house at all, it was surprising you hadn’t seen them at all.

“That’s Soonie, Doongie and Dori,” Hyunjin explained, coming to stand at your side, “They’re all Minho’s but only Doongie and Dori are pets. Soonie is his familiar.”

Soonie turned away from Felix as you crouched down, padding over and sniffing at your stretched-out hand with curiosity. After a couple of seconds, the cat nuzzled its head into your hand, letting out loud purrs that rumbled through the living room. However, the moment of peace was short-lived as someone came barreling into the room, tripping on the rug and falling face-first to the ground with a loud groan causing the three felines to scatter in different directions “Oh stars! Are you okay?” You gasped out, a mortified look washing over your features.

The figure on the floor simply responded with a thumbs up in your general direction before letting his hand hit the floor limply “I think I’m just gonna lay here and die now, thanks.” They groaned out into the rug, voice muffled by the fibres.

“Please don’t. No one wants to clean up your dead body today.” Hyunjin deadpanned with crossed arms.

“That’s Jisungie. He’s our healer.” Felix explained, meeting your eyes with a grin. You could swear that his freckles sparkled under the sunlight for a split second “He’s been away on a trip that’s why you haven’t met him yet.”

“Trust me, with how loud he is, you’ll never not know where he is at any given moment,” Hyunjin spoke up, you could see his eyes roll from where he now sat on the sofa.

“Han Jisung, if you do not pick yourself up from that floor right now. So help me, gods, I will come in there!” An all too familiar tingle ran up your arms and down your spine at the yelling of Minho. Even though he had referenced multiple gods, he only ever honoured you in his practice; the link that this had created over time made you all too aware of whenever he called upon a god.

“We don’t need any more god's help if we already have one with us though.” A new voice chirped from the doorway. Looking up, you saw that it was Jeongin. You had met him the same day that you had asked to get to know Minho better. Granted, it wasn't a normal introduction, especially when a fox suddenly jumps up in your lap and then jumps back down with a squeak after finally looking up at who he had jumped on. That’s how you learnt that Jeongin was not a witch but instead a shifter, welcomed into the coven just as equally as the rest were despite not being of the same magical affinity.

Just over Jeongins shoulder, you could make out the face of the last member of the coven, Seungmin. Despite most witches his age having come to find their speciality, he had not. His magic was abundant, to the point anyone could feel it radiating off his body in waves, but it seemed to never get used outside of helping his fellow coven members with simple spells and rituals. Despite his neutral face whenever asked about his magic speciality, it was easy to tell that it was becoming harder and harder to talk about; the frustration mixing into his aura daily slowly beginning to unsettle your brain. This had already planted seeds of ideas into your brain, all you needed to do was find a way to initiate the plan that began to formulate “Seungmin,” Your words silencing the hubbub of the room, “Can I talk to you? Alone possibly?”

“Me?” Seungmins' features scrunched as he pointed to himself. You nodded in response and headed in the direction of the kitchen,

Seungmin almost tripping over his feet as he hurried to follow. Seungmin couldn’t help the way his hands gripped together and twisted in anxiety as he stood in front of you; the silence in the room was thick and suffocating “Seungmin, it is to my understanding that you don’t have a particular path of magic that you follow, right?” You began, watching as the other's head dipped in what seemed like shame, “There’s nothing wrong with not knowing your path at this age. I’ve known many followers of mine to only discover their path later in life. Most come to their powers naturally but I can feel the distress that this situation causes you. I want to help you.”

The young witch's head shot up in shock, his hands stilling their anxious actions “Help me?” His voice was quiet.

“Yes. Your magical energy is abundant and waiting to find its release and I’m hoping that, with my own powers and influence, I can help you.” You hummed in response, hand coming up with a delicate twirl. Seungmin watched in awe as white mist formed around it before shooting off around the room then dashing up to hit the ceiling; his jaw-dropping further as a starry scene took over the top of the room, the temperature dropping slightly.

“I- I don-” He started.

“Absolutely not.” A voice cut in from the doorway. You watched with a neutral expression as Minho stormed past his coven mate and into your personal space, anger flaring behind his eyes “You of all people should know that a witch's path is their own to find!”

“Minho, do you not understand the distress this causes Seungmin?” You quizzed, watching as the youngers head dipped again to avoid Minho's gaze, “I only want to help him, I’m not here to interfere with the path that he begins on.”

Minho could only let out a low sigh, he hadn’t realised that Seungmin would feel so upset about not having a path. He prided himself on being able to take care of all of his coven members but he had failed to miss this one small detail. How? “Fine,” He eventually murmured, “But I have to be there for anything you try. I don’t want him to go through this alone.”

The next day came the first attempt at trying to find Seungmin's path. You, Seungmin, Minho and Felix had gone out earlier in the day to collect some herbs and other medicinal plants, planning to create various concoctions and baked goods with what had been harvested; it was certainly interesting to watch the way Felix interacted with the nature that surrounded the covens home. The witch would take his time harvesting, leaving offerings and thanks after asking the earth permission to harvest its abundant goods. The forest seemed to sway with gentle winds and life as he laughed at a joke that Seungmin made, the rays that escaped through the canopy making the hedge witch's skin glow. With the way he interacted with nature and it responded, you could tell that mother nature favoured him and offered him her support wherever he went.

Eventually, as the sun began to burn in the afternoon hours, the kitchen filled with life. The counters were covered with various herbs and the smell of yeast began to fill the air as Felix and Seungmin focused on making dough, the two taking turns kneading when the other got tired “Hmmmm, I think it needs more flour?” Seungmin pondered, lifting his dough-clad hands from the bowl.

Felix looked into the bowl and then to Seugmins hands and let out a small huffed laugh “I think so too” He grinned, “Hey, Min? Could you grab the flour? My hands are kinda sticky so I don’t wanna get it all over the cupboard”

Minho ventured in the direction of the cupboard he knew was Felixes, rummaging through the plentiful ingredients as he tried to find the sack of flour “Felix, how many ingredients do you need in one cupboard?” Minho grunted out, his voice lilted with a teasing tone.

“Hey! You can never-” Felix cut himself off with a yelp, “Seungmin!” Minho closed the cupboard door and turned to find the two younger witches wrestling each other, Felixs’ cheeks covered in sticky dough and Seungmin grinning like a fool as he tried to get more over his coven mate's face.

“You two are unbelievable,” Minho sighed, placing the flour on the kitchen island in front of the two bickering males, “This bread will never be made if you keep it like this.” This caused the two to split with shy grins on their faces, though Seungmins held a more gloating look as he preened at his win. Minho's eyes flitted to your form, your shoulders shook gently as you tried to hide your laughter behind your hands.

“Come here Felix, let’s clean you up.” Your voice was warm as you made your way towards him with a cloth in hand. Minho watched as you wiped at the youngers cheek with a gentle touch, his eyes softening when he saw the gentle gaze your eyes held “There, all clean!” You grinned, ruffling at Felixs’ hair. Minho didn’t miss the way that Felix's head tilted into your touch, his heart warming at the sight of the interaction.

“Uhm… Moon?” Seungmin said, “You have flour on your nose.” Your face contorted in surprise, nose scrunching and wiggling as if you were trying to get it off. Felix and Seungmin couldn’t help the boisterous laughter that left them as they watched you go cross-eyed trying to look at the offending flour. Minho let out a soft huff before making his way around the island and towards you, thumbing the flour off your nose when you turned to him.

“There, it's gone,” Minho said, grinning at the surprise in your eyes, “Now, can we get back to the bread? We’re supposed to be helping Seungmin see if he’s a hedge witch you know?”

“Oh yeah! The flour, could you pass it over here, Moon?” Felix asked, grin never leaving his cheeks as he watched you move the flour across the counter. The baking continued with a warm hum, the kitchen buzzing with Felix’s magic; soon enough, the bread made its way into the oven and the kitchen was in the process of being cleaned.

“Hey, Moon?” Felix called out across the room

“Hm? Yes?”

“Do you have a name? It feels weird to just call you moon even though you are the moon, you know?”

“I haven’t had a name in a while…” You pondered in response, “How about you pick one for me?” Felix let out a noise at this, muttering to himself as he thought through all of the options his brain could create.

The room sat in silence for what felt like hours before someone spoke up “What about Y/n?” Minho’s voice was small as if he didn’t want to be heard.

You paused, eyes studying the moon witches form with a tender look “Y/n…” You tested, “I like it. Thank you, Minho.”

When the first attempt at finding Seungmins path came up fruitless, you moved to Hyunjin. Divination was a common aspect of many witches' paths but some, like Hyunjin, excelled in it. That's how you found yourself in a small room that was tucked away in the back of the coven's home; the room had no windows and relied on candlelight to light the space. The hardwood floor was covered with various rugs, cushions and blankets. In the centre of the room was a round low table, atop it sat a teapot and four cups with loose-leaf tea in them. “You know, when you said we’d be reading tea today, I imagined it would be Seungmin only.” Minho huffed as he took a seat next to the table.

“Just because my tarot cards told you the truth that you didn’t want to hear that one time, doesn’t mean you can be grumpy every time it comes to divination,” Hyunjin quipped while rolling his eyes “Besides, I think it will be fun to see what happens since it's been a while since I’ve done this with any of the coven.”

“I think this will be rather interesting.” You spoke up watching as Seungmin nodded in agreement.

Hyunjin grinned “You’re outnumbered Mr.grumpy gills. Now, let's read!” Hyunjin took his time explaining the steps that would occur as he poured out the hot water into the cups, taking his time to pour with intention. The four of you conversed as the tea steeped, Hyunjin eagerly recalling the story of Minhos tarot reading when you asked about it. Soon enough, the tea had steeped long enough and Hyunjin explained the steps once more, making sure to watch over the other two witches and make sure that everything was done correctly. Once the teacups had been flipped back over, Hyunjin peered into each of the cups, murmuring softly to himself but his face never budging from a neutral expression “Okay, Seungminnie we’ll start with you,” Hyunjin spoke up, clasping his hands together gently,

“What symbols can you see in your cup?”

The younger witches brow furrowed as he glanced into his cup, squinting at the leaves “I mean, not much?” His lips pursed in a thin line, “This one at the bottom kinda looks like a star? But other than that, none of this makes sense to me. I can’t even feel a stir in my magic right now”

Hyunjin hummed in response “That’s alright, divination may not be your path but the leaves still tell me a lot,” Hyunjin grabbed the youngers up and began explaining what he saw “You were right about the star at the bottom and at the top here you can see an axe. Things are looking good for you, Seungie”

“That’s amazing,” A smile took over your face, your voice calling attention to you, “You really are an amazing witch Hyunjin. Do you think you can see anything in my cup?” Hyunjin grinned at your praise, pink dusting his cheeks as he reached over and took your cup. The room was silent for a moment, breaths held as you all watched his brow furrow and how his eyes darted around the ceramic “Is everything alright?”

Hyunjins head snapped up as if he had been pulled from a trance “Y-yeah! Everythings fine, it’s perfect even,” he stuttered, “Your leaves are all at the top of the cup, which confused me a little but there’s nothing bad at least” You could feel the soar in the witches magic, a grimace taking place on your face for a fleeting moment before you smiled once more.

“I’m glad to hear that” You spoke softly, taking the cup out of Hyunjins shaking hands. Hyunjin could feel the warm pulse of your magic flow from his hands and wash over his shoulders, you had to know what was in that cup, there’s no way you didn’t. The witches eyes locked with yours, a small pleading look behind his own eyes as he glanced over at Minho and Seungmin and then back to you; your own eyes held a gentle sorrow as you subtly shook your head at him. He let out a soft sigh as he pulled his hands back, now reaching for the moon witches cup.

“Before you start, I don’t want to know what anything in that cup means” Minho grumbled, his eyes darting to your form, not missing the interaction that you had just had with Hyunjin, “Just read it and tell me what you see.” It wasn’t that Minho didn’t want to know, in fact, he already knew what his cup meant; he’d rather not acknowledge the truth that the leaves held for him.

“Well, I can see a few things.” Hyunjin started, “A broken wheel, an umbrella, rain and a question mark to name a few. Jeez…”

“Maybe it’s best if we stop?” Seungmin cut in, voice strained, feeling the rising tension in the room.

Murmur's agreement filled the room “There’s still some bread and other bakes from the other day, maybe we should have some?” You suggested, “Help take our minds off of things for now”

“This already feels like a terrible idea” Seungmins tone was nervous as he stood in front of the lit bonfire, “If I was an elemental witch, surely I would have figured that out by now?”

“Don’t be silly, Seungmin” Chan grinned as he shook his hand to put out the fire that lit the tips of his fingers, “I didn’t figure it out till I was twenty so there’s nothing out of the ordinary about it.”

“Still. I don’t think trying to control literal fire is the best way to go about this!” the younger witch exclaimed, emphasizing the words ‘literal fire’, “Maybe water would be easier to start with? or maybe even earth?”

Chan looked as if he was sulking “You and I both know that’s a terrible idea when I’m around”

“If worse come to worse, we can always seek out elemental witches outside of the coven” Your voice piped up from next to the bonfire,

“Being an elemental witch is another one that takes time due to how many elements there are”

“Hey! This’ll work, I know it!” Chan pouted.

“It’s best not to get Seungmins hopes up Chan,” Minho hissed in the elemental witches ear, “We spoke about this.”

Chan muttered a small apology before going back to the bonfire, the flames leaning towards him as if they were trying to hug the elemental witch. His hands waved over the fire, the flames turning a darker red instantly “The cooler flames are easier to control if it's your first time,” Chan began explaining, “You have to connect with it, feel the bond between the flame and your own inner flame. The fire will be attracted to your magic, let it get a sense of you first before trying to control it.”

You could see the hesitance on Seungmins face, his hands wringing together with anxiety; a habit he couldn’t seem to kick “Maybe, we should have started with a smaller flame?” You suggested, unsure of how this situation would turn out, “A bonfire is rather… much.”

“You don’t have to do this today, Seungmin,” Minho added, his voice softened by the tension.

“N-No, it’s fine! I got this” Seungmins tone was shaky at best, “It’ll be fine!”

It wasn't fine.

The moment that Seungmin had felt the flames' warmth under his hand, the flame spat ashes and embers at him; the young witch recoiling and falling to the ground with a rapidly approaching flame headed towards him. All he could do was watch in horror as he scrambled backwards.

“Chan do something!” Minho yelled out, panic racking through his bones as he ran towards Seungmin, “Fucking do something, you dunce!”

“I’m trying!” Chan grunted back, eyes aflame, “It’s outside of the boundary I set for it. It has to be extinguished!”

“What do you think I’m trying to do, Christopher?” Minho hissed, trying to snub out the flame with his foot.

Having heard and then seen the chaos that was occurring outside, it was no surprise when Felix came running over with a bucket of water; quickly extinguishing the flame, breath heaving from how fast he had run over “Are you guys alright?”

No one responded, the air thick and reeking of tension. Your heart was racing from anxiety and shame, you could have done something and didn’t “I think-”

“This is all your fault!” Minho cut in, having appeared in front of you, “I should have never let you do this to Seungmin. He could have died!”

“Minho, you need to calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” He seethed, pushing you back with force, “I could have lost a coven mate and for what? Yet another failed attempt at finding his path?”

“Min-”

“Don’t! You of all people should know better than this! To think I was letting you in and-”

“Stop it! Just stop!” Seungmin cried out, now standing on trembling legs, “I get it- I’m the one failure in this coven because I don’t have a path!” Everyone stilled, no one moving even an inch. You watched as the young witch hugged and curled in on himself; shaking shoulders warning you of the impending tears.

“Seungmin…” You breathed out, taking a small step towards him only to be met with an arm. Minho blocking your way.

“Don’t even think about going near him” He gritted out, “You’ve done enough damage already.”

“Minho can you not see-” your words fell on deaf ears.

“Just be quiet! Both of you!” Seungmins hands were now covering his ears in an attempt to block out all of the yelling, “I swear on the moon if you two don't shut up, I’ll make you!” Everything seemed to slow at that moment; from Seungmins outburst of yelling and power to the cold feeling of magic that hit you square in the back after shifting places with Minho. Seungmin was once again on the floor, curled in on himself with black swirling masses surrounding him in a protective circle.

Minho couldn’t help the way that his jaw dropped open “W-What?” He stammered out, not attempting to move your hand that now lay on his shoulder, “Seungmin?”

You looked at the moon witch then at the younger witch on the floor and sighed “So it seems he does have a path after all” You grimaced, a shudder filling your body.

“What is it?” Minho asked, his voice now meek and shaken.

“That, starlight, is black matter-” making your way over to the black voids and holding a hand out to it “-It seems that your dear Seungmin is a cosmic witch.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“When handled correctly, it’s not” You let out a shaky laugh, “This explains why his magical energy was so abundant. In order for it to leave, he needs to calm down and settle his energy.”

The moon witch shook his head, trying to break the haze of shock that glazed over his brain “How do we do that?” His hands wringing together. Huh. So that’s where Seungmin got it from.

You pulled your hand back from the black matter, noticing the faint translucent greying at the tips of your fingers that was moving to creep up your hands. Looking down, you were greeted with a similar sight licking at your ankles “Well, it seems he got most of the energy out when he shot out his magic at us to protect himself. So, it shouldn’t be hard to do” You gave Minho a tight-lipped smile, watching as his eyes widened as they fell to look at your rapidly disappearing hand.

“W-Wait. What’s happening? What do you mean he shot at us? What’s wrong with your hand?” Minho's questions came at you rapid fire, your lack of answers doing nothing to quell his anxieties.

“Looks like I have to leave a little early, starlight” Your words were soft, so soft but swimming with sorrow.

“Leave? What- No!” The moon witch exclaimed, grimacing at the way his hands shook and the lump in his throat refused to go away “You can’t! I’ve only just-” He sucked in a breath of air “-Just started to know you. To care for you. To love you! You can’t…”

“Oh, starlight…” Your voice was soft, threatening to shake with tears

“You have to stay, please!” Tears started to flow down the moon witches face with no sign of stopping any time soon, “Please, please, please just stay…”

“Don’t worry, my dear starlight. I’ll tell the stars all about you. ”

A stuttered breath fell from Minho's tear-wet lips “You can’t go, not now. It’s not fair!” His hands grasping at the front of your shirt, the wrinkles deep with hidden pain.

“Life is not always fair.” your voice was soft. Minho let out another soft sob as he met eyes with your glistening ones, leaning his head into your faint hands as they came to cup at his cheeks. He could feel the way you wiped at his never-ending tears, your touch as gentle as the comforting words you murmured out; not that Minho could hear them, his head full of white noise and a dull thudding from trying to catch his breath.

Suddenly, he pushed forwards into your arms, head coming to the crook of your neck and arms now around your torso. Your hands stilled in the air for a moment before coming to wrap around the witch, one hand rubbing at his back and the other resting on his head. Even though they weren’t visible, you could still feel Minho's shuddering back. Looking up at the star-clad sky, you couldn’t help but sigh “It’s time for me to go, dear starlight”

“Please… No…” Minho's voice was weak now, all of his pent-up energy gone, spent on tears.

“I don’t have long my starlight, so let me say this” You breathed out, your own eyes shimmering when the moon witch lifted his head to look at you, “You’ve always been more than just a follower to me and being here has only developed my feelings towards you more. While I admit, I originally wanted them to stay solely platonic. I think we’ve both found ourselves a little deeper than we thought we would end up. Fate played her hand for us-”

“If fate was involved she’d let you stay!” Minho sobbed out, a fresh stream of tears cascading down his cheeks.

“Fate works in so many ways, starlight.” You murmured out, “Just as it was fate that you summoned me. It’s fate that I have to return early”

“Please… Don’t go.” Minho was now whimpering, “You can’t. I’m your starlight. You said it yourself”

“Yes, you are. Just as I am yours and always will be”

“My moon” Minho tested, his voice a little less shaken. His hand coming to cup at your cheek.

“Your moon” You confirmed, tilting your head into his hand. The next few minutes flew by in seconds. One minute you could feel Minho's lips on your own and then the next they were gone.

Minho could only stare into the empty space in front of him, hands grasping to a form that was no longer there.

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codes-and-stuffs · 1 year

Text

mcyt march fic

(for @honorsongs !! <3)

When Scott left work, he did not expect there to be snow.

It was early March, and just last week the sun had been peering warmly through the still-bare branches of the trees, so he might not have prepared for the possibility of another cold rush of weather if he hadn’t lived… well, in Britain. As it happened, though, he’d packed himself a pair of gloves and a hat every day for the last four months, and so he simply stepped back into the kitchen and donned them before stepping out again.

Currently, the snow wasn’t quite settling, instead lightly landing on the pavements and promptly melting. As Scott made his way down the street, gloved hands tucked into his pockets, the snowfall grew thicker and stronger, catching itself on his coat and shoes and beginning to collect. He glanced around for a few moments, eyes catching on the light layer of snow atop the nearest cars.

It almost didn’t feel real to him. The last snow had been back in December, and they all thought that would be it for the year - seeing it settle over the world now was like walking in a dream.

Still, he made it back home just as the pavements began to turn white and soft and clean, his own footprints the first along his street, and opened the door with a little more effort than usual. He hung his coat above the radiator, tucked his hat and gloves on either side, and went straight to the kettle to make some tea.

The soft gurgling of the kettle huffed life back into the house as Scott got out the tea bags and mugs, setting out a few biscuits on the table and checking the time. If Jimmy wasn’t here yet, he figured he would be soon, and there was a high chance he’d be pretty soaked when he was. The kettle whistled and steamed as Scott flicked the TV on before settling on a quiet radio station. He hummed along to the vaguely familiar song that was playing and poured out the two mugs of tea, stirring in sugar and milk.

Through the window, it was clear that the snow was here to stay for a few days at least, already an inch or so in height and only growing. A car passed by slowly, cautious headlights casting light onto the individual snow flurries drifting across the road.

There was a thump on the door, and Scott paused in his stirring to raise an eyebrow at the doorway. Seconds later, the door swung open and there was a loud kerfuffle as Jimmy entered the house, a blast of cold wind following him.

“Close the door!” Scott called, and Jimmy groaned and slammed it shut.

“Why is it snowing?” he said, and Scott peered out of the kitchen to see him stomping his shoes against the doormat and releasing clumps of snow on the friendly blue-dyed fibres. “It’s not supposed to snow! I didn’t even bring an umbrella!”

“Well, that’s just a bad idea in general,” Scott said, though he set the mugs aside on the table and came over to help his husband anyway. As he approached, he saw that Jimmy was somehow entirely drenched from head to toe. “What happened? Did you fall in a lake or something? It definitely wasn’t snowing that badly, and you were in a car.”

“How exactly would I fall in a lake?” Jimmy protested.

“You’d find a way, I’m sure.”

“That’s just mean,” Jimmy grumbled, but he accepted Scott’s proffered hand anyway and let him hang up his coat. “Actually, some huge van decided to splash me while I was leaving the store. On International Women’s Day! Can you imagine?”

“That’s terrible,” Scott said sympathetically. “Do you want to take a shower?”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind some tea first -”

“Yes, I’ve got tea ready, but I won’t have you dripping water all over the house,” Scott said firmly. “Go get into something warmer, and then you can complain all you want about that van.”

“Fine,” Jimmy said. He tossed his shoes against the radiator and headed upstairs, droplets of water trailing along the carpet behind him.

Scott shook his head fondly and headed back to the kitchen where the TV was now playing some radio ads. This time he switched the channel to the news and started to sip his tea, watching as the news report covered the latest surprising change in weather. As they began to talk about the traffic jams already building up all over the country, he heard the unmistakable sound of the shower turning on and then a yelp. He started for a moment, and then - oh, right. The boiler.

“Scott! Did you turn the hot water on?” shouted Jimmy, his voice higher-pitched than usual, and Scott stifled a laugh behind his hand despite his own previous concern and stood up to go and switch it on.

Half an hour later, Jimmy was back downstairs, hair still wet but this time a little less harried than earlier. He collapsed on the sofa next to Scott and curled up next to him, sighing a little when the other chuckled and looped an arm around him.

“I hate snow days,” Jimmy said.

“You’re saying that now,” Scott returned, “but later you’ll be begging me to go play outside.”

“Let me complain for now, at least.” Jimmy stretched a little and noticed the tea. “Oh, is that for me?”

“Yeah, I warmed it back up for you a minute ago.”

Jimmy gave him a suspicious look. “How did you know I was coming down?”

“The shower turned off?” Scott said, raising a brow. “What else would it be?”

“I’m convinced you have magic powers,” Jimmy declared. “You get home all dry despite having walked, and then you have tea ready for both of us, and - are those cookies?”

Mildly amused, Scott looked over to the oven. Sure enough, there was a tray of cookies in there - looking almost done, in fact. “Oh! Yeah, I forgot I put those in there!”

“How did you even manage to do that already?”

“I already had the ingredients, but I figured today would be the perfect day to make them, considering the snow,” Scott explained, even as he got up to go and check on them. He opened the oven door and a warm draft blew up into the room, making him lean back a little until it passed. “Oh, there we go. They look ready to me.”

He felt Jimmy’s gaze as he took them out with his stripy oven gloves and laid them out on the hob so as to avoid burning the countertop. Poking one of them to check the texture, he decided to leave them out for a while as they cooled a bit and - hopefully - set to the right firmness.

“This is exactly what I mean,” Jimmy said finally. “You’re like a cottagecore witch.”

Scott laughed, turning to see Jimmy’s awed expression. “Aw, thank you. You know, you’re allowed to bake things too.”

“Well, I tried, the other day.” Scott’s eyebrows rose. Jimmy pushed on anyway. “I was over at Grian’s, and I told him - I said I wanted to make something for you, but I needed an easy recipe to try because I wasn’t super confident in making, like, the stuff they make on the Bake Off or anything.”

“That makes sense,” Scott said. “And Grian suggested…?”

“Well, he’d just bought a loaf pan, so we decided to bake, uh - banana bread.”

Alright, Scott thought to himself. That wasn’t too difficult to mess up.

“I don’t really know where we went wrong, exactly,” Jimmy continued. “We went out to buy a whole bunch of bananas - spent ages mashing them up too - but when we took the bread out and tasted a little bit of the end, it just tasted… weird.”

“Hmm,” Scott said. “You bought fresh bananas?”

“Yeah! They were brand new and everything!”

For a second, Scott questioned whether Grian had even looked up a recipe. “You tried to make banana bread with underripe bananas.”

“As opposed to what?” Jimmy said slowly, brow furrowing.

“As opposed to overripe bananas, Jimmy.”

“Like the brown ones?” He made a face, and Scott resisted the urge to facepalm. “You’re meant to use, like - the old bananas?”

“Yes,” Scott said. “They’re the ones that bake nicely, and mash up easily too.”

Jimmy gaped for a few seconds, before snapping his mouth shut. “So Grian didn’t know how to bake banana bread, after all. I can’t believe he’d lie to me like that!”

“Tell you what,” Scott said, heading back to the sofa, “we can make some together this weekend. That way you’ll have that recipe under your belt, at least.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jimmy huffed. Scott sat back next to him and accepted Jimmy’s re-burrowing into his side. “Thanks, Scott. I’ll make you tea next time it randomly snows. And cookies.”

“Of course,” Scott replied affectionately. “Just master the bread first, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

And as he yawned and slowly drifted up on his shoulder, the snow continued to drift past their window, filling the room with a warm evening glow.

#flower husbands #mcyt march #trafficshipping #codes does writing

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fictionaire · 1 year

Text

Gone

This is after Sirius passes in the Veil and the reader was dating Sirius.

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

You have been on the couch of your flat ever since Sirius passed a week ago. The only time you had gotten up was to use the bathroom and go to bed. You had barely ate anything, mostly just staring blankly at the wall.

His funeral was today but you couldn’t bring yourself to go. Every part of your body ached with a pain you never thought imaginable.

There was a knock at your door around 4 pm. You got up and looked through the peephole seeing Remus standing in his black vest and slacks. You opened the door and stepped aside silently letting him inside.

“We missed you today.” Remus said after you hadn’t said anything for a minute after he had entered.

“I couldn’t go.” You said, putting water in the kettle for tea and staring at it, waiting for the whistle.

“It was a nice ceremony.”

You nodded. Not taking your eyes off the kettle.

“(Y/n)” Remus gently said, putting his hand on your blanket-clad shoulder.

“Please don’t.” You said, sniffling. Trying to keep the tears that had finally stopped at bay. “Don’t tell me it’s going to be okay or he’s in a better place.”

“You just need time to heal. We all do”

“And how am I supposed to do that without him? How am I supposed to do anything without him?” You shouted. “I lose him for twelve years and then got him back and now he’s gone again. He was my husband-“

“AND HE WAS MY BROTHER” Remus yelled “Stop acting like this only affects you. I’ve known him for over 20 years and every day I wished he would walk back through that door the same way you did! There were other people who cared about him!"

"Don't act like you're the only one who grew up with him, Remus. I was around you lot every day. You, James, Sirius and fucking Peter." You said, feeling the heat rise to your face from anger. "I know you're hurting as we all are, especially Harry. That boy who finally had a father figure again for less than a year only for him to be ripped away in the veil."

"I know that." Remus said, taking a deep breath then steadying himself before opening his mouth again to speak. "I know that you were with us since almost the beginning of our times together. But you have to think, we knew each other more closely because of the dormitories and the classes."

You shrugged, pulling the blanket tighter around your body. "I know, Merlin he had so many stories about the trouble you all would cause that I was too bashful to go anywhere near." You giggled, feeling a slight tear run down your face.

"He loved that about you, though." Remus walked toward you and pulled the kettle off the stove that you hadn't heard whistling. "And he would have loved the baby too. More than anything."

#remus lupin #sirius black x reader #remus x you #harry potter series #harry potter #sirius black #sirius x y/n #remus x y/n

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this-is-ally-and-im-confused · 2 years

Text

Sensitive|| O.Power

Warnings: domestic abuse, anxiety, bruises, worried!owen, and fem pronouns

Do not read if that'll trigger you, love! First writing after mini-hiatus

Word count: 800+

Tags: @quietblues @snugglyducklingbrewhouse @hugheshugs @boeswhore @hockeyboysarehot @ethancale @oowenpowerr join the taglist!

Owen always felt protective of his best friend y/n.

Which was fair based on all the girl had been through. The big dog had y/n’s back since middle school, high school, and the start of Umich.

He just wished he would have protected his best friend from this. Never in a million years would he have imagined y/n standing outside his doorway at 3 in the morning while soaking wet. He couldn’t have imagined the words about to come out of the girl’s mouth.

“He hit me, Pow”

Crash.

A violent crash of bright reds crossed the bleary-eyed boy's vision.

Y/n, the girl scared by loud music and thunderstorms–was standing in front of him after the worst night of her life. Who could do this besides that douchebag of a boyfriend she had been dating for a month.

“Ssh, come in. I got you, honey.”

Quickly, Owen shuffled the shivering girl into his cozy dorm and strong arms. His palms crept up and down her arms to try and warm the shaking girl. Y/n could’ve stayed in his arms forever. It was the first time in the entire night that she felt safe again. It didn’t take long for Owen to start to talk. At first, his words were distractions. He tried to rid her mind of fear for just a while. He made jokes as he disappeared from the room to go grab the drenched girl a hoodie and pajama pants. Maybe then he could also find himself a shirt, not that it’s anything she hadn’t seen before.

When he entered back into the room that was dimly lit due to the girl’s phone blowing up and the kettle being on–he could see the bruise. It was a deep purple with scatters of yellow and red around it. Owen’s heart was in his throat. It was clear that he needed to know what happened. It was even clearer that he needed to protect this tiny frame that was curled up on the kitchen bar stool while trying to figure out what to text back to people.

His voice stayed gentle but firm as he asked her the hardest question, “can you tell me what happened?”

The emotions that passed over the girl's face were heart-wrenching to Owen. She looked like she felt guilty. But then again, y/n always felt guilty. She felt guilty for clinging on to Owen for the entirety of her first semester–even though Owen was happy to be there. She felt guilty for leaving when a game got too loud or the boys got too rowdy in the back of a car. She felt guilty for things that she had no responsibility for! Like packages being late or the weather being bad. It had taken Owen well over 8 months to convince y/n that she deserved to take up space and that things weren’t her fault.

The whistle of the kettle interrupted the girl’s parted lips. Owen hurried to fix a cup of tea. The same tea that they have been making with each other through each lost game, bad day, or study session. A tradition that y/n started.

“He came home drunk,” her hoarse voice began.

Owen’s eyes glanced all over her face. Trying to read for more emotions besides the fear and guilt laced through her features.

“He heard Bords and Blanks talking at the bar he was at. They were saying s-stupid things about you and I. A-and Chris got mad. Real mad.”

At this point, y/n’s words were choking her. Tears were steadily falling down her cheeks. Owen immediately crossed the small distance between them, placing the tea softly in front of her, and pulled her into a bear hug.

“I’ll kill him. I swear, he will never lay a hand on you–“

“Owen, you're my best friend. But you can’t fix this. If Chris sees you with me…he’ll kill me.”

The small girl looked even more cross as the conversation went on.

“Chris got mad because he heard how the guys joked about us getting together. He thinks you’re in love with me”

Owen swallowed. As if all moisture had gone from his mouth. He didn’t know whether to be hurt by your accusation or to finally feel relieved. The “big dog” had a crush on you since he met you. Now was not the time to state that. Owen watched the girl’s life just shatter in front of him. Instead, Owen found himself ruminating on the thoughts of protecting his chosen family–y/n included–and mutually killing his teammates + Chris the asshat boyfriend for putting the gentle girl in harm's way.

“You need to break up with him–“

“I know, but I can’t”

Y/n started to shake harder. The amount of thinking done in the span of the last few hours has taken a toll on her. The boy gently shuffled the still fragile girl to his bed with promises of how they could talk more in the morning.

Owen did not get any sleep that night. Instead, he spent the night ruminating on protecting the sensitive girl now laying in his arms.

#send in requests #send anything #ally loves hockey #owen power blurb #my amazing moots <3 #ally is back for a bit

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tinkerbelldetective · 1 year

Text

A Paragon’s Guide to Ghosts and Mystery II: Frobisher’s Two Libraries

Ch 1

Chapter II: Frobisher’s Two Libraries

Nina sat below the window at the section of the wall where Amber had once knocked and searched for clues. Her fingers nimbly pulled at the wall and found Sarah's etching still there, her cry for help echoing across time. She traced over Sarah's name, blinking back the tears that were threatening to fall.

"How did you do it, Sarah?"

She stood, gently pushing the wallpaper back up as if it hadn't been touched and changed out of her pyjamas.

Arriving downstairs, Victor was nowhere to be found. She shrugged, taking the opportunity to go make herself some coffee or some tea. No coffeemaker in sight, Nina reached into the cupboards where the tea was usually kept and was happy to find the little things had not changed. The kettle was placed on the stove while she bent down to glance at the bread oven, debating whether or not to go down there and chance Victor finding out exactly how they had managed to sneak down to the cellar all those years ago. The kettle whistled and broke her trance.

Nina poured her cup of tea, and added some sugar, but was disappointed to find it didn't taste as good as when Fabian made tea. Weird, she swore she made it the same way.

Victor's return was announced by the opening and shutting of the doors, and he stepped into the living room.

"You can follow me, Ms. Martin."

"It seems a little dusty in here." An underhanded insult no doubt, but Victor knew there was no point in replying.

Victor was still unhappy with her presence in the cellar. His worktable was less cluttered, confirming her suspicions that he had somehow figured out the Elixir.

Her fingers deftly slid open the lock and she found herself once again in the study of Robert Frobisher-Smythe.

"If we do not find anything in here, we'll check the Frobisher Library." Nina wondered if they'd just take the tunnels to get there or if they'd venture across the grounds.

Victor immediately started at the left side of the shelf, Nina standing in her spot, trying to figure out what to do next.

"Are you going to help, Ms. Martin?"

Nina snapped herself out of thought, "Oh, yeah." She started on the right and immediately began to skim through the thick and dusty volumes. As her fingers trailed across the pages, she imagined Fabian urging her to be careful. Surely, this man had to know more about the Chosen One, if his house was built with locks only his daughter's locket could find and use. For all that she learned about her powers, the more questions she had.

Time must have droned on faster than she thought. Victor closed a book with a sigh. He sat down at the desk and rubbed at his face before carefully moving the loose papers around, his finger skimming over lines and lines of ink and text. A small note in the footnotes of a loose journal page caught his eye. He raised his hand to beckon Nina over.

"Ms. Martin?" An unnatural tone, one he reserved to lie to the house, to students and family alike.

Nina awkwardly stood next to him and followed his finger to the corner of the page and let out an excited gasp.

"Well, Victor, looks like you'll be dealing with me for a little longer." Victor rolled his eyes.

Nina fished two amulets from the spot she had hidden them in at the end of her junior year and attempted to hand one to Victor.

"I am not going through those tunnels, Nina Martin." She raised a brow.

"See you then," and she pulled the amulet over her head and pulled the book lever, waving at him as the case turned.

The light stopped at her chest, the crocodile over the chasm still eerily straight, and she thanked God she remembered the steps to hop-scotch. She was even more grateful that the tasks that they struggled with the most, the ones that seemed deadlier, were the ones she didn't have to do anymore. They were over. She tentatively stepped over the old Senet game, remembering the dread as she fell. The empty glass case that housed the fake Mask creeped her out. She made her way into the library just as Victor unlocked the library doors.

No display cases, white sheets covering the standing bookshelves, it felt as closed as it was when Fabian and she had stepped in the first time. She eyed the spot where Eddie banished Senkhara and Rufus. She didn't know how much longer she could keep this up without getting Sibuna back together.

"You take down here and I'll go up the stairs," she declared, ascending to the upper level of the library. She bent down to see the books on the bottom shelf when a familiar indentation in the wood glowed. "Bullseye..." She reached into her shirt and pulled out her locket, feeling a rush run over her as the base of the shelf slid open, revealing a delicate strip of papyrus, one that had faint gold hieroglyphics running across it. Nina carefully picked it up and examined it before grabbing a book about an ancient Egyptian labyrinth and tucking it in between the pages. For though she sought Victor out for help, she still didn't completely trust him, she wasn't sure she ever would.

She stood once more, eyes trailing over spines and spines of books that were older than Victor (and that was saying something!). None of them seemed helpful, however, she thought with a sigh.

Leaning over the banister, she peered down at Victor, who sat in the same spot he did when she gave him the ring from his father. He was completely lost in concentration as he read, and she realized with a start that he seemed to even be reading the glyphs with ease. And in that moment, she understood how the others felt when she aced every French test.

"Find anything?"

Victor lifted his head, closing the book before standing, "Nothing that would interest you, Ms. Martin."

Nina's waves fell over her shoulder while she turned her head and gave him a questioning glance.

"I assure you; I would share any information if I were to come across it." A shame, now that he no longer had power over her, his convincing took more work. She could openly question him now. And he would never concede to Nina Martin that he had been caught up in the mystery of the land of Punt.

#A Paragon's Guide to Ghosts and Mystery #my hoa writing #nina martin #victor rodenmaar jr #fanfic #house of anubis #hoa

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heartsandmuses · 2 years

Text

beach break

for @flufftober day 4 // prompt: “supporting silly quirks/hobbies”

for @herohardshipsbingo// square: “free space”

marvel cinematic universe. tony stark/bruce banner. rated g. 1k.

mild spoilers for she-hulk episode 1!

— — —

Tony was definitely not a morning person.

Despite that, Bruce wasn’t too worried to find that his boyfriend’s side of the bed was already cold at the crack of dawn. Even though they were on vacation, he could always count on Tony to find some work to do in the lab downstairs, and figured that he was probably elbow-deep in his latest midnight breakthrough.

Bruce decided to wake himself up with a cup of tea before going down to join him. While he waited for the water to boil, he took a moment to admire the scenery through the kitchen window facing the back of the house: the sun coming up just over a faded orange horizon, the waves lapping gently at the shore, the crabs skittering through the warm sand. It was still unreal to Bruce, the fact that Tony had built a whole house just for him—a secluded paradise tucked away on a cozy Mexican beach—and his heart jumped in his chest at the reminder that he now had more than one place where he could truly be himself. Where he could feel safe, and know that others would be safe from him; where he could finally relax and let his guard down.

First the Compound, and now… here.

Just a few years ago, he never would’ve imagined it. Then again, he never would’ve imagined dating Tony then either, and now he couldn’t picture a life without his adoring, doting boyfriend in it.

The high-pitched whistle of the kettle eventually called him back to the stove, and as he rummaged through the cabinets, looking for a box of chamomile tea, Bruce finally heard Tony come into the room. But when he turned around to greet him, Bruce realized that he hadn’t come in from the lab downstairs, he’d come in through the back door — as evidenced by the fact that he was wearing a wetsuit that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Not that Bruce exactly needed to use his imagination, when his memory could fill in the details just as well.

“Hey, you’re up,” Tony greeted with one of his million-watt grins, pushing his damp hair out of his face and looking like he’d just stepped right off the cover of a magazine.

Bruce blinked. “So are you,” he said, dazedly. “Before noon. Willingly, it seems.”

“It’s a miracle,” Tony agreed with a laugh, coming over to plant a soft kiss to Bruce’s cheek, then stepping past him to get to the coffee machine. “I was doing a little surfing.”

“Surfing?” Bruce echoed back. “Okay, you’re freaking me out. Getting up early, doing non-sex-related cardio... What’s going on? Do I need to check your head?”

Tony offered an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Oh c’mon, you can’t be that surprised. I lived in California for years!”

Sure, Bruce knew that Tony had spent plenty of time in Malibu, and piloting the Iron Man armor for so many years had definitely given him the kind of balance and dexterity required for a hobby like that. But still.

“I guess you just never mentioned surfing before.”

“Well, if you wanna see my skills up close... I could give you a private lesson,” he offered, with that excited twinkle in his eyes that Bruce could never say no to. “I think you’d like it. Honestly. It combines all of your favorite things: balance, mindfulness, deep breathing.”

Bruce raised a brow, skeptical. “Then why do you like it?”

“Because it also combines my favorite things: fun, danger, the possibility of seeing my very cute boyfriend in a tight wetsuit... Which, speaking of, I have an extra-special stretchy one for you, just in case. And a reinforced board.”

Bruce had never once thought about surfing before, and was still doubtful about the idea now, but he had to admit he was a bit touched, knowing that Tony had set everything up for him regardless. It was something he was good at, always making Bruce feel included. Reaffirming in hundreds of little ways that Tony liked his company, and not only that, he was always prepared for the Hulk’s as well. He never made the Other Guy seem like a burden or a curse. It was clear that Tony just saw him as another part of his boyfriend, a part that he accepted readily every time.

Bruce’s heart soared, and he wasn’t sure whether it was the thoughtfulness behind the gesture, or simply the relaxed, happy look in Tony’s eyes, but it suddenly became much harder to decline the invitation.

“I’ve never done it before,” he hedged, still hesitant.

“Do you want to?”

It sounded like a genuine question. Like Tony would drop the subject if Bruce really wasn’t willing or ready to step out of his comfort zone.

“I— I could give it a try.”

“And do you think Jolly Green would want to? There’s a fair chance he might come out, it can be a tough sport to learn,” he warned. “Frustrating, at times.”

Usually, Bruce wouldn’t even entertain an idea like this. Although he was slowly starting to accept the Hulk, he was still incredibly aware that his other half was a powerful and destructive force, and anything that would let him out haphazardly would be completely off the table.

But... here, with miles and miles of coastline all to themselves and no one else in sight, Bruce thought it was relatively safe. Hulk wouldn’t hurt Tony, he knew that; they’d become close over the years, and Tony was one of the few people on the planet who could calm him down. Bruce trusted him.

“I don’t really know,” he answered truthfully. Knowing Hulk, he might just hate it, considering his general lack of coordination and grace. But, then again, maybe he’d just be content to splash around in the water, making huge waves for Tony to ride himself. Either way, Bruce wanted to let them both give it a try.

He offered a tiny smile, gently reaching out for Tony’s hand.

“Only one way to find out.”

#flufftober2022 #hero hardships bingo #tony stark #bruce banner #science bros #science boyfriends #otp: science boyfriends #ficlets #fics #my fics #my writing #amy talks #flufftober #hero hardships bingo 2022 #she hulk series #she hulk spoilers #hulk #iron man

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macgyverbooks · 2 years

Text

Chapter Eleven - Bala finds a bead

Summary: When Bala flees her home after a terrible attack she never thought she'd find help among the elusive Orc Clans hidden deep in the mountains.

Word Count: 4000

Warnings: None

Read on AO3 Here

Chapter Ten Here

Chapter Twelve Here

I watched the kettle boil, the battered tin lid dancing over the rising steam. Aside from the kettle's shrill whistling, the cave was silent. I glanced about, fidgety and nervous. I had awoken this morning to a cold fireplace and an empty spot on the furs. I felt my mouth tense into a grim line as I remembered the sheer panic at discovering Dejah missing. I had scrambled up and shouted for him, nearly in tears, only to find a rough note scribbled on parchment and wedged into the door.

Gone into village. Need food. Back soon.

I growled at the parchment, glaring at the words. It was entirely unreasonable for me to be so anxious for him. Yet here I was, jumping at every noise and biting my nails bloody as my heart pounded with worry.

"Dejah's a strong guy," I reasoned to myself. "Nothing is going to happen."

But the what-ifs and wherefores buzzed through my brain nonetheless. Dejah may sometimes be a pain in the ass, grouchy and bull-headed, but he had cared for me, fed me and healed me. I felt a kinship with him, a sense of mutual understanding that I couldn't ignore, his life a warped mirror of my own.

After last night, I was starting to truly understand how mistrusted he was among the village. They were all so on edge around him, not to mention whatever was going on with that old Orc Kogan and that freak Dannik. As strong as he might be, Dejah's place in the village was precarious, downright dangerous even, making my heart ache in worry.

Standing with a groan, I wobbled over to the kettle and poured it carefully into the waiting teapot. Settling back on the bed of furs, I glanced at the spot where Dejah had slept last night. The sleeping arrangements were still not to my liking.

Marriage was a rare occurrence in the sisterhood. It wasn't frowned upon as such but was certainly not encouraged, many of the Mothers considering it a distraction to the true calling. Secretly though, I had hoped one day to find the one, someone to share everything with, including a bed. I sighed disapprovingly down at the furs. This was not how I imagined my first time sharing a bed with a man. Trapped and injured with a near stranger and on the floor, in a cave no less. Hardly the romantic spectacle my younger self had dreamed of.

"At least he didn't try anything." I muttered with some relief. Heat crept up my neck at the thought.

The door creaked open, making me jump as Dejah entered, hauling a pack over one shoulder. My shoulders relaxed as a smile broke across my face before I could stop myself.

"Welcome home," I called, pouring the well-steeped tea into a clay mug and offering it to him.

I paused, mug in hand, as I took in the strange, intense expression that gripped Dejahs face as he stared mutely at me from the doorway. He seemed tense, his red-rimmed eyes and ticking jaw muscle hinting at grief or pain yet surprise, then something akin to wonder flickered through his eyes in quick succession. Glancing over his tall form, I frowned.

"Everything okay?" I asked, my previous anxieties bubbling back to the surface. Dejah shook himself and glanced down, dumping the heavy sack on the floor and shutting the door quickly.

"Mm-hm", he grumbled in reply.

Unconvinced, I elected to let him be, just for now at least, some instinct telling me not to push him. Shrugging off his heavy overcoat, he settled by the fire, warming himself. I observed him carefully, noting the weary droop to his shoulders and the haggard lines around his eyes. Accepting the tea gratefully, he smiled at me, broad and genuine, catching me entirely off guard.

"Did it go well in the village?" I stuttered, trying to distract myself from the mad thumping of my heart.

"Nope, not at all," he said simply, still grinning like a fool at me.

"Oh," was all I could manage, my heart dropping. "You wanna talk about it?" I offered weakly. He chuckled at that and shook his head, the noise coming from deep in his chest, baritone and delightful. With a deep breath, I laced my fingers together and squared my shoulders.

"Well, in that case, I was thinking I could go over the basics with you," I stated. Dejah's pale, sharp eyes flicked to me over the rim of his mug, a spark in them I was growing to recognise.

"Basics?" He echoed, wiping his mouth. I nodded solemnly, memories of my own lessons at the Abbey coming to mind. Of Mother Calista, her demeanour ever poised and regal, as she instructed us with gentle but insistent words.

"I need to know the limit of your magical capabilities and, more importantly, exactly what you are." Dejah flinched, his expression turning sour as he rolled the mug between his fingers.

"Meaning?" He asked quietly.

Biting my lip, I scrutinised his body language as it dawned on me a little too late that anything to do with magic would naturally be a touchy subject. Bracing myself, I forged on, determined.

"There are different types of magic wielders," I explained, counting them off on the one hand. "Wizards, for example, spend decades learning through books and scrolls, while druids rely and call on the natural energies that flow around them." Dejah watched me with growing interest, leaning forward to press his elbows to his knees.

"How do I know?" He asked, his curiosity overriding his sensitivities.

"It depends on the source of your power. Think about when you use your abilities. Where do you draw the energy from?" Dejah bit the inside of his cheek in thought and shifted, so he was fully facing me, hands clenching and unclenching as he mulled it over.

"I-, "he began, then stopped, "I don't know."

Nodding, I shifted closer to Dejah. Reaching out, I collected his hands in mine. It always surprised me how much warmer Orcs were like they had fire in their blood. Biting back a happy sigh as his massive hands began to thaw out my frozen fingers, I flipped them over, palms facing up. Dejah's fingers twitched at the contact, almost shying away as a whole spool of emotions flickered across his face in an instant. He breathed unevenly through his nose, watching our joined hands with a peculiar expression.

Okay… I thought, slightly unnerved by the display.

"I want you," I began, stubbornly ignoring how his hands fidgeted in mine, "to focus and relax. Close your eyes for me." Dejah blinked at me, then curled his lip suspiciously, revealing sharp teeth.

"Why?" Exasperated, I rolled my eyes.

"Just do it. I'm not gonna do anything. Promise."

He didn't seem convinced, but slowly he let his eyes slip shut and relaxed his broad shoulders. Light from the candles and fire bounced across his face casting harsh roving shadows making him look ferocious and untamed. Excitement trilled through me unexpectedly. Stories of Orc armies clashing on the battlefield sprang to mind. Fierce warriors so terrifying their enemies turned and ran rather than face them. I had scoffed at those tales believing them as most did to be wild exaggerations, but now I understood. Dejah was a sight to behold, proud and intimidating, but I couldn't help but notice the kindness in his face. The laughter lines around his eyes, the gentle upward curve of his mouth.

"Breathe and stretch out your senses. Feel the ground beneath you, the heat of the fire," I said in almost a whisper, letting my own senses reach out. I felt Dejah tense up as I let a tendril of conscience brush against him. "Relax," I breathed. "No harm will come to you."

After a moment of deliberation, he obeyed, letting our minds connect and flow like two merging bodies of water. I was immediately hit by pain. A deep aching pain and despair that seemed to infect everything. Gritting my teeth, I fought against the tide but refused to pull away, tackling the brunt of it head-on. Memories flashed up so fast I couldn't register them, only grasping vague impressions. Dark woods. Something hiding in the shadows. Blood, so much blood. A crowd. Hot coals. Pain. Hurt so profound it was inescapable. Dejah's breathing hitched as a shudder ran through him.

Gods, it was agony. I fought to keep myself under control, his memories triggering mine, pulling them to the surface and merging. Our minds battled the torrent, the pair of us sharing the same panic and fighting the same fight, side by side. My breathing shuddered with his, a migraine forming right behind my eyes as tears started dripping down my face. It was too much, too much hurt. It was overwhelming.

"Calm," I commanded more to myself than to him. Scrunching my brow, I focused on slowing the torrent of images, sounds and smells, growling with the effort. Gathering myself and what increment of power I could muster, I imagined warmth and comfort like a blanket on a cold night, expanding that feeling outward. After a tense moment, Dejah's mind gradually slowed with mine. Like a rushing river reaching deeper waters, his thoughts eased their manic thrum as he took deep, shaking breaths. Pleased with his progress, I let the emotion brush against him and, in turn, felt a tiny spark of gratitude from him.

"Your thoughts have an immediate and tangible effect on your abilities," I said, keeping my eyes firmly shut and quickly wiping away the tears. "Before we attempt any training or use our abilities, we must ensure we are in control." I felt Dejah nod, and I smiled, opening my eyes and tapping his hands that still sat cupped in mine.

"Now, I want you to gather your energy and focus it on your palms," Dejah grunted, screwing his face up in concentration, his eyes still shut. "Dig deep and feel the threads of energy around yourself. Imagine those threads knotting and twisting together in your palms."

I watched in fascination as his palms' rough creases and wrinkles began to glow gently. The glow brightened and spread, filling his cupped hands like water, spinning into a lazy whirlpool. Dejah gritted his teeth, eyes screwed shut and face twisted in frustration. I called his name, and his eyes popped open, his pupils glowing brightly as hot coals. He glanced down and stared open-mouthed at the liquid light that danced between his cupped palms.

"What…" He began then trailed off, his face a picture of astonishment.

Biting back a laugh, I reached out slowly and drew a small portion of the arcane light into my own palm, cupping it delicately like I was holding a baby bird. The magic pulsed and wriggled, alive and prickling with potential.

"This," I started, gazing at the pulsing energy, "is the purest form of magic. Unfiltered. Harmless."

Raising my fingers, I closed my eyes and concentrated. In a small flash of blue light, a fire sparked to life, roaring and hot it danced across the tips of my fingers.

"Not so harmless anymore," I grinned, "magic isn't intelligent. It requires your will to be useful." With a practised flick of my wrist, the flames vanished. "The trick is to recognise that fact and not be afraid to implement it."

I eyed Dejah as he considered this, mouth set in a grim line. Becoming increasingly perturbed by his silence, I settled closer to the fire fidgeting with the poker. Teaching wasn't my forte, and I worried I was already doing a poor job. Bumbling, I scrabbled for anything to break the building atmosphere. One of my first lessons as a child sprang to mind, of sitting cross-legged in the library as Mother Calista warned me with sad, solemn eyes about the dangers of magic. With an ache of longing in my chest, I repeated Mother Calista's words almost verbatim.

"You and I are mages. So our magic is straightforward, simple and easy to mould to our will because it is us, an extension of ourselves transformed. But that means we must know our limits and weaknesses else we risk draining ourselves completely." Dejah leaned back and stared at the ceiling with the arcane light dissipating from his hands.

"Know my limits?" he asked. With a nod, I explained.

"Being a mage is a double-edged sword. What we gain in control and power is countered by the danger of draining yourself entirely of energy." Dejah nodded pensively.

"And if we use all our energy…."

"We die", I finished.

"Huh." After another brief pause, he spoke again, eyes still firmly fixed on the ceiling, head tilted back, exposing the strong lines of his throat. "I'm a mage?" He asked

I couldn't stop staring at his throat, the way the muscles pulled as he spoke. It was oddly mesmerising.

"Yes," I replied, fighting to keep focused. "I could feel where you were drawing power. If you were a Druid for example you would have syphoned energy from the fire or the trees outside but you where pulling energy directly from yourself. That means Mage."

"Like you"

"Like me"

He mulled that over while I fidgeted, wanting to give him time to think but finding the quiet unbearable.

"Mage abilities tend to be hereditary", I blurted out. "Was one of your parents gifted?"

The regret was immediate as I saw him flinch, jerking upright with a thunderous look settling on his brow as he scowled at the floor. I scrambled, waving my hands in the air.

"I'm being nosey. That was rude. I'm sorry", the words tumbled like a stream. Dejah glanced at me, then looked away, rubbing the back of his head.

"My mother", he began slowly ", she was sent away to the Godlands during the war."

"No way", I interrupted, leaning forward in half disbelief. "She was one of the Las Halaad?" Dejah looked up sharply

"You know of them?"

"Of course!" I snorted and waved my hands excitedly. "They're legendary! Great powerful Orc warrior mages who led the final attack against the empire. The only ones to enter the Godlands and come back alive. They- they're borderline mythology" I was humming with so much excitement I almost missed Dejah's growled snort as he snapped to his feet and stalked over to the sack he'd dumped on the floor on his way in. Back to me, he sorted through its contents in stony silence as I frowned at him.

"Hey", I called, but he ignored me, stubborn in his task.

"Karn Dejah Vaas, don't you dare ignore me!" I snapped. He turned sharply, pivoting on a knee to look at me with a raised eyebrow.

"Talk to me. I didn't mean to upset you," I didn't want to sound pleading, but neither did I want to hurt my friend. Patting the furs, I motioned him over. "Please?" I pressed one more time

That did it. With an unreadable expression, Dejah gathered his supplies and sat again at the fire, this time on the opposite side of me and started studiously peeling vegetables keeping his eyes down.

"My mother…" he began slowly, then sighed and rubbed his eyes. "My mother's life was ruined the moment she stepped into those woods. They all came back different. Wrong. Orcs were not meant to be magic. It's not in our blood. What they had to do to gain such a boon, what they sacrificed… she couldn't even describe it."

Shame was quick to wash over me like cold rain. I'd heard the fantastical tales so many times, but I'd never considered what it would've been like to be utterly remade. To be forced into a shape you were not designed for. And what would be needed to give in equal exchange for so much power? I ran my fingers comfortingly through my still matted hair as shivers ran up my spine at the thought.

"She never knew I was gifted, and I'm grateful for it. Would've broken her heart," Dejah said, violently twisting a leek in half as he scowled.

"So you're entirely self-taught?" I murmured. He shrugged and gestured to some books carefully stored high up in an alcove.

"She kept a journal of sorts. Picked up a few things but yeah, pretty much."

"I'm- I'm sorry."

"I don't want your pity," He said, keeping his eyes studiously on his work.

"It's not pity I just…." I stumbled, biting my lip and scrabbling for the right words. "Your life has not been easy. Can I not feel empathy for a friend?" He paused in his work to glance quickly at me with a blank look like he didn't know what to say

"Friend?" He echoed

"Yeah", I laughed "what else would I call you."

Dejah considered that, and I decided not to disturb his rumination. The cave was growing warm and cosy, the fire crackling away in the pit. With a sigh, I stretched and gathered my hair, running my fingers through it absentmindedly as my toes warmed by the hot stones. Wincing, I tugged on a few snarled knots, trying to pull them loose.

"You need a hand?" Dejah asked from across the fire, gently placing a fresh pot of tea to brew by the coals.

"No, no, it's fine. I got it," I said, yanking at a particularly bad matte that tugged on the tender hairs at the nape of my neck. My hair had caused nothing but grief since I came to the village. With no combs or oils, I was stuck working at the dreadlocked nest with just my fingers, ripping through strands and yanking the roots till my scalp ached.

Dejah rolled to his feet and crouched over a chest producing a few fine-toothed combs, pins and thin leather strips. Approaching me, he presented them with a small smile.

"Come on, let me help."

With a roll of my eyes, I nodded. Dejah seemed determined, and I was too tired to think of a good enough excuse to say no. His smile broadened as he settled on the furs at my back and gently parted my untamed mop into sections. Awkwardness made my shoulders tense, but part of me knew Dejah's motives were friendly. In fact, part of me was convinced he was trying to make up for his earlier lousy temper, something I hadn't really expected of him.

His fingers worked fast and sure, separating the white mass of knots and snarls and carefully working through the tangled mess with the combs section by section. The tug and pull of strands sent shivers up my spine, yet there was no discomfort. My eyes began to drift close, the sensation of someone playing with my hair oddly comforting and familiar. Who knows how long later he finally finished on the last tangle, sweeping the long tresses up, and pinned them out of the way as he began braiding and twisting my hair into a design. Dejah hummed to himself as he worked, the happy noise reverberating from his chest while his warm fingers brushed my neck and ears, raising instant goosebumps. With a delighted sigh, I rolled my neck forward, giving him better access to the section at the back he was working on, when I felt his fingers still.

"Everything okay back there?" I grunted, half asleep and annoyed that my impromptu head massage had ceased.

"All done," Dejah said and stood with a groan, his knees popping.

Sweeping my hair over my shoulder, I marvelled at the many tiny braids and their neatness. Feeling with my fingers, I ran them over the design that crisscrossed my scalp, keeping the hair tidy and off my face, then loosened into free-flowing locks down my back.

"Thank you," I breathed, playing with the freshly brushed strands and sighing at the feeling.

"Welcome," He muttered, prodding the flames.

"How did you learn how to do this?" I asked. Dejah grunted, looking slightly bashful as he rubbed his neck.

"My mother," he mumbled. "Before she died she got sick and I had to take care of her. She taught me how."

"Oh," I said, astonished by his honesty. "Im sorry your mother was sick."

"No need to apologies," he shrugged, "she's long dead now."

Something in his tone broke me. Maybe it was his blank expression or how lost his voice sounded, but I had to do something. Something to distract him perhaps, or just to say thank you, I wasn't sure which. I looked about for any ideas and, finding none, I jammed my hands into my pockets, annoyed at myself for letting the moment fade. That is until my fingers brushed against something in my pocket, sparking an idea.

Grabbing the combs, I hopped onto one leg and hobbled over to Dejah's side with an excited grin.

"Let me do you." I waved the combs only for Dejah to lean away

"What? No." He snapped dismissively

"Come on." I groaned, "one little braid, let me try at least."

Dejah looked me up and down, the debate clear in his eyes until his shoulders dropped, and he nodded in defeat. Grinning in triumph, I set about his hair, combing through the thick locks, Dejah bowing his head low so I could reach.

"Mother Calista would've loved you." I mumbled without thinking, needing to fill the quiet, "you're a healer. She loved healers, always said it was a special gift."

Dejah didn't react, staying still and quiet as I jabbered.

"Layla too, she loved-" I swallowed, "she loved doing everyone's hair. I think you would've scared her, though. She was always so timid."

I was not nearly as skilled or gentle as he had been. Several times I winced and apologised as the comb snagged on a nasty knot. Dejah said nothing, staying perfectly still, if a little tense, as I worked.

"It's funny really, you've been cast out and I wasn't liked much either. Maybe if we just swapped places our lives would've been easier, you know?" I said with a weak laugh.

Combing done, I separated a small section off right behind his ear and began plating it in the elven style using five strands instead of three. My fingers were slow and cumbersome, unused to the delicate work, but I finished after what felt like an age. Fishing around in my pocket, I pulled out the small wooden bead I'd felt earlier and used it to tie the end off. Sitting back, I eyed my work with an unsatisfied frown. It was a little untidy, the strands uneven, but at least the bead was secure.

"There all done. What do you think?"

Dejah didn't react at first. He just felt the braid with tentative fingers. He stilled when he touched the bead.

"Where did you get this?" He asked quietly

"It was in my pocket," I shrugged. "Do…. Do you want me to take it out?"

"No." He replied sharply, his eyes snapping to mine and then away just as fast. "No, it's fine. I-I like it."

The sound of a dozen sets of feet trampling through snow echoed through the door. I shot Dejah a startled look. Alarmed by my behaviour, Dejah shot to the door listening intently, head pressed to the wood, tense as a bow string. Waiting in uneasy quiet, I watched Dejah relax, shooting me a relieved smile and then yanked open the door. A crowd of bundled-up Orcs trooped through the drifts carrying bags and small children and gave a shouted greeting when the light from the fire hit them. The entirety of Gartha's family plus Vanda piled into the cave shouting and waving their hellos and good evenings until the cave nearly shook with the noise.

Read on AO3 Here

Chapter Ten Here

Chapter Twelve Here

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