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#actually the longer i think about the more i think the ending for 'nestlings' might not fully make sense for the story

bonefall · 5 months

Note

Hi! How would you draw a tool-evolved cat paw?

Aeons ago I wrote some speculative biology thoughts on what a tool-focused cat would begin to look like, and mentioned the way that a caw's paw might evolve. I can try to draw it out as a sketch; but fair warning that I put my art style points into cartoony anime stuff SO you're not gonna get a realistic drawing lmao

Evolution doesn't "think." It's many changes over generations that snowball into bigger ones. So I tried to look at WHAT exactly is happening between an animal with less sophisticated tool use (chimp) and one that COMPLETELY relies on tools (human) to predict where the cat's paw would end up in a few thousand generations.

Please note! My paw would still be a "link" between the ancestor, and something even more reliant on tool use. This proposed species would still be 100% capable of doing what the cats in-canon do, like hunt alone. It's for a feline species that is tool-ADAPTED, not tool-RELIANT.

(In that way, it's more comparable to, say, a lemur and a chimp. But lemur palm refs were hard to find and I did this quick because I've already thought about it.)

This paw would exist in-tandem with a "tool tooth;" A V-shaped gap in the jawline that a single fang would nestle into. Early tool-using felines would likely use their mouth to "break" or "shear" their crafts, leading to broken teeth that would make them less successful. So there would be a lot of evolutionary pressure to have better, stronger teeth.

Evolution doesn't do "one thing at a time," so if you happened to port yourself into a group of these cats and watch them craft stuff, you'd see them using their mouths as well as their paws!

Finger Size + Tool Claw

When you see real cats batting stuff around and manipulating things, and when you look at canon where they like to "hook things on a claw," it's usually the index "finger" they favor. In fact, they do a LOT of "poking," even when a cat bats at something they seem to mostly explore with the tip of their paw.

So I figure that would actually be a big difference between this species and humans.

Unlike us, who usually have our middle finger as the longest (though there are exceptions) so we can "stabilize" the things we grab, I'd give these guys a "Tool Claw" which is not involved in grappling at all. It's longer, more deeply grooved, but also more fragile than the "hunting" claws.

When at rest, the Tool Claw would stick out from the rest of the foot, straight upwards. The fur is able to "sheathe" the other three, but the index's would be too long to be fully hidden.

Because one of those fingers is now mostly taken out of combat, the pinkie would probably thicken up to compensate. Another difference from the human hand. I can imagine that if the trend continues, they might end up supporting their full frontal weight on the pinkie pad to free up the other fingers for tool use.

(But evolution's not always predictable! They might end up becoming more "back heavy" like raccoons, or rely on the invention of shoe/gloves, or just abandon silent hunting all together to become tool-reliant.)

Paw Pad Changes

Cats use the pads on their paws to move silently. As long as the species is relying on silently stalking prey, they will need to have these pads in contact with the ground to be good hunters.

So instead of the digital pads sliding down to create the "top" of the palm, I figured the metacarpal pad would split in two. So now there's a snug, dipped "shape" with which they could nestle an object into as they work with it, but also there is ALWAYS still pad in contact with the ground.

The amount of fur in-between the bottom (metacarpal) and top (supercarpal) pads probably just depends on culture and genetics. It wouldn't really have enough of an impact on the paw to be selected for to be furry or hairless.

I can imagine some groups being weird about it and thinking it should be shaved or braided or something, lmao. Or cats who live in muddy environments clipping it for hygiene reasons.

#Speculative Biology #bone babble #but btw no i dont use these in my bb drawings.#this is just for fun.#BB isn't really a spec bio project.#And also YES this is free to use for anything go nuts

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theobjectofyourire · 2 years

Note

Eleventh Doctor x reader fluff disguised as smut because it’s actually the reader’s first time and they’re really nervous. But the Doctor’s incredibly sweet and patient. Kind of inspired by the Daemyra scene from episode seven? I’m still not over it.

a/n: wow wow wow I cannot tell you how much I loved this!! seriously this was so much fun to write and so perfect for my first request! thank you so so much, anon, I really hope you like it!

word count: 3.2k

cw: some angst and hurt/comfort vibes in the beginning, worries of unrequited love - but it all gets resolved, so much build up, definitely gets spicy later on, I think the request pretty much sums it up

ps. if you want The Feels, the song I imagine them dancing to is The Night We Met by Lord Huron

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~

A Thing Of Poetry

Your cheeks flush as reality begins to settle around you, adrenaline leaving your senses far more alert than you'd like. The chill of the ocean breeze does little to cool your skin, let alone soothe your ego, and it all seems a terrible joke that despite having a Time Lord by your side, you're incapable of erasing this moment from history.

You'd need only travel a few minutes into the past, just enough to create a distraction, some sort of loud noise that would send you both back to his blue box, or out exploring beyond the sands. It wouldn't be anything serious, not in the big scheme of things. Of course, there was always the chance that your past self would run into your current self and tear a hole in the fabric of space and time, which admittedly seemed rather an extreme risk for what essentially amounted to an embarrassment. It's also exactly why the Doctor would never allow it, and it isn't as if you could fly the Tardis without him. Not that you would want to. You can't imagine one without the other.

No, the only thing you truly want right now is for this unbearable, almost unbelievable silence to end. He's the Doctor, your Doctor, who not a few hours ago managed to talk for ten minutes straight without so much as taking a breath. The same man who once explained water in such a way that by the end of it, even the poor fish was confused. The Time Lord who has a clever, if not somewhat silly reply to everything and everyone in the whole of the universe, and yet, here and now, seems incapable of uttering a single word.

You've done the impossible in rendering him speechless, and you're not entirely sure how to feel about it. Unsettled seems a good word. Awkward, chastened, terrified, the list goes ever on, but you're trying not to dwell on it too much. Instead, you attempt to refocus your attentions by observing him, hoping to discern something of an understanding from his movements.

He stares at you with wide eyes, unreadable save for the obvious shock. His long lashes continue to flutter the way they always do when excited or nervous, and his fingers are trailing along his bottom lip as if examining a precious artifact.

You wonder if you've made a terrible mistake.

His gaze begins to wander, drifting from yours to the midnight sea stretched before you. At the end of a trying day and a few near misses, he'd asked to take you here, a moonlit beach at the edge of the world. A world, he said, where dragons once roamed. Your face lit up at the mere mention.

I knew you'd love it.

You'd nestled yourselves in the sand, just a little distance from the incoming tide. You hadn't any blankets or towels, only a knit jumper and his body heat to keep you warm. It had been, by all accounts, the perfect evening.

It might have stayed that way.

You never should have kissed him.

Your Doctor lets out a deep sigh, a sound so uncertain, you think your heart might break. You can't bear the silence a minute longer.

"I'm sorry," you choke as you haul yourself to your feet, all but running back to the Tardis.

"Y/n," he murmurs. His voice is soft and painfully kind, enough to make you consider turning back. You can't help but imagine the way he'd wrap his arms around you, holding you tightly as he kissed the top of your head, comforting and consoling you until the dawn. All you want is to snuggle into him, but you're already fighting back tears, and it doesn't seem fair to let the Doctor see you cry.

You force yourself to keep going. He says your name again, louder this time as he shuffles about the sand. You hear him curse (his idea of cursing, anyway) as he slips, unable to get a firm footing, but you keep your eyes fixed straight ahead as you trudge across the beach. Knowing his coordination, or lack thereof, you have a few minutes before he catches up with you.

You find yourself trembling as you fling yourself into the Tardis, propping the door shut behind you. She rumbles, seeming to sense your distress.

"I'm alright," you mumble, burying your face in your hands. "I'll be alright."

The Tardis lets out a low groan.

"I know," you heave a sigh. "I don't buy it, either."

You run your hand along the rails as you make your way towards the stairs. You plan on going straight to bed, but you've not made it two steps into the hall before you find yourself on the other side of the console.

You swear you can hear crickets chirping as you glance around. Did you take a wrong turn? You must've done.

You give your head a good shake before returning to the stairs, taking them two at a time and heading to your right. You end up exactly where you were a few seconds ago, steps away from the Tardis console, in full view of the doors.

"Oh, god, no." Your voice is little more than a whine. Even to your own ears, you sound like a child, but you can't bring yourself to care. "No, no, no, don't do this to me," you plead with the ship, panicking as you hear the Doctor's voice getting closer.

You run up the stairs again, though you don't know why you bother. The Tardis keeps putting you back in the console room, determined for you to be there when the Doctor arrives. Unfortunately for the both of you, you're too stubborn to simply give in.

"You're just like him, you know," you grumble as you head up the stairs, yet again. "Neither of you play fair."

The Tardis hums sympathetically. Where do you think he learned it from?

You snort as you keep walking. The whole thing becomes somewhat soothing - like walking in a circle without getting dizzy. That's how he finds you, arguing with his old girl while walking in a loop, disappearing up the stairs before reappearing seconds later on the other side.

You're too caught up in your own whirlwind of frustrations to notice the Doctor, who's currently leaning against one of the rails and smiling something proud.

Look at you.

Stomping around the Tardis, arguing with her as if she were your own, refusing to surrender despite knowing you can't possibly win...right now, you look a little less human and a little more Time Lord.

Though he tries to suppress it, you can't help but hear his giggle. You turn on your heel with a glare, staring him down. "What?" You flinch at the venom in your voice, but it doesn't seem to fluster him in the least. He just keeps on beaming.

"Oh, nothing, nothing at all," he chuckles as he rubs his hands together, a cheeky glint in his eye. "Just reminding me of meself."

You cross your arms. "Oh, am I?"

The Tardis gives another little rumble, which the Doctor matches in turn. "Yes," he smirks, straightening his bow tie. "Yes, you are."

You try desperately to cling to your anger, an ire so warm it's nearly burned away even the deepest of insecurities, but it doesn't stand a chance against your Doctor. His lopsided grin is already beginning to quell your irritation, leaving you more vulnerable than you'd like. Anxiety trembles in your core while shame coils itself around your heart and in an instant, you remember why you're stuck in this predicament in the first place.

You never should have kissed him.

You chew at the inside of your cheek, offering him a small smile you hope looks sincere. Of course, it doesn't help that you can barely meet his gaze.

In four long strides, he's made his way over to you, eyes alert and brows furrowed. "Something's wrong." His voice is low, a slight growl in the back of his throat the way there always is when he's serious.

You shake your head. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," he mutters, looking you up and down as if you're something to be analyzed, searching for a crack in the surface. Your Doctor, always looking for some physical wound, some stretch of skin easily mended. You feel exposed when his cheeks flush, realization dawning on his features.

"Oh."

You manage a nod, gulping down a bit of tension. "Yeah."

"Oh, Y/n," he sighs as he leans in, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against yours. His breath is warm on your skin, like a campfire beneath an autumn moon. If only you could stop thinking of his lips.

"I'm sorry," you mumble.

He pulls away just then, making you regret having said anything at all. "For what?"

He's looking at you with such concern, at once both gentle and steadfast. It certainly isn't a help to your poor heart, which is beating approximately five times faster than it should be. He's really going to make you say it, isn't he?

Your fingers are shaking as you run a hand through your hair, forcing yourself to look at your shoes, at the console, anywhere but his face. "I shouldn't have kissed you."

Kissed. Such a small word, a thing of poetry, and yet it feels like an awkward curse as it tumbles out of your mouth, tasting of something forbidden. You feel so tiny. So silly. You just wish you could disappear. You just wish he could say something to make it all better.

"Why?"

Well, that isn't what you had in mind.

You bounce on the balls of your feet, completely overwhelmed with nervous energy. "Why did I kiss you?"

"Why are you sorry?"

You perk up, daring to look at him as a little spark of hope begins to flutter in your chest. His brows are still furrowed, confusion etched on every line of his face, both endlessly ancient and unfathomably young. Such a beautiful contradiction, your Doctor. The way he's looking at you...

"I...your reaction," you stammer. "I thought you didn't like...I thought you didn't want..."

You trail off as he breaks into a grin, taking your face in both of his hands and again, you find yourself feeling tiny. This time, you don't mind it so much.

"Oh, Y/n." His voice is soft, almost a whisper. His thumb grazes your cheek, wiping away a fallen tear. "My silly, wondrous, Y/n."

You're about to say something, ask him a question, perhaps, but you never get the chance. His lips are already brushing against yours, immeasurably soft with a tender passion you had only ever dreamt of. Your breath catches itself in your throat as his long lashes tickle your skin, his grip on you tightening as he loses himself in a kiss filled with a lifetime of yearning.

You wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him close until his chest is against yours and you can feel his hearts, both beating almost as quickly as your own. You can't stop yourself from moaning into his mouth as he presses you up against the rails, no more than you can help the shiver down your spine when he echoes it back to you.

You find yourself trembling as he pulls away, admiring the slight blush that still lingers on his cheeks. "I've wanted to do that since the moment you first stumbled into my Tardis," he murmurs, offering a smile as sweet as it is mischievous. He sweeps his thumb across your lower lip, chuckling as you suppress another moan. "I never imagined you wanted the same."

"More than anything in the world," you admit, swallowing down a shaky breath.

He gives you a wink. "Which one?" God, he's sly.

You slide your hands down his chest, wrapping your fingers around his suspenders and giving them a playful snap. You could swear he growls in response. "All of them, Doctor. I want you more than all of them."

He takes one of your hands in his, eyes refusing to leave yours. He presses his lips against the soft skin of your wrist, gentle, and yet desperately possessive. "What are we waiting for?"

He slowly leads you around the console, drawing you nearer the stairs, but despite the fact that your desire is growing by the second, you can't ignore the nervousness in the pit of your stomach.

"Doctor..."

You curse your voice for wavering, wishing you could maintain any semblance of the confidence you felt a minute ago. If you're being entirely honest, part of you is terrified. Not of the Doctor, never of the Doctor, but of disappointing him. After all, you aren't as experienced as most humans, let alone a thousand year old Time Lord.

He needs only glance at your expression to see your apprehensiveness, and it doesn't take a moment for him to spring into action. The lust in his gaze is replaced with something softer as he strokes the back of your hand. "Y/n?" he asks, his voice overflowing with care.

"I...I haven't...well, you know how some people...you know, most people..."

His forehead is all scrunched up as he tries to make sense of your words. You can't blame him, of course, you can hardly make sense of them, yourself. You hadn't thought any of this out, but you're determined to get through to the end.

"I'm what you might consider," you continue, uncertainly, "well, that is to say that I'm not one to have participated in...you know, I've never..."

Mercifully, understanding flashes in the Doctor's eyes before you manage to butcher another sentence.

"Oh!"

"Yeah."

"I see." He runs a hand over his jaw, eyes darting about the console room as he contemplates. You start to curse yourself again, worrying you'd ruined it all. You shouldn't have said anything. Why did you always have to say something?

"Oi, you," he murmurs, kind but firm. "Stop that."

"What?"

"Getting lost in that head of yours." You nod sheepishly. He's right, seeing through your anxieties as he so often does.

"Doctor?" you ask, hesitantly. "I want this. I wasn't lying, earlier. I want this more than anything, and maybe I shouldn't have told you-"

"Oi," he interrupts, wagging his finger like the silly old man that he is. "What did I just say?"

"Get out of my own head."

"Exactly." He taps the end of your nose, making you smile and squirm. "I'm glad you told me. If this is what you want-"

It's your turn to interrupt. "It is."

He smiles and squeezes your hand. "Do you trust me?"

You don't even consider your answer. You've known it all along. "Always."

He winks and snaps his fingers. The Tardis dims her lights as music starts playing from the console. A song from your world, a song he knows you love more than anything. The lyrics always made you think of him.

He brings your hand to his lips as he bows, tipping an imaginary hat and beaming when it makes you giggle. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close, his voice but a whisper in your ear as you dance in the heart of his ship.

"You're divine," he hums, kissing the base of your throat. Your hands slide into his hair as he lightly sucks the sensitive skin, cheeks flushed from the sensations as well as his words. You can feel him smiling as you shiver. "I want to show you."

"Show me, Doctor?" You're nearly breathless. "Show me what?"

He brings his lips back to yours, engulfing you in a kiss so longing, so endless, it cannot but threaten tears at the sheer romance of it all. It nearly shatters you when he breaks away, caressing your cheek as his green eyes, full of stars, pour into yours.

"I want to show you how brilliant you are," he murmurs. "I want to show you just how much I adore you."

You gaze up at him, lashes fluttering as you blush. The music seems quieter, somehow, and it's only when your eyes drift from the Doctor that you realize you're no longer in the console room.

The Tardis, it seems, transported the both of you to your bedroom. You can't help but giggle.

"Too right, old girl," he chuckles, looking up at the ceiling and giving her a salute. "Too right."

He takes off his jacket, draping it over a chair before shrugging off his suspenders. Next is his bow tie, which he slowly unravels and sets gently atop one of your shelves. He's undone two or three of his shirt buttons when you still his hands with yours.

His eyes are twinkling as you make your way down to the last, brushing aside the fabric to run your fingers along his chest. It's his breath that shakes, now, as you explore further, hands toying with the zip of his trousers.

He swallows a moan as he stops you. As much as he wants to know what your hands would feel like around him, it can wait. This night is about you.

With a kiss that leaves you trembling, he begins to undress you, an act that can only be described as reverent. He presses his lips against every inch of your bare skin, the shock of the cool air immediately soothed by the warmth of his breath.

When you're standing before him, all but bare, he sinks to his knees and asks once more if you trust him.

"Yes," you whisper.

He places loving kisses along your hip bones before moving down to your thighs, holding you steady when you begin to quiver with anticipation. Your hands tangle themselves in his hair, gripping tight as he gets closer and closer to your aching sex.

"Please," you beg, not even certain what you're begging for.

He smiles against your skin. "As you wish."

Head between your thighs, you call out for him, your voice little more than a whine as his tongue swirls around you, sucking at your most sensitive spot all but dripping with arousal.

"Doctor," you murmur breathlessly as his fingers slide inside you, unlocking secrets even you were unaware of. He hums your name, the vibrations sending intense waves of pleasure through your core. You cling to him for dear life as you clench around his fingers, your own digging into his scalp.

The orgasm feels endless. You wonder if it is. If the Tardis is somehow looping time, or if the Doctor is simply that good. Something tells you it's the latter. The thought sends a tingle down your spine.

He licks his lips, swallowing your arousal with a moan as he looks up at you with a smile. "Do you have any idea how delicious you taste?"

You giggle as you cover your face, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks yet again. He rises from his knees, kissing his way up your body until his lips are against yours, the ache between your thighs already returning. You're still shivering from his fingers, his tongue, everything he did, and it hasn't gone unnoticed.

"Don't worry, my love," he purrs. "The night is just beginning."

#11th doctor #11th doctor x reader #11th doctor x you #eleventh doctor #doctor who #11th doctor fic #doctor who fanfic #doctor who fic #11th doctor fanfic

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love-and-monsters · 1 year

Text

The Imposter

It’s Christmas Eve, I officially have a master’s degree, and I’ve finally finished this story that I started quite a ways back. It was supposed to be quick. It ended up being over 6,000 words. So. Whoops. Anyway, Merry Christmas, Happy Solstice, Happy Hanukah and all that. Enjoy!

This story is based off this post by @cozycryptidcorner and used with permission. Thanks!

M alien X F human, 6,387 words

Trigger warning: This story contains death and murder (performed by one of the main characters), depictions of torture and gun violence, (implied) cannibalism, and mentions of pregnancy/breeding and having children.

It’s been a week and a half since we last heard from the secondary outpost twenty miles from the main command center, which means we need to actually go out there and see what happened. No one’s happy about this- even our second in command has some arguments against it. But Ann was pretty firm. Regulations state that if an outpost stops responding for longer than ten days, there needs to be a rescue effort. There could be a severe power outage, some kind of system collapse, a localized weather phenomenon. Any number of things preventing a response.

I don’t know. It could be any of those things. But I don’t think it is.

We’ve got four grunts going with us, along with our xenobehaviorist, our third in command, and me, our xenobotanist. I don’t know if they’re sending me along in order to gather samples along the way or if they think there might be a botanical element to the disappearance, but I’m going. No getting out of it.

At least I’ll be getting out of the base. It’s a little claustrophobic, being there for weeks on end.

The planet itself is beautiful. Earth-like, but with a composition of elements in the atmosphere that makes the sky pale pink in the morning, when we set out. Most of the area we landed in is covered by grass, or at least something like grass. It’s shy, curling in on itself and retreating when we roll over it. Large tangles of bushes dot the landscape with enormous, flat leaves and elongated, berry-like fruits. It’s a fascinating environment, one I would love to study more, but there’s no stopping on the way there. We roll right on by, passing the miles until we arrive at the secondary outpost.

It’s easy to see the outpost from a distance, or it’s at least easy to see its major landmark- while the main outpost is set into the side of a cliff, the secondary outpost is set in the middle of flat ground next to a massive stone obelisk.

It’s a weird obelisk, very smooth and tall, not matching the rest of the world around it. Our geologist is fascinated by it, says it’s the weirdest erosion she’s ever seen, like nothing on earth. She’s trying to team up with our meteorologist to check for unusual weather patterns that might cause it- personally I don’t see what she likes so much about it. It’s just a large rock.

The secondary outpost sits right in its shadow, nestled against it. It’s an intimidating sight to approach, to be sure. More intimidating is the sight of the secondary outpost itself, because it’s completely dim. Most of the time, there are lights along the outside, at least as a sign that it’s still operational. Now, there’s nothing.

We have to pry the doors open. No automatic power. A musty smell wafts out, like a place that’s had the same air circulating for too long. The entire place is dark.

Once we get enough torches set up to keep everything illuminated, we search. The secondary outpost is much smaller than the main one- meant for twenty people as opposed to nearly two hundred. I never knew any of the people here- they were transported separate from the rest of us so we never met- but they were pretty similar to us. Any of us could have been a part of their crew. Just luck of the draw that we weren’t.

That makes it a lot more unsettling when we find the bodies.

There are nineteen. Some of them look like wild animals got them, torn apart. Others are visibly uninjured, but with a strange blue-purple tint to their skin. All of them are dead.

Our xenobiologist takes tissue samples. The rest of us search for some sign of what caused this. There’s no obvious breach- nothing to suggest animals actually broke in. The only sign of something anomalous is on the wall near the bunk area- a massive black and blue cocoon, large enough to hold a person split open and spilling thick, sticky liquid across the floor.

The trail stops abruptly in a spatter, like whatever was coated in the liquid shook it off all at once.

It’s when we’re debating what kind of creature could have made such a thing that we hear someone banging on the inside of the bulkhead.

The bulkhead is the reinforced security section under the main command center. Designed for safety in emergencies, it auto-locks from the inside and is basically airtight- once it’s sealed nothing can go in or out until it’s released.

Our third-in-command puts in the override entry code and the bulkhead doors grind open.

The man inside is naked, huddled in a corner. He looks up and his eyes are brilliant blue, like the blue spatter outside was turned almost neon. His hair is pale blonde and messy, with streaks of spattered blue in it.

I don’t recognize him, though I don’t really recognize anyone who was on this base. He looks startlingly pretty, though, with angular features and a slim body. He rises with a surprising amount of grace for someone who has been huddled in the bunker for some time.

It takes some time before he speaks. When he does, his voice is whispery, almost raspy. We gather in the bunker with him, listening.

“A virus,” he says. “Or a spore or other contaminant. I don’t know who brought it in. But it spread. So quickly. The infected attacked. I got to the bunker first. The others were injured too quickly. If I had held it open longer, I would have been attacked as well.”

His voice is soft, but steady as he speaks. Flat. Numb, maybe. His gaze wanders between us at first, but as he speaks, it settles on me and stays. I stare back at him, trembles racing up and down my spine.

He doesn’t exactly explain why he’s naked, but all of us have worried about an emergency occurring while we’re washing. Perhaps that’s even what saved him- he was away from the others and able to sneak to the bunker while the attackers were distracted. There’s some worry about contamination, but eventually, it’s determined that if it was airborne, he would have succumbed a while ago. A couple of our number head off to find him his identification and clothes- he’s currently in a hurriedly-located blanket, which is draped around him like a toga. The rest of us stay to pack up any supplies that remain, take samples, and prepare for departure.

I pack food, given that my own specialties don’t seem useful here. He stands next to me, picking up cans and boxes of dried food and setting them in a travel container. There are quite a few empty shelves, more than I’d expect from one person living here for a week. But it’s also possible they hadn’t fully stocked the bunker. Just as I’m pondering that, he steps closer to me, eyes trained on my face.

“Yes?” I say. His gaze is oddly intent. I don’t see him blink.

“What’s your name?” his voice is still whispery, but stronger than it was when he spoke before.

“Tamara,” I say. “What’s yours?”

He smiles, showing his teeth. “Patrick.” His smile widens- his teeth are oddly white. “I’m glad to meet you.”

His ID never turns up- it’s presumed to be among the other missing ones. He is clothed in the standard orange uniform and, once we’ve packed up the samples and salvaged items, we start heading back to the main base.

He sits next to me. The swaying of the transport makes him lean against me, his body warm against mine. Eventually, he falls asleep, pale hair tickling my neck and face as his head rests on my shoulder. In his sleep, he curls closer to me, trying to press as close to me as possible.

I nudge him awake when we reach the base. He blinks up at me, eyes soft and blue as a kitten’s. One of his hands is resting on my thigh. I can feel the slight shifting of his fingers as he squeezes. “We’re here.”

He smiles, though he doesn’t break eye contact as he does so, and speaks. “Home.”

Patrick takes several days to go through the required quarantine and debrief. I hear about him only through whispered rumors. He’s a strange sort, apparently, and quiet, only speaking enough to answer questions. Mostly, he watches people from inside the quarantine chambers with his bright, intelligent eyes. I visit on occasion. He always smiles at me when I arrive- I initially assume he’s just pleased to see anyone after spending time locked away, but other members talk about how solemn he is, barely reacting when they enter the visitation zone.

About a week after his arrival, I’m surprised to find him in my botany lab, dressed in white labwear over his orange jumpsuit and goggles that somehow enhance the clear blue of his eyes. He beams upon seeing me.

“I was asked what I would like to do here,” he says. “They indicated you might be in need of an assistant.”

I am not, in fact, in need of an assistant. Especially not from someone whose qualifications I don’t know. My lab is the space where I don’t have to interact with other crew, and where they don’t have to interact with me. They seem content to ignore me, for the most part, unless they need something.

But Patrick looks all but thrilled to be in my presence. It’s… unusual. I can’t remember the last time I looked at someone and their eyes didn’t just slide off me. But his eyes are focused on me, waiting for me to speak.

“Yes,” I say. Patrick beams. “We can start by examining the new sprouts.”

He is strange in his work- too smart and too naïve at the same time. He takes to the machinery and work like a fish to water, but stares like a statue when I ask him where he was originally from, on Earth. Might be for the best. I never liked small talk anyway.

He’s a good assistant. Eager to please, almost ridiculously so. Several times I mention offhandedly how I would like to have a particular piece of equipment and he vanishes, only to return with whatever I asked for. It’s usually cobbled together from backup materials, like he went to the storage closet and went ham. When I ask him how he knows what he’s doing, he cocks his head at me.

“I learned,” he says. “I know what the parts do, and I see how they go together in my mind.”

I take that to mean he’s more or less self-taught. It doesn’t bother me, though our second in command would probably flip her shit if she found out. We’re only supposed to use standard issue supplies, and repair with the exact correct components, and any modification needs to be rigorously checked by our site’s engineer. I get that there’s safety reasons, but he modified a light source into a sustainable, sterile incubation unit to check the self-reproductive process of one of our samples- it could be revolutionary to creating a sustainable food source, but if I’d asked, it would have been turned down. It’s the first damn time my work or position has been treated as anything close to important. Maybe it’s stupid and petty, but I’m not turning that down.

Patrick takes meals with me in my lab, in the area I’ve designated as a clean zone. Technically, I’m supposed to eat in the mess hall with everybody else, but I stopped as soon as it was no longer required. There’s nothing wrong with the rest of the crew. We just don’t talk, and it’s more comfortable staying here than sitting in the uncomfortable silence- or worse, sitting in but apart from the amiable chatter.

It’s not their fault. Most of them are engineer types. They like the mechanics, the challenge of setting up the base and forging their own path. I don’t think I’ve ever been much of an adventurer. It lets me study my plants and figure out how they work and be quiet and alone. That’s all I need in this job. The other crew members don’t particularly care about that, and I don’t really care about their fantasies of adventure and glory. So, we talk very little.

Patrick is different. His eyes are sharp and clever and he pays attention like I’m imparting the secrets of the universe when I speak. And he lets me talk, smiling as I ramble about anything and everything.

He only talks sometimes, when I nudge him. It’s never specific, and I don’t pry. But he speaks about having been sent away from his family when he was young, and wandering for a long time before finally coming here. He talks about wanting a family of his own, to love and be loved by. His eyes gleam as he says that the only thing he wants is to be able to care for the people he loves- to prove that he’s a good partner, that he will be good for someone.

I take his face in my hands before I can think better of it. “You’ll make an excellent partner. You’re one of the best people I’ve ever met.”

He tilts his face into my palm, almost nuzzling against it. “I’m glad,” he says. “Very glad.”

It starts slowly after that. Little things, normal things. He grabs extra snacks for me when we get meals, making sure to snag whatever I like for dessert. He always tries to give it to me, though he practically squirms in happiness when I say that he can have some and showers me with praise. His eyes gleam bright blue, focusing adoration on me like a magnifying glass focuses light. It’s pleasantly warming.

He stays near me. Not at all times, making himself scarce when I tell him I want space. But even when he’s not there, I can feel hidden eyes on me. Perhaps I should find it disturbing, but after the isolation of space, it just feels… comforting.

He sings, sometimes. Strange, trilling melodies that don’t have any words. He sings to me as he takes work from my hands, nudging me toward my bed. “Take care of yourself,” he says, half-humming the words. “You’re valuable.”

His blue eyes speak nothing but the truth. Everything in my body trembles at the thought.

Our third-in-command goes missing two days later.

There’s panic- controlled panic, but panic still. The missing person protocol is deeply entrenched, each of us with a specific role to perform. My role is mostly to stay out of the way.

We don’t find a body, or even a trace. Patrick comes to work in a new orange jumpsuit. I pretend not to notice.

Our xenobiologist vanishes three days after that. Patrick comes to work with a cut along his jawline and wearing an oversized, ill-fitting jumpsuit. I say that it looks like he might have cut himself shaving and got blood everywhere. He repeats that to the commander when she comes by.

Patrick asks to sleep in my quarters that night. Technically, it’s disallowed- the official reason is that even with our birth control implants, they can fail and there’s not enough supplies here for a safe abortion, and certainly not for a baby. But people here have bigger concerns than illicit sex, and no one protests when Patrick and I slip off to our quarters together. Maybe they even think it’s safer- no one wants to be alone right now.

The sleeping quarters are small, big enough for a bed, a dresser set into a wall, and a bathroom and shower separated from the rest of the room by a thin curtain. Patrick isn’t at all bothered by our close quarters. If anything, it seems to please him, since every opportunity he gets, he’s pushing his body up against me, nuzzling like an overly friendly cat. It takes some effort to disentangle myself from him to change- despite his touchiness, he’s shy about nude contact, so I’m fully dressed when we get into bed together.

Patrick presses up against my back, nuzzling his face into my neck. I can feel the cool tip of his nose tracing lines against my skin. It’s pleasant, if a bit shivery. After a few moments, he transitions to small pecks against the back of my neck. Then open-mouthed kisses. Then his tongue starts tracing against my skin. The shape of it is weird (are tongues usually this long? This sinuous?) but his hot breath and the coolness of his kisses creates a nice tingling. Eventually, the movements become lazier as he falls asleep, nestled close against me. With his warmth and comfort, I fall asleep not too far behind him.

I wake slowly and dreamily in the morning. Patrick barely stirs as I get out of bed and into my usual clothes. Even when I return and try to nudge him awake, he only blearily opens his eyes before closing them again with a sigh.

“Are you all right?” My heart jumps in my chest. We have limited medical supplies- if he falls too sick, it’s possible he won’t recover.

He tilts his face toward my hand as I rest my palm on his cheek. “I’m fine,” he murmurs, though there is a lazy undercurrent to his voice. He blinks blearily. “Perfectly fine.” He catches my hand with his, tugs my palm to his mouth so he can kiss it. “You’re wonderful. Perfect.”

I run my fingers through his hair, admiring the white strands as they drift. “What’s wrong? You’re acting strangely.”

“Everything is all right,” he says. “It’s almost time.” He kisses the tips of my fingers, one at a time. “I just need to rest, darling. Once that’s over, we can be together.”

I stroke a hand over his forehead. He feels warm, though his skin is quite pale. “Are you sure you’re not sick?”

“No. Just tired.” His eyes close. “I love you. Do not worry. Everything will be all right. We’ll be together.”

He sleeps after that. It’s a strange sort of sleep, one where his body goes completely still, except for little shivers and muscle twitches.

I stay with him for a time, but eventually, I leave the confines of the room to get something to eat. He’ll be hungry when he wakes up, he’ll need something to eat too.

The base is quiet. That’s unusual- the individual rooms are supposed to be soundproof, but even the smallest noises carry down the halls like an echo chamber. Typically there will be the sounds of at least one person moving around.

The silence makes the back of my neck prickle. I try to pick up my pace, but the sound of my footsteps clanging in the silence makes me slow back down again.

I was considering checking on my plants, but by the time I make it to the cafeteria, my nerves are shot. I’m not sure whether I’m hoping to finally run into someone or if I’m scared of that. All I know is I want to get back to my room with Patrick.

Once I’m in the kitchen, I gather as much stuff as I can carry and immediately turn to head back to my room. I make it just past the doorway before a hand catches the back of my clothes.

I scream. The sound echoes across the walls before it’s cut off by another hand on my mouth. There’s a moment of fading sound before silence takes over once more.

I fight, but I’ve never been all that physically strong, and my captor drags me into one of the nearby security rooms. They’re not places I regularly visit- mostly they’re waypoints for security details and commanders to get a quick read on what’s happening in the building. As soon as we’re fully inside the room, my captor drops me and pulls the armored door shut. The pressurized lock hisses and clicks into place.

It’s the commander, though she looks significantly more disheveled than I’ve ever seen her before. Her clothes are rumpled, her hair untied and knotted. But more than that, there’s a frenzied look to her. Her teeth are bared, her eyes so wide I can see the whites all the way around. She looks frightening.

It becomes significantly worse when she levels the gun at my chest.

“Tell me what you know,” she says, “or I will fucking shoot you.”

My mouth opens. It takes several seconds before any noise comes out. “Wh- I don’t- what are you-”

“Don’t lie to me.” The commander takes a step closer. “Don’t move or I will shoot you. Talk or I will shoot you. Tell the truth or I will shoot you.” She makes a noise that is not quite a laugh, but not quite anything else, either. “I won’t kill you. I’ll shoot you. I’ll shoot you over and over. There are lots of places you can shoot a body before it dies, did you know?” She considers me for a moment, as if eyeing up potential targets. “So. Talk.”

I swallow several times, but there’s no liquid in my mouth. “What am I supposed to be talking about?”

Her expression sours. “Him. It. That thing that you let into your room.”

A flicker of offence steadies my voice. “Patrick’s not a thing-”

“Like fucking hell he’s not.” The gun trembles in her hand and I remember exactly how delicate my position is. “You know what he’s been doing.”

I can’t speak. I just shake my head.

“You know. You’ve been helping him. Been getting close to him. And he stayed in your room last night.”

My voice comes out tiny and whispery. “He’s not like that. You can’t blame him because he’s still new here- because of what happened to his crew-”

“What happened to his crew?” The commander’s voice breaks into a rush of hysterical laughter. “His crew! So, you really don’t know about that bit. Guess it makes sense he wouldn’t tell you.”

She’s on top of me all of a sudden, gun muzzle against my brow. “I don’t know what he told you. I don’t know what he’s convinced you of or what he’s got over you that’s making you cover for him. But that wasn’t his crew.” She goes quiet, dragging in a few ragged breaths. “He killed them.”

I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say. I’m not surprised. I sort of wish I was, but… I’m not. Maybe I should be more upset about it. Maybe it’s the immediate prospect of having my brains blown out with Patrick as my only real source of help here. But somehow… I think it’s just that I don’t care.

He would hurt other people, but not me. Never me. Because I’m special to him.

“Took me ages to get the security video- he wanted to make sure no one would find it. But I saw it. He’s not human. Fucker slaughtered everyone and went into a cocoon.” The gun presses harder against my head. “When he came out, he went into the bunker and waited. He wants something. And given you’re the only person he’s been so buddy-buddy with, I figure you’ve got a better shot of knowing what that thing is.”

“I don’t know.” My voice comes out weak and wavery. “I didn’t know he wasn’t- What- what are you going to do to him?”

“I’m not going to do anything to him. But turns out, there’s a pretty large number of people here who are more than happy to try and kill a murderous alien.” She smiles, wide and terrible. “Unfortunately, we had to be practical. Don’t know how much gunfire it’ll take to kill the thing, so I told them to get the biggest guns they can and keep shooting until they’re out of ammo. They weren’t real happy about that. Didn’t like the idea of killing the thing so quickly. It’s fair, I’d say. Think they might be due for a little revenge, but we can’t take any chances.” Her smile gets wider, but it never touches her eyes. “They were pretty pleased when I told them about a certain traitor. Technically, we should bring you back for interrogation, but. I don’t think anyone will notice an extra name on the missing list, would you?”

Terror knifes me in the gut. “No!” He’s not dead yet. I would know, somehow, if he was. If I can get to him before they do- he can help me. Take me somewhere safe, I know he can. I just need to save him-

I lash out, aiming my foot for one of her calves. She barely stumbles, readjusts her gun, and there’s an earsplitting bang. For a second, I wonder if she missed. Then pain so great that I can’t even scream radiates up my right leg.

I wheeze, my entire body arcing and twisting from the pain. I broke my arm in a machinery accident when I was twelve- this is worse. So much worse. My vision swims, clouding with gray spots. I can’t think or breathe or do anything more than lie here and wait to die from the pain, because surely something this bad will have to kill me.

“I was considering dragging you back home.” The commander’s voice comes to me as if from a great distance. “Handing you over to the council for punishment. But y’know what? I’m not feeling that generous. You helped some inhuman creature stab my crew members in the back. They didn’t even get a chance to see their death coming.”

She walks around me and, beyond the onslaught of pain, pain, pain, I feel the muzzle of the gun touch my uninjured leg. “I figure I’ll shoot both your arms and legs, then set this place on fire. I figure that’d be about what you deserve. I hope the fire takes its time getting to you. I hope you get to feel every second it licks your skin. I hope you beg for death for hours before it finally, mercifully-”

There is a muffled grunt and a wet, crunching thud. The gun muzzle stops pressing against my leg. The commander screams, once, and falls silent. There’s another wet crunching sound, then silence.

“Darling.” The voice is strange, with a sort of reverberation to it now, but I recognize it.

“Patrick!” I try to move toward the voice, but the pain strikes me so terribly that I almost throw up. A gentle hand, tipped in dripping claws, rests against the side of my face.

“You’re safe now. I’ve got you.” The hand turns my head, tilting me so I can really look at him.

He’s beautiful.

He no longer looks human. His skin is dark and shines like an oil slick. Bands of electric blue run up the tendrils that stretch out from his head in place of hair. He has a tail, long and sinuous, and his legs are elongated, giving him a digitigrade stance.

And his eyes are the same piercing blue as always.

He creeps closer and I see the sharp tips of his many fangs in his blood-covered mouth. “You’re hurt,” he murmurs, voice thick with pain.

“You’re not,” I whisper back. “How?”

He smiles. It’s all sharp teeth and cruel delight. “I heard you yell. And then I heard them coming for me. I slipped away before they entered my room and attacked them from behind. They were foolish and sloppy, and I knew I needed to find you. I came as swiftly as I could.” He leans forward to press his forehead to mine. “You’re safe now. Always.”

There’s black licking at the edges of my vision. Now that the adrenaline’s fading, the pain’s becoming the centerpoint of the universe. Terror burns in my chest. I’m not going to die, but our medic is probably dead now, and I don’t know how to set a broken bone. “Patrick. I need help. It hurts. I- I don’t know how to make this better.” My eyes sting with tears. He saved my life, but I can’t survive an alien planet with a broken, bleeding leg. If I get some kind of alien infection, that’s the end for me.

“Shh, shh.” Patrick murmurs, cradling my face in his hand. “It’s okay. I can fix it. I’ll fix everything.” He smiles, and this time, his face looks soft, comforting. “Lie still. This will hurt, but then it will feel better. You’ll be safe. I’ll never let anything happen to you again.”

He bends forward and presses a kiss to my cheek. Then a kiss against the side of my neck. Then the slight nipping of sharp teeth. Then his fangs sink into my skin.

I wail and try to thrash before the pain in my leg stops me. He pats my face, teeth digging in deeper and deeper, then releasing. A tingling sensation starts to spread from the bite area.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs. “I love you. We’re going to be together forever, and I will always be here to protect you. I love you so much. Just rest now. Rest.”

The tingling numbness crawls up my face and my eyelids droop. With the soft, soothing whispers of Patrick in my ear, I close my eyes and drift into a slow, easy sleep.

It’s a warm comforting sleep, the sort of sleep you get when you’re settled under warm blankets against the chill of the night. I don’t dream. I just drift, cozy and warm. Sometimes, from a distance, I hear Patrick murmuring soothingly to me. All soft, comforting, loving tones that make me settle back into the gentle warmth of sleep.

I drift to the surface in bits and pieces, sometimes breaking into wakefulness for a few moments before being pulled back under. Patrick is always there, a constant, warming presence. Sometimes he’s holding me, sometimes he’s speaking quietly, sometimes he’s pressing pieces of meat past my lips and helping me swallow them.

There’s pain, sometimes. It comes and goes, like my consciousness. It’s more like a full-body cramp at times, more like a sharp itching at others, sometimes a bone-deep ache that reminds me of when I was hitting my growth spurt. Whenever I try to shift away from the pain, Patrick is there, murmuring and soothing until I’m asleep again. The longer I sleep, the less the pain is every time I wake.

Eventually, there’s a shift when I open my eyes. It’s subtle, but I can feel my consciousness more clearly than every other time I’ve woken up. My body is stiff, and my limbs are clumsy. I try to roll over and only succeed in crushing one of my arms under me.

“Easy now.” Hands roll me over onto my back. The room is bright, full of sunlight in a way the station never was. It smells nice, too, almost floral. I shift a little bit, trying to get a better look at the room. “Here. Eat.”

Something presses against my lips. I instinctively take it into my mouth- it reminds me of pork, like fresh pork, something I haven’t had in a long time. “Take your time. Here. Eat some more.”

Another piece of meat pokes past my lips and I take it. It’s Patrick’s voice that’s speaking, and I trust him instinctively.

He presses a few other pieces of meat into my mouth and offers a few sips of water. As he does so, I can feel my mind slowly clicking into place with my body. It’s easier to move around, though I feel strange. My body doesn’t respond quite in the same way I’m used to.

“Lie still.” Patrick strokes the side of my face. I turn my attention back to him. He looks the same as when I saw him last, all elongated and black. His soft, blue eyes are locked onto me with a strange intensity. “How are you feeling?”

I open my mouth to respond and am immediately struck by the weirdness. My tongue doesn’t sit the same way anymore, too sinuous, and my teeth feel longer and sharper than normal. “F-feel… weird.”

“Yes. I know.” Patrick smiles at me, his teeth still sharp as knives. “You’ve been out for a while. It took longer than it should have, because of your injuries. But you’re all healed now. You’re better.”

I stretch my limbs out, and something strange shifts. I twist my head back, trying to get a look at it and I see my body.

It looks like Patrick’s. Long limbs, a tail, pitch black skin with a slight sheen to it. I move and everything shifts accordingly. I can feel the texture of the floor under my skin. It is, however unbelievably, my body.

I whip my head toward him. “Wh- what is-”

“It’s all right, don’t panic,” Patrick says in a soothing voice. “You’re safe here. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

“But I don’t understand- what happened?”

His expression softens and he pats my head. I feel the strange head-tendrils sprouting from my scalp twitch in response. “I told you I would fix you. And I did.”

Yes, I remember- the pain, the terror. I feel strange, but not bad. There’s no pain any longer. In fact, my body feels good, energized. It’s just… “How?”

Patrick smiles. “I’m not human.”

I stare at him. He stares back, as if he’s given some kind of massive revelation. “Yeah,” I say once I realize he’s serious. “I sort of figured that out. What are you, though?”

“We don’t have a name, really. We don’t need one. You can just keep calling me Patrick.” He stretches like a lazy cat. “I came from another world a very, very great distance from here. I didn’t have much of a body, at that point. I was more like spores, seeded into a protective container to carry me through space as I traveled to another planet. Like an egg. Eventually, I landed here, on a habitable planet, and I hatched.

“When my kind reaches a habitable planet, we need to adapt to it. My spores traveled until they found a body they could attach to- one of your former kind.” He smiles fondly. “I don’t have many memories of that time- but I do remember when I finally awoke in my new body. It wasn’t perfectly adapted to the environment, but I could help with that. I just needed to find someone to make a colony with.”

“Someone to make a colony with?” I repeat. My lips feel slightly numb. My heart is pounding in my chest. Patrick leans against me, a contented smile on his lips.

“You,” he sighs, my voice almost like a prayer from his mouth. “I knew it from the moment I laid eyes on you. From the moment I caught your scent. You’re perfect. So clever and sweet and my wonderful mate. My queen. The one I need to start a colony.” He nestles into my side. “Once I found you, I knew everything would be all right. I had to take some time to save up my strength, so I could fully adapt to life here, and prepare for you to join me. I wish I could have done it sooner” His expression darkens and he presses even closer to me, almost like he’s trying to fuse our bodies together. “They should never have gotten the opportunity to hurt you.”

“Hold on,” I say, trying to process things as fast as he’s speaking. “You said we were starting a colony together?”

“Of course. A colony of our very own. We’ll fill this planet with our children, and someday, we’ll send them out through the cosmos to form their own colonies, just like I did.” He sighs dreamily. “I’ll take wonderful care of you, I promise. You’ll never want for anything again.”

“With… with our children?”

“Oh, yes. We’ll have many children together, enough to create a whole hive on the planet. I will care for you, and so will our children. We’ll be a family. And you’ll be the center of it.” He pats along my head and back in long, smooth strokes. “Isn’t that what you wanted? You’re special. You’re important. You’re the most important person in this galaxy. You’re going to be the mother of a whole empire.”

“But the humans,” I say. “If they come back.”

“Then we should be ready to handle them by the time they get here. Our children will grow swiftly, and we have all the supplies left here. They cannot take us on- they cannot hurt us. They will fail. And we will spread through the stars, with you by my side, always cared for and loved. I will do anything for you. I love you. I adore you. My beloved mate. There will never be anything you want for and you will never be harmed again.”

I take in a shaky breath. It sort of feels like I should be crying, but my eyes aren’t getting wet. Patrick holds me, murmuring gently. My chest hurts, but it’s a relieving pain, like ripping off a too-tight bandage. It’s warm. Safe. Just the two of us. Just Patrick, who cares for me more than anyone else ever has. Who will care for me. I never have to worry about anything again, not as long as he’s here.

“I love you,” I murmur into his shoulder. Patrick makes a humming/purring noise, rubbing his body against mine.

“I love you. Adore you. So much.” He presses me down onto my back, kissing and nipping at every bit of exposed skin he can find. His hips grind down against me. “Please- please-”

He can’t get another word out before I pull his mouth to mine for a kiss. Our children will become rulers of the planet, and we will live with them, together forever and always, safe from pain and fear and hardship. In love and safe, forever and ever and ever.

#exophilia #monster romance #alien boyfriend #alien lover #monster boyfriend #monster lover #dark romance #shapechanger

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hannah-heartstrings · 1 month

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Writing Patterns/First 10 Lines Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @emeraldhazeart!

Tagging: @druidx @inkysqueed, and I'm not sure who all else has 10 fics posted, so: open tag!

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there’s a pattern!

I think I already know what the patterns are going to be, but we'll see. I'm assuming I go backwards. I also assume posted fics doesn't count wips. I'm not sure about snippets either but I included a few of the longer ones that feel kinda like fics to me.

1. Local Rule

Stepping out of the barracks and into the dim morning light, Fairwyn crossed the courtyard where Garrus was already talking to a young redguard.

2. I didn't give it a name here on tumblr, but its file name is Date

Garrus tugged on his red silk cuff. This shirt was way too expensive for him, what was he even doing?

3. Sweet Surprise

Cradling two sweet rolls in one hand Lecrinn held them close as she pushed the heavy door with the other. She opened it just enough to slip out, leaving the chatter and warmth of the busy inn for the street outside. It was also busy and warm but more tolerably so.

4. Heart Warmed

Cheydinhal marketplace swirled with activity from people and snow.

5. I Got You

The world had faded away. Lecrinn and Garrus stood by the road, her head nestled against his shoulder as his leaned down where their foreheads touched, eyes closed, arms around the other.

6. Friday Kiss Tag Game

Sitting along the riverbank, Lecrinn and Garrus laughed.

7. Starlight

She was like a shooting star, Garrus thought as Lecrinn walked down the street towards him, showing up unexpected and catching all of your attention.

8. Stalemate

Warm light flickered across the stone floor as the fireplace crackled, it turning to a blur as Baurus’s eyelids drooped. As his head began to nod he quickly straightened, snapping himself back awake. “All right, Martin,” he walked over to the table covered in a pile of books, “time for bed.”

9. You're My Rest

Willow branches swayed over the lake shore, their shadows dancing across a quilt and the dishes strewn across, left with crumbs, drops, and last bites.

10. Shield You from the Rain

Light rain patted against the dirt road, rippled through puddles, and left drops on the grass. It stirred up the scent of fresh earth and left a chill in the late morning air.

What I thought, I like to start by setting the scene. I always have but I haven't always been good at it. I used to struggle with it so much that I'd end up skipping over it. A lot of times the first paragraph was the last thing I wrote, which actually helped a lot so, can recommend.

My favorite ones here though break from the pattern a bit. Starlight and I Got You start with a quick line that sets up the theme and then sets the scene, I might look for opportunities to do that more often, I like the effect.

The other patterns are that they're all Oblivion fanfiction and they're mostly my ship. And that I don't finish nearly as much as I write, the amount of files I scrolled past to find the posted ones. 😅

#writing patterns #first 10 lines #tag game #writing #my writing #fanfiction #oblivion fanfiction

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enchantedchocolatebars · 5 months

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A continuation of this. Titling the written piece as "The Happy Human Meets The Winsome Witch" (get it lol) and deciding that it will definitely be a chapter in my full-length chapter story (I talk more about that here). "Clara" is my wittewife. Some things might not stay the same in the actual story, but this is what I have so far.

Enjoy! <3

"Alright, Syrup," Clara began, a bright and cheery smile on her face as she looked to the blue jay settled on her right shoulder. "You ready?"

Syrup, her palisman, responded with a small nod and a sweet tweet to the question.

Clara giggled at the cute chrip that left the bird's beak. "Same. Time to open the shop!"

As she sat on her stool, the witch used her magic to flip the 'closed' sign to 'open' and folded both of her hands together on the table.

Behind the witch was a sign in feminine lettering that was colored orange on a white background that read 'Clara's Charms'.

The tablecloth itself was decorated with an assortment of new, but also really random, knick knacks from the human world that she found during her trip to the shore.

Excitement started to fill her eyes.

She was so eager to sell them to some buyers who she hoped would be arriving soon to her stand.

The Bonesborough marketplace was always busy on midmorning weekends, which was beneficial for a saleswoman like Clara, but also disadvantageous because of all the other sellers.

The competition, while friendly at times, was also fierce, so she and Syrup had to ensure they were on their A game.

No messing around!

They've got this.

As the two waited patiently for a patron to approach their business, a demon dressed in a doublet walks by their display.

Clara's eyes instantly light up.

A possible customer, she thought to herself.

The witch was determined to seize this opportunity.

"Hello, sir!" She greeted cheerfully, grabbing his attention as he stopped and turned to see her.

"Oh, good morning, miss!" The demon greeted back with a smile, kindly lifting his hat some before setting it down.

"I have a question to ask. Would you be interested in buying this furry piece of fabric from the human world?" Clara asked, picking up a beaver pelt from her table to present to the man.

"It has a variety of uses! For example, you can use it as a scarf." Clara tied the pelt around her neck like a scarf as she flipped the longer end over her shoulder all sassy like.

As she untied the beaver skin, she continued her demonstration by balling it up before putting it on her head.

She then directed both her fingers at it. "A hat. Or..."

Clara removed the pelt from her head and put it back on the table, still in the shape of a ball, as she glanced at Syrup and gave her a nod.

Understanding the signal, the blue jay flew over to the pelt and nestled herself into it.

Jazz hands went to gesture gleefully at the new nest. "Ta-da! It can become a new bed for your palisman!" Clara exclaimed.

"So what do you think? Does this tickle your fancy? It can be all yours for only a total of ten sails!"

She made the material look intriguing enough for someone to be interested in buying it, right?

"That?" The man questioned. He shook his head, pulling out a beaver pelt of his own.

He shined her a somewhat sad smile.

"I'm really sorry, miss, but I had already purchased one from over there," He informed her, directing his finger at a stand that was a few stands away from hers.

It was being run by a literal piggy bank who sat on a stool with a sign above him that read "Mr. Piggy Bank's Human Collectibles".

As Mr. Piggy Bank finished selling a pelt to a customer, more customers came up to him with snails in their hands, eager to buy his items.

"He's selling them for only 5 snails."

Clara's expression slowly changed to sadness.

"Oh...," The witch went, her shoulders rounding forward as the man walked away.

Syrup flies over and settles on her owner's slump shoulder after seeing this, chirping some birdy encouragement in her pointed ear.

Her words would always match the sweetness of her name.

Clara let out a giggle and patted Syrup's head feathers with her index finger.

"You're right, Syrup," she told her blue jay companion, determination shining through in her small smile as she straightened her posture.

"We just have to keep trying."

Syrup tweeted again, giving a single nod of agreement.

A woman dressed regally in a red gown wearing a powdered wig and a fake mole passes by, which makes Clara grin excitedly as she greets her.

"Morning, madam." Clara cutely curtsied to the fanciful woman before continuing with a compliment.

"That red dress looks absolutely ravishing on you," she cheerfully states, finishing her sentence with a light hum.

Despite trying to make a sale to the woman, Clara genuinely meant her compliment.

The woman in red replied with a giggle, slight flush on her face from the polite praise. "Oh, why thank you," she said.

"You know what would go really well with your dress?"

With great elegance, Clara pulls from behind her a folded hand-held fan that is closed.

"This."

The fan is revealed to be the same color as the woman's dress when she opens it.

"It's a fan from the human realm!"

"Really?" the woman asked in amazement

Clara happily responded with a nod.

"Oh, say no more," the woman cheerfully states, reaching into her large, white wig to pull out two hand-held fans that are much more decorative than Clara's single fan.

The witch seller's smile starts to falter.

The woman starts to fan herself with both fans as she speaks.

"I just bought three from that stall there."

Her palisman, a white monkey, pops its head out of her wig and pulls out the third fan as they start fanning themselves gracefully.

The woman glances back at the stand where she had previously been, which was Mr. Piggy Bank's stand.

The pig was very prosperous as he stood silent on a large brown sack filled with snails, selling hand fans left and right to customers.

Clara opened her mouth to speak, but the woman was already walking away. "Thank you for the offer, though."

"You're...welcome," Clara whispered, gazing sadly at her booth table.

However, hearing nearby footsteps causes her to look up.

Clara quickly pulls out a silver coin (a quarter) from the human realm from inside her hair, hoping to sell it, only to see two potential buyers pass by with jars filled with the same coins from the direction of Mr. Piggy Bank's stand.

He now had two big sacks filled with snails sitting behind him, with two picture frames of his piggy bank kids being sent to one of the best colleges in Bonesborough standing on each sack.

When customers came to his stand, they would buy a jar from him, lift him, and shake out the silver coins that he kept inside his body into their jars before paying him in snails.

Clara sighed a second sad sigh, averting her gaze once more as Syrup quietly chriped, rubbing her beak against Clara's cheek.

The witch felt nothing but defeat wash over her.

"Why don't you turn that frown upside down and sell me some of your greatest charms?"

Clara was quick to look up when she heard the soft voice, which was full of happiness and kindness.

A stranger wearing a green cloak with his hood up caught her eye as he stood in front of her booth.

Clara was able to see a small part of his face, and he had the most beautiful brown eyes she had ever seen on a witch.

He also had an adorable blonde forelock sticking out of his hood.

"R-Really?" Clara sniffled in cute disbelief as she wiped away the start of tears from the corners of her hazel eyes.

The stranger nodded.

He saw how down she looked when he was leisurely walking through the marketplace and wanted to help her out.

Plus, her stand did look quite cute and unique.

"But don't you want to buy from him?" Clara asked, pointing at Mr. Piggy Bank's stand.

The stranger glances in the direction she's pointing and looks back at her.

"Despite the cuteness of that piggy bank, you're even cuter."

After receiving such a flirtatious response, Clara lets out a soft laugh and begins bagging her best items for the stranger, her cheeks becoming the lightest pink.

Her fondness for him was already starting to show.

12 notes · View notes

m0ther-of-p3arl · 11 months

Text

every dead-end street

(robert aeor high au p12)

masterpost

*bonks this on you in a rush cuz imma be outta town the next 5 days or so*

He hears the door swing shut behind him, and turns to find Owen, pulling on his coat and jumping down the steps. Scott follows, the aching familiarity of the situation tainted by the gap that’s somehow grown acres between them, stifling the cool breeze that tosses Owen’s hair this way and that.

or, owen and scott reunion!!! also im not sure but this is possibly the longest chapter yet so :3

(5913 words)

Scott wakes in a cocoon of yellow feathers.

His face is pressed to someone’s chest, his arms wrapped around their middle and his hands pressed into their hair, legs intertwined with theirs, so familiar his heart aches.

Jimmy.

His eyes flash open as he realizes it’s him, the events of last night coming back to his mind in full, blazing technicolor. Lips and hands and warm, warm skin against his frozen exterior. Whispers and promises and episodes of goddamn High School Musical: The Musical: The Series.

He doesn’t want to move from his entangled position, it’s warm here, it’s safe. He doesn’t want to give it up, he’s so sure it was just a lapse of judgment on Jimmy’s part, but maybe if he stays still for a little while longer he can keep living in the fantasy. He clutches Jim tighter, nestling his face into the avian’s chest, breathing in the citrusy scent that he carries everywhere.

A pair of hands cup his chin and soft lips kiss his forehead. “Morning, Scott,” Jimmy’s familiar voice whispers, quiet and low, against his brow. Scott makes a muffled noise of protest, squeezing his eyes shut again, vaguely muttering something about how it’s too early and can they please just stay laying down for a bit longer.

Scott honestly can’t believe that he and Jimmy are, like, an item. It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a mistake. Somehow, by some miracle, Jimmy likes him. Jimmy kissed him last night, something he never thought would happen from anyone, much less the boy he was so sure he’d ruined things with such a long time ago.

Scott thinks he might have a boyfriend. And as much as he wants to stay wrapped up in Jimmy’s wings forever, his anxiety will never let him settle down into the comfort if he doesn’t get a few things straight.

“Jimmy,” Scott says, pulling himself up and immediately regretting it, because now he’s vulnerable and exposed to the world, upright under the blankets in his favorite blue nightgown.

“That is my name, yes,” Jimmy says sarcastically, yawning as he sits up as well, his wings floofing out behind him, somehow wrapping around Scott yet again.

“So are we dating now?” Scott’s hands irrationally shake as he asks this, it’s such a stupid question given the circumstances-

“I mean. We literally spent last night making out? So I would hope so, yes?” Jimmy answers, affectionate confusion leaking into his voice.

“I was just- you know- making sure,” Scott rolls his eyes, trying to presume his comfortable icy exterior, and from the look on Jimmy’s face, failing miserably.

“Mhm. Sure.” The avian pats Scott condescendingly on the shoulder, his face the worst facsimile of seriousness Scott has ever seen.

“I hate you,” Scott grumbles, pulling his face into a mock pout and crossing his arms with a huff, which just causes Jimmy to snicker even more.

“Love you too,” Jim smiles, what Scott thinks to be a genuine tone hidden underneath the snark . “So what’s the plan for today?”

Scott looks off into the distance, out Jimmy’s window at the rows of trees crossing through suburbia, his hands wrapped around each other so tightly he can see the knuckles turning even paler than his natural skin tone. “I… actually, I have something I need to do before anything else, but after that I’m free for whatever.” He can hear his voice shaking, and he’s sure it’s even more obvious to Jimmy, who plops back down and rests a hand on his back- which does calm him, though admittedly not much.

“Want me to come along?” Jim asks, his tone soft and unforceful.

Scott shakes his head. “Not this time.”

Jimmy nods. “I get it.” And the thing is, Scott can tell that he does.

It’s a long walk up the familiar neighborhood streets, all the turns imprinted permanently in Scott’s memory from years and years of walking the same routes around this stupid city. His feet scuff along the pavement, the sun shining down from a cloudless blue sky. The leaves are just starting to turn for autumn, tinges of yellow and orange peeking around the corners of imposing maple trees, the wind combing through branches to create a cacophony of rustling sound.

It’s been a while since Scott’s been in this part of town, and there’s a good reason why. It’s honestly terrifying, being so close to where it all happened, and Scott doesn’t even notice he’s shaking until he wraps his arms around himself for comfort. A part of him, and not an insignificant part either, wishes Jimmy was here to make things easier- and most of the time, that’s exactly what the avian does. But right now, with what he’s about to do, he knows that having Jimmy there would absolutely ruin any chances of reconciliation.

He’s been so lost in his thoughts that he walks right past his destination, before doing a double take and turning on his heel, walking back and standing right in front of a tan-colored, two-story house. It’s been so fucking long since he’s walked up these steps, knocked on the paint-peeling door, a familiar orange tiefling grin peeking out at him from behind him. It’s been so fucking long since he’s seen Owen at all, and he misses him more than he’d care to admit. He stands there, rooted still to the sidewalk, swallowing nervously, for what feels like hours, the seconds dragging by with every beat of his heart.

It’s not too late. He could turn back, head home and spend a quiet, uneventful day with Jimmy, forget this ever happened.

For a second, he almost considers it.

But he knows he can never live with himself if he gives up, he’ll curse himself for the rest of his life if he lets himself walk back home. So instead, he steps up the decaying wooden stairs, the porch leaning heavily beneath his weight as he trods across it and raps his knuckles loudly against the door. Paint peels off beneath his touch, joining the first fallen leaves in the wind and tumbling across the street. Scott turns idly to watch it blow away, his neutral face hopefully not betraying his rabbiting heart.

And the door creaks open behind him.

His head snaps back quickly, meeting a familiar pair of eyes as they peer through the crack of the door at him.

“...Scott?” Owen asks, confusion lacing his voice, and, Scott hopes, a little happiness too.

“Hi.” Scott tries for a smile, but it doesn’t quite land, and he’s certainly not about to force one if it won’t come. “Would you care to join me on a walk?”

“Sure,” Owen mutters, glancing behind him into the house. “Let me grab my coat, I’ll be right with you.”

Scott nods, taking long strides over to the side of the porch and leaning up against the railing, as he’s done so many times before. This whole house, this whole street, gives him deja vu, the memories almost tangible around every corner. But with the nostalgia comes a deep, crunching anxiety; he can barely contain his fear that he’ll see Father walking down the road, snakes hissing forebodingly and that familiar sneer that’s somehow even colder than Scott’s skin. In fact, he can just make out the roof of his old home, the Major Mansion, from here, and even the simple sight gives him shivers down his spine.

They walk in silence for a little, neither daring to speak, following the well-tread routes they’ve known since they were young, before they’d met; when the orange tiefling had just been a question living right down the road from Scott.

“So. Uh. How’s it been?” Scott asks, trying to keep his voice light and utterly failing, breaking quietly before he’s finished the sentence.

“How do you think?” Owen answers, for once not a trace of mirth on his face, his eyes full of annoyance and sadness and hope and loss, pointed stubbornly down at the pavement.

“I mean, you’ve kind of been ignoring me lately, so I wouldn’t really know,” Scott says, tone breezy enough to hide the anger simmering underneath. And that, that subtle, ignorable undertone, is enough to set it all ablaze.

“I’ve been ignoring you? Are you fucking kidding me?” Owen stares shocked, eyes wide and offended and more than a little bit angry.

“What else would you call” (Scott gestures to the space between them) “all this?”

“Pray tell, what would you consider ‘all this’?” Owen mocks his hand motions, making them seem wild and erratic, a judging, aloof expression blanketing his usually-smiling features.

“You know what I mean, Owen. You know me well enough to know what I’m talking about. The distance! The way we can’t even talk anymore, you ignore me all the time, don’t you know how hard my past many months have been?!” Scott seethes, dimly aware of the rims of his shades frosting over in the corners of his vision.

“What about me?” Owen grabs his shoulders and spins him around until their eyes have met, brown glaring into piercing cyan. “Have you asked even once, since you met Jimmy, how I’ve been doing? My parents are getting divorced, Scott, and I can’t even talk to my best friend about it.”

Scott’s struck momentarily speechless, because oh god, he didn't expect Owen to have a valid response, but quickly recovers, spitting, “You didn’t even try!”

“I did, though,” Owen sighs, kicking at the pavement. “I attempted to contact you about it on many separate occasions. But no, we always had to talk about you, you, you. Scott, you never even left me any room to get a word in edgewise!” He yells the last sentence, and Scott can see hints of tears in his eyes. Again, he’s slightly taken aback, he can remember maybe one time when he’s seen Owen cry, in all the years of them being best friends.

Maybe he doesn’t know the tiefling as well as he thought.

“I- How was I supposed to know, Owen? My dad kicked me out of the house and I had to move in with my crush. I had a lot on my plate, okay?” Scott fumbles, trying to find the right words, his confidence crumbling down rapidly.

“Apparently not enough to listen to your best friend’s problems in addition to talking about yours. I had my own shit going on, Scott, still do- and you couldn’t even be bothered to listen to it. And here you go again, talking about you. Like, I get it, okay? You’ve been through a lot and I’m sorry. Genuinely.” Owen pauses, turning around to face Scott. “But that doesn’t give you an excuse to neglect your duties as a friend. For a little bit, sure. But it’s been seven months.”

“Well, you didn’t-” Scott pauses midway through his sentence, breathing in deeply. “You know what, this is a stupid argument. Can we just forget about this? It doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, Scott, actually, it does matter,” Owen hisses, broken and full of rage, his voice echoing across the neighborhood streets, earning him some nasty looks from passersby. “I love you, Scott, so much. You’re my best friend and I miss you. But I’m also your best friend, so sit down, take a second to think, and then tell me that you’ve been in the right here.”

“But-”

“Nope. Sit down by this tree and think.” Owen points authoritatively to the roots of an old oak sprouting out of the tree lawn, his mouth pursed, not giving room for an argument.

Fuming, Scott flops down, staring angrily through Owen’s knees. He’s not in the wrong. He’s had such a fucking tough time, nothing could possibly compare, his life has been tossed into the ocean and swallowed by a shark that was then gutted from the inside, its intestines held high for all to see.

But that doesn’t diminish Owen’s suffering.

Scott’s past few months have been hell, they have to be so much worse than whatever the heck’s going on with Owen. Like, Scott’s sure it’s been hard for him, but it can’t possibly have been as bad as Scott being kicked out of his house by his abusive father.

But that doesn’t mean Owen hasn’t had a hard time lately as well.

Scott has been in such a dark place, such a terrible headspace, such a just generally horrific time in his life, Owen’s not allowed to pretend like everything’s been all diddly dandy for him when it’s been the polar fucking opposite.

But Owen is his best friend and Scott’s supposed to be there for him.

Owen’s supposed to be there for Scott too, though! Scott and Owen are supposed to be a package deal, they’re supposed to stick by each other, Owen’s supposed to support Scott unconditionally. Isn’t that what friendship is? And yet, lately he hasn’t even been answering Scott’s texts.

Did Scott have time to respond to texts when he was being kicked out of his house?

It’s different, though, it can’t have been as bad as that-

That doesn’t mean whatever Owen’s been through wasn’t still hard for him.

Scott’s pain-

Pain is not a contest.

It was worse-

Both of their different experiences are allowed to coexist.

Owen’s been such a bad friend lately.

So has Scott.

…so has Scott.

Scott stands, his hands shaking.

“You done sulking? Are you ready to talk like an adult now, or-”

Before Owen finishes his sentence, Scott steps forward and wraps him in a strong, tight hug, the tiefling stiffening at first but then relaxing into Scott’s embrace, his arms reaching up to hug him back, his fists gripping the loose fabric of Scott’s dress.

“I’m sorry,” Scott whispers, the words scratching in his throat, something he hasn’t been saying enough recently. “I’ve not been the best friend lately, huh?”

“Neither have I, to be honest with you.” Owen laughs a silly little half-laugh, still clutching tightly against Scott’s back, and it feels so good, so right, to have his best friend pressed against him, the smell of his hair the same pinecone scent it’s always been, since the day they met.

“I thought you were convinced you were so ‘in the right’ here,” Scott teases, pulling away from Owen and poking him lightly in the chest, a clear sign of surrender that they both know well, unspoken but always mutually recognized- Scott can tell Owen sees it too, as he immediately relaxes.

“To be honest, I knew the only way I was going to get you to realize what was going on was if I acted like you were the only one who’d done anything wrong. Everyone just always has to go the extra mile for you, Scott S-smajor.” Owen’s trying to stay chipper, but Scott can hear the cracks in his voice, the raw emotion leaking through after months of holding it back.

And sure enough, just moments after finishing his words, Owen’s lower lip begins to quiver and he breaks down, sinking to the sidewalk and pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, shaking his head with all the unspoken words, all the hardships he’s endured these past months.

And this time, his best friend is right there beside him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Scott asks, sitting as well, and resting a hand lightly atop Owen’s shaking shoulder.

The tiefling nods, rattling sobs escaping from his throat. “Argh, Scott, I d-didn't mean to melt down on you, I’m s-sorry.” The way he says it breaks Scott’s heart, like Owen somehow thinks he’s done something wrong by letting all his emotions free-flow for a bit.

“Don’t be. You’re fine, I could not care less. Trust me, I’ve been there. So what’s the scoop? Also, mate, when was the last time you cried?”

That gets a laugh out of Owen, albeit a half-hearted, shaky one. “I don’t actually remember?”

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” Scott asks, rubbing a hand over the nape of his neck. “We’re kind of blocking up the sidewalk.”

“Sure,” Owen mutters, pulling himself to his feet and rubbing aggressively at his eyes and breathing deeply to steady himself.

“So, what’s going on? Tell me everything, and I mean everything: I want the full rundown, all the details, the whole story.” This time, Scott means it.

And so Owen talks as they walk, ending up climbing the giant pine in his backyard and sitting amongst its branches like they have for as long as they’ve been friends. Owen explains how his parents have been arguing for a long time, really big, yelling arguments, and finally, after leaving the house in a huff and living in a motel for a week, Owen’s mom had finally called home- only to announce that she was ordering a divorce.

“That’s a shitty move,” Scott interjects, wrinkling his nose.

“Yeah, it kind of was,” Owen agrees, sighing and leaning against the trunk of the tree, his tears having stopped for now, though his eyes are still red-rimmed and his nose still sniffy.

He continues on to explain how after that, it’s been weeks of alternating close contact or no contact with his mom, and his sisters, all nine of them, are absolutely emotionally lost. His other mother is struggling to bring home enough money to feed them all, and his mom is just draining all the money from the family bank account.

“It’s been really hard on all of us,” Owen mutters, wiping at his eyes aggressively. “Like, I love Mom and all, but she’s being a real bitch right now- she could have tried to stick it out with Mother, if only for me and my sisters. And that’s not something I say lightly.”

“Yeah, you really don’t like to swear,” Scott comments, stretching and cracking his neck.

“Yeah, no,” Owen laughs lightly, a cautious sound as if he’s afraid to show his genuine emotions, and Scott feels his teeth clench in sadness.

Owen goes on, finishing with the fact that his sisters are going to have to live with their grandparents for a while, and as of now, Owen doesn’t really have much of anywhere to go. His dad’s tried to explain that sending him to boarding school might be the best bet, but Owen’s having none of it.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” he admits, looking down and coughing gently, his feet kicking in wide arcs that stir up the twenty feet of empty air below them on the branches.

“So you can’t stay with your dad right now? Like, there’s not enough money?” Scott asks to clarify, leaning back against the tree, eyebrows furrowed, concerned, in Owen’s direction.

Owen shakes his head, lips drawn tight and eyes looking anywhere but Scott’s. “There’s really nothing to be done for it. I pretend I have a say in the situation, but deep down, I know that there’s really not another possibility at this point.”

“You could come live with me and Jimmy,” Scott spits out before he can catch himself, eyes going wide as he realizes what he’s said. “I mean, you don’t have too, obviously, but I’m sure John and Laura would have you, they took me in, and I know you and Jimmy don’t really get along and you blame him for a lot of things, but maybe give it a chance? Genuinely, Owen, I really, really don’t want you to leave.”

“I don’t want to leave either,” the tiefling mumbles, a thickness to his voice that Scott rarely gets the privilege to hear. “But I’ve genuinely been such a jerk to Jimmy, Scott, like, he did nothing wrong. And I’m- I would love to live with you, and I mean this truly, but I don’t think Jimmy would have me. And if it’s you, him, and Beks now, I don’t know if there’s enough money or space for me.”

“Well, let’s just go check then,” Scott says, a smile growing across his face as he begins to descend from the tree.

“Wha- Scott, we can’t just go up to his house! And aren’t you and him all awkward and stuff? Like, after the whole kissing thing that you wouldn’t shut up about all those months ago?” Owen asks, scrambling to follow.

“No, uh, actually turns out he does like me. But that’s not important- plus, you forget, it’s also my house.” Scott drops down, his feet landing firmly on the hard-packed soil as Owen lands a little less nimbly besides him, taking a few stuttering steps forward before regaining his composure and grabbing Scott’s shoulders, staring him in the eyes.

“What. You’re dating. You and that little scrunkly bird man. Scott, you have a boyfriend?!” Owen yells the last sentence so loud that Scott flinches in an involuntary response, certain that all the neighbors are now listening in.

“Shut up,” Scott mutters, stepping out of Owen’s backyard and onto the sidewalk, turning back the way he’d come, back towards home.

“No. No I will not, when did this happen?” And there it goes again, a perfectly normal conversation turned to Scott’s business. He curses himself inwardly.

“Last night. Can we talk about something else instead? Because you just went off on a huge tangent about me talking about myself too much, so, you know, hypocritical much?”

“Scott, I didn’t mean you can never talk about yourself ever. Plus, we’ve just gone over my problems for like an hour, so I think you’re pretty much clear to rant to me about your boyfriend and how that all happened on the walk over to Jimmy’s… which I’m not quite sure about because we’re really not friends at all, why would he have me even if his parents are able to take me in…” Owen mutters the last sentence under his breath, still very obviously uncomfortable with the whole situation.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Scott soothes. Though, he’s not sure in the slightest, to be honest, but Owen is his best friend and if he needs help, Scott wants to be the one to offer it.

But going back to the tiefling’s earlier comment on the way to his house, Scott tells Owen everything. Every little last detail, every grievance and the high points and the lows. The only thing he leaves out is the weird memory-sharing thing, because he and Jimmy haven’t even really talked about that yet, and they probably should before anything else.

He also doesn’t tell Owen that he’s apparently the reason Jimmy hasn’t-

The reason Jimmy’s not-

He shivers involuntarily, because even imagining Jimmy dead is just- it’s too much, a world where he doesn’t have Jimmy isn’t even something he’d like to theorize about right now. But it’s also none of Owen’s business, it was something told to Scott in confidence, and he’s definitely going to have to bring it up with Jimmy later because he wants to do everything and anything in his power to prevent something like that from happening.

He doesn’t know how he can live with himself if Jimmy confesses to Scott about his suicidal (Scott can’t even-) and Scott does nothing about it.

And then before he knows it, here they are, standing in front of Jimmy’s house. Owen shoots him one last worried glance, and Scott shakes his head, smiling gently. He grabs the tiefling’s wrist, pulling him up the stairs and through the door, until there they are, standing on the foyer.

“Jimmy!” Scott calls, cupping his hand around his mouth.

“I’m in the kitchen,” the avian yells back, and Scott nods encouragingly towards Owen, beckoning for him to follow as he heads into the kitchen. Owen does, albeit quite hesitantly.

“So. Uh. I brought a friend over,” Scott says, entering the kitchen and leaning up against the counters as he always does, Owen’s head peeking nervously around the corner.

“Oh!” Jimmy sounds quite surprised, and honestly, why shouldn’t he be? “Hey, Owen, how’s it going?”

“Um, not- not the best, honestly,” Owen mutters, rubbing his hand on the back of his head. “Welp! Thanks, Scott, for bringing me here, but I really should get going-”

As Owen turns to leave, Scott shoots out a hand to grab his shoulder, shaking his head admonishingly. Jimmy seems completely out of his depth, just standing there in an apron, absolutely covered in flour- Scott snickers silently at the bright smudge of white across Jimmy’s cheek, the powder dusting everywhere from the tips of his hair to the softest cadmium feathers of his wings.

“Owen,” Scott starts, glaring pointedly at the tiefling now stood awkwardly beside him, “has something to say.”

Glancing to his right, Owen bites his lip, breathing in deeply before he speaks. “So. Hi, Jimmy- um. Shoot, I’m no good at this- give me a second?” he laughs clumsily, fumbling for words that aren’t there. Scott rests a gentle hand on his shoulder, silent support that seems to help, as Owen closes his eyes for a couple seconds, before opening them as well as his mouth and beginning to speak.

“Look, before I do anything, I just want to say I’m sorry.” His voice is strong, so much stronger than it was just a couple seconds ago, and Scott is honestly kind of shocked at the sudden switch. “I’ve been a jerk to you since the day we met. You did nothing to provoke my dislike and you didn’t deserve it. You’re a genuinely lovely person, and if I’m honest, I was jealous of you.

“I saw how close you and Scott were getting, how much he very obviously liked you- he still does. And I’m his best friend, I was used to getting the majority of his attention. And if I’m honest, I was worried that he’d hurt you. Scott hasn’t always had it easy, in fact, it’s been much harder than him for most. I was there to witness a lot of that and I won’t speak for him, but I’ll just say that there have been days where even I couldn’t cheer him up.” Jimmy’s listening intently, Scott can tell, his ear feathers are pricked up and his wings relaxed as he leans forward on his hands to hear, nodding along to all the important parts.

“And you did. On the days where I failed, you made him happy. And I was angry and confused and jealous and just… I was worried, I guess, for my best friend. You were such a beacon to him, we could all see it, me and Shelby and even Joel, who’s pretty much the least emotionally intelligent person on the planet. I think we all knew if you hurt Scott, it would be such a genuine blow to him. And I didn’t want that to happen. But I was also really annoyed that I couldn’t be the beacon that you were, I was angry that he was moving away from me.”

Scott’s eyebrows crease, because everything Owen is saying is completely and utterly true. In other circumstances, he would be furious at being spoken about like this right in front of him, but what Owen’s saying is such a complete and utter reading of him that he can’t muster up the anger.

“All he would talk about was you. And I was fed up. So I hated you and I was a huge jerk, and you didn’t deserve any of that. So, I’m sorry. I just need to get that out of the way before Scott reveals his big fancy plan or whatever he wants to call it. Just to clarify, what he’s about to say was completely his idea, I had no say in any of this, he just dumped it on me- and also sorry Scott for talking about you like you’re not there when you’re right next to me. And also possibly spilling all your secrets to Jim.” Owen bumps Scott’s shoulder with his own, and the gorgon shakes his head, rolling his eyes affectionately.

“But, yeah, I’m sorry,” Owen mutters, his tone back to serious, tail flicking gently behind him. “I sucked and I was really rude to you. I hope you can accept my apology.”

Jimmy presses his hand to his face. “You were really rude to me.”

Owen cringes, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together forcefully.

“And…” Jimmy trails off, sighing deeply and staring off into space. Owen and Scott share a quick glance, and Scott has to admit, he has no idea what Jimmy’s about to say.

“And because I’m a nice guy, and you’re Scott’s best friend, I’ll give you a second chance. What do you say? Friends?” The avian extends his hand and Scott can barely believe it, this is what he’s wanted for so long, they’re finally getting along.

“Friends,” Owen agrees, stepping forward to bridge the gap, firmly shaking Jimmy’s hand before the avian pulls him into a seemingly unexpected hug, as Owen’s eyes go wide before he somewhat awkwardly hugs back.

“So… what now?” Owen whispers, now back standing by Scott’s side.

“Now I get to talk,” Scott answers, moving forward and leaning against his arms pressed against the island.

“Jimmy, would John and Laura be open to taking another person in? Not for long, just for a little bit. We could set up a tent in the backyard or something, Owen just needs a place to stay for a while. There’s some shit going on with his parents and the alternative is him being sent to boarding school. And I know it’s a lot to ask and it was completely my idea, Owen had nothing to do with this scheme of mine at all, he was actually very against it.”

“And for good reason,” Owen interjects, “It’s way too early to ask you anything like that.”

“Anything like what?”

John’s voice intersects into the conversation as he enters the kitchen, Beks and Laura in his trail, heavy-looking grocery bags hanging from all their arms. John plops down his bags on the counter, crossing his arms and looking over at Owen. “Well, who’s this, then?”

“That’s Owen,” Scott reassures, resting a hand on the tiefling’s shoulder. “He’s my best friend- you know about him, he’s friends with Shelby and Joel and all of us.”

“So what do I owe the pleasure, Owen?” Laura’s reedy voice is much calmer than John’s, and Owen’s shoulders visibly relax.

“Oh, um, I was just-”

“I want him to live here,” Scott interrupts, eyes shining with hope. “Just for a short amount of time, but otherwise he leaves for boarding school, and I don’t want that, he’s my best friend.”

Laura sighs and rubs her hands against her temples, leaning back against the wall and exchanging a meaningful glance with John. “Scott, honey, we’re already taking care of three of you, I just- we’re stretched thin enough already, you know? And where would he stay, we have no room?”

“He could stay in the backyard, in a tent, and we could all get jobs to pitch in around the house!” Scott’s not going to let this go, he can’t let Owen leave, not after they’ve just fixed things, he can’t-

“To be honest with you, and this is going to sound really selfish,” Beks starts, “I really don’t need to share my house with another weird boy I don’t even know.” Jimmy flinches slightly, almost imperceptibly, at her statement.

“That’s kind of uncalled for, Beks,” Jimmy mutters before Scott can say anything, his wings drawn protectively around him. “That’s- I dunno, that feels kind of like a terrible thing for you to say?”

“Yes, Beky, that’s out of line. We’re going to have to talk about that later,” John cuts in, his beefy dad arms folded across his chest. “But regardless, Scott, I’m so sorry-”

“No.” Scott’s voice is tiny, shaking and trembling like the leaves he’s seen today, blowing away in the wind, with no power of their own.

“-but Owen cannot stay.”

“No!” Scott runs after John as he makes his way upstairs, brushing the unwanted tears aggressively out of his eyes. “John, you don’t understand, if he doesn’t stay here he has to leave, and he can’t leave, he’s my best friend, he’s one of the only people who understands me and we just fixed things between us, please, you let me stay, why not Owen?”

John sighs, rubbing his temples. “Scott, you need to understand. If we take Owen in, and as much as I wish we could, we’ll have four teenagers to take care of. Do you know how much even one of you hooligans eat? Even with Bek, we were struggling. Then she found Jimmy, alone on the street, and it wasn’t like we could turn him down.”

Scott’s given up trying to stop the tears because he is sobbing now, he doesn’t want to lose his friend he can’t they don’t understand no one understands Owen is the only reason why he hasn’t cut himself off completely Owen is the person he cares about the most on the entire planet and they don’t get it, if he doesn’t stay here in this house with Scott he leaves. Owen has to leave.

“Then you showed up. We were hesitant, I’m not going to lie, but Laura convinced me that we should take you in. Both you and Jimmy were in very vulnerable spots when you came into our lives, both of you would still be homeless if not for us. But in addition to paying for food for all of you, you forget that we also have to pay for your school tuition. And we just can’t do that for another kid. I’m sorry, Scott.” This time when John ascends the stairs, his bedroom door slamming shut behind him, Scott doesn’t follow.

Instead, he runs out the door, his head throbbing and wishes pounding this way and that inside his mind. He doesn’t listen when Owen calls him back, pretends to not hear as Jimmy yells after him, asking where he’s going. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t care.

Scott just runs.

And he’s not surprised when he looks up, all out of breath, and finds himself right back in front of the Major family mansion. Right back to where it all fucking began.

Somehow, Scott’s not surprised at all as he closes his eyes, breathing deeply, and begins to walk down the cobbled path, through the all-too-perfect garden, glaring straight at the white marble building looming before him the whole time.

And not a bone in his body holds him back as he climbs the wide colonnade steps to his old home, rapping once, twice, three times on the “M”-emblazoned door, his knuckles almost vibrating from contact with the stone.

Scott’s not surprised that he came back here.

He is, however, very surprised that his mother, his siren, cult-leader mother, is the one who swings it open.

And it comes as even more of a shock when she wraps him in a strong, warm hug and ushers him inside.

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valentineforlemonandcherry · 1 year

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Foxtail & Wolfsbane 42

Summary: Your lifelong obsession to hunt down the Nine-Tailed Fox has not gone as expected, and seventeen years later, you find yourself coming back to the place where it all started: Hogwarts. However, with Sirius Black’s escape from Azkaban and Headmaster Dumbledore’s hire of a certain Professor R. J. Lupin, you suddenly find yourself intertwined in the fates of those with whom you thought you had parted ways with long ago.

[Multi-Post Story] [Rowan Scamander x Reader] [Remus Lupin x Reader] [Young Sirius Black x Reader] [Tristan Graves x Reader] [Severus Snape x Reader] *Note: Rowan Scamander, Tristan Graves, Susana Holmes, Cas Carneirus, Henrietta Weiss, Thomas Picquery, and Magdalene Clarke are OC characters.

Note: Part 42 does not contain any smut.

*Please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Thank You!

☾ Click Here for Foxtail & Wolfsbane Home Page (All Chapter Links) ☾

The moment you heard what Remus’ wish was, all of the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

That’s why I didn’t die. My wish was for the Nine-Tailed Fox to grant Remus’ wish. I assumed that Remus would wish to no longer be a werewolf. Only, Remus wished to be with me. Those wishes are contradictory. Per the terms of the original bargain, I was supposed to die. But obviously, Remus’ wish entailed that I remain alive. The Nine-Tailed Fox’s magic must have gone back-and-forth between us until it caught Artemis’ wish, since Artemis was nestled between us – Artemis, who was chewing on my wand, and who was wishing with all of her heart to become a magical creature.

Seeing you frozen, Remus tried to explain himself. “I realize that it was foolish. Selfish, even. At the time, I didn’t even know that you weren’t with Rowan anymore. But, you see, when you asked me to make a wish, I didn’t realize that it was connected to the Nine-Tailed Fox’s power and that it might actually come true, so I simply let myself think of the silliest wish. You’re under no obligation to - ”

Remus abruptly cut off, as you suddenly reached over and grasped his hands. Squeezing his hands tightly, you whispered, in a shaky, disbelieving voice, “Me? You wished for me?”

“To be with you,” Remus corrected you gently. “However you wished that relationship to be.”

“Oh,” you murmured, in a barely audible voice. You stared at Remus with wide eyes, unable to comprehend everything that he was saying to you. Well, more accurately put, your mind understood what was going on. After all, you hadn’t been blind to how protective and attentive Remus had been to you over the past few weeks. But your heart – your heart wasn’t ready to let itself believe in such a long-sought-after, forever-far-away fairytale ending.

But there Remus was, standing before you and saying, “Don’t you remember? You always used to say to me that you could be anything I wanted you to be. Every time, I wanted to say it back to you, but I knew I couldn’t live up to that promise given my - my prior condition.” His voice had fallen into a raspy whisper and he was gazing at you with a complicated, almost haunted expression. “I’ve always wanted to… to cherish you.” Holding your hands back, he stepped closer to you. “You understand what I mean, don’t you?”

You blinked nervously. Do I know what he means? I think I do but… Have I gone mad? Is this all a dream? Maybe the magical doorway spat me out in an alternative universe. Anyhow, shouldn’t we be boarding a train? Or did we just get off of one? Godric, I can barely remember where we are. Why is Remus saying all this to me?

Seeing your anxious expression, Remus hastily clarified, “And I don’t mean that you always have to be pinned to my side. Of course not. Rather, I’m happy to watch you go off on all of your adventures – I like that about you, that you’re always chasing something. Only when – that is, only if you ever wanted a home to return to, you could perhaps find one in me…” Remus suddenly broke off, startled. “Lovely? Why are you crying?”

You broke away from Remus and hastily wiped your face. You hadn’t realized that you were crying.

Remus, realizing that you were trying to process everything that was going on, remained where he was, though he unconsciously leaned towards you and reached out an open hand to you, wanting to comfort you.

You kept staring at Remus with wide, tearful eyes, and your hands were on your face, catching and wiping away new tears. “Oh,” you whispered, in a hushed, fervent voice. “Oh.”

Remus abruptly realized how much pressure he had put on you. He had only meant to set the record straight. He hadn’t meant to give such a heartfelt confession, and he had most certainly never intended to pressure you into a confession.

Remus wanted to act cool, but he couldn’t bring himself to act casual in any way, not when it meant so damn much to him. Now that he had given his truth to you, he couldn’t deny that he wanted to hear your reply and he couldn’t help but hope that you might reciprocate. Too late, he realized that he had put himself in the most vulnerable position.

Feeling increasingly anxious, Remus began, “You know you don’t owe me anything. You’ve every right to turn me away, I’m only too aware of that. But I thought, maybe, we could start over because – because I’m not – not – some horrible creature anymore and I wouldn’t have to spend every waking moment trying to protect you from myself now - ” Just then, Remus saw you bite down hard on your lower lip, and your eyes became very sad.

Remus broke off and turned away from you. Swallowing hard, he nervously looked up at the sun and then quickly looked back down to prevent himself from being blinded by that golden orb, hanging questioningly in the sky.

Meanwhile, you were trying very, very hard to force your scattered brain to think of something appropriate to say. You clasped your hands together and looked all over the train station, as if the right words might be written on a signpost somewhere. Finding nothing, you looked back at Remus again, only to find that he was looking away from you.

You bit your lower lip nervously. Come on, come on, say something. Say something clever. Light-hearted. Accepting. Gracious. Heroic. Your eyes fell on the rip in Remus’ cloak. For a moment, you thought distractedly, Wow, that piece of fabric’s hung on for all of our travels. It was ripped even when we were back in the mythical realm… Oh, but who cares about that right now? What am I supposed to say? How do I respond to him?

Remus chose that moment to turn back and look at you.

Your mouth fell open. “Um… There’s a hole in your cloak.”

Remus’s face scrunched up into an entirely bemused expression. He let out a rough breath and furiously ran his hand through his hair. Then, he murmured, “C’mon. Let’s go home.”

* * * * * * * * * *

You didn’t sleep (or manage to unscramble your fried brain) one whit during the entire bus ride back to Grimmauld Place. In truth, both you and Remus wanted to Apparate straight back to Grimmauld Place, but neither of you wanted to suggest it, since it would acknowledge the intense tension suffocating you both.

More than anything, you wanted to reply to Remus and tell him that you reciprocated his feelings, heart for heart. However, there was some strange sadness unfurling in your heart and it was all meshed up with a thrumming, intense anxiety – and all of it felt overwhelming and it choked your voice.

At one stop, someone came onto the bus and creepily leered at you as he sat next to you. Frowning, Remus insisted that you switch seats with him. You protested silently but vehemently, indicating that you were fine. Remus shook his head at you. The man kept looking over at you, and it was making Remus’ palms go all itchy. Finally, Remus gently but firmly guided you over his lap to switch seats with you. “For me,” he whispered to you, as he pulled you across him.

When you felt Remus let go of you, your heart gave a jolt. Wait, no. Don’t let go of me.

You nearly reached for his hand, but you stopped yourself just in time. No, I’ve got to say something first.

You glanced sideways at him. I can’t say I love you, can I?

Hmm, no, you decided. That would be too much, right off the bat.

The voice in your head responded, But anything less than that is a lie.

True.

Nervously tapping your fingers against your thigh, you stole yet another glance at Remus. Should I perhaps just kiss him? That would make my feelings clear, wouldn’t it?

No, I can’t do that, you told yourself, quickly dismissing your terrible idea. It’s too sudden. I need something less than ‘I love you,’ not more.

You wondered for the thousandth time, What should I say? And how come I can’t bring myself to simply say yes?

You let out a long sigh.

“We’re almost home,” Remus said reassuringly, noticing your downcast expression.

Remus thinks I want to get off because of that strange man, you realized. He doesn’t realize that I’m sitting here, dying, because I can’t think of the right thing to say to him.

You shot Remus a morose look. It was only that when he confessed, he sounded like he wanted to start all over again, as if he regretted and wanted to erase our earlier time together. He still seems ashamed that he was a werewolf and it’s almost as if he’s only comfortable approaching me now because he’s no longer a werewolf – as if I couldn’t love him or shouldn’t love him when he was a werewolf. I can’t accept that assumption. I won’t have that. I’ve always loved him, and even if we were to ‘start over’ again, I think I need him to recognize that. Or else it might go all wrong again…

You nervously tugged at your shirt, twisting it in your hands, as you continued to gaze at Remus. I said I was happy to have met you, Remus. Don’t you realize what I was saying? I was telling you that I’ve always loved you, and that regardless of whether you’re a werewolf or not, and despite all of the hurt we put each other through, I loved you… I don’t want you to pretend like you only deserve love now that you’re no longer a werewolf. I have never thought that about you, and I hate that you think of yourself that way – and of me that way. You’re underestimating my feelings for you, yet again. It makes me feel… so lonely.

Remus caught your glum expression. Surprised, he blinked back at you. Have I done something wrong? Remus wondered nervously. I know Lovely said she was fine, and I’m sure she could handle it, but I didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable next to the strange man.

The two of you gazed at each other like two lost puppies, unsure of what to do or say, and helpless except to wait for the bus to roll its way to the right stop.

Curses, you thought in your head. This is worse than when we were back in school. What’s become of my bravery, damn it? Why can’t I find the right words to say what I mean?

* * * * * * * * * *

Finally, you and Remus made it home to Grimmauld Place.

Remus entered Grimmauld Place first. When he turned around to reach over you and close the door behind you, you suddenly found yourself somewhat trapped between Remus and the door. You naturally looked up at him, only to find Remus gazing back down at you with soft, almost sad eyes. A big lump rose in your throat. Your hand fumbled over Remus’ wrist for a moment, and then you grabbed on the cuff of his cloak. Remus breathed in sharply – you froze – then, seeing your small hand clutching so tightly at his cloak, Remus slowly began to lean in towards you… You shut your eyes and waited. Your heart was beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings in your chest. Wanting to be patient, but entirely unable to help yourself, you began to push yourself up onto your tiptoes, wishing to meet Remus’ lips faster, when –

“Oi! Moony, is that you?”

Flustered, Remus pulled away from you, and you hastily let go of his cloak.

Suddenly, Sirius, Tonks, and Bill all came galloping down the hallway, with Tonks brandishing a letter in her hand. “Remus! You’ve got an angry librarian on your tail!”

As the three of them circled around Remus, Bill said sagely, “I know you’ve only just come back, but for your own good, I wouldn’t wait on this any longer.”

Sirius shot you a look to make sure that you were all right, but once he had confirmed that you were, he paid attention to Remus, who was bleating out confusedly, “What…?”

Feeling exhausted, despite the fact that your heart was still about to pound right out of your chest, you slipped away and went up to the spare bedroom that you’d occupied before. Pulling off your cloak, you let out a heavy sigh as you flopped over onto the bed.

* * * * * * * * * *

“How in Merlin’s name will I be able to pay this all back?” Remus said hoarsely, staring down at the fee amount typed out in the letter.

“Perhaps you can go and bargain with the library,” Bill suggested.

Remus sighed. “Sure, I suppose that’s the best course of action, at this point.” He made to stand up.

“Moony,” Sirius said, stopping him. “All of the books listed in this letter… Did you go get your fox girl?”

Remus stared at Sirius. Meanwhile, Tonks lifted her head and watched Remus carefully, hopefully.

“Did you?” Sirius prompted.

Remus tried to remain composed and to not indicate how tortured he felt, as he answered, “She hasn’t given a response yet.” He got up from the table. “I’ll be off. Wish me luck.” With that, Remus was gone, without having had a moment’s rest from his whirlwind adventure with you.

* * * * * * * * * *

Once Remus was gone, Bill turned to Sirius and asked, “When you said ‘fox,’ did you mean…?”

Sirius nodded. “Yeah, her.”

“Huh,” Bill said. “I wouldn’t have guessed. Lupin did a good job of hiding his feelings for her.”

“Really?” Tonks said, smiling a bit sadly. “I thought he was rather obvious about it.” She reached over and played with the salt shaker in her hand as she murmured, “I can’t believe she didn’t just say yes. I would’ve.”

Sirius sighed lowly. “They’re both complete idiots.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Well,” Sirius explained, “before, I always thought Remus was always the intelligent one among us. James came close, but he was so bloody hyper that he couldn’t stay still enough to pay attention to his own brain. But watching Remus and fox girl together… It’s like watching a dumb baby fox and a dim-witted baby wolf chasing each other’s tails.”

Bill shrugged. “Sounds cute.”

Sirius snorted. “It’s a mind numbingly stupid relationship. They could have had each other ages ago if one of them would just stay still.”

* * * * * * * * * *

You found that coming back to Grimmauld Place was both a blessing and a curse. You were able to lie on a bed and sit alone with your thoughts, which was a blessing. However, now that you were alone with your thoughts, you were intensely aware of the situation you were in and it made you so anxious that you thought you might shrivel up and die.

I’ve wanted this to happen for so long, and yet, now that it’s come to it, I’m scared to follow through with it. It’s so hard to explain, but it’s always more difficult than you expect when your dream becomes reality. Like when I finally found the Nine-Tailed Fox, it’s more than what I expected, and that’s wonderful, but it’s also completely terrifying.

You stared up at the ceiling, with your mind ringing. I wonder what Remus is thinking… Sirius and Tonks ran right up to him as soon as we came back, holding a piece of parchment… I wonder what that was about. I felt like I was simply in the way and I couldn’t bear just standing next to Remus, when I thought we were really going to… to kiss…

With a groan, you rolled over and put your pillow on top of your head. Ugh, I’ve got such a terrible headache. I need to rest. But I wonder what Remus is doing now. It seemed serious. I do hope he hasn’t been sent on an Order mission straight away. He really needs to rest, too.

As usual, your curiosity got the better of you. After only a few more minutes, you tossed your pillow to your side and made your way downstairs.

Sirius was standing in the hallway, all alone. It looked like he had just closed the door.

You called out, “Sirius?”

Sirius turned around. You saw that he was holding a piece of parchment in his hand.

When Sirius saw you, he said at once, “What’s the matter with you? Tormenting Remus like that, after all he’s done for you.”

You blinked, alarmed. “What? I haven’t tormented Remus. I would never.”

“Well, the problem is – you’re doing it anyways,” Sirius said matter-of-factly.

You came down the hallway, until you were standing before Sirius. “Sirius. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“About what?”

“That it was Remus who was the shapeshifter, not you.”

“Oh.” Sirius sighed. He ran his hand through his hair as he thought through his answer. “Well… It’s Remus, you know? He’s the kind-of person who’ll run away from something he wants if he doesn’t believe he deserves it. I’m sure you felt it – that whenever he had to face the fact that he was a werewolf, he distanced himself from you.”

“Yes,” you agreed. “Although, I didn’t know that was the reason, back then. I simply thought that he… well, that Remus didn’t like me as much as I liked him.”

Sirius shook his head. “If you had truly found out that Remus was a werewolf, back then, I don’t think anything could have stopped Remus from tearing himself away from you. He wouldn’t have even given you the chance to make up your mind about whether or not you were okay with it. He’d have decided for himself that you deserved better, and he would have up and left. I didn’t want that to happen. Remus is my best mate and all.” He shot you a soft smile. “If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for him.”

You stared down at your hands for a moment. Then, you murmured quietly, “Me, too.”

“You say that, but I think you’re the one pushing Remus away this time,” Sirius said, a bit impatiently.

Your brow furrowed as you said, rather forcefully, “I am not. I would never. Not Remus.” However, a thought occurred to you and you abruptly asked, “Speaking of, where is Remus?”

Sirius stared at you impassively as he informed you, “He went off to go beg forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness? For what?”

“For defacing books.”

“Huh?”

Sirius handed you the piece of parchment. You read it. “To a certain wayward Remus J. Lupin: It has come to our attention that you defaced the following books by ripping pages out of them. Unfortunately, these books have now been deemed ‘damaged’ and you are responsible for paying the following amount to replace the value of these books: two hundred and sixty Galleons. This calculated fee is for the replacement of Mysteries of the Lost Forests; Maps of the Ancient World Volumes I, I, and II; The Secret Geography of Japan; Magical Doorways and Cupboards: How Not to Lose Your Head by Accidental Head-Sticking-into-Dangerous-Holes…

Sirius watched your expression as you realized what this letter was about. Finally, he said, in a quiet voice, “Listen, I know that Remus isn’t the best at stepping up for himself, but he went after you, right? I’d say he’s done as much as his fragile heart allows him to. Couldn’t you take the rest and meet him halfway?”

Remus came after me… That’s right. And could I – could I meet him halfway? You let out a hard breath. Then, gripping the letter in your hand, you ran out.

* * * * * * * * * *

Remus was desperately trying to make his case before the extremely angry librarian. “Please,” he wheedled, “I’ll make the payments. I simply need more time - ”

Unaccepting of his pleas, the librarian shot back, “You have had two months, young man - ”

“I’ll pay!” You came running into the Muggle library, holding a small object high in the air. You slammed it down before the librarian. “I’ll pay.”

The librarian stared at the object. She lifted it up and looked at you suspiciously. Keeping her voice very low, she whispered, “This is a Muggle credit card.”

“I know,” you said. “But it’s all I’ve got for now. Could you swipe it, please? Erase his fees…”

“Fine,” the librarian snapped. She swiped the card and then handed it back to you. “If it’s theft - ”

“It’s not,” you assured her. “I come from a Muggle family.”

The librarian harrumphed at you, but let you and Remus go.

As the two of you left the library, Remus asked you, “How did you know -?”

“Sirius.”

“Ah…”

“I didn’t realize that all of those pages you lost in the mythical realm came from regular library books,” you said, laughing a little. “We should have collected them before we came back.”

Remus gave you a sheepish look. “It wouldn’t have mattered, since I tore the pages out of all the books. What I really should have done is paid more attention to everything you told me when we were back at school. Then, I wouldn’t have had to go defacing all these books.”

“Mm,” you agreed.

Your eyes met with Remus’. “But you were plenty attentive to me in school.”

Remus paused. “Was I?”

“I think so.” You carefully reached over and ran the tip of your index finger very lightly along the rip in the shoulder of his cloak. Remus jolted a little when he felt your touch, but he pretended not to react. “Remus…”

“Y-Yes?”

“You still haven’t mended your cloak.”

Remus replied, slightly hoarsely, “Well, no… I haven’t had time, you see. As soon as I got back, I was threatened by that librarian back there.”

“She was very angry,” you agreed, speaking very quietly.

“Very.”

“Very much so…”

You both leaned in towards one another…

Just then, a scarlet letter zoomed between your faces. Startled, you both leapt back.

The letter turned and began to speak: “Er – Arthur Weasley here, your mother wanted to pass on a message…” A deafening screech interrupted Arthur and rang out, “HOW DARE YOU EXPENSE MY CREDIT CARD WITHOUT WARNING? AND WHAT ON EARTH DID YOU DO TO WARRANT SUCH A HIGH EXPENSE? YOU WAIT UNTIL I GET MY HANDS ON YOU! DAUGHTER OR NOT, YOU’RE A THIEF AND - !”

At that moment, the librarian rushed out of the library doors. She ran towards you, shouting, “I knew it! Come back here!”

“Shall we go?” Remus said hastily, already grabbing your hand.

“Yes. Only, what is this?” You pulled your hand back in surprise. “Er – Remus, why have you got lemon drops?”

“Gift from Dumbledore.”

“What? From Dumble - ?”

“WHY ARE YOU GOING AROUND DEFACING BOOKS?”

“I KNEW YOU WERE A THIEF! I SHALL REPORT YOU TO THE MINISTRY AND - !”

“Let’s discuss this later, shall we?”

“Right,” you agreed.

The two of you quickly held hands again and turned – CRACK!, Apparating back to Grimmauld Place.

* * * * * * * * * *

You and Remus stumbled into Grimmauld Place together.

“Merlin,” you choked out, grabbing at the wall, “that was quite – quite a fiasco.”

Remus agreed, nodding haggardly at you.

You frowned at him. “Remus? You don’t look so well…”

In fact, Remus looked pale and sickly. You lifted your hand and touched his forehead.

You gasped. “You’re running a fever!”

“I’m fine,” Remus murmured, shaking his head until your hand fell off of his forehead.

“You’re not fine,” you argued back. You pressed your hand against his cheek again. “Your temperature is ridiculously high. We’ve got to get you to bed.”

“No,” Remus protested. He grabbed your hand. “Not until…”

“Don’t be foolish,” you snapped. Sliding your arm under his arm, you pulled Remus forward. “You need to get to bed. I’ll bring you a Cool-Down Potion, all right?”

Remus blinked tiredly as he let you guide him down the hallway. “But… I haven’t heard…”

You pulled Remus up the stairs and into his room. The stairs had taken quite a lot out of Remus and he fell over into his bed at once.

“It’s because you haven’t rested at all,” you realized, as you hurriedly tucked Remus under the covers. “You didn’t sleep on the train or the bus and then you immediately raced out to the library.”

You made Remus drink the Potion and water.

Then, as Remus laid back in bed, you berated him gently, “Why are you so terrible at taking care of yourself?”

“…Was… werewolf,” Remus sighed out, with his eyes closed.

You shook your head. “It’s not just that. You never put yourself first, even when you ought to...” You reached out and gently brushed back the curl from his forehead. You smiled, though a bit sadly at him. You wrung out a damp towel and laid it on his forehead with utmost care.

Remus’ breathing slowed a little. In fact, he seemed to breathe a lot easier as the stress of everything bled away from his body.

Be well, my love, you thought. You put too much stress on yourself for everything.

As you watched Remus sleep, you found yourself musing, At times like this, I wish I still had the Nine-Tailed Fox within my soul. She could heal you… You reached into your pocket and brought out your good luck charm – the foxtail key chain. You laid it on the bedside table besides Remus’ bed. For good luck.

An hour later, you brought over another damp towel to replace the one on his forehead. As you tiredly brushed back his stubborn curl of hair, you smiled a little, for you realized that, in a way, you’d really missed taking care of Remus.

* * * * * * * * * *

Remus’ fever broke around four that morning. With a sigh of relief, you tiredly made your way down to the kitchen to grab a drink of water and a bite to eat for yourself. As you drank your water, however, your eyes fell onto a pear and an orange, sitting in a fruit bowl on the counter.

Little things, you thought. How homely. Without thinking about it, you reached over for them…

* * * * * * * * * *

When Remus woke, he found Sirius dozing about at his side.

“Pads?” Remus croaked out.

Sirius mumbled, “Go away” and buried his head more firmly against Remus’ sheets.

Remus reached out and poked Sirius in the shoulder. “Pads, I’m fine now.”

“You’re fine?” Sirius said sleepily.

“Yes.”

“Then move over.” Sirius reached out and pushed Remus off his own bed.

“Sirius!” Remus yelped, as he slid off the bed and onto the floor.

Sirius yawned. Curling up on the edge of the bed, he closed his eyes and fell back asleep.

Grumbling, Remus got up and decided to take a shower. Thankfully, he truly did feel fine. He figured that his fever yesterday had been more a result of exhaustion than anything else.

As Remus walked over to the dresser to grab a clean set of clothes, his eyes fell onto the small keychain on top of his bedside table. He came closer and picked it up. Instantly, he knew what it was.

Lovely… He held it tightly in his hand for a moment. I’m still waiting for your response.

* * * * * * * * * *

To Remus’ dismay, he didn’t see you for the entire day. No one seemed to know where you had gone. Remus tried to act normal – to talk to Sirius, Bill, and Tonks; to eat the huge helping of soup that Molly made him; and to apologize to Moody for taking off on the Order without any notice.

In truth, Remus was getting increasingly nervous. What if Lovely left? What if a new myth sprung up out of nowhere and called to her? Or what if I put too much pressure on her?

By nightfall, Remus was feeling miserable. He curled up on his bed (with new, clean sheets, courtesy of Molly) and stared out at the hauntingly bright full moon.

I’m fully human now, but sometimes, when it’s the full moon, I still feel a strange growling in my chest. I suppose this is what some people mean by ‘phantom limb.’

But today, I know what the growling’s about. It’s a hunger and an impatience and a worry – for Lovely.

Just then, someone knocked on his bedroom door. Knock, knock.

Remus got off of the bed and tiredly shuffled over to the door. He didn’t even bother to push up the too-long sleeves of his jumper as he reached out and grasped the doorknob and turned it. he opened the door –

“Um, sorry to bother you,” you said softly.

Remus breathed out. “No, not at all.” He paused, before he murmured, in a soft rush, “I’m glad to see you. When I didn’t see you all day, I wondered if maybe you’d left…”

“No, I didn’t leave. I merely went out for a little while. I mean, I didn’t mean to stay out quite this late. I simply lost track of time.”

“Yes, you do that sometimes.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, often.”

“Oh…”

You both fell silent for a moment. Remus looked at you curiously. You were wearing an oversized, frumpy cardigan and your hair was a soft mess. Perhaps you had pinned it up in the morning, but it was now falling lopsided down the side of your head. Your socks were mismatched and one of your shoelaces was untied. You had dark circles under your eyes and you were looking a bit peaky.

You flushed slightly, thinking that Remus was trying to figure out what you wanted so that he could send you on your way. “I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I realize it’s three in the morning, but I’ve only now returned. ”

“Is it three?” Remus mused. “I didn’t know.”

“Right, you must have been sleeping. Sorry.”

“No, I was… thinking.”

“Well, may I come in?” you asked. “Or would I be bothering you?”

Remus opened his door further, so that you could walk in.

As you came in, Remus realized, “Wait. You only just returned? What were you out doing?”

Meanwhile, you sat on the floor. Remus realized then that you had been carrying a rather hefty bag on your shoulder. You dropped it down onto the floor and it made a rather clunky thunk! sound, as you answered brightly, “Shopping.”

Sitting next to you, Remus asked, “What did you buy?”

You reached into your bag and pulled out a small box, which you handed to Remus. “Here.”

Remus looked down at it. “A sewing kit?”

“To patch up the hole in your cloak,” you reminded him.

“Ah, yes. Thank you.” Remus began to get up, to put the sewing kit on the bedside table, next to your foxtail key chain when suddenly, you put a mug into his lap.

“Take this too,” you said earnestly.

Confused, Remus looked back down. “Oh…”

You placed an Earl Grey tea bag carefully on top of the mug. “And this.”

“Thanks,” Remus said. “I’ll save this for the morn - ”

You reached back into your bag and pulled out an orange before placing it in Remus’ lap, too. “Also this.”

“Er, thank you - ”

“Hold it, wait. Yes, here we are. Have these, Remus.” Out came a pear, followed by three chocolate bars.

“Thanks very much.”

“And… Oh, where’d that thing go?” You put your hand back into your bag and rummaged around, only to fish out a spool of knitting yarn.

Seeing that there was no space on Remus’ lap, you put the yarn on the floor, next to his knee.

“Thank – Um, what is all of this?” Remus finally asked, bewildered.

“One second, Rem.” Instead of answering Remus, you were busy tugging out a jazz record from the depths of what Remus now realized was a very big bag. You pushed the record towards Remus, accidentally pushing the yarn up onto his lap, on top of the fruit.

Remus thought you were done, when you revealed that you had also brought an Astronomy book and a blue, glittering tapestry-like blanket, featuring different stars and constellations.

“It’s not exactly the same as before, but I thought it would suffice.” You pushed the heavy book and blanket towards Remus, and the jazz record now piled into his lap and dug slightly into his stomach.

Having had enough, Remus finally grabbed your hands to stop your seeming bout of madness. “Lovely, what are you doing? Suffice for what?”

You stopped. Oh… He hasn’t realized yet.

Remus realized that your hands were trembling – very slightly, but definitely trembling.

Suddenly worried, Remus whispered, “Lovely?”

You lifted your head. The moonlight illuminated your face and Remus could see soft tears in your eyes, threatening to spill over.

“Is this why you’ve been gone all day?” Remus asked you. “Were you gathering all of these things?”

You slowly nodded.

Remus was still holding onto your wrists. You slid your hands down into his and then started to slip your fingers between his. Realizing what you wanted, Remus quickly opened his hands a little, so that you could hold his hands.

“But why?” Remus wondered, and he spoke in the gentlest voice possible. “Is something wrong?” His breath caught. “Do you mean to leave again, and that’s why you’ve brought me all of these things – to say goodbye with?”

Squeezing his hands tightly, you whispered, “No, I’m not planning on leaving.”

Remus let out a hard breath.

You were a bit surprised by how hard your words seem to hit Remus. You’d never thought about leaving Remus, honestly. “Remus?” you said, concerned. “Were you worried that I had left?”

“I know it’s not logical,” Remus replied quickly. “And I know, too, that I’ve practiced saying goodbye to you a thousand times over.”

“But I can’t help it,” Remus continued. He squeezed your hands back as he spoke. “No matter how many times we say good-bye, no matter how distant you and I are supposed to be, no matter how many other people are around me… If I have to go through the world, without any link to you, I can survive, yes, but I feel lonely. I feel so lonely.”

“Oh, Remus…” you whispered feelingly.

“Sorry, I’m being too much,” he apologized, unable to meet your eyes.

“No, you’re not. I know,” you assured him.

Remus cautiously lifted his head. “You do?”

“Yes.” As you spoke, your answer was so honest that you felt your heart ache, and you suddenly felt like crying.

Remus gazed into your eyes. “You’re about to cry… Why, Lovely? I didn’t mean to hurt you again.”

You shook your head. “It’s only that I know that loneliness so well.”

Remus’ eyes dimmed. “I’m sorry,” he said, recognizing, even without you telling him, that he was the one who gave you that loneliness, the same way you gave him his.

“But you said I’m allowed to find a home in you, between my adventures…” Your voice lilted slightly, uncertainly, as you checked, “Right?”

Remus replied confidently, “Yes, I can offer that to you now. It’s finally a promise that I can keep.”

“Because you’re no longer a werewolf?” you whispered.

When Remus nodded, you sighed. “Remus… If that’s what you truly think, that makes me feel lonely, too.”

Remus’ expression became one of complete confusion. “What? Why?”

Bringing one of his hands up to your lips, you brushed your lips against the back of Remus’ hand as you murmured, “Because the truth is that I already found one in you all those years ago, when you and I shared that small attic space. I don’t think you realized it, but when you started to bring your things up to that space, one by one, I felt so happy. At the same time that you were making what was once my space ours, I was… I was finding a home in you…” You shivered suddenly. “I tried not to let you know how much it all meant to me because I was afraid you might run away from me.”

Remus’ eyes softened, but they also saddened, as he whispered, “I wouldn’t have run away from you because of you, Lovely. I would have run away from you – I did run away from you – to spare you from me.”

“That,” you whispered fervently. “That is the point that we have to talk about before we – before we fall in love all over again.”

Remus shook his head, not comprehending you.

“Don’t you see?” you urged. “It’s not as simple as saying we’ll be together. We’ve been together, Remus. Because all that time, I was finding my home in you.”

Remus held his breath as he watched you gently nuzzle the back of his hand and he heard you confess, “I don’t want to merely ‘start over.’ I want a full life with you, including all of the things that came before today. Yes, we hurt each other. Yes, we were immature. Yes, we didn’t believe in ourselves the way we should have to be truly good partners. But I loved you, Remus. You have always been my home, including the werewolf part of you that I didn’t even know I was in love with, but I was. That’s why I can’t simply say, ‘yes, I’ll date you’ and have you mistakenly think that we can be together now because you’re no longer a werewolf. I can’t have you believing anything even close to that. Because then, the next time you see your wolf, you’ll hate him even more. And I – You’ve every right to feel the way you want to towards yourself, but Remus, when you hate your wolf self, it hurts me. So – So, I want to be with you, I do, more than anything. But I have to – I have to do it right. I have to make you understand that I don’t want to ‘start over’ if starting over means ignoring our past.”

Remus suddenly covered his face with his hands. “But Lovely,” he whispered, in a muffled voice, “I’m ashamed of my past. When I think about how I treated you…”

You grasped his wrists and gently pulled his hands away from is face. “Remus,” you whispered. You gestured lightly at all of the objects piled around Remus. “I’ve brought you things from our past because… I’d like to… See, what I’m doing is…”

“What?” Remus whispered, and his whispers mingled with yours, like clouds of mist curling around each other.

You finally finished, in a voice bleeding all over with vulnerability and with care. “I’m asking you to let me come back home…”

Remus grew still, as the weight of your words, the weight of your love, hit him.

At the same time, you slowly began to shiver. You’d finally made your move, and you hoped you’d done it right, and you also hoped that now, Remus might… he might… You started to lean towards Remus, wanting him so terribly that it was a genuine ache in your heart and your tummy, but then you shifted back, not wanting to rush him in any way. Soon, you were oscillating back and forth, shifting before him.

As for Remus, perhaps it was his wolfish self responding to the full moon, but he was very aware of your shivering and his stillness meeting. In fact, the very air around him seemed to hum with a strange, secret energy as your voice and your words and your very being melded into Remus’ shape and shadow. It was as if the moon had long since harbored this secret desire to bring her two, lost children together.

Suddenly, to Remus, you seemed to be both the closest and furthest thing to him. At long last, the two of you had finally fumbled together, to this time and space, and the air was laced with the dizzying revelation of a long-held, precious secret.

Remus’ hazel eyes had never been so bright as in that moment. “Home?” he whispered.

The tears in your eyes threatened to spill as you nodded back and said, “To you…” Your voice became quite soft and blurry, too, matching the silvery, moonlit tears in your eyes, as you finished, “…Please.”

At your last word, foxtail ferns, born of ice, suddenly sprouted all across the window behind you and Remus, encasing you both in a cracked, temporary, and imperfect world – and yet this difficult world was heavenly tender in its very fragility. That, you realized, was what it meant to make a home of someone else’s soul. It meant to give love where love had never existed before and to slowly mend the walls of the old, forgotten rooms of fairytale and secrets.

You shifted forward. You gazed at Remus, at his soft, tired eyes that seemed especially luminous today (perhaps it was the remnants of his werewolf self awakening to the bright full moon in the sky), that ever-stubborn curl on his forehead, or the many scars crisscrossing his cheeks and jaw. For a moment, your heart ached because Remus wore the signs of his life on his body and being in a way that few people could and at the same time that you loved him for it, you also wanted to heal him and shield him from any more hurts that might befall him.

I suppose love was never happiness for me, you thought hazily, as you let yourself fall in love with Remus all over again as you sat besides him and looked at him. I never sought happiness and safety, the way many people do. Those things are too worldly, too narrow of concepts. I’m drawn instead to sadness, which, much like myth, is a wide, blue world where any thought might become truth, so long as there is a will behind it. I’m drawn to soft hurts and unexplainable scars and devilish moonlight and complicated secrets and imperfect love… I’m drawn to journeys where we can strive for, but never achieve, those things we want most, in our heart or hearts… Remus Lupin, whether werewolf or human, you’re like me, for you are also a child of myth. Of course we can never love each other perfectly, for our souls are obscured with fog and moonlight, but that’s all right. Love is half-forgotten kisses at twilight, anyways, and forging dark secrets in each other’s souls at the bottom of the sea, while the rest of the world moves on overhead.

Remus blinked nervously as you came closer and closer to him. “I brought all my stuff with me,” you whispered to him. “And I won’t move too much stuff around in your soul. I’ll be careful making my home in your soul. I know I can be a bit spontaneous and I’m not the most responsible person, but I promise I’ll be good. I can practice being nice.” You closed your eyes and you leaned into him, meaning very much to kiss him, if he’d have you. But you were slightly too short to reach his lips, since everything in Remus’ lap was creating distance between the two of you. Your brow furrowed as you searched for Remus for a second – Then, Remus pushed everything off of his lap, reached out and grasped you by your waist, and pulled you right into his lap – and he kissed you, softly but lovingly and desperately matching his soft, shivering lips to your searching ones.

You breathed out a slow, aching gasp. Remus… Your mind blanked for a moment, as the love in your heart swelled so hard it hurt. At the same time, it was dizzyingly strange how familiar and natural it felt to have Remus kiss you. As soon as his lips touched yours, you couldn’t understand why in the world you’d spent any part of your life distant from him. And yet, how many long years have passed since we were together like this? Entire lifetimes, it seems… You let out another long, trembling breath, trying to hold back from kissing Remus all over, despite the clear truth that every atom in your body wanted nothing more than to do just that.

In a husky, low voice, Remus murmured, with his lips still pressed against yours, “There’s nothing to be careful about, Lovely. Everything in my soul is meant to hold your heart.” Then, he leaned his head down and pressed his lips to your chest, just over your heart.

You grabbed onto his shoulders and you shuddered all over, shivering away in his lap, as you felt his lips claim you. You’d been aching for him for so long, but he was here now, with you, loving you. You closed your eyes tightly – a tear streaked down your cheek – and you let out a soft, arching moan that mirrored the deep ache that you felt in your heart.

“Don’t cry,” Remus whispered, as he kissed his way up your neck and then catch your fallen tear on your cheek with his lips. “Maybe I can’t give you happiness, but you shouldn’t cry like this.”

You breathed out rather harshly and you opened your eyes just enough to see Remus hugging you tightly around your middle, and then kissing your tear away. Pulling you tighter into his lap, Remus kissed his way up the trail, until you had to shut your left eye as Remus kissed that, too.

“Rem…” you whispered fervently. You slid your arms around his shoulders and hid your face away against his neck. Then, a bit childishly, you said, “Haven’t you caught on by now? I’m crying out of happiness, you idiot.”

Remus laughed softly. “And the truth comes out. You think I’m an idiot, huh?” He soothingly ran his hands over your back for a moment, before he reached down and lifted your face again to kiss you again, for he felt he absolutely had to kiss you again.

You managed to part your lips just a little – and Remus caught your lips perfectly with his, and you both melted into that soft, wanting kiss. “Mmm, yes,” you breathed out softly.

“Yes to the kiss or yes to my being an idiot?” Remus wondered, as he let his lips graze your cheeks for a moment.

“Both,” you whispered back. “Always bo – mmm.” You let your head fall back a little as Remus kissed you more deeply. You squeezed your thighs against his hips and Remus squeezed you back, with his arms wrapped all around your shoulders and waist, and you both smiled tiredly into your kiss.

“See?” you whispered teasingly. “Aren’t I being nice?”

Remus smiled. “Yes, very well-mannered. But there’s no need to hold back for my sake, Lovely.”

“You gave me permission now, mind,” you pointed out.

Remus nodded. Then, he wondered, “Well, but what are you planning on doing with me?”

“You’ll see,” you whispered. Ducking your head down, you gently bit at his shoulder, making Remus breathe out a bit harshly, before you came back to claim another kiss from him. You slid your hands into his soft hair, pushing back his curl for one second, and then pulling him tighter to you, to kiss him more passionately. Tangling your fingers in his locks, you tugged rather hard at his hair for a moment as you kissed him with all of your might.

Remus breathed out again in surprise, but he responded in equal fervor, and he slowly began to run his hands all over you.

His hands, you thought fondly, as you melted quite willingly into his grasp. I always remembered how much I loved his hands, but goodness, I think I’ve forgotten quite how wonderful it feels when he touches me.

Remus ran his hands all over your thighs and hips and briefly grasped at your neck, too, but when he accidentally felt his fingers slip under your shirt, he stuttered to a stop.

“Don’t,” you blurted out at once. “Don’t stop, Remus.”

Remus hesitated.

“Please,” you breathed out.

Watching you with careful eyes, Remus slowly pushed his hands in under your shirt.

O-Oh… You trembled in his lap, feeling overwhelmed with how much you loved being touched by him. You gripped Remus’ hair harder and you showered his face and neck with kisses.

“Lovely,” Remus breathed out.

“Hm?”

“Why you’re trembling so much?”

You looked up at Remus wit a flushed face as you confessed, rather breathily, “Because, you’ve made me wait far too long for this. And it all feels like too much when it’s you touching me.”

“Is that so?” Remus wondered.

You closed your eyes and nodded. “Mhm…”

Remus asked quietly, “It’s not because you’re disgusted by me?”

You reached up with one hand and pressed your fingers against Remus’ lips. “Shush,” you scolded him. “No lies today, please.”

“Hm…” Remus wrapped his arms around your waist again and he nuzzled your forehead with his nose. “All right, then.” He placed a kiss on your forehead as he whispered, “Then I ought to confess… that I’ve missed you, Lovely.”

It seemed like a simple sentiment, “I miss you,” but it was capable of holding so much warmth and feeling and in that moment – it did.

You pressed a kiss back on his jaw as you whispered back, “Missed you too, Rem.”

Then, lifting your head, you stroked his face tenderly as you murmured, “Can you ask me, Remus?”

“Ask you what?”

“To come home.”

Remus’ heart thumped at your request. He sat up and looked at you. Hesitantly, he reached over and gently brushed your hair out of the way. He cupped your face in his hand as he whispered warmly, “Won’t you come home to me? It’s not much. It’s a rather run-down home, but…”

Remus fell silent as you had already snuggled up against him, pushing your hands up against his chest and fitting perfectly against him while still sitting in his lap. You were quietly crying, and you had your face tight pressed against his shoulder. But all the while, you were kissing his shoulder over and over again and you were clutching onto him with all you had.

Remus closed his eyes and kept pressing soft kisses all over your forehead and the top of your head, as he held you and rocked you a little, finding warmth and comfort in being able to hold you like this.

A moment later, he murmured, “You’re still crying… Tell me why, Lovely.”

You wrapped your arms around him and let out a long, slow breath before you confessed, “Because I finally feel safe.”

Remus kissed you a little longer on your forehead.

“What about you, Rem?” you wondered. “Do you feel safe with me, too?”

“Yes,” he replied. “But not just in this moment… What I mean is, everything about me feels safe with you. You’re my home, too, you know.”

You smiled. That was all I ever wanted to hear, you thought. That he trusted me. That he loved me back. That I could be his equal in giving love and care.

Sliding back into his lap, you wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned in and kissed him deeply again. It was a slow kiss, but deep and lingering…

You both fell into a soft, misty daze of fervent kisses and happiness so strong it felt like sadness, as you both realized how much you had missed each other and how wonderful it felt to finally be able to breathe again. It felt like a cloud was coming to take you away. It wrapped itself around the two of you, smothering you in a thick, tender feeling of nostalgia and future, all mixed together.

Meanwhile, a soft, quiet rain began to fall outside, hiding your precious love away from the rest of the world, and drawing the two of you into a world where you were completely apart from the rest of the world, and therefore wholly and entirely together.

#fanfic #fanfiction #marauders #marauders era #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #harry potter imagine #foxtail and wolfsbane

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the-panmixxia · 10 months

Text

Pound of Prevention (and an ounce of cure) Chapter 3

"Greetings. Welcome to Compendium Library for References and National Research. Might I assist in any way, or point you in the direction of the correct section for your needs?"

The person in front of them was undoubtedly a vampire, more apparent than Remy could ever be. Pale white skin, pristine black hair, and sharp red eyes - all sitting on an angled face, and donning a rather teacher-esque outfit. The name 'Logan' was clipped to their breast pocket.

Remy perked up, dramatically throwing an arm around Virgil and smiling. "Hey babes, we're here to look at curses and such. You got like, 'Warlocks for Dummies' or something?"

Logan blinked, looking vaguely suspicious. "Neither of you are warlocks or witches. You do realize you are incapable of casting spells?"

"Uh-huh, yeah babes, totally. We're just like, trying to be supportive! Our roommate is totally a spell caster and we just wanna look into it, make sure we don't uhh, ruin any spells?"

"While I have the distinct impression you are deceiving me on this front, all information is free to be accessed by all members of the public so I have no true reason to withhold it. So, follow me, I will lead you to a selection of books that I feel will assist you in whatever concealed agenda you have. Right this way. "

The trio made their way through an impressive array of shelves, stacked high with ladders on a track to reach taller levels. There were hardly any other people within the library, mainly stereotypical professor-type people hobbling around to create their next thesis. The back of the building seemed to be a lot colder, shelves no longer having plaques or markings, making the whole area feel out of bounds. But the guide abruptly turned heel, with a perfectly inoffensive four-finger point down an aisle.

"I believe these books will most pertain you your queries. Please note that as a reference library you may not take these books and scriptures home, you are permitted to read on the desks in the center or come to the front where I will gladly photocopy pages for you. The first five pages may be photocopied free of charge, then each page will be five cents for black and white, seven cents for color. You are not permitted to eat or drink, or have any potentially staining products in this area. Any damage to the books that is evidently intentional or grossly severe can face punishment of a permanent ban from the premises. Now, we ask you to stay quiet and respectful of others as they expand their knowledge. Bathrooms are on the third floor, accessible via the elevator or stairs. We are open twenty four hours, seven days a week, so you are welcome to spend as much time as you like."

Remy smirked, throwing a cocky salute to their fellow vampire. "Sir, yes sir!"

Seemingly unaware of the sarcasm, Logan nodded back

"Thank you, nestling. Enjoy your stay."

Logan was swift to leave, making his way back to the desk at a brisk - yet not supernatural - speed, while Remy gawked at the perceived slight.

"Girl! Do not call me that! Virge, Virgey, did you hear that bitch? Ugh, yelp is gonna hear about this one-"

"Remy, shut up and help me look at the books."

The two worked in unison, searching shelves and carefully thumbing through old journals to find any shreds of information that could help them. Most entries were non descriptive, or cautionary tales about not pissing off powerful magic users which was, you know, a bit too late for Virgil.

"Oh! This might be the one, the curse is really similar to mine, but this girl turns into an owl each night… Much cooler to be honest. C'mon, where's the reverse, she has to get better-"

"Babes? That's a novel, not a first hand account."

"Ah, fuck."

"Oohh, babes, for realsies, I think I've found it! Super old, check, written by an actual warlock, check, an itemized anthology of hexes, curses, and spells? Triple check!"

Virgil metaphorically pounced, the two roommates ending up practically cuddled up on the floor as they observed the book. The first few pages had an English translation next to the traditional script, but after the introduction, it was entirely foreign. Crap.

Virgil stared at the text, willing the pages to make any semblance of sense. Spook sighed, slamming it shut while rubbing spooks eyes.

"Well, we need to find someone that can help us with spells, or whatever this is classed as."

Remy was quiet for a moment, biting their lip and shrugging a feigned nonchalance, "I know my sire can read this shit. It's like, old timey language that all the magical ghoulies used to read and write in so they could have their own super secret club." They tapped a symbol while pouting. "I could probably find some way to contact her?"

Virgil frowned in distaste, watching Remy's expressions close. Admittedly, Virgil didn't know the intricacies of vampire society, but what spook did know was that, typically, sires were very protective of their fledglings even after the rearing.

Nestlings were kept in the 'nest', a broad term for the main residence of the sire but there was often an actual nest of blankets involved, for fifty or so years, at least. After that time slot, the nestling, now considered a fledgling, is allowed to wander round at night so long as they're tucked under the sire's arm the whole time. Somewhere around a hundred and twenty years a vampire would be fully formed with all the dlc that came with it.

Remy wasn't a decade turned yet.

Remy's so-called sire was sheepishly handing Remy a set of keys to this very apartment, telling them to find a roommate for company (this is where Virgil came in. Essentially the baby vampire's emotional support puppy.) and she'll sort the rent, and then booking it across the world for who knows what. Virgil hasn't met this woman, but from Remy's accounts, she shows up every few months to bombard him with love, drink from each other to strengthen the sire-fledgling bond, promises to be more present, then inevitably leaves.

It hurt Virgil most that Remy still spoke so fondly of this woman, despite the hurt. Spook gently held their cold hand, half smirking.

"I'd rather stay a cat forever than meet that woman. We'll find someone else, there's probably a lot of people that can still read this language."

"Pfft, you're right. Wouldn't want to call her back from a very important vacation. I'm sure we can find another fossil to read this crap."

"What about Logan? He seems, uh, academic. Surely he's an old enough vampire to see the use in learning this."

"What? No way, I'm not asking for that nerd's help, he insulted me to my face."

"I'm sure it wasn't an insult, Remy-"

"It was, we're not asking!"

"Remy!"

"Nope."

"Remy…"

"Ugh, fine. Let's just clean this up first."

Virgil took one pile, while Remy took the other, working in conjunction to tidy the area up. It was rather relaxing to potter away and organize the endless shelves. Remy was a little less meticulous and was only concerned with getting the books back on the shelf, not breaking their brain trying to remember their exact placement like Virgil.

When the two finally approached the front desk, Virgil holding the opened book like a damned caroler, Logan was working away at an ancient looking computer (who on earth would willingly use a Macintosh Classic? Not even the color model?) The older vampire gave no indication of noticing the two, but before either could speak up, Logan had saved whatever document he was working on and was standing up to address them.

"Salutations. I see you have selected a book to help with your endeavors, would you like to utilize the photocopying machine, or search up a cited reference on the database?"

"Oh, no thank you," Virgil gave a hesitant smile. "We need someone to, um, help us read this?"

"You can't read the book?" Logan asked with slightly raised brows.

"Uh, no, we can't, we were hoping you'd read it to us if you aren't busy?"

The librarian softened his gaze, leaning closer to lower his voice. "I see. In twenty minutes I finish my shift and would be happy to help you two comprehend. For the future, I do assist certain charities to offer these free lessons…"

Remy grabbed the pamphlet, frowning at the 'adult literacy lessons' and sliding it back over.

"No, babes, we can fucking read."

"Remy, he's being nice, stop being a grumpy bitch. Sorry about that, what we mean is we can't read this. It's written like, minecraft enchantments or something."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Logan interjected, fiddling with his tie and looking unbearably bashful. "Is this a mockery?"

"No! No, I'm sorry, Remy's a little unbearable right now cause he's not slept for thirty hours and it's manifesting in almighty bitchiness. Uh, we were hoping with how knowledgeable you are that you could help us translate it to English, cause the book is like all these weird letters."

"Oh. Certainly, may I see the text in question? Let us sit at this table and I will see what I can do."

Virgil, Remy, and Logan all rounded the study table, moving the educational pamphlets to sit the ancient book in front of the equally ancient vampire (Virgil was assuming Logan was ancient, Remy was normally only this crabby with the old ones, mainly because most stared them out for being an unattended newly turned)

"Ah. This book is entitled Puttuhk, an attempted encyclopedia of known spells to be cast by Warlocks and possible variations and uses for the spells. The reverse of each page enlists the reverse for the spell to negate the effects. It was written by 'Üswa the Untold, a powerful Warlock from 1422. She lived in Danzig, the capital of the Teutonic Order which is close to modern day Gdsank, Poland. The script you're intending to decipher is Mettan, considered a dead language akin to Latin, but used predominantly by magic users." Logan's gaze looked up to Remy, tilting his head inquisitively. "I assume your sire has scripture in this language, you seem somewhat familiar despite being unable to read it."

Virgil squeezed Remy's knee gently, trying to convey a message of "please don't, we need him" the vampire physically swallowed his words.

"That's… probably perfect, thank you. We're looking for a reversal in particular, it's quite strong."

Logan nodded and switched to the index while Virgil rattled off the specifications of the curse Janus had cast. In turn Logan would ask questions, often long winded and seemingly unimportant - was the caster left or right handed? Did the recipient experience unconsciousness after the curse had been cast? What day of the week did it occur? All of these Virgil answered, while also trying to not make it obvious that spook was the one that turned into an animal at night.

"The machinations of this curse are truly complex, likely deliberate, has the recipient visited a clinical witch doctor to help alleviate the curse?"

"Um, apparently when they went the doctor just uh, said there wasn't much they could do without having the perpetrator."

"Ah, and did the two not know each other? Was there no way to contact the perpetrator?"

"No." Virgil simply responded. "They aren't on good terms, it isn't an option."

"I see. Well, I am obligated to inform you that despite being a very well informed individual I do not have formal education on this subject. Despite this, I feel I have the correct reversal highlighted here. Would you like to write down my translation?"

There was a plain notebook on the desk, which the librarian nodded towards as a prompt to begin writing. Truthfully, Virgil was just planning to record Logan speaking on spooks phone but decided it probably seemed rude considering how much effort Logan seemed to be putting into this. Spook hadn't written in a while, but hopefully it will still be legible.

"Right, to begin, this reversal is technically an entirely new spell. This time it is a ward that will deflect the previous hexx from afflicting you by working to protect the physical body from transformations. I'm just confirming that this can only be done on Humans, Elves, Centaur, Manticore, Satyr, Gorgons, Naga, Gnomes, and Ogres. This is because these creatures are not able to naturally shift their form, which if they could, would cause major conflict with this ward." Logan waited for both parties to confirm before continuing. "To begin this ritual, the one with the curse, hence described as the "subject" must be at a point of elevation no less than thirty meters - this would've traditionally been achieved on a cliff top, but any tall building should suffice - and most prepare a blue flame with these harvested ingredients; the venom of a vampire, the pelt of a were, blood of a fae, scale of serpentine, and lastly on offering of their own-"

"How the heck do we get a were pelt? Ask a wolf if we can pretty please skin it?" Remy asked, swishing a can of cold brew that he'd had stored in his bag. To be fair, it had been over an hour, that was a long time for Remy to be without coffee. Logan looked slightly peeved but made no comments towards.

"Well. The pelt is referring most to the fur of the Were, so receiving it can be entirely consensual. Once the blue flame has been successfully fed, it should turn a vivid purple and gravitate towards the subject. The flame will chase the subject at that point until they digest it. The process will burn, and likely leave the subject unwell for a long while after as they heal. Hospitals are equipped to handle these types of recoveries though if the subject is struggling to heal or simply needs somewhere to rest."

Huh. Aside from the strange array of items the process seemed rather straightforward. Virgil was expecting the full shebang with cloaks and ritual daggers. Maybe even a goat or something.

"It seems…easy enough?" Spook hummed after a moment's thought, sitting up a little with slight confidence. "I mean uh, I'll let them know and we can, you know, help this person reverse the hexx. Yeah!"

"Magic has a reputation of being complex and dangerous, partly because of humans fearing the unknown and partly due to Warlocks guarding their practices from outside communities."

"We stan a gatekeeping queen. Work it!" The younger vampire chirped, curling their lip in a smug smile to show off some fang. From what little Virgil knew about vampire culture, the gesture would be considered quite rude and overconfident. Like putting your feet on someone's coffee table when you've just met. Logan didn't seem to care, though, so perhaps not all senior vampires were sticklers for etiquette.

"I have no understanding of your rhetoric, one of my coven mates uses the term 'stan' to show admiration for an individual but I fail to see why you'd use it on a porter. Is it metaphorical?"

"...No."

"Right, we need to go." Virgil sent spooks roommate a sharp elbow jab, smiling at Logan just enough to be polite. "Thank you very much for your help. We'll, uh, pass this information on to the uh, person. Yeah. Thanks, again."

"It is no problem, I am always happy to provide knowledge where needed. I hope your acquaintance is able to purge the hexx ailing them."

"Yep. Yup. Bye, babes. C'mon Virgey," the young vampire wrapped an arm around their roommate, lowering their voice despite almost definitely knowing that the other vampire could hear it. "It's time for an epic, not at all tedious, fetch quest!"

"Oh, brother. This is gonna be a whole thing, huh? At least step one and five is covered between us. That's slightly less overwhelming."

"Yup. Just gotta pluck a Naga, shave a wolf, and stab a fairy. Average Wednesday evening, to be honest."

Virgil sighed and flicked hair out of spooks face, clambering back into Remy's shitty little car.

At least Remy seemed somewhat optimistic.

#Ts big bang #sanders sides #Fanfic

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thegoldenavenger · 1 year

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📖 okay spill

okay! i don't think ive said anything about this one but lemme know if i have:

it's a marvel / atla fusion where tony is prince zuko and steve is the avatar, duh haha. here's a little outlining for you. (they're all younger. this might, in fact, be a iron man armoured adventures au instead of an mcu au haha) i actually started writing it but it's no where near complete haha.

howard stark is the fire lord, currently waging war on the rest of the world as his father and his father's father have done before him.

tony stark, prince, is tasked with searching the globe for the missing avatar with his warden guardian obadiah stane :)

he's been searching for years and now that his father has stopped going with him on these searches tony treats them as vacation cruises. no one has seen the avatar in a century, tony sure isn't going to find him, and tony doesn't care too. he just takes his mandatory break from the stifling halls of the palace and convinces obie to get fun fruity drinks in some of the southern islands, or maybe visit some of the more exotic colonies.

this time is a little different though; obie insists on tony searching the arctic circle this time the fire lord specifically requested it or something, and tony grudgingly acquiesces. the search in the arctic sucks only because of the weather, though the majestic landscape of ice and blue is quite enchanting. regardless, tony knows the only thing that lies at the end of the trip is empty hands and a disappointed father. tony doesn't even know why his father stays disappointed, finding the avatar is a fool's errand.

well, tony is used to disappointing his father.

upon obie's recommendation, and jarvis' quiet disproval, tony captains the ship through an ice field. it's not his first choice, but he trusts uncle obie, and besides, the ironclad was built to survive these searches. this trust backfires when some water tribe raiders ambush the ship.

tony's royally trained, but he's never been the best firebender, he augments his skill with lower class sword fighting and brawling techniques but that doesn't mean a lot once the war finally hits his life. the ship is thrown into chaos.

tony tries to rendezvous with obie, with jarvis, but every step he takes there's a crew member being cornered, a raider with a sword and tony is the captain and their prince, and finds himself waylaid. when jarvis finally meets him he's grabbed by the scruff and shoved onto a lifeboat, a desperate, dangerous attempt to get him away from the fighting. not a moment too soon, since something on the ironclad explodes, sending shrapnel flying.

tony is wounded, his lifeboat leaking, when he's fished out of the water by the water tribe raiders.

the shrapnel is a deadly wound, and the raiders don't seem inclined to heal him, however they do keep him, fevered and bleeding. tony surmises it's for ransom, in his more lucid moments, but his father never reaches out. maybe they haven't sent a ransom letter yet, though tony thought they had. through his fevers and chills, fighting infection and healing, he sees glimpses of things on the water tribe raider ships that don't make sense:

fire nation silks and steel nestled among the water tribe blue, he chalks it down to pirates and leaves it at that. But the Fire Nation received no reports of thieved goods, no efforts to retrieve stolen weaponry. Fire Nation silks and iron and gold and the pirates don’t just speak the Southern Water Tribe dialect, but some Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation regional dialects.

tony heals, eventually, but he doesn't heal right. the raiders--pirates? traitors?--seem not to know what to do with him. the ransom doesn't seem to be eliciting a response, and each day longer tony spends under their watchful eyes is a day longer he realizes he's on borrowed time.

so he escapes.

there's explosions here as well, but tony is the cause of them. he's not the best firebender in the world but he still a royal one and he wraps the flames around him like a protective barrier, and it's only when he lands in freezing cold polar waters that he thinks he should have planned something more than this.

the shock isn't good for his shrapnel injuries, he can feel the cold in his chest even when he's engulfed in flames. there's ice, in the distance. he swims towards it. he loses time and feeling in his fingers. he swims towards the ice. it's glowing.

he reaches it at some point, but the glacier is smooth walled and spherical, and he can't climb it.

desperately he claws at it with super-heated hands, trying to melt some sort of hand hold, or to keep his fingers from falling off he isn't sure.

he bursts through the ice, and wind knocks him back, and there's more glowing, and before his eyes close completely he sees a figure coming towards him.

well, tony thinks before the darkness takes him, at least i can tell dad i found the avatar.

fun things! steve is the avatar, who heals tony. just by virtue of being the only two idiots in the middle of the ice, they stick together.

they'll meet clint and natasha first, water tribe, non benders, whom fury impresses upon the importance of not letting a random firebender get dibs on befriending the avatar.

once they make it across the ocean they'll team up with bruce, water bender, who tony and natasha cajole into leaving his isolated island home. he was exiled from a different tribe than clint and natasha's, but he won't tell them why.

they'll meet thor, later on, an earth bender. he's a noble, and spoiled, but solid and dependable.

tony hides his identity, befriends steve, and tries to come up with a plan to somehow get steve to his father without revealing himself. as he gets to know steve that plan kind of morphs into trying to convince him to ally with the fire nation so tony's dad doesn't, you know. kill him.

tony refuses to inspect that thought.

of course what ends up happening is tony learning and realizing the impact the war has on people who aren't profiting from it. sometime in between steve lamenting the fact that he'll never see his long lost people, or his dearest friend, and bonding with him over some spectacular adventures, tony starts wondering if he can instead convince his father that the war is wrong.

pepper and rhodey take tai-lee and mai's place. they're sent out to rescue tony after obie reports him dead and the pirates he hired try to ransom him instead.

the plot would vaguely follow the atla plot. tony tries to stay undercover while steve learns how to master the elements, gradually understanding the evils of the way.

im not sure if the gang would confront obie as like, a zhao-like, season finale, or if obie assassinates howard when his plan to be named heir doesn't come through and takes the throne by force, thus setting up an easier transition for the war to end once they take him down.

obie is tony's final boss, so obviously he has to dig something up that fucks up steve. im thinking bucky, but i dont know how to get bucky to the present. something something the spirits maybe. bucky would be azula, btw if i could get him in the plot narratively

idk, maybe obie gets bucky reincarnated or w/e by making a deal with one of ancient spirits of chaos or w/e and when steve punches bucky back onto the good side, the ancient spirit gets released and steve has to deal with that while tony deals with obie. :> this is why it's stayed in my head btw. i have the beginnings and middle but not quite an epic atla style finale haha!

#kamaeteWRITES #tony stark #avengers #fic daydream meme

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the-ravening · 1 year

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For the WIP Game! Soooo, Rav, 16 WIPs, hmmmm? That's a lot more than this hamster was led to believe 👀👀👀 Please tell me more about 8 and 14. (I assume 8 might be the sequel to Eve and Cara's Torres/Zemo fics?)

Listen! The short list I sent you was fics I actually intended to work on in the near future, whereas this longer list includes all the WIPs that are languishing and wasting away in my drive, some of them never to be touched again. I wasn’t lying to you, I was just going by different parameters 😆

#8 was the Zemo/Torres sugar daddy fic that I talked about here.

#16 is Training Wheels & Honey Trap. Okay, so! This was actually the first thing I started seriously writing for this fandom, after an aborted attempt at a ‘Selby made them do it’ thing that I started and immediately gave up on the week that episode aired (that’s the doc named ‘Zemo/Bucky Fic’ on my list, from probably before the name ‘Winterbaron’ even entered my lexicon).

‘Training Wheels & Honey Trap’ AKA my necro fic, featuring Zemo/OMC (original male corpse), is a story that takes place in Cara’s Heinrich/Helmut universe that she started with her fic And One For the Little Boy, where young Zemo goes on his first mission for HYDRA to honey trap a mark and get him in place for assassination.

I have just shy of 2k written of just the necro scene, but none of the setup that comes before it, and at the time I didn’t feel confident enough in my writing to do it. Revisiting it now, I think I could definitely finish this fic sometime and I very much would like to. So maybe I’ll add it to that short list eventually 😉

Gory, smutty necro snippet under the cut.

Zemo startles as the shot hits the target directly on the back of the head, sending a shockwave through his body, his world suddenly awash in a thick pink mist as bits of bone and arterial spray explode above him in a horrific display of fireworks. He tenses up around the man’s cock buried inside him, milking out a final hot spurt of come, and a small whimper of pleasure escapes him as the pressure lights up his nerve endings. He squeezes his eyes shut against the wet assault from above, but there’s already blood and liquified brain splatter all over his face, in his mouth, coating his tongue, blanketing his bare chest. He takes a stunned moment to gasp for breath, gagging on the metallic viscousness on the back of his tongue, when he feels the man’s dead weight slumping towards him. The movement shoves his thighs further back, shifts the angle of the man’s still-throbbing cock where it’s nestled inside him and Zemo groans, his own cock jumping at the sensation, dribbling precome onto the already red-slick mess of his belly. Blinking heavy wet lashes open to peer at the grotesque scene before him, Zemo reaches out with shaky hands to grasp the man’s shoulders and hold him back. There’s a gory cavern where the upper half of the man’s head used to be, a large gape in his skull, yawning with a swirl of arterial blood still pattering down on him. Zemo is no stranger to bloodshed, but has never witnessed anything quite like this. He’s riveted as much as repulsed, mesmerized even as he struggles to tear his eyes away from the carnage that moments ago was a face. Where there had been greedy eyes leering down at him, now only a thick swell of blood crashing against a jagged breakwater of bone and pulped flesh. The man’s jaw remains, mouth partly open on the ‘O’ of his unfinished orgasm. Zemo’s heart beats wildly, adrenaline pumping through his veins, disgust and arousal warring viciously in his lower belly. The gauzy veil of blood that settles over him nearly overwhelms his senses, but the dead man’s cock in him is still hot and hard. The fear-arousal is almost too familiar, so often have sex and violence been meted out to him as a mated pair that they’re deeply interlinked and hopelessly entangled in his mind. Even as he recoils from the grisly sight, he feels his cock fattening against the soft curve of his belly. He can't even recall if he’s ever experienced sexual pleasure without the involvement of fear. Shifting his hips against the man’s body cautiously, experimentally, he finds that he can rub that exquisite spot deep inside him if he moves just right.

#WIP meme #answered ask #@zsparz #ravening writes #zemo/original male corpse #my necro fic #it's very dear to me and I'd love to finish it someday

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inkofamethyst · 2 years

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June 7, 2022

I cannot express to anyone the strength of the desire I have to do a vocal/cello chamber piece with my cello-friend. This means I need to listen to way way way more new music which is both exciting and terrifying. My Drippy arrangement is coming along though (got rid of a tritone that’s been driving me nuts (at the very end, when you listen to this one note, it’s unclear whether it’s Fnat or Fsharp, and slowing it down doesn’t help, but that’s because both of them are present, I think))! I need to get it submitted for feedback for sure. Some parts of it sound really cool and other parts sound like noise, but it’s moldable noise, I think, so it’s alright.

Okay and along the lines of creative things, I saw a post in a group on Facebook of someone who did Mood’s Bergenia Jumpsuit on the top half (in a solid black) and a half circle skirt on the bottom (in a black and gold brocade lookin fabric) and I’m highkey really loving that combination and while yes I do want to do the jumpsuit (theoretically it should be a pretty quick project... no fancy finishings, not even a lining... might take a cutting day plus two sewing days to do...) I also definitely want to try that out too at some point. The think is, would I make the bodice out of something stretchy or straight-woven?

I nestle my sadness into some of these entries like those little Russian nesting dolls which would be entertaining to think about if it wasn’t so unfortunate. Anyway I suppose I haven’t really written about the fact that 1. I’m disappointed in how little I’ll be doing this summer, 2. I regret not applying to REUs this year and putting all my eggs in one hopeful basket, 3. I’m not doing the study abroad I’d wanted to do this summer, 4. while, like, I am thankful for the opportunity to study abroad at all, I know that I’ve settled for the one I’m doing, 5. I don’t know what I’m doing with saxophone-guy, not one bit, not at all, and that’s frustrating because I like plans; I don’t particularly care for this whole figure-it-out-as-you-go-along business, 6. grad school applications are a little terrifying. And all of these (and maybe more) are probably resulting in this mental paralysis that has been manifesting as a physical numbness and fatigue.

I have also come to realize that it is very apparent (to me) the regard which I hold for myself by the way that I react when people invite me to things and things. I am very much the flippant “oh haha thanks for inviting me but you’ve invited other people too so if I don’t go it’s okay because you don’t actually need me there but I appreciate the offer of course and I’ll make it if I can but I know you won’t mind if I don’t :)” and that is not good. So uh, now I know and can work on not, you know, subtly being mean to myself anymore or whatever.

Anyway I think I’m about to buy a circle skirt because it’s ridiculously inexpensive and is probably worth way more than she’s selling it for and it’s so cute and looks so swooshy and it’d probably be great for fall and winter. It’s not got pockets though and from the pictures it looks like I might need to true up the hem and it’s also much longer than any other skirt I own and I’m not entirely sure about the check pattern especially since I wanted to get more solid skirts first... but it is inexpensive and I’ve recently come into a bit of extra cash...

See, as someone who is currently a non-skirt-girlie, I don’t entirely know what my taste in skirts is. Like, “it must have swoosh and come down below my knees” can only get me but so far. There are like four skirts I’ve bought which I ultimately decided were not for me which sucks. And then there’s the whole question of, like, where does the pinterest inspiration end and I begin? Because I’ve tried my darndest to not just look at the aesthetics of a photo but to peer into whether the outfit in it is something similar to what I’d want on my body (and that’s hard enough when all the bodies you see are white (this especially, because brown may be a big part of their wardrobes but I’m brown and I love that color on them but does it look cute on me (part of the reason I don’t know what to do with that brown linen is because it’s brown. I feel like it’d make a fantastic midi pleated half circle skirt for summer, but I’m afraid of spending all that effort on something that isn’t a good color for me)) and tall (I have to be really careful with my proportions) with straight hair (the way I’d love to see some naturalista historybounders oh my god)). It is so very hard to craft a new wardrobe and stick to building it (probably why I was never quite successful with the soft grunge thing lol (though also historybounding/vintage-inspired wardrobes have communities that make me feel safe while I never really interacted with the grunge community)).

I put on my walking skirt today just because and it’s actually so nice to wear and it’s a shame that it’s so anachronistic. Sure it’s got issues but it’s also my first one and I’m actually quite proud of it; the problems aren’t really all that prominent. I wonder if there’s a Victorian society near me. I’d love to do a cute lil Victorian picnic sometime (even if I am the youngest person in attendance (learning from “older” costumers sounds like so much fun anyway)). The matching waistcoat is still a bit of a disappointment though :/ Primarily the buttons, honestly, but also the fit and some of the details. But! This is why I use inexpensive fabrics.

Today I’m thankful that I am not entirely without opportunities this summer. I will be studying abroad, and I will be doing a sort of phylogeny project which, honestly, is kinda cool not only because I’ve never done a long-term phylogeny thing before but also because I have to come up with my own research question and I haven’t done that before, not really (I mean, at least, not since the summer before my senior year (and I actually really liked that process lol)), and that will look really great on graduate school applications, I just know it. And if I enjoy it, I could probably continue working on projects like this into the fall, too, possibly even developing enough of an analysis to submit a proposal for next year’s conference.

Oh also I’m thankful (bonus thank!) that the wool I was sold in the destash group is actually wool??? Like I did a burn test and it’s full on wool which is wild because it feels like no other wool I’ve ever felt (kinda thin, pretty drapey, reminds me more of home dec fabric tbh) so I was really doubting its identity.

I think.. I’m just going to go ahead and buy the skirt.

[edit: I need to stop taking headache meds so close to midnight bc now it’s 4 am and the caffeine is just starting to wear off ugh]

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fangurk · 3 years

Text

Puppy Love (The Cullen Family x Child! Werewolf! Reader)

Key:

Y/n - Your Name

Y/h/c - Your Hair Color

Y/e/c - Your Eye Color

Y/f/c - Your Favorite Color

Y/f/f - Your Favorite Flavor

Prompt (given to me by @inrice): but could you do something along the lines of the cullens (mainly alice) takes upon the job of raising a werewolf!reader? who's a child of course.

Summary: Alice Cullen stumbles upon a very strange, very lonely child while out on a hunt and, in true Cullen fashion, decides to take them home. Nobody knows how to take care of a werewolf or a child, but when they put in a collective effort (and bring in the help of Bella) things start getting easier...

Warning: Is this kidnapping? It might be kidnapping, fluff, slightly angsty at some parts, AU because Caius is cruel, and potentially odd genderless terms of endearment.

A/n: family fic makes the brain go brrr. so like i didn't really know how to handle the whole werewolf thing because the twilight lore is so... bare... and i wanted to write more on the family parts so it's not like a real focus but it is mentioned quite a bit. I hope that's okay! /gen

Word Count: 1.2k+

Alice wasn’t able to foresee you.

She simply stumbled across you one day on a hunt, your tiny body curled up at the base of a tree. You smelled so much of dog she almost mistook you for one, and then you looked up at her with big y/e/c eyes and she knew.

Carlisle wasn’t very happy when she brought you home.

“The Volturi will have a field day with this.” He says as he repacks his doctor bag. “The child is dangerous to have around.”

“But they're all alone, Carlisle. You said it yourself, they looked like they were out there for days— and I waited there with them until nightfall, no one came…”

Her shoulders fall and she looks at the door separating them from the rest of the family.

“Oh please just let them stay, we’ll all take care of them— if anything we’re better suited for it than anyone!”

Carlisle opens his mouth to protest but is interrupted by Esme opening the door, you asleep in her arms. All of his hesitance melts away at the sight, and at the sound of your small snores.

He sighs. “Fine, the child can stay— but we have to be careful.”

Alice nearly erupts with her joy, and Carlisle tries to hide a smile.

──────────────────

They give you a nice bedroom.

Rosalie, Alice, and Esme take an entire day to shop, nearly clearing out three children’s stores in the process. They build you furniture and they paint the walls a pretty shade of y/f/c; you now own more toys and clothes than a kid can possibly comprehend.

You spend the day with Emmett, the only Cullen boy who’s comfortable getting close to you, and he introduces you to the wide range of children’s cartoons. Your browsing ended with Crashbox, something that had the big man far more into it than you, but it was fun nonetheless.

“Want to see your room, Y/n?” Rosalie hums, poking her head around the corner and flashing you a dazzling smile.

The ladies let you wander around the new space, excitement brightening your features.

Emmett is still enraptured by the TV long after you’re put to bed.

──────────────────

Most days are good days.

Even if two of the family members seem a little afraid of you, you’re happy. You’re fed and clothed and loved.

But then there are bad days.

You wouldn’t eat. Nothing Esme made you was satisfactory and you were too upset and overwhelmed to let anyone know what you wanted; everyone tries to comfort you, even Jasper with his powers, but none of it really seems to work.

And then Edward comes home.

He left at some point during the crying and everyone figured that he was just bailing ship like he usually does when it comes to you. But, in reality, he somehow managed to get a cohesive reading of your mind and immediately went to someone who could help him.

“I brought Bella.” He says, gesturing awkwardly at his equally awkward girlfriend when five sets of frustrated eyes land on him.

“And I brought chicken nuggets…” The brunette human raises the bag up with a smile.

Everyone watches in confusion as you perk up a bit.

“Uh, here.” Bella crosses the room and places the bag down in front of you.

You open the bag and immediately start eating, sniffling but no longer upset. Every Cullen is reeling in shock.

“Well. What do you have to say to Bella?” Alice clears her throat, giving you an encouraging smile.

“Thank you, Bella.” You mumble, mouth full of food.

“Oh- it was actually Edward’s idea.”

You turn and thank him, beaming, and he gives you a crooked smile in return.

Afterward, Edward doesn’t really avoid you anymore.

──────────────────

‘Children of the Moon’ don’t pass their lycanthropy onto their offspring.

Alice doesn’t like to think about it, but sometimes the implication that someone bit and infected you consumes her mind and it makes her want to cry.

──────────────────

On the days they go to school, you do too.

They figure it’s good for you to spend time with other kids your age, and it seems to be. You always come home with crazy stories of playtime adventures and smelling of paint and crayons; the teachers love you, or more so the bright little woman who picks you up from school.

“Draw your family.” The teacher encourages one day.

You draw the Cullens.

When you proudly hand it to Alice when she picks you up from school, she lifts you up in a hug. Jasper frames your little drawing and puts it up next to all of their graduation caps.

──────────────────

The full moon is pretty horrific.

In order to keep everyone safe from your tiny claws, they keep you in the basement. For hours before the transformation, you just lie down there and wail-- you’re only little, it’s only fair.

Alice sits outside and talks to you the whole time, her voice wavering and her hands shaking.

She doesn’t move after the wails turn into howls, even if it would be safer to do so.

──────────────────

“Does Jasper hate me?”

You’re wrapped up in bandages, sitting on the picnic blanket with your adoptive mother and eating a sandwich too big for you as her husband pretends to do something down by the water. Alice is completely blindsided. They’ve sort of explained what they are to you, and you’ve kind of filled in blank spaces to the best of your ability, but she’s still unsure how to explain Jasper’s hesitance.

She doesn’t wind up having to.

“No,” He says, sitting down next to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “I don’t. I’m actually quite fond of you darlin’.”

That alone seems to satisfy you and, over time, he loosens up a bit.

Jasper seems happier than he has in a while, listening to you talk about things little kids talk about, and Alice watches fondly with a smile.

──────────────────

One of them reads a story and tucks you into bed every night.

Most times it’s Alice, sometimes Jasper joins in.

Tonight is one of those nights. You’re clean and showered, dressed in a cute little pajama set, and nestled under the covers; she’s lying down next to you, Goodnight Moon open in her hands, and he’s in a chair next to the bed.

“... goodnight noises everywhere.” She finishes, smiling at your drooping eyes and lulling head.

Carefully, she unwinds herself from you and, with the help of her husband tucks the blanket under your sides. You tug your favorite stuffed animal close to your chest, y/e/c eyes closed, and a smile on your little face.

“Goodnight, y/n.” “Night, kid.” They each say, Alice bending down to kiss your head and Jasper opting to stand there and smile.

“G’night mom and dad.”

Jasper’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head and he turns to face his wife quickly.

Alice Cullen, the girl who forgot half of her life, never felt more whole than she did standing in your room, holding her mate’s hand, and turning off the light as the hushed sound of a cricket’s song filled the big house...

tag list:

@batmanunicorns523

#alice cullen x reader #jasper hale x reader #alice cullen imagine #jasper hale imagine #the cullens x reader #the cullens #twilight imagines #twilight saga #twilight #emmett cullen #rosalie hale #edward cullen #bella swan #carlisle cullen #esme cullen

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dreamties · 2 years

Text

The Lost Boys W/ a Werewolf Partner!

a/n- sorry this took so long??? I was really excited about this, but editing it (as per usual) was a fucking nightmare. hope the length makes up for it a bit hehe :-)

anyways, gender neutral reader! A bit of angst regarding mortality, but it's mostly cute stuff <3

I'm not really sure where the trope of vampires and werewolves not getting along came from but- rest assured! The boys do not share in that same vile disgust for any of your werewolfian traits <3

They actually really love it hehe

While they much prefer everyone to be vampires, at the very least immortal, they're just happy they found such a wonderful partner who is also non-human!

I've touched on it before, but having other supernatural creatures to interact with is really nice for them. It's really validating. Someone else that understands their struggles and pain, but also can let loose more in ways that human partners cannot.

They like to keep things new, fun, exciting! Which is just SO perfect with the five of you. It's almost hard not to have things constantly changing.

The boys will eventually grow out of the "party all night", nothing can touch them, attitude. They will hopefully mellow out in time, but for now, even as the youngster vamps they are (only a hundred years old, give or take)- they desire a quietness, too.

So, it can be a bit of a hassle for the five of you sometimes. But the boys do find little ways to find and enjoy downtime <3

One of which includes everyone's favorite, cuddling!!

They also love cuddling you during the full moon, after everyone has gone out hunting.

Being big enough in your wolf form to cradle a boy in your arms, and the rest cuddle and curl and stretch around you. Marko's twirling your fur in between his fingers. Dwayne nestles his head, forehead meeting yours, arm around your neck. He kisses your snout, and you playfully growl in return. Wrestling David into your arms, even though as the 'leader' he feels a responsibility to be the protective one. Tease him, tell him there's enough space in the cave to all be protective of each other- he'll tease right back. An unfamiliar warmth creeps up on him, he feels loved in your arms. Paul curled into odd positions, head lying near David, lower body covered in the swoop of your tail. It feels like home.

Oh my gosh, speaking of hunting actually !!

These vampires run in a bit of a pack, so it's only natural to them that you would join them on hunts. but if you're more of a lone wolf type, they'll end up begrudgingly agreeing to let you go out by yourself. It's not even that they don't think you can handle it (though if you did ever come back hurt, it might be harder for them to let you leave like that again- it's worrying for fucks sake!), it's more that they feel so much safer when all together.

It was a close call with Michael; never again would they split up.

The five of you may all be wiry and weary, not-so self-proclaimed monsters (though you can basically feed off the terror, respect that drips from that title), but so was the life beyond your safened sector of Santa Carla

They try not to ruminate on the fact you're not immortal for too long though. It makes them sad to think about. While you may have enhanced senses and abilities, and a longer lifespan than humans should have- you're not like them.

David often has to let the younger of them know that everything will be okay, he's handling it. (barely. truthfully, he's panicking a bit)

Some werewolf lore says that they are indeed immortal, but assuming you're not running with a pack before meeting the boys- I doubt you would know that for sure.

They would definitely try to convince you to be turned by one of them! How the traits of werewolf & vampire would mix is entirely lost on everyone (side note: I will absolutely explore this at a later date if folks are interested!!)

Anyways, moving on from that glumness-

Something that I love about these boys, is that as rash and wild as they can be- they still take care of each other. They watch each other's backs, bring back food when they feel too unwell to head out, act as mirrors- styling and caring for each other's hair, double checking wears and tears, do they have any wounds or aches and pains despite their healing abilities?

And this pack, its familiar nature lends itself to all that it takes in.

While you're able to transform at will- most of the time, that is- a lot of mental and physical energy is taken out of you for full moon transformations.

Like bears will hibernate for the winter, you'll be excruciatingly tired for the first days after. You'll doze in your den (the cave), and the boys try their best to comfort you, and not to wake you during their nightly escapades, or when they return at dawn, noisy and boisterous (and maybe a tad drunk)

You're more likely to lead with the sharpness of aggression then the comfort they usually know you by- but remember, this is only for a few days.

If you take on visual aspects of your supernatural side when you're not fully transformed- the boys would go wild over it.

There's this raw sense of energy. Connecting with the beast, the inhuman- allowing them to feast in the pride of their existence. Unholy, untamed. They should be able to celebrate the way their faces snarl and scrunch up when they feed. To kiss the hair criss-crossing your body, to love how your ears perk up when they praise you and flirt and tell you they love you. The excitement that rolls over you, that has you acting like a pup or a household animal, rolling over and begging for tummy scratches and any affection they're willing to hand out.

There's a lot of play fighting & 'wrestling' with ur boyfriends hehe <33

Despite how their actions can tend towards treating you as a pet, if any outsider- another supernatural or otherwise- talks to or touches you like that, there’ll be hell to pay. Realistically, the perpetrator would be dead before they could even think about that! How sweet of your boys <3

Regarding hunts once more and the like, if you have already dealt with your needs-- you might insist on joining the lost boys. If the town seemed more dangerous that night, or your boys too rowdy, afraid they'll meet their end with a pre-sharpened stake before morn rolls around. You take can take the hits, your injuries will eventually heal. It's worth it to know you're serving them, protecting them.

if the boys will do anything for you (and they do <3), then so will you protect them at all costs

Overall, this is just a very mutually beneficial relationship! And they love you to your core; inside & out; werewolfness, oddities and all :3

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k-dokja · 2 years

Text

Disclaimer: My entire knowledge of Latin came from the Internet. I'm not entirely sure about one of his "tattoos" but I went with the saying.

You had seen people falling for him before. Easy charm, easy smile. Always ready to showcase good hospitality for another even when most of it was the product of duplicity.

Better than anyone, you had seen him without the mask. When his expression wasn't a by-product of a well-crafted performance, something about him unhinged you. Like gazing at the devil in the eyes and knowing your fall would be far from graceful if you took a singular misstep.

It was easy how he can fool people, even those who has seen underneath his act of a good man. He planted the seed of false hope, leading people into thinking he'd change somehow if they gave enough for him. Like he'd care one day and his heart didn't come from stone.

A beast was always a beast no matter the form he took. After knowing Jinho for all those years, you'd be a fool to take anything he said at face value. Not when lies came to him easily as breathing and duplicity was never his biggest sin.

Hard to say what would be the depth of his atrocities.

Yet, there were times when you willingly turned a blind eye to the truth he carried. Because he was an excellent actor and if you willed your mind to believe everything he said for a moment, then whatever he drew up could exist to be your reality.

You didn't risk yourself often. Not when the reminder of the actual world always scratched at the back of your mind. A silent hiss at the honeyed words too sweet and too gentle to be genuine. You wondered at times if Jinho took joy in keeping you thinking, one would be stupid to assume that you'd be anything more than an asset for him in the long run.

Maybe an ally, at best. At least you could live in the comfort of knowing you weren't a pawn under him. Lord knows how many times you had to witness him discarding the ones which he no longer saw as useful. You couldn't rely on him to care for sentimentality even if you had known him since the days when his hands didn't drench in blood.

Your history with him might have been a lengthy one, but ending up in his bed might have altered whatever course you had mapped out for yourself. It left you sitting up long in the aftermath, wondering about every possible outcome. If not him, then you, always thinking too much. Making the brief moment when you forgot who you were and who he was a futile action in hindsight.

Maybe he had intended for this to happen, maybe you didn't see it coming. Whatever it was, you never stopped tossing around the idea that Jinho had a plan somewhere that you couldn't see.

For what motive... you couldn't tell. Not this time, anyway.

“Something on your mind?”

It probably did help that Jinho didn't mind much of what you did. You never knew where he got that confidence from. Probably from getting one step ahead of you this time. Breaking the single barrier crossed out between you both and smeared the line you drew, he must have been smug about the entire ordeal.

Yet... when you gazed down at him, he was softer around the edges. Relaxed, even. You could have fooled yourself into thinking that he had left all of his schemes and planning outside of the door. That the Jinho you were seeing, tangled up in bedsheets next to you, his skin slick with sweat from the previous hours, was one you didn't have to worry about.

“Well, yes...” You couldn't put into words the entirety of what was bothering you, but you could reveal the half-truth. “I was thinking about this online influencer plan of yours.”

He traces his finger along your thigh, interest feigned for the conversation. “Oh?”

When he extended his arm to welcome you back, you laid down without a second thought, far more used to his open affection than expected. You almost winced afterwards, nestled in the warmth of his embrace. Jinho didn't seem to care.

“I won't bother you with concern about how bringing forth a public image might not be a good idea but...” You marched your fingers on his chest, tracing the smooth skin until your eyes met with his. “I thought the content for your channel was pretty close to home.”

“Mhm, isn't it better?” He smiled. “At least I won't be caught in a lie about making videos about what I don't understand.”

“Better in the long run, yeah,” you admitted, “but your disguise... is it another one of the lies or it lies with your interest, too?”

Jinho caught your arm, rounding it on his waist. It took him pressing his lips on yours, distracting you momentarily from your question, and his hand sliding down the curve of your hip, pulling you flush against him before he had an answer.

“The animals are pretty telling,” his smile was on your lips, “but I assume you're talking about the quotes.”

You hummed, "Do you believe in anything you wrote on your face?"

There was no need to masquerade, no lie to be told. But you couldn't help but wonder if these lies came to him easily as breathing now. Could he ever break away from it?

"Why don't you guess?" His murmurs fanned on your lips before he pulled away. "You've always been good at reading me."

"Knowing you, every single word is a lie," your finger dug down on his back, nail scrapping the skin he left bare, "is it?"

"Not all," Jinho's reply was uncharacteristically gentle, "my soul does follow fortune."

You snorted, unsurprised by his reply. "How expected of you."

Even without it there, you could remember the words of that one. Bold was the placement, you noticed from looking at him once. But the others... you never cared to look close enough to memorize them. "What about the others? There was one about a rose.”

Jinho caught on quickly. “The thornier the rose, the sweeter the fragrance.”

Admittedly, it was cheesier than expected. You were glad that none of his works was permanent. While they were beautifully done, you had always thought it was tacky in portrayal. Maybe it was intentional to separate from the actual him.

“Is that how you think of yourself?" You could see that being the truth, the words fit him better and better the longer you ruminated on it. Yet, you saw the thorns and touched the rose anyway, whose fault would it be when you catch yourself bleeding?

"Maybe it's how I think of you," he squeezed your hip, “aren't you thorny, little rose?"

“...your jokes are horrible,” in spite of your words, you found yourself smiling, too.

No. Too soft, too easy. You shouldn't give yourself away to him that readily. Easy for the flesh to answer but the mind must stay vigilant. Turning away from the imploration of his eyes, you steered the conversation back to the course. “Anyway, what of the last one? Amo something?”

“Amo te, ame me,” and then, with the tenderness of a quiet confession, his explanation came to you, “I love you, hope you'll love me, too.”

Three simple words and it was all it took for your heart to sink to your stomach. Three simple words you had heard him saying and would never hold any meaning as long as he was the one saying it.

You had to force yourself to respond before he noticed something was wrong. So you laughed. “How can you say the word love without getting caught on fire?”

“You will find that I can waltz into holy places just fine,” he retorted with mock seriousness, “in fact, one of our businesses has a hideout in a church.”

“Of course, add blasphemy to the list,” you snipped, “what else haven't you done?”

“Mhm, there's a pretty long list,” he kissed you again, sweetly this time, "are you offering to help me finish it?" It was almost enough to make you say yes, that you'd do anything he wanted, as long as he continued to keep you blind and loved.

You knew better.

You always did.

So you laughed and said, "Yeah... not in a million years."

#lee jinho x reader #lee jinho #244 htf #244 x reader #how to fight #viral hit #fics #i just want to get this fic out of my draft #zzz

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hiddles-and-skittles · 3 years

Text

Ride

Pairing: Bucky x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,585

Summary: Gatherings can't be that bad, right? Especially if your boyfriend convinces you to ditch early for a ride home on his motorcycle. It's just unfortunate he's gotta rile you up beforehand.. .

Warnings: 18+, kinda masturbation/edging by motorcycle???, teasing, pet names; sweetheart, doll, cocky Bucky (what? He's definitely a warning)

Notes: This idea came to me and I absolutely could NOT put it down. I don't typically write smut or anything along those lines, so any feedback is appreciated! This is way out of my comfort zone😅

____________

"Come on, Sam is waiting on us."

You roll your eyes and dramatically throw yourself back on the bed. "Yeah well, Sam can wait. I don't even want to be there."

"And you think I do?" He calls to you, pulling on his gloves and nearly stomping back towards your room.

"Bucky, I don't want to go." He stands in your doorway and you pout at him, making him sigh.

He cocks an eyebrow at you. "I know. But who says we gotta stay all night?" At this, you raise up from your mopey position. "We make an appearance, talk to Sam for a little while, then get lost in the crowd and disappear. He won't even notice."

You hum thoughtfully. "Good point." You swing your legs over the bed and slip into your Converse shoes, plastering a smile to your face and gleefully skipping due to the fact you'll get to leave early.

Sam was having a reunion party with some buddies from his Afghanistan tours. It was a huge event downtown, but neither you nor Bucky was a big fan of crowds. So the two of you only considered going in support of Sam.

Bucky stopped on the apartment complex's steps, narrowing his eyes at an empty parking spot. "He took my bike."

You snorted. "Cab it is."

________

Shortly you arrive at the event and he opens the cab door for you, his knuckles grazing down your arm to catch your hand in his. The action sends a shudder through your body and he smirks, stopping to give you a scheming look.

"What?" you ask him, furrowing your eyebrows and squeezing his hand.

"Nothing," he simpers.

You decide to be suspicious of him for the rest of the evening.

There are a plethora of people but you both advance through the crowd in search of Sam, Bucky stopping you to point out that Sam is quite preoccupied. He nudges you towards the most empty table he can find so you can sit down. On either side of you both is an empty seat, and the rest of the chairs are filled by half-drunk, burly men sporting drinks.

One of them turns to you and introduces himself and his comrades. A few of them take quick note of Bucky's name, quoting something Sam has mentioned about him before then thanking Bucky for his service. You wrap your arm around his middle and look up at him with pride, nuzzling yourself closer to your soldier.

You're both quiet as the vets around you continue their chatter about their best times, their laughter making the atmosphere light. You have to admit, you might actually be enjoying yourself. You're lost in a story about a guy teaching his kid how to hot wire a car when a hand squeezes your thigh.

Your knee immediately jerks and hits the table and you have to bite your bottom lip to stifle a yelp. A few heads turn in your direction and as you feel the warmth spreading to your face, you feign a sneeze, apologizing for the interruption. Bucky remains dead panned, although the sides of his mouth subtly quirk up. You glare at him. "Bless you, sweetheart," he patronizes. You shift uncomfortably as the men return to their conversations.

His hand makes its way back to your thigh and you inhale sharply through your nose. "Bucky," you whimper, swallowing hard.

"Gotta keep quiet for me, doll, or I'll stop," he tuts lowly. Instinctively you spread your legs a little to make enough room for his hand. Your breath hitches as he circles your clit with his middle finger, lightly tracing down your clothed mound. You curse yourself for wearing jeans, because the thickness of the denim heavily affects the way he feels against you.

But you want more.

He presses harder until Sam struts over to the table, and Bucky innocuously throws his arm around your shoulder. You huff in frustration and he chuckles.

"Surprised you two haven't left yet," Sam laughs, sipping a beer and slapping a hand over Bucky's shoulder.

"Why would we do that?" Bucky asks sarcastically.

Sam rolls his eyes playfully. "Stay awhile, enjoy the sunset and have a drink. They're all on the house." You both pause in thought. "I knew that would convince you!"

"Well," you start. "The sky is gorgeous right now. Maybe just one drink till the sun sets."

Someone then calls for Sam and he excuses himself, telling you he'll see you back at home later. You watch him disappear into the crowd, reality hitting you that you're still worked up from Bucky's teasing. And all it takes is a devious look from him to get you riled up again. You shoot up from your seat to thank the vets around you for their service, and tell them that it was nice to meet them, but you have some personal matters to attend to at home. Bucky follows suit, grabbing your hand.

You try to push your way through the crowd without an obvious, horny spring in your step, and as you pass by a table, Bucky fishes a beer with his free hand without stopping.

"I'll call the cab back here and we can-"

"No."

"What?" You stop in your tracks and Bucky lets go of you, continuing to walk to where his motorcycle is parked. He beckons you over with a crooked finger as he mounts the bike, and you fold your arms over your chest, cocking an eyebrow.

"What? It's not like he'll be able to drive tonight anyway." He foots the kick stand, placing his beer in the back compartment then bringing his hands up to twist around the handlebars. "Come on, let's go watch the sunset."

"The-the sunset?" You ask incredulously.

"What? You said it was pretty, let's go get a closer look." Your eye twitches at his feigned ignorance.

"Bucky I swear to god if you don't take me right now-"

He grins. "Then I just won't take you at all." He revs the engine once to accentuate his threat and you groan. "Come on or I'll leave you."

"Fine."

You march over to him and swing your leg over the bike, nestling yourself into his back and situating your hands on top of his shoulders. The engine roars to life, the heads of onlookers catching your eye and in one swift motion he kicks it into gear and you're off.

The winds whips your hair and licks at your face, causing you to constantly tear it away from your eyes. Once free, you take in the view before you, ever amazed at how the sun sets on the water; the sky glows with an orange and pink hue, making it look like a painting. And for a moment you forget about your throbbing lower half until you shift to get a little more comfortable on the seat and oh. Oh.

Your hands impulsively tighten around his shoulders and your jaw goes slack, gasping as the vibration from the motorcycle hits just the right spot. You let out a light moan and no sooner clap a hand over your mouth, hoping Bucky hasn't heard you. Your head slumps forward on his back.

"You good back there?" He yells over his shoulder.

"Y-yeah! Uh-all good!" you wheeze, attempting not to sound too out of sorts. The street is bare as he stops at a red light, and you try to breathe so as not to let the pleasure overtake you. It's not that you don't want to let go, it's just that you know you'll never hear the end of it from him of you do.

When the light turns green, he revs the engine so many times you lose count. Your mind is swirling in ecstacy and you start to pant faster, clinging onto Bucky for dear life as you near your release.

You screw your eyes shut, the coil finally snapping while you bite down harshly on the shoulder of his leather jacket. By this point you're unabashedly gasping and moaning, your hips bucking wildly into the seat as your clit is overstimulated to the point it hurts.

You pray for the ride to your apartment to end while he speeds up, causing you to sob into the waves of pleasure the vibrations are granting you. You claw mindlessly at his torso until he finally slows to a stop, and you catch your breath to come to your senses. You can't help the nagging, coherent thought that the ride home had taken a lot longer than usual and you realize the sky is now completely black and littered with stars.

He knew. That fucker knew.

Bucky dismounts the vehicle and stands before you with a hand on his hip and a smug demeanor. You lean forward on your hands, still heaving to try and even out your breath.

"Enjoy the ride?" Bucky taunts, flat lining his lips.

"Fuck-" pant "-you," you nearly spit. He chuckles darkly. "You were edging me, with a goddamn motorcycle."

He scratches the back of his head. "I might have added a little extra something just for you."

You raise your head. "Why don't we go upstairs and you let me get my revenge?"

He huffs. "What's the point? You already came all over my seat."

"It wasn't your cock," you retort, untangling your wobbly legs from the bike. Bucky reaches out to steady you, pulling you to him by your waist.

"Fair point, pretty girl."