#feel free to pitch other birds!! I want to know your Worst Bird even if its not on the list!
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── PEREGRINE // THREE
Series Synopsis: The ways that you and Seishiro Nagi fall together and fall apart over the years.
Chapter Synopsis: You spend the night at May and Reo’s, and then you go to visit your parents.
Series Masterlist
Pairing(s): Nagi x Reader, Kira x Reader
Chapter Word Count: 5.0k
Content Warnings: unhealthy relationships, cheating, non-linear narrative, probably ooc, angst, nagi is endgame, kira sucks, alternate universe, original characters
A/N: literally twitching every time i have to write a chapter and nagi is just not in it LMAOAOA also l/n family slander is always acceptable here #iykyk
divider credits: @/benkeibear
“When do you plan on going to see your parents?” Reo said. You, May, and him were hanging out in their enormous kitchen as rain poured down outside, hammering against the windows and roof. The storm made you feel nostalgic, and you sighed wistfully as you watched the deluge.
“Probably tomorrow,” you said. “I just want to get it over with. Even without having the conversation, I know how it’s going to go. It’ll be the same as the usual, so there’s no point in delaying the inevitable.”
That probably didn’t mean much to either of the two, considering you had never divulged much to them. You had never been able to tell anyone about the details of your relationship with your parents — it was something secret and rotten that you held close to your chest, a hatred which festered in your stomach and cowered from the light, and you could not bear for anyone to see you like that.
“Do you want us to come?” May said. Although Reo had known you longer, May had always been the more perceptive between the two of them, had always been more in-tune with emotions — both her own and others’ — than anyone you had ever met.
“No, it’s okay,” you said. The last thing you needed was for your parents to see Reo, especially with his own fiancée. It would be the worst outcome, and when the situation was already bound to be so fraught, there was no sense in adding fuel to the fire.
“We’ll drop you off whenever, though,” Reo said. “That’s a promise.”
“No way,” you said. “You guys should be relaxing. The whole reason I came over early was to make things easier for you two during your wedding! I’m not about to cause extra problems. We’ll take the taxi, and then afterwards, I’ll look for wedding dress boutiques so we can book an appointment. We should probably get that over with soon, just in case it takes them time to get the fit altered.”
“If you mention my name, it’ll be finished in seconds,” Reo said dismissively. “Don’t worry about dumb stuff like that.”
“No need to brag,” you said, elbowing him in the side teasingly. “We should give them enough time to make sure the work is of the highest quality. Besides, we have to begin planning somewhere, don’t we? Might as well start with this.”
“But that’s another thing I can’t do with you guys,” he said. You could not help yourself from chuckling at the way he pouted, his eyes swimming with melodramatic tears.
“You’re seriously clingy,” you said.
“Once we’ve picked my dress, you can come help us choose the rest of the wedding party’s clothes,” May offered. “I don’t think there’s any superstition around that, is there?”
“No, it’s just that the groom isn’t supposed to see the bride’s dress until the wedding,” you said. “Everything else is alright. We can probably get the dresses and suits from the same shop, too, so we can kill two birds with one stone. Great idea, May!”
“Thanks,” May said.
“Just tell me when, and I’ll make sure Nagi is free — don’t look at me like that! You knew he was going to be the best man before accepting the maid of honor position. I warned you!” Reo said.
“I know, but I just…I mean, do you think he’s going to offer any valuable insight? Beyond saying something like ‘oh, this suit is less of a pain than that one,’” you said, pitching your voice deeper to mimic Nagi’s low, mild voice.
“He’s going to have to wear it, so his opinion is kind of relevant,” Reo said.
“What happened between you guys while we were gone, anyways?” May said. “It was pretty normal when we left, besides Kira making things kind of awkward, but after we got back from dropping him off, there was a really weird atmosphere. Did you guys talk about something?”
“Nothing in particular,” you said.
“That still means you talked,” Reo said. “May’s right. I thought you said you weren’t going to let the past impact the present, so what was that tense vibe all about?”
“I wasn’t going to,” you said. “He’s the one that brought it up!”
“Brought what up?” May said keenly. You gulped, suddenly feeling like you had walked into some kind of trap, though judging by Reo’s clueless expression, it was one that he, too, was unaware of.
“Um, just, our old animosity,” you said.
“He never disliked you, though,” Reo said. “I don’t know why he’d bring it up when he didn’t even have a problem in the first place.”
May laughed. “You hated someone who didn’t hate you back? So out of character, Y/N. What was the reason?”
“It doesn’t matter,” you said. “If you must know, things were weird because neither of us knew what to discuss without you there, Reo. We don’t have that much in common. The only things are being friends with you and going to the same high school.”
“That does make sense,” Reo said. “If I swear I won’t leave you two alone again, will you be less annoyed about him coming along?”
“If that’s the best deal I’m getting, then yes, I suppose so,” you said, even though a part of you wanted to be alone with Nagi for as long as possible. You knew, though, that it was better if you weren’t. Just the thought of Ryosuke’s face was enough to convince you that this was the only path forward, or, if nothing else, the simplest.
“Consider it done,” Reo said. “Are you sleeping in the guest room tonight?”
“If you don’t mind,” you said, directing the question to both him and May alike.
“It doesn’t bother us,” he said.
“We wouldn’t have let you come over if it was an issue,” May agreed with a yawn. Even though you weren’t that tired, you knew it was late, and unlike you, they had not slept half of the day away. You wanted to keep them up, to talk to them until your throat was dry, but it would be unkind, so you pretended to yawn as well.
“We should probably get to bed, then,” you said.
“Are you sure?” Reo said. “We can stay up a little longer if you’d like.”
“Yup, we can,” May said. You smiled but shook your head.
“No, I’m really tired. I’m just going to call Chigiri so I can see how Sora is doing, and then I’ll probably sleep myself,” you said.
“Okay, if that’s how you feel,” Reo said, beckoning you after him. “I’ll show you where everything is, and you can do what you need to. But be up for breakfast, alright? I’m calling one of my chefs to cook something for us, and if you miss it, I’ll be really angry.”
“You don’t have to do that,” you said.
“I don’t have to do a lot of things, but I do them anyways. Do you know why? It’s because I can,” he said. “So I will.”
“Honestly,” you said, shaking your head. “You’re such a show-off.”
“I have to look impressive for you,” he said.
“Aren’t we past that point now?” you said, thinking back to his ridiculous antics from high school. “I agreed to be your friend a while back.”
“Old habits die hard,” he said, shrugging and sticking his tongue out at you cheekily. You did the same back.
“Yeah, yeah,” you said. “Whatever, rich boy. I’ll be up.”
“Good,” he said, patting you on the head. “Sleep well, Y/N.”
“The same to you, Reo,” you said. “Tell May, too.”
“She’ll probably be over to wish you herself,” he said.
“I’ll stay up until she does, then,” you said.
“Sounds like a plan,” he said. “See you in the morning.”
“See you.”
The familiar motions of getting ready for the night were the same no matter where you went, serving as a backdrop for your thoughts, which even now had not settled.
It had been worse than you had expected. Seeing Nagi again, being so close to him after all of this time…you thought you could handle it, but you couldn’t. You thought that by finding him again, you could reaffirm your decisions, but the only thing he had done was throw everything into a muddle. As always. Why had you expected anything different?
The rain had not abated by the time you crawled under your sheets and scrolled through your list of contacts, searching for the one you wanted. You wished it would stop. The rain meant something different to you, and for that reason, you wanted it to go away, but the weather was ignorant to your desires, and so it continued to pour.
“Hey, Y/N. Calling already?” The screen only showed the top half of Chigiri’s face; most of it was dominated by the white of his ceiling and the whirring blades of his fan. He blinked his pretty eyes at you, obviously curious about what you needed. “Is everything okay?”
“Is Sora doing alright?” you said. The camera switched to show Chigiri’s lap, which was dominated by your large white cat, who was purring to herself as he pet her.
“We’re watching TV together,” he said. “I think she likes this show.”
“Sora,” you said, your voice shaking. “Are you being perfect for Chigiri?”
“Yes, I am,” Chigiri said, doing an admittedly excellent impression of a little girl. “That was Sora, by the way. Not me.”
You sniffed. “That’s good.”
“Seriously, is something up? You’re acting a little bit freaky,” he said, the camera flipping back to its original position, though he now held it at an angle where you could see his entire face.
You hugged a pillow to your chest, resting your chin atop it when you spoke. “I don’t know.”
“Do you wanna talk about it, or is this one of those moments where I’m supposed to distract you by talking about dumb bullshit?” he said.
“The second option,” you said. You didn’t want to talk to Chigiri about it. You didn’t want to talk to anyone about it, because no one could ever know, and besides, talking about it would make it real. It would mean that you had acknowledged it, and by breathing life into something so nebulous, you ran the risk of it taking on a tangible form that would jam down your throat and wrap around your joints, halting you from moving forward as you ought to.
“Okay. Um, I went for a walk today,” he said. “It was really nice out. I wanted to run, but I decided it was probably better that I didn’t. My neighbor’s garden is flourishing — you know, he doesn’t really seem like the type to be into flower-growing, but it looks nice. Lots of roses, which is surprising, considering the whole muscle-head aesthetic he has going on. Maybe I should try to be nicer to him.”
You giggled despite yourself. “Is this the one with the orange hair who helped me carry your groceries in when you were sick? He seemed like a good person. You should be nicer to him.”
“Yes, that one. It’s not like I’m mean or anything! I just prefer minding my own business,” he said.
“If you say so,” you said. “I am surprised he’s into growing roses and flowers and whatnot, though. I would’ve thought he was exclusively into making protein powder shakes.”
”That’s what I’m saying!” he said. “I suppose everyone has many sides to them.”
“Hm,” you said. “Say, Chigiri. Can I ask you a bit of a random question?”
“If I say no, you’re going to ask anyways, aren’t you?” he said dryly.
“Yeah,” you said.
“Then what was the point of checking first?” he said.
“I knew you’d say yes,” you said. He flushed at the way you had read him so well.
“Okay, okay. What is it?” he said.
“Do you know much about Japanese soccer?” you said.
“Obviously?” he said. “Why’d you even ask that? It’s kind of a given, you know.”
“It was just a prelude. There’s a player — former player — that I was wondering if you had any thoughts on,” you said.
“Which one? If you say Kira, I’m killing you,” he said.
“No, not him. Um, Seishiro Nagi?” you said.
Chigiri raised his eyebrows. “That’s unexpected.”
“What is?” you said.
“You being interested in a player like that,” he said. “He’s Reo’s best man, isn’t he? Why don’t you ask him yourself? You guys must’ve gone to high school together.”
“I want to hear what you think,” you said. “That’s why I’m going to you. Idiot.”
“I’m flattered. Well, keep in mind that this isn’t a professional evaluation or anything; I’ve never even met him, and anyways, I’m just a failed player myself, so I’m hardly qualified to give my opinion on anything,” he said.
“That’s not true, Chigiri,” you protested.
“It is. It’s okay; there’s no need to fight about it. That’s not what we’re talking about. My thoughts on Seishiro Nagi…he was talented, and that’s a fact. If I remember correctly, they used to call him the falcon of the field, right?” he said.
“Yes, I think that’s what it was,” you said.
“He was almost unbeatable. Sure, he had a few losses, especially earlier on in his career, but for the most part, facing off against him was like a death sentence for any team that had that misfortune. A combination of unorthodox thinking and unbelievable physicality made him a genuine threat,” he said.
“I see,” you said. “I knew all of that already, though.”
“Jeez, never satisfied, huh? It’s not like I know him personally, and I was already in college by the time he started really getting big. That’s about the extent of it,” he said. “If I remember, one of my high school friends had a sister who was a fan of his for a bit, but she got over it pretty quickly, since he never went on social media or anything. Guess it’s difficult to have a parasocial relationship with someone so private.”
“Even in high school, he was that kind of guy,” you said, unable to stop yourself from grinning affectionately, though you pushed it back before Chigiri could notice. “No one knew the first thing about him. He was such a mystery.”
“Some people are into that lifestyle, I suppose,” he said. You hummed.
“Guess so,” you said.
“I don’t really know much else, Y/N, I’m sorry. You’re going to have to talk to him if you want more,” he said. Scoffing, you shook your head resolutely.
“It was just a typical curiosity,” you said. “I don’t need more than that. Thanks, Chigiri.”
“Anything for you,” he said.
“You’re making me blush,” you deadpanned.
“It’s only because your cat’s so cute,” he said. “Mind if I keep her?”
“In your dreams,” you said. “Speaking of which, I should get to bed. Talk to you later.”
“Later.”
Only a few moments elapsed between Chigiri hanging up and May knocking on your door. You knew it was her because she was light and hesitant instead of firm and sharp, the way Reo would’ve been, and also because she announced herself shortly after.
“Come in!” you said, pulling your blanket up around your shoulders.
“Are you still talking with Chigiri?” she said, flopping down on the foot of the bed.
“Obviously not,” you said, nodding towards the blank screen of your phone. “I wouldn’t have told you you could come in if I was.”
“That’s true,” she said.
“What did you need to ask?” you said. There were never any secrets between you and May. It was impossible to lie to her when you had lived together with her for years, and conversely, she could never hide her true intentions from you.
“Nothing in particular,” she said. “Just…are you sure you’re going to be okay with this whole maid of honor thing? It seems like there’s way more to your history with Nagi than I realized. If you’re uncomfortable with it, then we can figure something else out.”
“No!” you said, too quickly for it to have been a natural reaction. “No, it’s okay. We’re okay. It was just really sudden today, that’s all. I wasn’t prepared to see him again. Please, I told this to Reo and I’ll say it to you too: don’t worry about me. Your wedding is the only thing you should be thinking about, and even that shouldn’t be a cause of anxiety. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Okay, but you’re my friend, and I don’t want you to be more stressed in my place or anything,” she said slowly. “If it’s a problem, you have to tell me immediately. Reo can pay someone else to be his best man, so it’s not a huge issue.”
“It wouldn’t be fair to him,” you said. “He’s been friends with Nagi for almost as long as he’s known me. I don’t want my own issues to ruin his wedding. Really, May, thank you for the concern, but there’s not a problem at all, and even if there is, I’ll handle it.”
You mimed hitting the air, and she snorted, shaking her head condescendingly.
“What, you gonna fistfight Nagi if he bothers you too much or something?” she said.
“Yeah. You don’t think I can win?” you said.
“I mean, considering he was a professional athlete until a few years ago and you’re…you,” she said. “No.”
“You should have more faith in me,” you said. “I can totally take him on. Bam! He won’t know what hit him.”
You punched your pillow for emphasis, which drew a giggle out of her. Taking the pillow from you, she fluffed it up again before handing it back so you could lay against it.
“I’ll bet on you, then, so you had better win, or else Reo won’t let me hear the end of it for a week or more,” she said. You flexed your biceps.
“You can count on me,” you said.
“On a more serious note, though, and now that Reo’s not around, will you tell me the truth about what Nagi brought up? I know you were lying earlier, but I figured you just didn’t want to make Reo feel bad. I’m sure it must be strange for him, having his two best friends dislike each other,” she said.
You had no interest in lying to her, but you also could not tell her the entire truth, so you decided to go with a version of it all.
“The past,” you said. “I don’t know if Reo’s mentioned it, but we had a very complicated relationship back then.”
“He never elaborated, though, to be fair, I don’t think he really understood it well enough in the first place. He just said that you seemed to really hate Nagi when you all went to school together, but you never told him why,” she said.
“I was embarrassed,” you said with a shrug. “It was an embarrassing reason, and not one that a person like Reo could ever understand, so I kept it to myself. Nagi never really had any friends, bar Reo of course, so no one ever thought any less of me for it.”
“Embarrassing?” she said, and then an idea dawned her, her expression morphing into one of pure horror. “If that overgrown q-tip of a man hurt you at some point, then I don’t care about Reo’s feelings. He’s out of the wedding!”
“Overgrown — what? What are you talking about?” you said.
“You said that it was an embarrassing reason that Reo could never understand,” she said. “What would be more embarrassing than you getting rejected by Nagi of all people? And I doubt Reo’s ever been rejected in his life, unfortunately, so he definitely wouldn’t comprehend that sort of feeling. If it’s the case, then just let me know and I’ll sort things out! Reo has other friends now, so he can just have one of them be his best man. Or there’s always the paid route, like I mentioned earlier.”
“It wasn’t like that,” you said. “Also, there’s no way Reo has other friends, so please don’t lie for my sake.”
“No, he does. If you don’t believe me, just wait for the wedding — you’ll meet them there. At the least, he can always get Chigiri to do it,” she said.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. “Anyways, though, it’s fine. You missed the mark this time, I’m afraid.”
“Oh. Then what was it?” she said. You smiled ruefully and shook your head.
“You wouldn’t understand, either, you know? So it’s okay. Enough of this; he knows better than to bring it up again, and I know better than to end up alone with him again,” you said.
She really was the loyal sort. It was evident in the way she hesitated before nodding, standing up with a furrow to her brow and a pensive twist to her mouth as she headed to the door.
“Y/N,” she said. “Like I said, the instant he pulls something, you tell me, alright? Before you get in a fistfight or anything ridiculous like that, come to me.”
“Got it,” you said. “I’ll remember that. Goodnight, May.”
“Goodnight.”
You wondered when it had come to be that you felt more uncomfortable with your own fiancé than anyone else. Yet it remained that being shoved in a taxi with him on the way to your childhood home was the oddest sensation you had experienced in so long that you found yourself once again longing for the days when it had been simpler, when you and him had gotten along in an easy way.
“Did you have a nice time at May and Reo’s?” Ryosuke said.
“I did,” you said. “Reo made one of his chefs come to serve us breakfast, so it was delicious.”
“It’s a good thing he’s about to be married, or I’d be jealous,” Ryosuke said. “How can a normal guy like me compete with that?”
“Stop,” you said. “He loves May. There’s no competition, and don’t say anything like that in front of my parents.”
“What?” he said in alarm. “Are there rules to this meeting? I was just planning on winging it!”
You held back the urge to groan. He could not be blamed; like Reo and May, he didn’t know what it meant for you to see your parents again, not fully. Why would he expect anything other than a normal meal at their place? But your parents weren’t that type, and if he just waltzed in and expected them to love him based on nothing but your fondness for him, then he was mistaken.
The home you had grown up in had not changed a bit in your absence. The same flowers still bloomed alongside the concrete path leading to the front door, and the bushes were still the exact emerald shade they had been on the day you had left. Foreboding crept in you as you ascended the stairs and pressed on the button for the doorbell, and you reached behind you to grab Ryosuke’s hand as footsteps approached the foyer.
“Mother,” you said when the door swung open, revealing a pair who, too, had not changed from the images of them which you held in your memories. “Father. It’s been a while.”
Your mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, and your father clenched his jaw as he regarded you and Ryosuke. For a brief moment, you thought that he would turn the two of you away, but he only glared at you for a second longer before motioning for you both to come in.
“Y/N,” your mother said. “We weren’t expecting you.”
“Did you think I’d miss the wedding?” you said.
“Wedding?” your father said.
“No need to play innocent,” you said, marveling at the nooks and crannies you had once known so intimately. “You know whose wedding I speak of.”
“It should’ve been yours,” your mother said.
“If things had gone the way you wanted, it would’ve been mine,” you agreed. “But they didn’t, and it’s not. It’s Reo and May’s.”
“There’s still time,” your father said. “They aren’t married yet. You could still—”
“When will you give up?” you said, cutting him off, squeezing Ryosuke’s hand — as much for his reassurance as your own. “I flew halfway across the world to escape you and your demands, and the first thing you do upon my return is make more? It’s shameless, father.”
“Why are you back here?” your mother said, presenting a tray filled with tea and biscuits to the two of you. You wavered before allowing yourself to pick up one of the cups, dipping a biscuit in it and chewing on it. The flavor reminded you of your childhood, immediately transporting you to the days when you had not despised your life so thoroughly and extremely. “You made your feelings quite clear when you left, so what brings you back?”
“He wanted to meet you,” you said. “Ryosuke Kira. My fiancé.”
“Hello, sir, madam,” Ryosuke said, bowing his head politely. You had to give him that — he was good at acting, and in this situation, it was a helpful attribute. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
“You seriously chose him over Reo Mikage?” your father said bluntly. “That’s a decision no one in their right mind would make.”
“Enough about Reo,” you hissed between your teeth before smiling tightly, your nails digging into the back of Ryosuke’s hand. “We aren’t here to go over that same argument. Aren’t you going to congratulate me? Your only daughter is getting married.”
“Does he have a house of his own?” your mother said.
“Yes,” you said.
“A job with a good income?” your father said.
“Well above average,” you said. “It’s secure, too.”
“Then it’s good enough,” your mother said, stiffly, insincerely. “He’s no corporate heir, but he’s a serviceable consolation prize. Congratulations, Y/N. You’ve done better for yourself than we expected.”
They didn’t ask if you loved him, or if he loved you in return, but why would they? It was unimportant. When it came to relationships and marriages, such fickle concepts as love could not be relied upon. It was the ideal that they had pounded into you from a young age: stability. Safety. It was easier to learn to love someone than it was to live a life without certainty. It was easier for you to pretend to be unaware of Ryosuke’s dalliances than it was for you to let go and live the rest of your life alone.
“I don’t think your parents liked me,” Ryosuke confessed upon entering the taxi you had called to take you back.
“Don’t take it personally,” you said. “They’re just upset that things didn’t go according to their carefully laid plans. It’s fine. I wasn’t expecting them to be happy, anyways. That went better than I anticipated, all things considered.”
“What plans?” Ryosuke said as the driver took off towards your hotel. Ryosuke would get down there, and you would continue on to the dress fitting appointment that Reo had somehow already managed to book before you had even woken up.
You weighed the merits of telling him, but came to the conclusion that it would only make things more difficult for you.
“Plans that never had a chance of success in the first place,” you said. “That’s the long and short of it. Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure,” he said. “What style of dress is May thinking of getting for the wedding party?”
“She mentioned wanting me to have a different dress than the rest of the bridesmaids, since I’m the maid of honor,” you said. “I think she wants it to be my choice.”
“How considerate of her,” Ryosuke said. “She really is such a sweet girl. And so pretty, too! She’ll make a beautiful bride.”
You thought back to what Nagi had said at dinner, your face souring as his cool, snarky tone rang in your mind. It looked like he wanted that waitress, too. And that hostess. And May. But I don’t think he’d go after her, because, y’know, Reo would be pretty mad, and he can definitely afford a better lawyer than Kira can if it comes down to it…
“Reo is lucky,” you said, though all you wanted to do was grab his face and demand he look at you. Aren’t I beautiful, too? Aren’t I sweet, too? You wanted to scream these things at him, but you feared that the answers were not ones you’d prefer, so you remained silent.
“I bet you’ll look great, too,” he said. “Make sure you pick something flattering. I want everyone to see just how amazing my fiancée is.”
“I would’ve done that regardless,” you said.
“Maybe you should FaceTime Chigiri and ask for his advice! We all know how well he can pull off a dress,” he said, snickering.
“That happened once, and you need to stop bringing it up. It wasn’t even his choice,” you said, though you could not suppress a laugh at the memory of the time that you and May had forced Chigiri into a dress so that you could sneak him into a Halloween party with you.
“As you wish,” he said. “Looks like this is my stop. Text me when you’re on the way back!”
“Okay,” you said. “Wait. Ryosuke.”
“What’s up?” he said.
“Can I, uh, send you pictures? Of my options? So you can help me choose?” you said, hating how uncertain your voice sounded, the cracking hinting at your true meaning — tell me. Tell me what I will look worthy of you in. Tell me what it is you want from me.
“Can’t you just pick on your own?” he said. “I was planning on taking a nap and then going to eat. I won’t really have time. Ask May or Reo if you’re stuck.”
It had been a foolish idea to begin with, and as the taxi you were in accelerated away from him, you cursed yourself for even trying. After all, if a simple dress would’ve been enough for your fiancé’s eyes to remain on you, then they never would’ve strayed in the first place.
taglist (comment/send an ask to be added): @mariyumemi @naatggeo @prettyarsxnist @noble-17 @rinitoshisgirl @stuckindreamland06
#nagi x reader#nagi x y/n#nagi x you#nagi seishiro#bllk x reader#bllk#blue lock#reader insert#modern au#peregrine#m1ckeyb3rry writes
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brought to you by Worst Birds!
very sad there's a limit to how many options you can have so I tried to get a range of the responses, you have One (1) Week to get your Worst Bird vote in!
#feel free to pitch other birds!! I want to know your Worst Bird even if its not on the list!#campaign: skyjacks#worst bird post
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OC Deep Dive Questionnaire Tag
A set of 20 questions to get to know your oc! Ty for tagging me @akitasimblr 💖 I'm gonna do Eva (right), since she won't be playing a big role in Chapter 10
What uncommon/common fear do they have? She'd defintiely be afraid of bugs and would have either Wyatt or Jayden get rid of it (mostly Wyatt though bc they'd enjoy bugs and wouldn't kill them [and would scold Jayden for trying to kill them])
Do they have any pet peeves? Some of her pet peeves include when people bump into her and don't apologize and when people arrive to her college class wreaking of weed
What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom? Books, posters of her favorite bands, and her trusty headphones, of course
What do they notice first in a person? Their emotional state. It's the sole reason Eva decided to approach Megyn at the beginning of the story. She noticed Megyn soaking wet and looking frantic, and since she's an empathetic person who loves helping others out, she followed her to make sure she was ok
On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance? I'd say it's mid, like a 5. Not the worst but not the best
Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure? I think she'd fight, even if it's not in her best interest to do so
Do they come from a big family/are they a family person? For the most part yes, she's a family person, though her immediate family just consists of her parents and herself (and she quarrels with them sometimes). However since she's Vietnamese through her dad she's definitely close with that side of the family since everyone visits each other a lot and the grandparents (who are Vietnamese immigrants) host family events with their children and grandchildren (aka Eva's immediate family plus Barry's siblings and their children/Eva's cousins)
What animal represents them best? She definitely gives off excited dog energy, specifically the golden retriever
What is a smell that they dislike? This ties in with her pet peeve, but she dislikes the smell of weed (but she tolerates it if she knows people are gonna be smoking it, like a concert)
Have they broken any bones? Eva was a very active kid growing up and was very accident-prone, so yea, I think she most likely has broken a bone. I can see her having needed a walking boot at some point, so I'll say that she broke her ankle when she was a kid. She would have totally had her friends sign the initial cast before transitioning to a walking boot
How would a stranger likely describe them? Exuberant, lively, energetic, very friendly, and unique
Are they a night owl or a morning bird? Definitely a night owl
What is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love? She dislikes grape-flavored things and loves strawberry-flavored things
Do they have any hobbies? She loves to read, listening to music, and going to the gym
Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprises? She LOVES surprises and the friends would definitely through a surprise party for her. She'd be absolutely thrilled if they did that for her
Do they like to wear jewelry? Yes. Earrings and necklaces are the way to go for her
Do they have neat or messy handwriting? It's legible to most people but it definitely leans towards messy
What are two emotions they feel the most? Excitement and intrigue
Do they have a favorite fabric? Anything that's soft and cozy such as fleece
What kind of accent do they have? She has a medium-high pitched American accent that's sharp, clear, and lively. It contrasts Megyn's voice which is very soft and a little raspy (so opposite of that)
Tagging @thebramblewood @dreamlandiasims @seyvia (feel free to ignore) and anyone else who wants to do this bc Idk who to tag 🙃
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[Hogs Killing A Snake by John Steuart Curry; American Gothic by Grant Wood]
I’ve been thinking about the digital experience of art since going to the museum yesterday. My mother loves to see art, and she loves it when I go and send her photos. Any museum I go to now, I’m not only there looking; I’m snapping photos of art I like and sending them to her, and she sends back commentary. It slows me down to look for longer, and it also allows me to have a dialogue with someone even when I’m there alone. For example, she knows I love Hogs Killing A Snake, and I loved that it was across a gallery room from American Gothic so that it looked like the woman in American Gothic was watching it happen. So I sent her this picture to express sadness that it had been moved. I am now at once both museum guest and amateur curator.
It got me to thinking that if I had the coding ability or the sheer time or the fundraising ability, I would build an app that connects people who are going to museums with people who want to see art but can’t, for whatever reason -- particularly senior citizens who are maybe a bit frail to get out, or aren’t near art and have no good way to get to it. Or even just, I’d love to see Guernica and while clearly I can look at it in books, I feel the experience of someone texting me a live photo of the painting would be exciting, and my odds of getting to Madrid anytime soon are low. Like yes, most museums have their collections online and many have virtual tours you can take, but it’s not the same as having another person there to offer their opinion and ask yours.
The idea would be that if you’re going to an art museum, you log into the app and tell it the time, date, and museum you’ll be going to, and it matches you with someone who, at that point in time, is free to receive photos and descriptions of the art you see and respond to them -- maybe even request a specific piece or subject matter (my mother likes birds and sculpture). You could also build a “tour” that someone could explore later if they wanted. You could even find someone who wants to see a museum near you and go just for them.
There are logistical problems of course -- the whole “dick pic” issue being probably the worst, and it would be devastating to expect an art tour and then the person never logs on -- but I feel those could be got around. I don’t think funding would be much of an issue, lots of philanthropists want to support the arts and museums could kick in or even become participants (for example offering discounts on tickets to people who are going there to give a “tour”). You could program it to know when you arrive at the museum and prompt you with a reminder to take lots of pictures and send them to your “guest”. And since the messages would be in-app nobody would have anyone else’s phone number unless they hit it off and wanted to tell each other so they could do future “tours”.
IDK, I don’t know how people build apps or even how they pitch them to potential funders, but I might investigate. I think it’s a fun idea.
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Die Reise des Raben
Kaz Brekker x female reader
warnings: violence, death, swearing
word count: 4k
A/N: My first try at writing ever. Feedback is highly appriciated. If you see grammer or spelling mistakes, feel free to message me so I can fix the mistakes. English is not my first language. I really hope you guys enjoy my story!
(Y/N) had only been six years old when it had first happened. She had played hide and seek at her home with a boy from the neighbourhood and, in her humble opinion, found the best hiding spot of all time. In her parents' closet there was a small room behind the back wall. Hardly big enough to squeeze in and completely empty except for two swords. When her eyes fell on the swords, it was as if she could hear a whisper. (Y/N) looked over her shoulder, but she was still alone in her parents' room. She looked back at the swords and examined them more closely. They were not particularly long. The scabbard was made of blood-red wood and covered with black patterns that looked like bird feathers. The hilt was black too and (Y/N) wondered what the rest of the sword would look like. She reached out for one of the swords but hesitated to touch it. (Y/N) had always been fascinated by knives and had started early to always carry one with her when she played outside. The barrel was dangerous – even for children. But her mother, after catching her five-year-old daughter with a knife and bloody hands, had forbidden her to even touch a sharp knife. It wasn't her blood at all, but that of an older boy who had tried to take the few coins from her that she was supposed to use to buy bread from the baker.
'But this wasn't a knife, right?' (Y/N) thought. And even if she wanted to resist – she just couldn't. The two swords seemed to have a magical pull on her. With one last look over her shoulder, (Y/N) grabbed the sword closest to her. As her hand closed around the sword, she felt a shiver run through her. With her other hand she drew the sword from its scabbard. The blade was made of dark curved steel and (Y/N) immediately had the feeling that her and had merged with the handle, like the coldness of the steel seeps into her arm. She closed her eyes. It felt so right.
“Honey, where are you? Peter can't find you anywhere…. Oh my god (Y/N)! Drop that sword immediately!” (Y/N) opened her eyes and saw her completely astonished mother standing in front of her. (Y/N) could see the sheer panic in her eyes. Her father rushed into the room and stopped dead when he saw his daughter. Both parents had their eyes fixed on the arm (Y/N) was holding the sword with. She lowered her gaze and realized what had frightened her parents. Black patterns similar to those on the scabbard ran over her hand and up to the elbow. They would have been reminiscent of tattoos if they hadn't withdrawn in front of their eyes towards the sword.
"(Y/N), put the sword down and come over here," urged her mother. (Y/N) put the sword back into its sheath and carefully placed it on the ground. She didn't really want to let go of it, but the desire to placate mother was stronger.
"I suspected it," (Y/N)'s father mumbled and looked at his wife as she hugged (Y/N). "She has always had an affinity for blades. But that the wakizashi would react so strongly to her..."
"Put these things away," (Y/N)'s mother hissed and led her daughter out of the room.
The rest of the day (Y/N) tried to get her parents to talk to her about what had happened. But her mother made it clear that they would never talk about the swords again and that (Y/N) should forget about them immediately. Her father would sell them at the port tomorrow. (Y/N) shivered at the thought, but she saw no chance of keeping the
swords from being sold.
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Everyday life quickly went back to normal, and nobody said a word about the two swords. But (Y/N) could not forget the feeling, the power that flooded her as she held the sword. So, she got herself two wooden sticks, carved them into shape as best she could, and trained. She had no idea how to wield a sword, but she practiced and practiced until her arms got
heavy. Her stamina had improved, but it was far from being called a fighting technique. She found school teaching sword fight in the university district near the 1st port. It was a long way from the barrel, but since her parents were working all day anyway, she had enough time to get there and come back unnoticed. (Y/N) secretly observed the students through a
window. She tried to memorize everything to recreate it later with her makeshift swords.
She hid the wooden swords under a loose floorboard in her room. As she was about to put them away again, her father came into the room to get her for dinner. (Y/N) froze, still one of the swords in hand. Her father looked from his daughter to the sword and back again. Then he closed the door and went up to her. (Y/N) didn't know what to expect, though it was
not the understanding look he gave her.
"You secretly exercise?" It sounded more like a statement than a question.
"Yes, for a while now," (Y/N) answered. Why should she lie?
Her father laughed softly. "I should have guessed. After all, you are the first to whom the wakizashi responded since your great-grandfather."
"What do you mean by that?" (Y/N) asked.
"These swords have been in my family for centuries. Most of the members could wield them like ordinary short swords. For some, however, these patterns appeared. It was as if the swords themselves gave them more power, speed and strength. My grandfather still didn't use them very often. He said he felt like he was losing his soul to the swords. That he felt a darkness dwelling in them. How much of it is true I can't say, but I hope you never have to find out. And now let us go out to eat."
After her father had finished, (Y/N) was left with more questions than answers.
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4 years later
The second time (Y/N) picked up those swords was on the day that changed her life forever.
She woke up when she heard screams from the staircase. The next second her father stormed into the room and pulled her out of her bed and towards her parents' bedroom.
"Dad, what's going on?" (Y/N) asked slightly panicked.
"You have to hide immediately. And no matter what you hear or see - DON'T COME OUT!" her father replied while he opened the door to the closet and pushed (Y/N) into the small room behind the wall unit. It was pitch black in (Y/N)'s hiding place, but she could hear the front door being kicked in and her mother screaming.
"Please excuse our unannounced visit," (Y/N) heard a deep male voice sneer, "But you're far behind with your payment and Bayson has announced what will happen if you can't pay."
"Please, Tom, we've already given Bayson everything we could spare. Please give us a few more weeks - we'll get the money," (Y/N)'s father pleaded.
"No, you had your chance," Tom answered.
"If you kill us, you will never get your money," (Y/N)'s mother whimpered.
(Y/N) sat in her hiding place, frozen with fear. Her parents owed money to some gangsters? Why hadn't they said anything to her? She could have gotten a job. She could have helped. What should she do now? Would these guys really kill her parents? She had to get to them and try to protect them. But she couldn't move, the fear was too strong. And honestly... what could she have done?
"That's true," Tom's voice was cold and void of any emotion, "But you'll be a deterring example to anyone who thinks they can mess with the Blue Moons. And maybe your pretty daughter can bring in a few more Kruge."
"Don't you dare-," (Y/N)'s father began, but before he could end his threat, two shots rang out, followed by two thuds.
"What weaklings, it’s a miracle they survived in the barrel for so long," (Y/N) heard Tom laugh.
(Y/N) had pressed her hands over her mouth to stifle the scream that threatened to break out. Tears sprang to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
"Boss, the girl is not here," one of the men reported.
"Doesn't matter. One more orphan in the barrel. She won't survive for long on her own anyway. Let's get out of here," Tom replied and (Y/N) heard steps moving away. She stayed in the room for a while and then forced herself to leave her hiding place.
It was dark in the apartment and only a single candle was still burning in the hallway. (Y/N) forced herself to take the last step into the hallway and saw her parents slumped on the floor.
'Headshot,' thought (Y/N) absentmindedly. At least it had been quick. She felt like she was detached from her body. She sank down in a daze. What should she do now? Get the stadwatch? She snorted at the thought. Nobody cared about two dead people from the barrel. And certainly not about her. At best she would go to an orphanage, at worst she would be sold to someone.
'I should leave while I still can,' she decided.
After throwing a few things into her bag, she went back to her parents' bedroom. She knew that her father kept the old, small family photo album in one of his drawers. He had often looked at it with her in the past. When she was about to put it in her bag, a piece of paper fell out. (Y/N) picked it up and recognized her father's handwriting.
They are not sold. I knew that one day you would need them. I hid them under my mattress. I am sorry that I will no longer be there to protect you. But you are strong, you will live!
Love, Dad.
(Y/N) blinked away the tears and pulled the mattress off the bed to get the swords. She would train until she was strong enough to kill every one of the Blue Moons. They would pay for what they did to their family. They would all die, and she would live.
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4 years later
She had saved Boysen for last. Enjoyed how his panic grew with every member of the Blue Moons found dead and slashed. She had initially intended to kill him right away, but it was better to start with some weaker members first to practice her skills. And Tom had fit perfectly in that category. He had been the first person (Y/N) ever killed. And it had been great. The second she had grabbed the wakizashi to avenge her family, she had felt like she was born to do exactly that. To bring pain and darkness. She had felt the power spreading throughout her body and had welcomed the cold that allowed her to kill without hesitation.
At first, she had planned to wipe out the Blue Moons as soon as possible, but in time she had found a pleasure in watching them first try to find her and later try to hide from her. (Y/N) took more than a year to gradually thin the ranks of the Blue Moons. But tonight, she would end it. There were only Boysen and half a dozen of his men left. He had gathered his best men a while ago and went underground. Left the rest of the gang to their fate.
(Y/N) stood in the shadow of an old house, watching a warehouse on the docks. There she had located the rest of the Blue Moons. Her hood was pulled low over her face, so the raven mask was barely visible. The black tattoos that always appeared as soon as she fought with the swords could already be seen on her hands and arms. She slid noiselessly along the hall. Only one man stood guard. That was done quickly. (Y/N) covered his mouth from behind to stifle his scream as she pierced him with her short sword. (Y/N) let the man fall to the ground and entered the hall through a side entrance. There were four men sitting around a table playing cards. Boysen and another man stood a little further away and seemed to be discussing something.
"Hello guys," (Y/N) said, enjoying the panic breaking out around her. The men almost toppled over each other in a rush to get their weapons.
"How did you find us, Rabe?" Boysen called and aimed his gun at (Y/N) with a trembling hand.
"Oh, I just followed the stink of fear and voila, here you are," (Y/N) said as she looked at the men. She felt the swords literally vibrate in her hands. The urge to kill was almost overwhelming.
'In a moment, a little more patience,' (Y/N) thought.
"We are not afraid of you. You have no chance against all of us," one of the other men replied.
"Is that so?" (Y/N) asked softly and looked at the man with a tilted head, "Well, then I'll teach you fear."
She ran off. Faster than a human should be able to. She felt the power rush through her veins, making her faster and stronger. She was in a frenzy. The first two men were dead before anyone could really process what had happened. The other two at the table opened fire. (Y/N) whirled her swords and fended off the bullets. The men got big eyes and stumbled backwards.
"What the hell are you?" one of them shouted.
"Your end," (Y/N) jumped up to the men and slit them open with two well-aimed blows. Blood spurted from their wounds and in their last seconds the men tried in vain to keep their intestines from oozing out.
She turned away and set about crushing the last two cowardly rats. Boysen and his companion had run away, but they couldn't have been far yet.
(Y/N) ran over the roofs and discovered the two men trying to untie a boat at the harbour.
She knocked the head off the shoulders of the one man without further ado. His body fell into the water with a loud splash. Boysen spun around and fired a pistol. But (Y/N) was prepared for it, ducked away, knocked the weapon out of his hand and held her two swords crossed in the shape of an X in front of his neck.
Boysen was frozen.
"Why me? Why the Blue Moons?” he asked.
"You had my family killed. With others, you may have always gotten away with it. It's just your bad luck that I'm the uncrowned queen here in the barrel when it comes to killing." With these words, (Y/N) slit Boysen’s throat, but only enough to render him helpless. He would bleed to death slowly and painfully. He slumped to the ground and stared up at her. She smiled down at him.
She stayed with him until he took his last breath. She felt nothing, no remorse, no regrets. Only darkness, but at the same time a deep satisfaction that always set in after a fight with her swords. She put the wakizashi back into their sheaths. She knew she had already gone too far.
There was no turning back for her. Her great grandfather might have been strong enough to withstand the call of the swords. But she wasn’t, the rush was too good. So why should she stop?
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1 year later
She strolled along the harbour, the adrenaline still pumping through her veins. The black patterns hadn't completely withdrawn after their last fight and (Y/N) still felt the strength and darkness that came with the use of her wakizashi. It was like a frenzy. Fighting with her swords was like a drug. And (Y/N) was a hopeless junkie. She had long since given up on worrying that the darkness and bloodlust would eventually devour her completely. Because it was bound to happen as long as she wielded the swords. And while she was a good shot and a very passable fighter with her fists – as she had to, to survive this long in the barrel – she was the deadliest with her swords. She had made a name for herself as Der Rabe and was able to keep herself afloat from the jobs she received. At least until she wouldn't be fast enough in a battle, or the swords would drive her crazy. She had lived in the barrel since she was born, at some point the time would just run out, so why worry? What in her life was worth fighting for, except for the next meal? Everyone fought for themselves, others were always a risk. Trusting the wrong people could end badly. Very bad. (Y/N) put one hand over her heart where the faded scar was.
Lost in thought, she almost overheard the voice that seemed to come from the dock. (Y/N) looked over the edge in astonishment. The picture that presented itself should have been disturbing, but she had seen a lot in her time in the barrel. A boy with dark hair, about her age, was hanging on the ladder and muttering to himself. He looked more dead than alive. Not far from him another body was floating in the water. Already rotting and bloated.
It was clear that the dark-haired boy would never make it up the ladder. Any second, he would let go and sink down.
'At least it's over then,' (Y/N) thought and was about to turn away when the boy opened his eyes and looked up at her. (Y/N) caught her breath and a pleasant shiver ran down her spine. His eyes were such a piercing, rich blue that they seemed to glow even in his dirty, sunken face.
When (Y/N) went down the ladder to drag the boy onto the quay wall, she didn't know exactly why she wanted to help him. She had seen many people in need in the barrel and had not wasted a second on them. Perhaps it was the seemingly irrepressible determination in those blue eyes that seemed to call out, "I want to live!"
Somehow, she felt connected to the boy.
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"I can do it. I have to make it. I can do it," Kaz kept muttering to himself so as not to completely lose consciousness. His whole body ached, and he knew that he wouldn't have long before all his strength would leave him. Kaz blinked up. He just had to climb this incredibly high and steep ladder and then he would be safe. At least safe from drowning. Everything else he would worry about when the time came.
'I can do it ... I just need to rest for a moment,' Kaz closed his eyes and continued muttering to himself. He felt his grip begin to loosen and tears his eyes open. On the quay wall he saw a figure completely clad in black, who seemed to be watching him with their head tilted. They were wearing a knee-length coat and had the hood pulled over their head. Their mouth was covered by a tube scarf and the area around the eyes was covered by some kind of mask. The figure reminded Kaz of a reaper. 'No way, forget it,' Kaz thought, 'You definitely won't get me tonight! Not after all I have endured to get here.'
Kaz stared at the figure stubbornly. But when they swung themself over the quay wall and descended the ladder, fear seized him. What was that supposed to mean? Would they throw him in the water? Why didn't they just move on?
When the figure was only a step above him, they turned and grabbed his arm with one hand still on the ladder. At the touch bile rose up in Kaz' throat and he fought against the looming faint that threatened to overwhelm him. He tried to tear himself away from the hand that was holding him and didn't even notice that the person didn't want to push him away, but rather pull him up.
"Hey, stop fidgeting. I'm trying to save your ass right now and I don't feel like going for a swim," Kaz heard a voice that could hardly be made out through the fabric in front of the mouth. Still, Kaz could hear that the voice sounded feminine and didn't quite match the Reaper Kaz had in front of him. `Why is she whispering?’ Kaz wondered and paused to look at the girl, because that was what she had to be. But through the hood and mask he couldn't see anything except a pair of dark eyes that glared at him angrily.
The girl used the short pause to tighten her grip. She had amazing strength in her arm and managed to pull Kaz onto the ladder. Kaz found support with his foot on the lowest step but was now so close to the girl that he felt the panic collapse over him. Everything went black and he only heard the curse the girl uttered before the darkness completely enveloped him.
"What the hell- ?!" (Y/N) wrapped her arm around the boy's chest to keep him on the ladder, but he sagged completely and dragged her into the water. (Y/N) reappeared with a splutter, still holding the boy.
"Holy shit, is that cold!" she cursed and paddled back to the ladder to grab it with one hand.
"Hey, wake up! Wake up!” she shook him, but he didn't react. She felt for a pulse – why should she bother when he is already dead? With bated breath she waited - and felt a pulse. Alive but unconscious.
"Shit, what now?" she thought. Let go of him? No, that was out of question. (Y/N) looked up and counted the stairs. Seven. She could do seven. She was a good deal taller than him and had a strong upper body from all the sword training. She pulled the boy's arms over her shoulders, so his chest was pressed against her back and tied his wrists with her belt to keep him from slipping off during the ascent. She pulled herself up on the first step. The boy hung on her back like a heavy backpack.
'Thank God he's so emaciated, otherwise this would never work,' (Y/N) thought.
After three steps she had to readjust the boy's arms, her own burning from the effort of lifting herself and easily 45 kilograms of dead weight.
"Why am I doing this to myself again?! For a pair of pretty eyes? I must be completely crazy," (Y/N) grumbled to herself.
After what felt like an eternity, (Y/N) heaved herself and the boy over the quay wall. With her eyes closed she lay on her side panting to catch her breath. She untied the boy's hands and sat up.
'I'll have sore muscles tomorrow,' she thought as she rolled her shoulders to relieve the tension in her cramped joints. She looked at the boy who was still unconscious. She shook his shoulder again to wake him, but again he didn't move.
"Oh, isn't that convenient for you," (Y/N) muttered, "If you think I'll drag you just a meter further, you're wrong."
She looked around, you could already see dawn looming at the horizon, and she really had to hurry to get back to her room and change.
Again, she looked at the dark-haired boy. He was so pale, and his cheekbones were sharp against his face. 'If I leave him here and he dies, the whole effort would be in vain,' she thought. (Y/N) got up with a sigh, fastened her swords – which fortunately were still where she had left them – and grabbed one of his arms.
"So much on the topic 'Not one meter further'," (Y/N) thought. She slung him over her shoulder and pulled and dragged the boy toward the boarding house.
"He’ll be safe there for the time being and can recover. It’s time to look for something new anyway. I just take him there and then I'm really gone," (Y/N) debated quietly to herself.
TBC
#shadow and bone#shadow and bone imagine#shadow and bone x reader#kaz brekker#kaz brekker x reader#six of crows imagine#six of crows#six of crows x reader
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Bird Watchers
It was something like an open secret in Gotham, that even though all it’s heroes were open to help no matter the situation, each one of them had a special affinity to certain matters.
For example, children from all districts knew to yell for Nightwing if they found themselves lost and scared. Small business owners often painted little Oracle symbols on their doorsteps, to warn away possible thieves with the knowledge that Gotham’s cryptic hacker had their eye on them. Working girls would send a quick prayer to the Red Hood before seeing their seediest clients; and as such, knew who to call for if things took a turn for the worst.
And Red Robin… well. His was a very specific bunch.
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Warnings: depression, suicide attempts, overdose comic-typical violence (discussed, not explicit). Hurt-comfort all the way, baby. There’s also one scene, with the redhead, that I copied from the comics.
(it’s almost 2 am, I wrote half of this in one go, don’t @ me for mistakes. I’ll edit tomorrow. Maybe.)
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The first time he stopped a suicide, he had just turned thirteen. The suit still felt wrong, too loose in all the places where Jason’s bigger presence would have been a better fit. Too small, too brainy, not brash enough, not good enough.
He would never think himself worthy, but he was all Batman had. There were no other candidates, not ones he could have thrown the job at without risking Bruce’s identity, so he’d have to make do.
But even so, he had been gaining a little confidence over the past few months. His training with Shiva, and Dick’s and Bruce’s focus on making him as ready for the streets as humanly possible, had ensured he never encountered a situation where he couldn’t handle himself, or get back up in time to avoid any casualties.
Except for right now.
“Hey! Don’t do it, please!”
Yeah, maybe yelling at the man precariously balanced on the edge of a how many feet tall building wasn’t his wisest moment. He’d berate himself later. Now was freak out time.
Said man stumbled for a second before regaining his footing and turning to look at Tim. He couldn’t be more than forty, with a bit of an overgrown beard and tired eyes. He had something clutched in one hand, tanned and calloused from work, the other over his chest, probably due to the scare of having a bat suddenly appearing behind him.
“R-Robin…”, he gasped, shook out of whatever reverie he was going through for a second. “W-what… I mean, why are you…?”
‘Okay, Tim, breath. Can’t call B, he’ll notice, get startled and jump. Can I catch him if he does? My grappling hook is made to withstand more than my weight, but if I can’t handle the strain of swinging us both to safety…’
He couldn't risk it.
“Good evening, Mr…?”
Surprise and good manners made the man automatically answer, “Ed. Ed Harrinson.”
Encouraged, Tim took a tiny teeny step forward. Ed’s entire body shock and he leaned backwards. Tim froze, fear keeping his breathing and heartbeat hostages for the time being, stopping the first and kick starting the second.
“Mr Harrinson, I’d like to ask you to step away from the edge? I’ll call an ambulance for you, and…”
“No!”, the man screamed, suddenly over his surprise, a look of determination trying to masquerade his obvious exhaustion. “If you call an’one, I’ll jump.”
Tim wisely kept the ‘you were gonna do it anyway’ to himself. He nodded slowly, hands emerging from the confines of his cape to show Mr Harrinson the lack of a communication device.
“I won’t, then, but may I come closer? Please?”
It was on the last word, high pitched and wavering, that the man cracked. With wary demeanor, he waved him over, pointing to a patch of rooftop a little far but close enough for Tim to feel comfortable- or as comfortable as he’d get, in these circumstances.
As he approached, he could feel the man analyzing him. The little gasp when he stood by his side didn’t go unnoticed.
“You are… smaller than I imag’ned. Too small for a bat. My boy’s taller than you” he mused, likely to himself, but Tim grasped onto that bit of information and clutched at it with both hands, desperately.
“I’m short compared to my peers, so maybe I’m the same age as your son. How old is he?”, he asked, in his most conversational tone. Fear still had a grasp over both his lungs and heart.
Something in the man’s face shifted.
“He… he just turned fifteen.” Older than Tim, then. Ed continued, “He’s… ”, in a second, the sadness was replaced by pride, “he’s grown up p’tty well, if I say so m’self. A fine young man, that kid. He’ll go places.”
For a beat, Tim tried to imagine his own dad here. As much as he’d hate to see Jack in Mr Harrinson’s place, he couldn't help but wonder if he’d be talking about him the same way Ed spoke about his son.
He… didn’t think so. If on the verge of death, thoughts about his son would probably be the farthest from his dad’s mind.
“You sound like you love him very much. He’s a lucky guy” he said sincerely, a tendril of hopefulness still twisted around his stomach. His hands weren’t shaking any longer, finding solace in the fact that the man in front of him didn’t look like he was about to jump right that second.
Mr Harrinson’s face fell.
“Got served an’ unlucky hand, with an old man like me”, his eyes went back to the abyss, to the empty, poor litten streets below them. “Go ‘way, kid. Leave m’ be. Notta business what I do. Gotta do this f’r my kid.”
Fear came back, full force.
“I- Sorry, but I can’t help but think about your son”, he blurted out, the only bit of information he had about the man was his only tendril of hope. “Someone who loves his child as much as you seem to must be a good father. A father that… would be missed dearly, if lost so young.”
Mr Harrinson looked even more devastated. Tim was doing this all wrong, wasn’t he?
“There’s no other way t’ keep’im safe!'' he yelled, and for a minute Tim thought he had decided to jump then and there. Instead, he dropped to his knees, hands to his head, paper still clutched in one fist. “They’ll get to him if I don’t! Once I’m dead, they’ll just leave’im alone!”
Tim crouched next to him, tentative.
“Who is ‘they’, sir? Maybe I could help…”
Ed was already shaking his head.
“Nay, they said not to go to the bats. Kill my boy, they will, if I do. Seen them offing others for less, so I believe them.”
“Ah, but I’m too short to be a bat, am I not?” he smiled, wobbly at best but sincere. “Besides, who’s gonna tell them you spoke to me? I”, he gestured to his mask, “know how to keep a secret.”
He considered for a beat, before tired shoulders fell, defeated. He offered the slip of paper towards him, unseeing eyes on the street below.
Robin read the note carefully, noting the sloppy penmanship and cheap paper as well as the message itself.
“Mr Harrinson…”
“I know”, he whispered, “I know working for the Black Mask wasn’t my best idea. But m’boy needed to eat, and the landlord was gettin’ impatient. And now, for whatever reason, boss wants me dead. And if I make ‘im dirty his own hands, he’ll dirty ‘em twice and send me with my son for company to the other side. Felix is too young, and he’s good. Can’t let ‘im pay f’ his old man m’stakes, ya hear me?”
Tim thought his words over carefully.
“Mr Harrinson… I don’t think this comes from Black Mask himself”, for one, Blackie wasn’t one to avoid blood on his gloves, nor to send such a shitty note. The man lived for the drama, like most A-listers did, and he’d never forgo the aesthetic of an expensive peachment and beautifully worded threat. Also, if he wanted this man gone, he would have put a bullet in his head the second he clocked in; and if it were revenge he was after, he wouldn't have gotten a warning note but his son’s head sent to him instead.
He folded the paper and put it into one of his multiple pockets, free hand going to the man’s shoulder.
“I know Black Mask’s M.O, mister, and this is not it”, no need to spook him further by describing what it was, though. “Probably just a colleague who wanted your position, or has a grudge for whatever reason. And that, I can help you with. If you work with me on this one, we can both make sure Felix has his Dad making breakfast for him tomorrow morning, and all the days after that. After all”, he smiled, no longer uncertain now that he had firm ground to work with, “your son is going places, and he’ll have to be well fed to reach them, right?”
Mr Harrinson’s smile must have had magical properties, Tim thought. There was no other explanation for the way it returned his breath back to his body.
---.----
The next time he saw a jumper, a few months later, he was slightly more ready for it. Bruce had congratulated him on his work with Mr Harrinson, and the subsequent raid they could make on one of Black Mask’s warehouses thanks to the man’s information, but Tim hadn’t been satisfied until he had read every single mission report on the batcomputer about attempted suicides. And succeed ones, too. Need to know what went well and what didn’t, after all.
So when he saw the fifty-something woman crying on top of a tower in City Hall District, he didn’t almost-crash in his attempt to get there in time. He landed softly, making just enough noise to let her know she wasn’t alone, but careful to not startle her.
“It’s a little cold up here, Lady. If you’d like, I can walk you home?”, he tries for cheeky, despite the cold fear nesting in his stomach like a grumpy, spiteful bird.
The woman, sitting by the edge, turned her head to look at him. The movement called attention to her long, strawberry blonde hair, neatly braided, and her pretty diamond earrings. The face under her perfect make up was gaunt and pale, tear tracks cleaning paths of skin to his trained eye.
Despite him interrupting what probably were very private thoughts, she smiled at his approach, kind and polite. It didn’t reach her eyes, but the intent to put him at ease was generous enough.
“I may be a lady, but any adult worth their salt would insist on walking the young child home, instead of the opposite. Besides”, she patted the rooftop under her,” I live here, so it’s not a long walk at all.”
Tim stepped closer, carefully.
“May I sit?”
“I could use the company for a bit”, she accepted, head turning back to the city below.
They sat there for a few minutes in silence, before Tim’s soft voice broke it again.
“Is there anything I can do to help convince you not to do it? Please?”
The lady smiled. “You are a very sweet boy.”
“That’s… not an answer. Can I at least know why?”
“Won’t it torment you, in the future, if we speak now?”, she asked a question of her own, turning to face him again. Despite her words, there was nothing but kindness in those deep green eyes. “If you don’t know me, I’m just another one who jumped. If we talk, I’m afraid I might stay with you long after I’m gone. You are too young for that kind of weight.”
Tim swallowed.
“That’s easily solved, Miss;”, Dick’s rule of thumb; if unsure, always call a lady Miss before Mrs “don’t do it.”
She spared him a long, meaningful look, and he slumped over.
“Not my best, I know, but I’m kinda freaking out now?” She wasn’t like Mr Harrinson, no motive he could see, no strand to pull and unravel her pain. “Please, just… why?”
She patted one of the hands gripping his own knee. His other hand rushed over hers, sandwiching her cold, slim fingers between his gloved palms.
“There’s nothing left for me. I have a nice job, live in a pretty side of town, have friends, and still… it feels so empty. So… Meaningless. Why even bother?”
Tim chewed on her words silently. He was way out of his depth. A tangible, physical problem? He could solve those, no biggie.
Depression, though… that was a different giant to tackle. Was he even prepared enough to?
A strong gust of wind made the lady with braided hair shiver. Without thought, Tim unclasped his cape and draped it over her slim shoulders.
“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, head tilted like a curious woodland animal. Tim felt strongly protective of her, of this kind, sweet lady, who said she had it all, except the one thing that mattered to her.
“I’m used to it”, he shrugged. “This suit is very warm, but cold air often trickles down from the neckline and… well. Gigs of the job and all that.”
The lady tutted, frowning for the first time since Tim arrived.
“That won’t do, young man. You need a scarf. The nights will only get colder from now on.”
He shrugged again.
“I just… don’t have the time to buy one. And I had one, but… There’s these kids who often hang out by the park, and they were so cold, I just couldn't swing by and ignore them. So I gave them my scarf to share between them. I’m just kinda bummed that I don’t have more to make sure they all stay warm.”
The braided haired lady hummed for a second.
“Well… I knit”, she started, carefully. “I don’t have children or grandchildren to give my final products to, so they’ll go to waste after I’m gone. If you’d take them out of my hands, you’ll do me a favor.”
Tim wanted to say no, unwilling to make this any easier for her, but the chance of getting her away from the edge was enough to quell his voice.
She went and came back within minutes, a big cardboard box balanced over her shaky arms. He rose to help her, meeting the woman halfway through the roof, a good distance away from the abyss.
“This red one would look good with your suit… oh, and the green one, to keep with the theme! Or maybe the yellow one… Shame pink would be such a bad fit for your colors, because that wool is the best I worked with…”
Tim’s hand carefully took said carf out and looked it over. There were about six others in the box.
“I could take this to those kids I mentioned before… It’d still not be enough for all, but more to share between them means less cold.”
She hummed again, looking at the unfinished projects on the bottom of the box.
“If… If you give me a few days…” she muttered. “I mean, I’m in no rush”, a hand vaguely gestured towards the rooftop’s edge. “I could spare a few days finishing those, and you could take them to these kids you spoke about… and maybe, I can help make a few children less cold with this silly hobby of mine.”
Elated beyond words, Tim nodded vigorously, waxing poetry about her work and about just how excited little Ellie would be with this soft, pretty pink scarf.
His patrol route could use a few detours, after all, if that meant keeping Braided Hair Lady away from her roof.
---.----
He was just returning from a late supply run when he bumped into The Cats.
It was in an alleyway, a block off from Mrs Eloise Denvarow (formerly known as Braided Hair Lady). The older woman had caved after three months knowing each other, of Tim passing by her apartment once every other night to pick up her baked goods or knitted masterpieces, to distribute between street kids and working girls, and told him her name. It was said in passing (“Stop with that ‘Lady’ thing, honey. It’s Eloise”), as if lacking importance, when in reality it meant the world to him. Sure, he’d already known, having run a background check on her the minute he came back to the cave after stopping her from jumping, but there was that implicit vow between them, that she wouldn't tell him her name and jump, wouldn’t make him carry its weight on his shoulders forever, so it was… it was a promise, on her end, a reassurance, and Tim wasn’t even embarrassed that he cried in her arms like a baby for ten minutes.
So here he was, a month after that, still riding that high, when the desperate call from below caught his attention.
There were two teens on the dirty ground, nested among cracked bottles and old newspapers. The girl was lying in the boy’s arms, with him screaming for help.
“Robin! Thank fuck!”, he almost sobs, arms visibly tightening around the girl. Tim wants to ask how he knew to call for him, and if the proximity to Mrs Denvarow’s place was luck or not.
But it wasn’t the time to ask.
The girl was pale, which only highlighted the bruises on her face. Someone with a big fist punched her. It doesn't seem likely, considering just how distraught the other kid is, but he checks his hands just in case; fortunately, too small for that kind of damage.
She’s also breathing erratically and, when he puts a gloved hand to her neck, he realizes just how crazy her pulse is.
Fear Toxin? Except Scarecrow is still in Arkham as far as he knows, and even if he had gotten away recently, he needs time to develop his precious chemicals. Joker’s Venom and Mad’s Hatter drugs don’t have quite this results, and Ivy doesn’t usually attack street girls just for kicks; they are also too far from her usual turf for her to be a viable suspect.
So, that leaves very few choices.
“Overdose?”, he ventures a guess, hand already fumbling through the pockets on his belt.
The other boy sobs harder, nodding while looking down at the girl in his arms. Tim gently takes the girl from him to position her straighter, to help her down the vial he finally found in his belt. It was supposed to help flush out any chemical in a few minutes, tops; they usually used it when a new type of Crazy Criminal Drug made its way to the streets and they didn’t have the time to properly prepare an antidote. It was strong, and vicious in its path to devoid the body of any and all external agents, which was why it wasn’t a preferred method; who’s to say the civilian in need of a flush isn’t in some important medicine? The Big Flush, as Dick calls it, lacked any kind of finesse or discrimination.
But it was their best shot right now, so there goes nothing.
There’s silence while they watch the girl’s progress. He doesn’t bother asking if he called for an ambulance; they are obviously minors, probably homeless, and even if the Wayne Foundation takes care of children’s hospital fees, they’d avoid it to keep themselves out of the foster system.
But then, the kid kept talking.
“I… I found her near Grant Park. I… I didn’t know what to do, so I dragged her here. She/” and then he breaks again, hands grasping one of hers, as if letting go meant he was giving up on her and he couldn't bear it.
“Grant Park is only five blocks away,” Tim thinks out loud, mind already a mile away “and Moench’s Row illicit night clinic is about the same distance from there as this place. Why did you bring her here?”
“She… Alley… Oh, her name’s Allison, by the way. And I’m Thomas. Tom.” Introductions, miraculously, seem to do the trick here and calm him down. “Nice to meetcha.”
Tim’s not deterred by his toothy grin, but he has to admit he’s kinda cute. Like, stray cat cute.
Huh. Alley, Tom, cat… Yeah, that checks.
“What happened with Allison?” he presses softly, one arm still keeping Alley up and against his chest, the other hand on her pulse point, taking note of the way the heartbeat seems to be stabilizing. The puking fest was gonna start soon.
“She… It was on purpose.” Tom confesses, eyes going clouded for a while. “She tries to not be home, yknow? I met her in kindergarten, and even then she’d try to hide behind the teacher’s desk in hopes they’d forget about her and close the building with her inside. Anyway, we pretty much live on the streets these days, and Alley… she’s very depressed. I convinced her to see someone a while ago, even stol/ I mean, earned the money for it myself”, he’s quick to correct, eyes glancing up to see if he was smooth enough to cover it; which he wasn’t, but Tim was in favor of letting that small one go, “and they gave her a prescription for antidepressants. She’s been kicking it down the road, but she’s gotten a lot worse and I wouldn't lay off her case about it, so she sneaked back home to get some money from her folks to pay for it.”
By the way the kid looks at her bruised face with unmeasurable guilt, Tim knows she didn’t go unnoticed.
“And… I don’t know. We were supposed to meet up by the Commerce Street Highway, but she was late, so I walked around for a bit and… I saw her there, on a bench. She was/ she was still conscious then, and she told me… she said ‘these aren’t what the doc gave me, but they took the pain away all the same’.” Again, Tom chokes on his own emotions. If he had any free hands, he’d try to put one on his shoulder for comfort. “I don’t even know what she took, or where did she get it from!”
Tim has heard whispers of loan sharks and drug dealres camping toghter by the Fashion Distric, just north of Grant Park, so he can make an informed guess as to how that happened. Also, he now knows what he’ll do the rest of the night, once these kids are safe.
When Tom has gotten a grasp of himself, he pushes again.
“So, why did you bring her here?”
He shrugs, a bit abashed.
“Well… I mean, everyone knows about how Mrs Denvarow is the one giving clothes and food away, and that you help her distribute it. Well, not everyone, but… you know, the street kids. We flagged her building with a yellow skull and everything.”
A yellow skull grafitti, Tim’s mind translates, is the street equivalent of a ‘don’t fuck with this place’ sing. A sort of protective sigil. He wonders how he missed it.
“And… This is kind of your thing, right? So I figured you’d be better prepared to deal with it than some overworked clinic that might even not have enough free equipment to help us. Good think I did, too” he gestures at his friend, whose face is now looking flushed; a sign both of growing health, and of the upcoming puke. Tim’s quick to turn her so her back is to his chest, head tilted down just in case.
As if rehearsed, Alley chose that exact second to empty the contents of her now flushed stomach. Tim would need a sample of that, to catch the responsible dealer.
Tom held her hair away from her face while Tim kept her steady, and she blinked bearily at them after it was done, still not completely lucid but a world away from the girl she was ten minutes ago.
“She’ll still need a hospital.'' Tim informs Tom sternly. The boy had taken his friend in his arms again, softly rubbing her back to help with the uncomfortable ache leftover after puking your guts out. “The Moench’s Row clinic should be able to help with any side effect, but she’s safe for now.”
He nods, thanks Tim again and again and politely refuses his help to take her to the clinic. They part ways, both parties probably thinking this would be the last time they saw each other.
Still, their situation sticks with Tim during the rest of his patrol, and he decides to stop by the clinic, just to check on them. His knuckles still ache from the absolute beating he delivered to the ones who gave Alley the money and sold her the drugs, so he’s in better spirits and hopes to spread it to the kids.
Alley is awake when he visits, and her shy, little smile is enough for the rage inside of Tim to die down. The bad guys dealt with, the civilians safe, everything in its proper place.
He sleeps a bit better that night.
---.----
He almost doesn’t see him.
Actually, he probably wouldn't have, deeply lost into his own head, had the guy been anything other than a redhead. That exact shade of orangy-brown auburn, that he would have to pick up from his workbench at Titan’s tower after Bart had decided to ‘keep him company’ during his all-nighters.
It was ironic, how now he would give anything in the world to have those same strands of hair fucking up his experiments, if only for the impish, ‘please-don’t-kill-me-I’m-an-angel’ smile he would receive in exchange.
“Hey”, he greets, landing softly at the man’s right, sitting a few feet away from him, too tired to even stand up on common ground. “What’s happening?”
He shouldn’t be doing this. He really, really shouldn’t. His own mental health was less than stellar, and even thinking about it made him feel worse. He didn’t deserve to feel bad, not when civilians were in the hospital after his latest fuck up, Cass was missing, Cassie barely hanging in there, the family a mess with Damian’s lovely introduction, and… well. Every other person he knew…
Point being, there must be someone else, in a better inner place, that could speak to this guy. But since no one seemed to be patrolling this route, Tim could only hope to stall him long enough for a more capable vigilante to show up.
The guy looks startled, then angry. He has green eyes, he notices, under the glasses. Not sure why that sticks to him.
“What are you doing here? You’re not going to try to stop me, are you? You’re not going to swing down and catch me in mid air or something, are you?”
He seems defensive, but Tim notices a bit of hesitancy. He has worked with less.
(He wishes he had more energy to do more with what little he has)
“No. If I did, what’s to stop you from doing it again later, or tomorrow? I can’t be with you every second. If you want to do this, you are going to, no matter how much I don’t want you to. And I don’t want you to, just so we are clear.”
The guy still looks suspicious, but he hasn’t taken that last step forward, so… a win?
“I just needed to sit down for a minute. ‘been thinking about all the ways I’ve screwed up lately, and…”
Auburn-hair deflates a little, turning away from Tim to examine the night sky. “Well, that makes two of us.”
The bat signal lights up the night. His newfound companion looks at it, then him. “Do you need to get that?”
“Nah. Batman will, and if he needs help he’ll call me.” Tim shrugs. He needs a coffee-power-up. He needs to sleep. He needs for his loved ones to not be dead.
He needs to see if there’s anything he can do for this guy.
“So, do you want to tell me why you’re doing this? So someone can go to your family and friends to let them know?”
After all, if it was him who did it (and… wasn’t that food for thought?), he’d like Bruce and Dick to know why. To not… to not blame themselves.
Redhead looks annoyed again. Uh. A short fuse, this one.
“Don’t try any psychology, or try to make me feel guilty about hurting anyone… this isn't about anyone but me.”
He shouldn’t say it, but… “That’s pretty naive, but whatever. Tell me anyway.” He smirks a bit, then “Unless you’re in a hurry or something.”
He hears the guy (he really should ask his name) as he tells his story. A cold, clinical part of his mind recognizes the symptoms described almost unconsciously by the guy as depression. He would know, after all. The other part of him, the part that made him Robin, that made him human, discarded the label; there was much more to this guy than his illness, and he would treat him like it.
“So here I am,” he finishes, now sitting side by side with Tim, both their legs hanging above the bustling city. “Now’s when you tell me how stupid this is. That other people have much bigger problems, there’s hunger and war, and I’m weak because my problems are nothing next to stuff like that.”
Tim thinks of a father, desperately thinking his death would save his son’s life, when in fact it would have only made it worse. He thinks of a woman, so full of love and warmth, looking into the abyss and feeling empty inside. He thinks of a couple of kids, one hanging to life with nails and teeth, the other hanging to her just as fiercely.
He thinks about himself. About looking at a future version of himself, hating what he sees, and deciding to drown the bud before it can even flower. He thinks of sickly green water, of cloning equipment in a laboratory, of a phone falling to the ground after delivering him with more bad news.
He’s still in a bad place, still probably not the most capable person to be doing this, but a part of him is sure this is the right answer. The only answer.
“No. Your problems are worse than anyone else’s, because they are yours. I’ve... felt bad like you have, and some pretty bad things have happened to me.”
Red hair looks as tired as Tim feels, so it’s a surprise that he has enough energy to glance at him worriedly, hand stretching a bit in his direction in a half-formed attempt to comfort.
“You guys make it look so easy, swinging around, having fun… Things get bad for you, too?”
Tim looks down, and smiles. It’s a sad, bitter thing. He thinks about parents lost before ever connecting to them, about a girlfriend going away, a sister lost to the madness of their lives, about two best friends gone, one even dying in his arms.
He gives no details. Doesn’t talk about it all, just shares a little bit of himself. It’s only fair, after hearing about this guy’s demons. Misery loves company, doesn’t it?
“So what do you do? How do you deal with it?” the guy asks when he’s done, looking at Tim by the corner of his not-very-dry eyes.
Tim forces himself to remember. “One of the things I’ve learned is that it gets bad for everyone sometimes, Superman, Batman… everyone. I remember that I’m not alone, that things do get better. Sometimes on their own, most times when you work at them. And when I have trouble remembering those things, I find people to talk to.”
Most of those were dead, but Tim is hit with the epiphany that not all of them are. He still has people. He still…
“And you’ve got people like that? That you can talk to?” asks the guy, tone both worried and hopeful. Tim stands up, does his best to look calm.
“Yeah. Your folks, and old friend, even a trained counselor you’ve never met before… someone who has a totally different perspective because they’re not as close to your problems as you are. Maybe they give you advice, and that’s great… or maybe they just listen. Sometimes, that’s all you need. Anyway, that’s how I deal with it when things suck. And it works. Want to come down from there and give it a try?”
The guy gets back to his feet, as Tim watches from behind. Having been in this situation before, the fear grabbing a hold of him isn’t new, but it's different. He thinks he's too worn down. It takes the edge off of any emotion.
Except hope. Hope still hurts like a sharp knife when it’s snatched away. He prays it won’t be, right now.
Green eyes (Jason- that’s who they reminded him of) look down, deep in thought. Then he turns, smiles at Tim. There’s hope in him too.
“Yeah, why not?”
They get down together. He gives him a few numbers and they have breakfast together. The guy promises to call his English teacher, at least. Tim promises himself to call his brother.
At least, he still has Dick.
---.----
He’s been putting off doing his rounds since he came back, he knows. But…
It changed him, a bit. Going around the world, dealing with his grief while staying on his toes, ready to break down one second and having to field off attacks from all sides the next, with the Demon’s honeyed whispers echoing in his ear and mind.
He’ll never tell anyone, just how tempting it had been. How much he had wanted to reach for that offered hand. To lay his head on someone’s shoulder and let the responsibility bleed from his.
Tim will never tell anyone, but he’ll always know. And it’ll always make him hate himself a little bit more.
So, he’s different now. And he’s scared- that the people he gave hope to, that he talked with, that he could never stop thinking about, even halfway across the world- that they won’t like this new, worn down him.
That Mr Harrinson the Good Father, Braided Hair Lady and her sweaters, the inseparable Stray Cats, the girl with the bright yellow cardigan, the kid with the scarred wrists, the woman with beautiful star-like freckles that she’ll hopefully pass on to her baby, the gentle giant man with calloused hands, the petite but fierce young teen with defiant eyes and dead name, the soft spoken girl with the loudest laugh, auburn-haired boy and his hopeful and sympathetic green eyes… and so, so many more. They all knew him, maybe not at his best, but certainly better than now. The boy that kept them from jumping had been a bright, magical Robin. The teen that came back to their city was dark, weary Red Robin. It felt kinda like he had cheated them, returning this broken version of himself to their doorsteps.
But he had to go check on all of them. Even if Cass (and it was such a relief, that even after he lost everything else, the return of his sister could at least be a speck of light in the mist of misery surrounding him) had promised to do so, there were so many of them… and she couldn't possibly remember everyone, all the time. And if anyone had fallen through the gaps… if anyone had stood on a rooftop, waiting for their Robin to save them, only to think ‘nobody cares’ as he didn’t show up…
Tim gets sick only thinking about it. If it did happen, then he needs to know. He has to carry their names with him, that’s the least he can do for failing them.
So he’ll go check on them… anytime now. Soon. The moment he gathers enough energy to climb back to his feet and get his grapple hook out.
...The city looks full of life, beneath him. Like it feels the return of its Knight. The end of the internal quarrel among it’s vigilantes, that almost tore it all apart. The relief in Nightwing, the hesitant peace in Red Hood, the mellowing of Robin.
(He was feeling poetic tonight, in the worst ways)
Maybe it also feels Red Robin’s emptiness. Maybe that’s why it's so lively down there, like the ground is calling to him, just as it did when Ra’s broke the window with his body.
He thinks... he won’t have to check on anyone, if he jumps. And that way, there will be no name to carry with him to his grave.
“Robin!”
“Stop!”
“Don’t do it, please!”
He startles. Hadn’t even noticed when he got to his feet, nor that one of them was hanging over the abyss. The fact that he wasn’t alone on that rooftop any longer hadn’t even breached his usually perfect spatial awareness.
They didn’t call for him, but the voices sounded distraught, they were close, and he was a former Robin, so he turned around, tired, but with obedience and service too ingrained in him to consider denying help to whoever it was.
It turned out, he wouldn't need to go make his rounds any longer. His rounds had come to him.
There were… too many people on this roof. It was way too crowded.
“Robin!”
It was one voice now, not a mixture of them, so he could identify the one yelling his former alias. Allison broke from the mob of people (and there were more still, filling in from the open rooftop door, like a never-ending stream…) to run to him, looking like she might have just jumped into his arms, if not for Tom clutching her hoodie to stop her a few feet from him. Good move, considering he was still balancing precariously on the edge.
“Alleycat?” he whispered, a little blown. She looked so different (magenta looked amazing on the tips of her hair, and she totally pulled off that lip piercing), but he’d recognize those eyes anywhere. He’d been so relieved, when she first opened them after that dangerous overdose.
“We were so fucking worried, dude”, came from Tomcat just behind her, still gripping her hoodie (still keeping her safe; some things never change).
“I…”
“Where were you?” Maddie, not longer yellow but still wearing a cute cardigan, stepped up too.
“I’m… I’m not Robin”, he blurts out. They… knew it was him? It… like, obviously there was a new Robin, Damian was (still, but probably not for much longer) smaller than him, but to immediately know that he was…
“Yeah, no shit. I’d know that long hair and noodle limbs of yours anywhere, kid. Known you too long to be fooled. And the new kid’s really trigger happy with that lon’nife of his... You’re still the Robin I prefer, and fuck if I understand the name passing you heroes do” Mr Harrinson spoke from the back of the crowd, one hand clutching his kid’s shoulder, the other arm around…
“Braided Hair Lady?”
Eloise smiles at him, soft and warm as ever, a little shy when his eyes go to the arm hugging her close and back to her. He recognizes some of her handmade scarfs around the necks of plenty of people on the roof.
“I… wasn’t aware you all knew each other.”
A petite young teen steps forward, walking until they were shoulder-to-shoulder with the Strays.
“Most of us met through the app, and then introduced the others. There’s more, of course, but not everyone could meet here. Samantha’s baby was born just two months ago, so she chose to stay home, but we promised her pictures, so you’ll have to say cheese soon birdboy. Also, I found my name. I’m Cal.”
Allison’s smile broadened and she sneaked an arm around Cal’s waist.
“They are the new Straycat. Calico cat’s are the cutest shit ever, aren’t they?”
Well… Having someone as badass as Cal watching Tom and Alley’s back would sure make Tim feel a lot better about both kids being out in the streets.
Were they still on the streets? He’d need to find out and fix that, soon.
Then it hit him. “What app?”
Auburn-hair smiled from his place, at the front of the crowd just behind the Cats.
“Felix over there,” he pointed over his shoulder at Mr Harrinson’s son, who smiled shyly at Tim, eyes shining in gratitude and admiration like they always did when Tim did his rounds and checked on his dad, “defended you in a GothamHeroes forum once. Some bratty douchebag was complaining about you landing over his car or something and this kid went for his fucking troath.”
“I was in that chat too,” spoke Tom, smiling a little too savagely for a kid that sweet. “He tore the idiot to shreds, speaking about how you saved his dad’s life and took it upon yourself to make sure he was still okay even weeks after you met. I mentioned how you saved Alley and Mrs Denvarow, we exchanged numbers… then we met Cal during one of our rounds handing out Mrs D’s scarfs and food. They were weary of everyone else, but trusted us because they heard you talk about the clothes and baked goods... And Cal’s friend Gina worked with Samantha on the streets and told them about her story...”
“Soon, it seemed like people personally saved by you were just… popping out of the snow like daisies” Blair laughed, and it was still the loudest, brightest noise. The night seemed a little clearer, the air a little fresher for it. “Felix made his own private chat and added us, and we added everyone else we knew… The word went around about it, and more and more people joined in…”
“It’s really a wonder how you had any time to fight crime, seeing how often you were apparently comforting jumpers on the roofs” Ailbert, still as gigantic and gentle as always, raised a hand from the middle of the group. He had a little girl on his shoulders, probably the baby niece he had taken in after his sister’s death.
“Then the new kid appeared and Gotham went to hell on a basket, and no one saw you around any longer”, Elijah, wrists no more scarred than the last time he saw him, his arm tangled with Maddie’s, went on. “We were… well, we were a bit confused.”
“Speak for yourself, Cal jumped Red Hood one night, held him at knife point and demanded to know what the fuck happened to our Robin. We were like, zero chill.”
“Sorry, they did what?” Tim was definitely in the twilight zone now.
“No thoughts, head empty, only murder”
...Tim needed to give Jason a quick call. Also sign Cal up for anger management. And probably, judging by the way both Alley and Tom were looking at them, get one of the adults to give them the talk.
Mrs Eloise smiled at him, and like always it served to calm his nerves. That woman was a different kind of magic than Alfred, but magic indeed. “Anyway, dear, what matters is that we were worried about you. And then this incredible young man, Aaron,” she waved at him, and he winked one of his green eyes in response, “suggested we kept in closer contact with one another, so anyone who spotted you could inform the others.”
Aaron shrugged, his auburn mane of hair bobbing with the movement. “It just seemed like it’d be easier to have an alarm set up, since messaging everyone would take so long… and then someone suggested making a map of Gotham so we could have clearer routes for the kids handing out Mrs Denvarow’s stuff… and someone wanted a shared blackboard to write theories on where the fuck you were with others… and a few demanded a space to share photos, possible sightings or old selfies with you… It kinda spiralled and I thought it’d be less of a chaotic mess if I made an app that could do all of that, instead of all of us using multiple apps for the different fixtures everyone asked for… Since this is Gotham, we also added some Rouge Alarm for whenever a criminal was set loose. It helped keep us safe, and if we knew when crime was happening, we could pay attention to which heroes answered the call…”
“And then, you fought that firefly guy the other day”, Felix said, still by his dad’s side, still looking as awed as ever when looking at tim. “I was in the crowd, and I recognized you within a minute.”
“I don’t really understand technology that well, and the group chat was such a mess that day” Ailbert lamented, but he was still smiling. They all were.
That hit Tim then, hard.
They all looked so happy to see him. To have him back. They had been waiting for him to be back, banded together to make sure they’d all know when he did.
“You looked so sad the last time we saw you” Blair added softly, sadly. “And… when you saved Aaron, you told him about such sad things…”
Elijah winced “And I heard the Midnighter fell from Wayne Tower a few weeks ago, but then he was never seen around again, and your suit looks kinda similar, so that was probably really you… and, that fall…”
“We were very worried” repeated Eloise, but her eyes didn’t lose their warmth. “But you’re back now, and we can keep track of you and each other now, so it’s all good. It’s wonderful to have you back, love.”
This was an out of body experience.
Something must have shown on his face, because Cal snorted.
“We adore you, you dumbass. You are our hero.”
Alley smiled. “You are our Robin.”
Tim fell into her arms, and away from the roof’s edge. The rest of the crowd was upon them in seconds, all eager to pat his back or joke about the cowl hiding his hair from their hands.
He met eyes with Aaron, over Alley’s shoulder. He looked like the hope Tim had helped plant in his heart all those months ago had flowered, and the petals filled his heart.
(He was feeling poetic tonight, in the best ways)
“You should download the app too, so you always have someone to talk to. Look it up. It’s called BirdWatchers, because we’ll always look up and out for you. Because when we wanted to jump, you lended us your wings to fly instead.”
It was like this fucker wanted Tim to cry.
“Welcome home, Red Robin.”
#My writing#Tim drake#batman fanfic#red robin#trigger warning:#depression#suicide attempts#discussion of suicide#overdose#mental illness#hurt comfort#Tim doing the comfort and being the hurt#until he gets the comfort#happy ending#wholesome#I swear the tags are scary but it IS wholesome#Tim drake centric#my writting
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magic, madness, heaven, sin
pairing: joshua x fem reader
w.c.: 2.5k (oops)
includes: one night stand!shua, mentions of infidelity in the beginning, mentions of alcohol, lots of dirty talk (praises), slight oral (male receiving), protected(!!!) sex
-
the strobe lights of the nightclub amplify the pounding of your headache from the shots you’d downed in succession. you welcome it anyways, for it succeeds in chasing away the visions of the man who you’d dumped just hours before this.
he’d been your everything, and your mother would account for how much you’d loved him, from all the gushing about him that you did during your weekly phone calls. it definitely was your fault for the breakup because it definitely was your fault you caught him kissing the girl he said was nothing but a close friend from work. you figured they were pretty close enough with the way he shoved his tongue into her mouth, hands ghosting over her chest.
the worst part was, they were doing it in your living room. the very room you’d poured all of your soul into, making weekly trips to ikea and antique stores to find the little trinkets you knew would shape the perfect ambiance. you’d flung the promise ring he had slotted onto your left ring finger at him, aiming directly at the crown of his hair you’d spent hours carding your fingers through. he only barely managed to catch a glimpse of you as you hurried back out of the apartment, needing to be anywhere but there, the very place you’d dubbed your safe spot. the taxi driver had only inquired where your destination was and was kind enough to offer you some tissues when you’d arrived at the nearest nightclub, after hearing sniffles from his backseat.
you can still feel the weight of the ring that had been on your finger, fiddling with it out of habit only to not find it in its place as it should be. anger rises at your throat and your fingers wrap around the glass to down the drink – gibson, dry as he liked it. your eyes glaze over the space, skimming over strangers’ heads dancing on the dance floor, the bass of the dj set resonating from the walls and into your ears. it lures you from your spot at the bar to the dance floor, not caring your drink is spilling everywhere from bumping into bodies swaying to the beat.
you find a space somewhere in the corners and you just casually nod along to the music, sipping from your cocktail. despite a part of you still clinging to the past, the other part of you feels free, like a bird set free from its cage. you feel yourself losing to the swimming feeling induced by the alcohol in your veins. you manage to bring yourself back to the bar when you fear your ankles might snap from the way you sway in your heels, safely disposing yourself on one of the plush chairs lining the marble-tiled bar.
you go back to languidly scanning across the cramped room until your eyes land on a man weaving in and out of your sight among the throng of the people on the dance floor. he seems to be with two of his other friends, one with dyed silver hair that seems to sparkle in the strobe lights and another one with cropped brown hair and a godlike facial structure you can pinpoint even from far away.
you keep your eyes trained on the first guy you spotted. something simmers within you as you not so equivocally check him out: is he wearing a sheer shirt? and is that the glint of a silver ear cuff on his right ear? all of a sudden you meet his eyes and the drunken fog in your mind seems to clear up in a snap.
the pitter-patter of your heart rings louder than the booming bass as you watch him whisper something to one of his friends before he turns away and walks towards you. he’s even more beautiful as he comes closer to you, what with his catlike eyes and pink lips that leave you dying to know how they taste. you notice there’s a swipe of eyeshadow on his lids as the hoods of his eyes drop as he finally arrives at his destination.
“hello,” the man starts, voice tinged with a drop in an octave that sends honey dripping down your spine, “something caught your attention?”
you preen at being caught for checking him out so blatantly but you manage to keep your composure. “if i say it’s you, what would i get?”
he chuckles. “you’ll see.”
you run the risk of being bold, and your finger goes up to play with the dangly cuff on his right earlobe. “this did.”
his hands – goodness they’re huge, wouldn’t that mean that – wrap around your wrist, and he leaves a light kiss on your knuckles before he drops it to your side, fingers still holding on.
“you can call me joshua.” you recall ever hearing this nickname being shouted in a grainy instagram story by one of your friends, and come to think of it, it was uploaded with a geotag that led to this same club. “what about you?”
––
there’s an odd flashback yet not out of place as joshua drags you by the wrist towards the restrooms somewhere near the back of the club. it makes you feel like a dumb university student once more, looking to relieve the stress of submitting essays and final assessments. the thick concrete of the walls mute the music a bit and you can hear the voice in your head sounding urgent alarms and telling you to stop. you don’t listen to the bells as your hands grip joshua’s belt to tug him closer to you.
joshua leans into you, and your arms travel to rest on his chest, unleashes a weight on him that’s dizzying and thrilling.
“is there a man i should be worried about?”
“was.” you can barely let a word out without choking at the feeling of him skittering kisses along your jawline. that’s all he needs to hear.
he shoves a leg in between yours, telling you to grind your clothed core on his thigh.
you harshly pant as you rut your core onto his leg, the friction of the material of his trousers against your bare thigh sending you into a frenzy. “baby’s already so needy,” joshua smirks before he dips his head and closes the distance to meet your mouth, effectively shutting you up, swallowing your gasps.
it’s filthy and sweet, tasting the cranberry juice from joshua’s tongue. he holds you firmly with his fingers on your jaw, lets you lick deeper into his mouth, swallows every whimper that drips from your throat. when you separate there’s a sheen on your swollen lips and joshua just wants to taste from it all night long. the desperation in your tummy grows tenfold the more he tells you to keep grinding, even bouncing his leg which sends jolts all over your body.
joshua shoves you off of his leg right before you come, and it takes all of your willpower to separate yourself. (joshua can hardly admit just how hard he got from hearing your sob at stopping you right before you hit your high.) both of you unanimously agree that fucking in the club bathroom is for college students who still have the shamelessness and suave to pull it off, so you manage to leave the place and hail a cab and joshua mutters his address before he turns to you again, hands heavy on your thigh as he presses kisses to your shoulder and cheek.
he grabs your hand once more when you palm him over his pants, and you can already feel how he needs it just as badly as you do. he brings it up to his lips, pressing kisses onto the knuckles which muffles his dirty words so the driver can’t hear. “you’ll be good for me, won’t you, baby? wait till i get home so i can fuck you like you were begging me in the club?” you think your voice will crack if you vocally respond so you just nod in an albeit urgent manner, letting him know just how desperate you are.
you manage to hand the driver the bills and thank him before you slip out of the cab and up the stairs into joshua’s apartment. joshua doesn’t know how he manages to unlock the door, haphazardly pulling his shoes off and take you to the bedroom with the way you’re pressing warm kisses to his neck, but he manages to do so and presses you against the door.
your cheeks are flushed even under the harsh lighting of his bedroom and soft giggles leave your lips, and a part of joshua that’s still sober even from all the drinks seungcheol shoved towards him at the club earlier flutters, thinking to himself just how beautiful you look even when you’re half wrecked from your ministrations in the club restroom.
joshua kisses you again, hands working to unzip your dress as he turns you towards the bed, before the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress and has you lay over his sheets.
he just about growls when he finally gets your dress off and sees the lacey white lingerie that frames and decorates your body. he’s entranced by the way the lace lines your chest to your stomach, no doubt the bottoms are ruined from how wet and desperate you were from riding his thigh. it’s enough to make him shudder, eyes growing darker at how he just wants to fuck you already.
“do you like it?” you ask, slightly muffled by your hand right above your mouth, shy yet with a wide smile.
he bends down, leaves butterfly kisses trailing from your tummy to your neck, where he sucks marks that your coworker will probably see. “you look beautiful, sweetheart. did you get all dressed up? hope someone would fuck you so good so you’d forget about him?”
“y-yeah,” you punctuate your answer with a high pitched moan when he suckles on your sweet spot.
his fingers press onto your clothed core, right where the wet spot smears the fabric. he rubs small figure eights, and it makes you grip onto his arm as a means of grounding yourself from the pleasure. under the clasp of your fingers on his arm do you realize he’s still clothed, and you tug on his sleeve as a signal.
he chuckles at feeling you tug and hearing you whine, so he straightens back up and takes his time unbuttoning his shirt. your eyes are glazed over when he pushes the clothes off of his shoulder, revealing his body you knew wasn’t so bad from the way your palms were running along his chest and back.
it feels like forever watching him unbuckle his belt and you know he’s purposefully dragging it out to tease you. you huff before you rise from the sheets, your impatient hands slapping his away so you can unzip his pants yourself. his trousers and briefs come off in one go, and his cock stands against his stomach, already hard and leaking pearls of precome right at the tip.
you’re overcome with the urge to tease him back so you slowly take his length into your mouth. joshua’s hand immediately comes up to tangle in your hair, and you whine at the delicious tug of his fingers finding purchase amidst your locks. you run your tongue at the underside of his cock, tracing the prominent veins which has him groaning so deeply.
you work him up even more than he already was, and he tugs you off right as he’s about to come. your lips are slick and cherry red from your act and joshua swoops to kiss you again, tasting his own release from your mouth as he slowly lays you back down on the bed.
joshua deftly unhooks your bra, and nearly rips your underwear off, laying you bare right in front of him. “my goodness,” he hums as he pushes you up towards the headboard, laying on his pillows. “you’re so pretty, sweetheart,” biting and suckling on your nipples as he keeps his glimmering eyes on your face, watching as you throw your head back from the pleasure. “i haven’t even put my cock in you and you’re already so wrecked, hm? so pliant, so desperate, all ready for me?”
he lifts himself from you again to grab a condom in his nightstand drawer, and your hands can’t seem to settle as he slips it on his length, warm hands pushing your ankles and thighs to widen your legs. “are you nervous, baby?”
“k-kinda,” you mumble, watching as he comfortingly runs his hand on your thighs. “h-haven���t done this with anyone else in a bit,” all the boldness in you from the club earlier simmering down now that joshua’s really about to fuck you.
“-ssokay, sweetheart,” his voice drops into a low rumble that makes your tummy flutter yet again., “i’ll take care of you,” he comes closer to you, pressing his lips to yours to distract you from the feeling of him pushing into your core. you’re so wet that he slides in with ease, and the burn melts into pleasure that tickles you all the way to your fingertips. your hands circle around his neck, keeping him close to you. the combination of his gentle kisses and the thrust of his hips rips sweet moans from your throat that joshua gladly drinks up.
“fuck,” he groans as your walls squeeze around him, “s-so tight, so g-good,” he slurs as he continues to thrust, “you take me in so well, don’t you, sweetheart? so nice and–f-fuck –so warm for me.” he continues praising you as you chase your high, his words getting to you, the hold of your arms around his shoulders tightening.
“you gonna come for me, baby? gonna come on my c-cock?” he grunts, pressing into you, not even an inch of space between your bodies.
“y-yes, please, make me come,” you cried out, losing yourself to how good joshua is making you feel. joshua thrusts a bit more until the coil in you finally snaps, not even needing to verbalize how close you are as you reach your orgasm, whining a mixture of joshua’s name and incoherent garbles masked as moans, joshua swallowing every single sound that comes out of your mouth. he fucks into you once, twice before coming, tipped over at your walls clamping down on his cock as you came, you curling your fingers in his jet black hair. you stay like this for a while, joshua riding out your orgasm languidly until you brokenly whine, practically crying at this point at how good he feels.
your vision blurs as he slips out, disposes his condom, before returning with a wet washcloth to clean you up. he slips a random t-shirt he grabbed from his closet onto your bare body, the hem coming down to right above your thighs. you feel like putty as he takes care of you, his voice lulling you as he speaks his last praises, keeping you awake until he slips to behind you underneath the covers. he presses a kiss and a “goodnight” to your temple before he drifts off.
(you’re just thankful he doesn’t kick you out the second he’s done fucking you. maybe you could get used to this.)
#seventeen#svt#seventeen scenarios#seventeen imagines#seventeen fic#seventeen smut#joshua#hong jisoo#joshua scenarios#joshua imagines#joshua fic#joshua smut#t:fic#f:mild#mine#wrote this so i could read it myself thank u
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I Never Thought They’d Get Me Here
Ray Toro x Gender Neutral!Reader (ending 3 of 4 for Here In This House of Wolves)
Word Count: 1481
A/N: Yeah, I suck. I’m really sorry for the wait with this one, but I hope it was worth it :)
Disclaimer: This is entirely a work of fiction. No part of this story is meant to be libel, slander, or in any way derogatory towards any character’s real life counterpart. I’m not delusional; I know that these characters are simply based off of a public persona and may not actually resemble the people behind those personas. Any additional characters that you do not recognize are entirely fictional, unless otherwise stated. And finally, if you got here by Googling yourself, whatever happens next is 100% on you.
“Okay,” Brian said, turning around and stopping before entering the building. “I’m thinking we should split into pairs, just in case?”
“The buddy system, really?” Frank snorted. “This isn’t kindergarten, Brian.”
“I, for one, am in favor of this plan,” Gerard said, sounding nervous. Mikey moved to stand next to him without either of them saying anything.
“I’ll go with Ray. I feel like being paired up with the tallest one here is a good idea,” you stated boldly, smiling up at him. You had made up your mind on the way over. Today was the day you told Ray how you felt about him.
“Well,” Brian said glumly. “I guess someone needs to babysit Frank. Let’s go.”
Frank grinned, seemingly unoffended.
After the guides explained the rules and offered you the last chance to turn back, they brought you to the door that would lead you to what they claimed was “your worst nightmare.” You swallowed and moved next to Ray.
“Nervous?” he smiled at you.
“Yeah,” you nodded. You weren’t about to tell him it had less to do with the haunted house and more to do with the fact that you planned to tell him about your long-standing crush. Not yet, at least.
The last thing you saw before you were ushered into pitch blackness was an unreadable look on Ray’s face.
---
A few minutes later, you were shuffling down the path behind Gerard and Mikey with Ray by your side.
“This goddamn hallway,” Frank muttered up in the front, with Brian. “I have no idea if we’re even heading in the right direction.”
“It does feel like we’re going in circles,” Ray agreed. “Maybe we should split up and try and find the way to the next area.”
You heard Mikey and Gerard move off to your left while Frank and Brian pushed on to your right.
“Guess it’s just us now,” Ray said, somehow finding your hand in the dark. You were glad he couldn’t see you blushing.
“Yeah,” you whispered as your nerves skyrocketed. You cleared your throat. “Let’s try and beat them to the exit!”
Unfortunately, fifteen minutes later, you were no closer than any of the others. Speaking of which-
“Ray, do you know where the others are? I haven’t heard them in a while.”
“Me either,” he sighed. “Oh, shit!”
“What’d you find?” You were ready to get out of the dark hallway.
“I think I found a crack in the wall,” he said, sounding like he was concentrating. “Hold on-”
The section of the wall he was pushing on gave way, and you stepped out into what seemed to be an indoor maze. You took in the fake ivy-covered walls while Ray closed the door behind him.
“Wouldn’t want the others to figure out our secret,” he said sheepishly when he noticed your questioning look. “Shall we?”
And for the second time that day, you were holding hands with Ray Toro.
---
As you wandered up and down the paths with Ray, you let yourself get lost in thought. You remembered the tall, shy (and cute!), guy that Gerard had practically dragged down the basement steps for the first time, barely a week after the band went from being an idea Gerard would call you about at two in the morning to something real. You shook your head at yourself when you thought about how nervous you had been about adding a new member. You had been worried that Ray wouldn’t fit in with the long-standing, easy-going friendship you had with Mikey and Gerard. But, Gerard was right. The band needed someone who could play live. And Ray was certainly one hell of a guitarist.
In hindsight, it should have been no surprise that you and Ray became fast friends. Not only were you both dedicated, passionate, and talented musicians, but you genuinely clicked on many other levels as well. You couldn’t even count the hours spent in the Way brothers’ basement, arguing the odds of surviving your favorite horror movie scenes or building your absolute dream bands consisting of your favorite musicians. It only made more sense that you began to fall for him around the time My Chem went into the studio for the first time. You remembered staying into the early hours of the morning, hanging out on Geoff’s couch together as you pored over the previous day’s takes, eventually falling asleep on each other until Gerard woke you up to complain about his tooth.
“I hope you’re not laughing at me, or you might not be able to find your duffle bag tonight.”
You hadn’t even realized the small smile forming on your face until Ray interrupted your thoughts. You glanced up at him and saw a grin on his face that told you he was only joking.
“Wait, why would I be laughing at you?”
“Because,” he said, sounding glum. “I think we’ve been going in circles for the past twenty minutes.”
“We’ll figure it- wait, did you say twenty minutes? There’s no way this place is that big. How long have we been in here?”
Ray glanced at his watch. “25 minutes, actually.”
You swore as you sat down. “You don’t think the others got out already, do you? I mean, they would come back for us, right?”
Ray laughed as he sat down next to you, leaning against the wall of the maze. “Frankie might try it, just for shits and giggles, but Brian wouldn’t let him.”
“Thank god for Schechter,” you agreed. The conversation lapsed into silence, and you decided now was as good a time as any to test the waters. “Hey, at least we’re stuck together, right?”
Ray shifted to face you, smiling. “That’s true, Gerard would be hyperventilating by now.”
“And Brian would smack us upside the heads for getting lost in the first place.” You laughed and then took a second to regain your composure. “But, if I’m being honest… there’s really another reason why I’m glad I’m with you. Even if we might die in this maze.”
You paused, studying Ray’s face for a reaction. You thought you saw a flicker of emotion, but you couldn’t be sure. Apparently, Ray’s poker face could rival Mikey’s.
When you could tell that he wasn’t going to say anything, you continued. “I think it’s kinda obvious but… you’re my best friend. And as much as I don’t want to change everything for the worse, I feel like I can’t really hide it anymore. Ray… I think I’m in love with you.”
What you were going to say next died in your throat when Ray surged forward to kiss you. Your perception of the world around you slowly melted away as all of your senses began to hyperfocus on Ray. You couldn’t help the faint sigh that escaped you as he shifted closer, wrapping one arm around your waist and resting his other hand on the side of your face. Almost involuntarily, you scooted backwards until your back was resting against the corner you had sat down in, trying to get him as close to you as possible.
It was at about that point that you heard a familiar (and at the moment, grating) voice yelling at you from several feet away.
“Holy shit! Brian, you can call off the search party! I found them, and they’re making out, ew!”
Ray pulled away from you the second Frank had made his presence known. Though he rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed, you could see a blush creeping up his cheeks. If the heat in your face was any indication, you were sure you looked similar.
“Shut up, Frank,” Brian said as he rounded the corner, rolling his eyes. He turned to you and Ray and sighed, smiling. “I can’t say I’m not surprised.”
“Oh, Brian, are you gonna give them the ‘safe sex’ lecture? Scratch that, are you sure they know about the birds and the bees?” Frank said, and then laughed like that was the funniest thing in the world.
“Hey,” Ray said, scowling as he stood up. He offered you a hand and pulled you to your feet. “You better quiet down or I’ll make sure you never get shotgun again.”
“Okay, cut it out, assholes,” Brian cut in, though there was no real anger behind it. “We need to go find the others before Gerard goes into a catatonic state of shock.”
You half-listened to Ray and Frank bicker some more as you trailed behind them, unable to keep the smile off your face. It almost felt easier to breathe with your confession off your chest.
You had almost forgotten that you were still holding hands with Ray until he stopped suddenly, waiting to get a little distance from Frank and Brian.
“Hey,” he said, smiling down at you.
“Hey?”
“I forgot to tell you. I think I love you too.”
A/N: Thank you for reading! Feel free to tell me what you liked and send in requests!
#ray toro imagine#ray toro x reader#mcr imagine#mcr x reader#ray toro#my chemical romance#mcr#my chem#my chemical romance x reader#my chemical romance imagine#bandom#bandom imagine#gerard way#frank iero#mikey way#x reader#reader insert
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The adventures of you, Huru and Zuho
Characters: Baek Zuho x Reader
Genre: Fluff
Words: 2079
Summary: Working on your thesis was incredibly stressful but having your boyfriend and his cat around helped ease your anxiousness- especially the escapades Zuho and his cat went on.
A / N: Heyy @jsnyoung, here is the fic you requested. This is so cute, my heart is ready to burst out of my chest! I know this isn't Huru in the gif but Zu’s actions made me select this one, such a cutie! Look at him just babying the cat (what's its name?) ~~ I want him to baby me in the same way lmaooo. Also, thank you for the request ^.^
The first time you ever searched up, '' Is it scary to write a thesis '' was in your first year and you were met with results like '' intimidating '', '' daunting '' and '' a scary process '' . It gave you deep- seated anxiety however, the world was kind and there were also results such as, '' Habits to break when writing your thesis '' and '' quick tips ''. Even though culminating years of research, notes and structural organization was mean- looking, it was a challenge that the internet said would be fun. Your advisers asked you to keep an open mind since many students would eventually end up pursuing a thesis topic that was different to that piqued their curiosity when they first joined the program.
Today, you were way past that stage and looking back, you reflected on your program and why exactly you selected it. You strived to seek knowledge, in the classroom and attempting to apply it in real-life as well. At times, you found it difficult to motivate yourself to write but felt better upon realising your passion for your subject. Sometimes, thinking about your thesis made you recall the long nights you would spend editing the same phrases resulting in sore fingers the next morning. However, it was that same productivity that made you even more dedicated to your research. It allowed you to carry on knowing that you were working harder than ever by filling up the spaces as fast your fingers could carry your thoughts.
As far as you knew, the research on your subject was beautiful but you couldn't find the information you needed. No matter how many 50-page publications you read, very few contained what you needed which frustrated you. It was this same frustration that contributed to your start of conducting interviews and research. Once you thought about it, the idea sounded fabulous making you content that you would be producing research that would contribute to your field. Today, you were going to interview the second participant in your research for your thesis. The pandemic had inhibited face-to-face meetings so sitting at your table at home in front of your laptop, you hurriedly bounced your leg. There was a good couple of minutes before your interview but you couldn't help but repeatedly glance at the time at the bottom left of your screen.
Shifting your window to dual-screen, one held the interview format including questions but you also held a hard copy which rested on table. Looking up, the movement of kids outside caught your eyes and momentarily, your focus. They looked quite carefree and you could hear their high- pitched laughs and giggles which brought a smile to your face as you watched the birds swiftly breeze across the sky while life carried on animatedly. A sudden yawn caused you to cover your face and running your hands through your hair, you acknowledged how tired you were. Rubbing your eyes, you continued to ponder over the oncoming interview, shaking your leg in the process. '' Nervous babe? '' questioned Zuho who was leaning against the door that was now slightly ajar.
Surprised, you wheeled around to face him and nodded replying, '' Yea, I don't know how it's going to play out and I think I'm just nervous about doing it online. In real-life it’s terrifying as it is but on a call, things can get awkward real quick ''. Walking towards you, you both laughed recalling the very interesting video calls in each of your lives. You snuggled into his embrace when he bent down to wrap his arms around you. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he smiled asking once again, '' By the way, did your teacher reply to that editing you did of your previous questions? ''. A lightbulb went off in your head, frowning at the thought of not getting a reply back from your professor especially since you knew that they were free. "Nope, he aired me again’’, I'll send it to him again, you thought, determined to get a response.
Chuckling, you held his arms as you breathed a sigh from the stress you were currently facing. Hearing the heaviness in your sigh, Zuho said, '' I think you'll be fine because of the amount of hard work I've seen you put into this thesis. Since the first day I met you, I saw how unwavering you were to aim for the best so trust me when I say that you'll be okay ''. Hearing his words immediately made you feel grateful for his presence in your life. He had a tendency to be quite optimistic at times which helped you lift your mood and enjoy the smaller things. Your eyes shining, you met his eyes replying, '' Thank you, thank you a lot. Sometimes, I'm able to pull through because of you so I will trust your words. '' with a smile to your tone.
'' You have around, 10 minutes from now. Are you prepared? '' He asked despite knowing that you had memorised everything on the page, even the empty spaces. Shaking your head, you replied, '' Yup, definitely, everything '' extending your arms at the last word. His hands left you and as you moved to stand up, stretching your limbs. Folding in half, your arm met the tip of your toes and you quickly moved to face Zuho. Asking, '' Zu? He hummed in inquiry as a response, feeling surprised when you went to wrap your arms around him. Mirroring your actions, the two of you rested in each other's embrace until you decided to dance. He had no choice but to move along with you and you both cracked up at your silliness.
Midway move, you felt something tickling your feet causing you to jump in his arms. Eyes wide, you looked at Zu who was looking around for what caused you to get scared. '' Ahh '' he said, picking up Huru and holding her against his chest. Relief flooded your features as you went to pet Huru saying, '' Such a pretty baby, you scared me '' holding a hand against your chest. Wiggling your toes, you felt disgusted at the thought of something other than Huru, furry and touching your feet. You admired the two of them as Zuho cuddled Huru in his arms and peppered kisses to her face. Gently patting her head, he handed her to you in turn watching how she snuggled into your chest. Initially, she had turned a cold shoulder to you but over time you were able to get her to like you.
That struggle was something Zuho would never let you live down, like the true romantic he was. Breaking out of your thoughts as you remembered the interview, you quickly turned back to check the time. Your eyes widened as you noticed that you only had a couple of minutes before the interview could start. Peeking from behind you, Zuho spoke as he noticed the time, ‘’You should probably get started you know’’ with a matter- of fact tone and a smile tugging at his lips. ‘’Yea, I should plus I’ll probably finish right around lunch time so I’ll tell you so we can eat together’’ you said, playfully hitting his arm. Clutching the spot where you hit him, he looked at you with sad, shiny eyes to which you lightly laughed at. Bringing him closer by his arm, you pecked him on the lips, the taste lingering on your own.
‘’All the best baby’’ he said, sharing a kiss with you. It was gentle and slow as his fingers threaded through your hair, easing whatever nervousness you had previously felt. Reassuring you, you broke the kiss whispering a soft ‘’thank you’’. Letting Huru down, his fingers found yours and walking towards the door, they slowly left your grasp as you smiled at one another. You watched as the door was left a little bit open, not minding it since you could quickly exit the room once your interview was over. Sitting back down, you ran your fingers through your hair thinking, I got this, what’s the worst that could happen?. Looking around, you found your hard copy of the questions, keeping it as close to you as possible for safe keeping. Once, the interview had begun, all your thoughts flew out of the window because you had expected the worst but you could tell that the worst wouldn’t come.
Less than halfway through the interview, you saw Huru push through the small gap of the door in the reflection of your screen and enter the room, causing the door to be left half open as Huru nonchalantly strolled through the room, making her way to you. Momentarily losing your focus, you returned to the video call as you thought about how you were going to prevent Huru from taking over the interview. You kept an eye out for the adorable feline as she jumped on the drawers and scratched her paws against the curtains. You came to do this? you thought and it was almost as if she heard you, she replied with the prettiest meow you had ever heard which you could only assume meant yes. Your interviewee paused at the sound of a cat but was forced to resume when you continued your questions.
With Huru rolling on the table, Zuho peeked into the room a couple of moments later. Having a nice conversation with your interviewee, he saw Huru just rolling on your table. Slightly panicked that Huru would ruin your interview, he tiptoed into the room with arms outstretched towards Huru. Seeing a moving figure in the reflection of your screen, you held back a laugh hoping the interviewee wasn’t seeing this. Even Huru noticed his presence but the closer he got, the farther she stepped away. Mouthing ‘’Huru’’, he tried to grab her but she jumped from the drawers, running across the floor like a maniac. Hearing him sigh, you internally combusted in laughter keeping a straight face knowing that the more he tried, the faster Huru would run. Letting out a minor puff of air, you laughed at the thought of what the interviewee would think if they saw your boyfriend chasing your cat across the room.
This went on for a few moments before Zuho finally captured her, holding her tight in his embrace. He rubbed her belly, soothing her and meeting your eyes in the reflection of the screen, he mouthed a ‘’sorry’ before exiting the room and closing the door completely. Towards the end of the interview, it looked as if the interviewee wanted to bring up the topic of your cat but decided not too. Ending the call, you leaned back into your seat, taking a deep breath relishing in the fact that your interview was over. Culminating the generous amount of information that you were provided with, your eyes skimmed over the sheet, debating whether to complete your work now or come back to it later. Appreciating the generous amount of time you had to confer with your professor, you got up and stretched. Groaning, you felt your limbs ache as the stress of writing your thesis found its way back to you.
You walked out of the room and found Zuho and Huru sitting on the sofa, curled up against one another. Smiling, their heads turned as they noticed your presence. As you walked towards them, Zuho returned your smile extending his arm for you to sit on the sofa. You took a seat next to Zu, leaning your head on his shoulder. ‘’I hope Huru didn’t mess up your interview’’ Zuho said with concern in his tone. With his arm wrapped around you, your head laid on his chest as you spoke, ‘’It’s okay. Surprisingly, they didn’t notice Huru’’ laughing at the last part. Raising an eyebrow, he asked, ‘’They didn’t? Maybe they did but they didn’t say anything’’. ‘’That’s true, I struggled to hold in my laughter when you were trying to catch Huru’’ you said, causing the both of you to crack up in laughter.
‘‘She wouldn’t come at all you know plus I didn’t want to enter the frame. at that moment I had no idea what to do’‘ he animatedly replied. Giggling, you felt your hunger growing in your stomach and looking up at him you said, ‘It’s over now. Let’s go get something to eat’’. ‘’Yay, let's go, I’m hungry’’ he replied and letting Huru go, the two of you stood up and walked to the kitchen, chatting about the coming days.
#sf9#sf9 au#sf9 imagines#sf9 scenarios#sf9 zuho#sf9 zuho x reader#zuho x reader#baek zuho#sf9 fluff#zuho fluff#sensational feeling 9#sf9 huru#sf9 x reader#sf9 writings
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May I ask an HC of the warlords taking care of MC who has been suffering from migraines and overall pain for over a week? TY.
Hi, there love! I just wanted to say HAPPY, EASTER! And I hope you have been feeling better! Let me know if you want me to do a write up for the rest of the boys as well! I hope you enjoy it, dear! O.O
Migraine Headcanon: Oda Forces <3
Nobunaga
It has been a whole week since he has seen his precious fireball.
He has been busy too with work and hasn’t seen you since.
While he was busy dealing with a dispute in the council room, a maid burst through the door and rushed to whispers something in his ear.
Moments later he stood up and rushed to your shared room, when he didn’t see you there he sprinted his way to your old room.
He knew you had a bad habit of not wanting him to worry about you
He walked into your darkroom; he felt his way around the room until he found you in your futon
The maid had told him you hadn’t eaten cause of nausea
And that you had been cooped up in your room for a few days now
Your arm was over your eyes, and the pain was evident on your face
His heart broke when he saw the dried tear stains on your cheek; you must have cried yourself to sleep
He then gently picked you up careful as not to disturb your sleep and moved you to rest more comfortably on your shares futon in his room where he can tend to you himself
He called for Ieyasu to make some pain medicine for you
When you woke up you were in so much pain, Nobunaga simply crouched down beside you and gave you some pain medication
He looked at you with eyes full of love, worry, and affection
He drew you into his arms so that your head was resting comfortably on his chest, he then squeezed out and placed a cold cloth over your eyes to shield them from the light.
He rubbed your back until you fell back into dreamland. It truly broke his heart that you were in such pain more so that he had not been there for you from the start.
Nobunaga refused to leave your side, canceling all his meetings and handing everything over to Hideyoshi.
You were his life and he would go to the ends of the earth to make sure you were well and happy
He found out that warm toasty feet could help soothe some of the pain and discomfort, so he gives you a relaxing foot massage and once done place your feet in the warmest fluffiest socks possible - cause we all know this boy loves feet. Plus he knows all the feet pressure points that are connected to the head, and he makes sure to give special attention to those points
He ensured that you had the best medicine, he kept the room dark, and he would bring you whatever your heart desired. Only the best for his lucky charm.
Hideyoshi
You woke up that morning with the worst headache you had ever felt
Hideyoshi woke up to the sight of your face contorted in pain.
He was so worried; he immediately called for Ieyasu to come to check you out
He would come and check in on you every 30 minutes during his breaks
During that time, he would make you some tea and check to make sure you were doing okay.
He hated that he felt so powerless, he had no idea what to do to help you, other than giving you some pain medication
When you complain of a sore, fatigued body, he finally feels like he can do something for you, he would gently massage your back neck, arms, and hands.
He will also give you a gentle scalp and head massage in hopes to alleviate the throbbing pain
He draws you a nice warm bubble bath; he had heard from Ieyasu that magnesium salts in a bath could actually soothe the body and help with alleviating some so the symptoms
Mama bird will make sure you have more than enough food, and drink to keep you hydrated
He is so happy when you are finally feeling a bit better after about a week.
Masamune
Masamune was on the hunt for his kitten; he had to most fantastic day planned.
He finally spotted you sweeping the floor
He ran up to you and gave you the biggest hug
The two of you were chatting away merrily when all of a sudden you were hit by a dizzy spell
You shrugged off the dizziness and slight headache, not wanting to ruin Masa’s day off when all of a sudden, you started to fall. The room was spinning, and you felt incredibly sick
Masamune caught you in his arms and cradled you in his muscular arms, while he brought you back to his room
Your eyes were so light-sensitive at this point, and your headache was now throbbing in pain.
It broke Masamune’s heart to see his kitten in pain
He wrapped you up with the fluffiest softest blankie into a little burrito
He then drew the curtains and made sure your shared room was pitch black
Finally, he told all the castle staff to keep down the noise levels as he could see you were incredibly sensitive to noise
Masa would make you all your favorite dishes; he would take special care to pack as many nutrients as possible in them while making sure there was nothing in them to trigger your nausea
Will shower you in sweet kisses.
He would pull you to lie on top of him while he gently rubbed your back.
He would slowly but surely nurse his little lass back to full health.
Ieyasu
Ieyasu, basically being the castle doctor will notice your symptoms before you even do. He knows there is nothing you can do to prevent a migraine from happening once it starts.
Your migraine hasn’t even fully hit yet, and this sweet boi has already prepared to the futon for you
He made sure to make it as comfortable as possible for you, with all the softest pillows and blankies
He knows he has to move quick cause when the migraine hits he wants to be by your side
He makes you some pain medicine and something for the nausea
When he sees you walking into your shared room holding onto Wasabi for support, he knows it has started.
He will darken the room and lead you to the futon that he has prepared for you.
He sits beside you and places a cold cloth over your eyes; he helps you to sit up and sits behind you so you can lean on his chest for support while he feeds you the medicine he had prepared.
He had recently read in a western medicine book that certain essential oils can act as aromatherapy, so he makes use of that newfound knowledge and gently rubs your temples with some peppermint oil.
He will also defuse the aroma in your room.
He makes sure to give his maids and palace staff strict orders to keep noise levels down especially near your shared room
Ieyasu will simply sit by your bedside the whole time, gently massaging your hands, caressing your face, and gently rubbing small circles around your temples. He will locate all your pressure points on your face and scalp and gives you a gentle massage to help soothe that throbbing pain
Ieyasu will fall asleep in the crook of your neck, and Wasabi will be cuddled up by your legs, resting her head on your thigh.
The two of them are so worried about you, and they would do anything to ensure that you are comfortable and pain-free
Mitsunari
Is so confused at what is happening to you
Thinks you had been poisoned
He will call for Ieyasu to examine you, that is when he finds out you were having migraines
He will read up all about them, even borrowing some of Yasu medical journals to get tips and tricks to help you best he can
He will warp you up in a blankie and hold you tight while gently rubbing your back
Sweet boi will try and take your mind off the throbbing pain of your headache by softly reading to you
He also read the tip about the role of aromatherapy in helping with symptoms of migraines and will defuse some lavender aroma around your room
Will coax you to sleep by gently rubbing circles on your hands
Softi boi tries his best to make you tea, but we all know how that goes, lucky Hideyoshi quietly made his way in your room just on time to see Mitsunari attempt to make tea.
Mitsunari will bring you freshly picked lavender flowers every day and give you little gifts you brighten your day ever so slightly
He will make sure to keep you hydrated by helping you sit up and drink some water every now and then
Mostly this softi boy will just hold you in his arms and making sure you are comfortable and well cared for
Mitsuhide
Comes back from his secret spy missions ready to shower his sweet with all his love and affection
After giving in his report to Nobunaga, he heard a few maids gossiping about you
Apparently, none of them have seen you for a few days, and they were starting to get worried
This kitsune sprinted back home
He quietly entered into your shared room to see that every possible light source was blacked out
He slowly walked towards you only to see your pale figure, messy hair, and tiny hands gripping your head in pain
He is by your side in a split second asking if you need anything
He is so mad at himself for being away so long, and it breaks his heart to know you were in pain all this time
You run to the bathroom and Mitsuhide is right by your side, holding your hair and gently rubbing your back.
He can tell you hadn’t had a bath in a while, so he draws you a warm bath with some magnesium salts and essential oils in it.
He will jump in the bath with you, sitting behind you and gently massaging your neck and shoulders. He will also wash your hair for you, smoothly working out all the knots that had formed while massaging your scalp.
Once done with your baths, he will dry your hair and style it in a loose braid for maximum comfort
He lets you wear one of his old pj’s, cause he knows you secretly love to wear his clothes plus nothing screams warm and comfortable quite like wearing an oversized piece of clothing
You look so weak and frail
He carries you back to the futon and has the maids prepare you a meal that won’t upset your nausea
He will hold you in his lap, feeding you some soup and tea to get you rehydrated.
He will pull you to lay on top of him in the futon
He will cover your eyes with a cold pack and gently massage your scalp and hair. He will lightly caress the contours of your face fining all the pressure points to help with your headache.
Sneki boy will light some scented candles
Will kiss away all your tears and stay by your side the entire time getting anything you could possibly need.
He takes some time off so that he can spend every minute by your side to nurse you back to health
He had read that stress and over exhaustion can often trigger migraines so when you are feeling better, he will take a trip with you to the nearest hot spring for some rest and relaxation
Bonus Kenshin
Kenshin had been missing you the whole day
He had been stuck in a boring meeting the entire day, and all he could think about is how he just wanted to cuddle with his sweet little bunny
You walked to your shared room with the softest smile on his face only to see you unmoved from the position you were in this morning when he had left
His blood turned to ice as he rushed to your side
He cradled you in his arms; you looked so pale and fragile
You tried to open your eyes to welcome him back they were way too light-sensitive, and everything was just so bright
He immediately called for a doctor to examine you, refusing to let go of you
The doctor has left some medicine and advice, and said there is not much one can do about migraines
Kenshin summoned his fluffy army to your room before he could even order them to cuddle with you, they immediately sensed that you weren’t feeling well and started nestling your body
The bunnies love you just as much as they loved Kenshin
They kept you company while Kenshin went to get everything he needed to care for his Goddess of war
He blacked out all the windows, made some ginger and honey tea, and fetched a bucket filled with cold water
He was now back at your side, bringing your body to lean on his as he places the cool cloth over your eyes. The bunnies snuggled closer to the two of you. Nuzzling you as a reminder of their support and affection
Some rabbits came back carrying some lavender and placed it beside the two of you. The lavender filled your room with a sweet aroma.
Kenshin caressed the contours of your face, and gently massaged your scalp as he played with your hair
He insisted on hand feeding you; he would also make sure you stayed well hydrated by bringing a cup of water to your mouth for you to drink every now and then
He was so scared; he didn’t want to lose you
He wished at that moment that the migraine was a physical enemy that he could fight and kill, cause he can’t stand the thought of his beloved in pain.
He will refuse to leave your side until you are well and hands over all his meetings and official duties to Sasuke to handle
#ikemen sengoku headcanons#ikesen headcanons#ikesen headcanon#headcanon ikemen#ikemen sengoku hc#mitsuhide akechi#ikesen mitsuhide#ikesen nobunaga#oda nobunaga#ikesen mitsunari#mitsunari ishida#toyotomi hideyoshi#ikesen hideyoshi#masamune date#ikesen masamune#ikesen ieyasu#ieyasu tokugawa#kenshin ikemen sengoku#ikesen kenshin
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BEAUXBATONS AND DURMSTRANG
Remus gave Sirius one more uneasy look before he started his chapter. It was the first time he'd seen Harry and Sirius really fighting about something, and he almost felt bad that everyone was against Sirius on this, but not bad enough to endorse the idea that Sirius wasn't insane for wanting to come back. Still hoping somehow Harry might be able to convince him otherwise in the book, Remus got started.
Harry awoke the next morning with a plan already formed, as if his mind had supplied it while he slept.
"I've had moments like that," James nodded eagerly, throwing Sirius a look in hopes he wasn't so angry at them he wouldn't play along.
Sirius sighed for a moment before adding on, "yeah, some of our best pranks came from the brilliance of the first thought in the morning."
"Hopefully this one works out for Harry," Lily muttered.
He quickly got ready and made his way downstairs to where he'd left out his Divination homework,
"You didn't put up your homework?" Remus said absently. "Risky Harry, someone could have taken that."
"I can't see to many people clamoring for those kinds of fortunes," Sirius said back deadpan.
and began writing a letter to Sirius starting with the fact that he'd just imagined his scar hurting.
That cracked a grin out of all of them, albeit a sad one from Sirius as he said, "if you actually think I'll fall for that, you clearly don't know me that well."
Harry muttered something inarticulately.
Going on to say he'd only been half asleep when he'd written Sirius his last letter, there was no need at all to come back, his head was fine.
"I still think you need it checked," Sirius snipped at him, to which Harry stuck his tongue out at him.
Harry then left for the owlery, and was only delayed by Peeves who tried to turn a vase onto his head.
"And you didn't want to stick around for that?" Lily chuckled.
The Owlery was in one of the turrets of the castle, with no windows and straw all over the floor littered with owl droppings and regurgitated owl meals.
"Oh so pleasant," Remus smirked.
"I remember Filch once gave me the lovely detention of having to clean that place," James said, a little twinkle in his eyes already showing where he was going with this before he finished, "for some odd reason he used that as an excuse to blame me when he found a bunch of rat skeletons in his office."
"Can not imagine why," Lily snickered, while Harry fully laughed at that.
It took Harry only a moment to spot his snowy owl amongst the present birds, but it took him far longer to coax her down as she kept turning her tail to him.
That made all four of them snicker to Harry's dismay, though he recognized he deserved it after the way he treated her last night.
Clearly she was still miffed at him for her treatment last night, and it took Harry saying how he'd just have to use Pig instead
"That'll do it, yeah," Remus chuckled, as Hedwig had already shown her vanity in any other owl that wasn't her.
that convinced her to stick out her leg and allow Harry to tie up the note. Harry carried her over to the window, brushing on her feathers as he pleaded with her to find Sirius before the dementors did.
The smile dropped off all of their faces, even Sirius couldn't help a light shiver, though he quickly masked it by grumbling, "you have no faith in me."
Harry gave him an exasperated sigh, saying, "you know that's not it Sirius, you just shouldn't risk-"
Sirius just ignored him, glaring hard at Remus. Harry cut himself off when he realized he may as well be telling the fireplace this was a bad idea, and Remus chose to keep going.
She gave him an assured hoot before taking flight, and Harry watched her go with a now familiar tightening of unease.
Sirius sighed at that, rubbing his temple. He didn't want to worry his pup, he was trying to do the opposite here by staying closer. Clearly though when he looked around they were all feeling the same way, and despite his insistence, the smallest part of him couldn't deny he'd be the first to have a panic attack if he was caught by those dementors again.
He had been so sure that Sirius' reply would alleviate his worries rather than increasing them.
"Well I'm so sorry having me around made your life worse," Sirius grumbled, redirecting his confusion at himself outwards.
James, who had lived with this for far too many years, snapped back, "only when you start acting like a prat, as Harry's learning."
As Harry told his two friends over breakfast what he'd done, Hermione's first response was to snap at him for lying to Sirius.
"Hey, his first lie to you!" Remus snickered. "You should feel proud Padfoot, he's already trying to figure out the best way to do that."
Sirius cracked and actually began snickering, while Lily rolled her eyes. Of course it would be that to make Sirius feel better, the only person in the world who saw lying as a good thing.
Harry shot back it was better that than him getting sent back to Azkaban.
Sirius let his head flop back against the sofa, all humor forgotten, and already feeling exhausted. They'd just started this chapter!
Hermione made to keep going, but Ron hissed at her to drop it, and for once she did.
"There is a first time for everything," Lily raised a brow at this show of restraint.
Harry did his best not to worry about Sirius over the next couple of weeks.
Remus' voice cracked on that last word.
"Weeks, plural?" James asked in a too high pitched voice.
"Breathe Prongs," Sirius muttered, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see any of their faces freaking out. "It took me awhile to get back to him because I'm clearly up to something more than moving around. Don't flip out on me until we've got proof."
The others couldn't help it, they were still on the edge of their seats as Remus forced himself to go on.
Every morning he anxiously watched the mail arrived with nothing for him, and spent every night with restless nightmares of Sirius being cornered by dementors.
Sirius couldn't even pretend to ignore the spasms that caused him, he'd been having nightmares about that coupled with some other things, and the fact that Harry couldn't even pretend this thought didn't scare him wasn't making any of them feel any better.
Harry was feeling a little desperate and panicky at this point, time was dragging on too long, he had to know if his godfather was going to be okay. He was fixing to throw his caution out the window and start digging right through his memories to find the source, just to know that Sirius would come out okay, but then Remus caught his breath back and kept reading very loudly to hopefully distract them all from that and Harry acquitted he may only make things worse.
At least during the day he had things to distract himself. He wished Quidditch were still on, nothing put him out like a good training practice,
"I've got my proof!" James said a little breathlessly, still blinking that terrible vision Harry had painted away from his mind's eye. "Quidditch is good for you, take that Lily!"
"Love you to dear," she gave a soft laugh back she didn't really feel, but admired the attempt he gave all the same.
but at least he had his lessons, which were more difficult than ever, especially DADA.
"I should probably be terrified," Remus muttered, "considering your first class, but at this rate learning about the Unforgivables would be a relief."
"You're depressing me," Sirius huffed back, his smile at least trying to move past strained.
To their shock, Moody had decided it would be best for the class to know what it felt like to have the Imperius curse placed on them.
"He's what now!" James shrieked, that had distracted him! The baby in Lily's lap began crying in surprise, and Lily tried to deny her shaking hands as she cuddled and soothed him back down.
Remus shook his ears in surprise at such a sharp volume, but after blinking down at the pages a few times and considering, he said, "I guess it's not the worst idea in the world."
James turned too wide eyes on him, forcing his volume not to keep breaking decibels, "he was the one to tell them using those on other people will get you put away, and now he's going to use it on them!" As he kept speaking though, some of the panic did start fading out, and after looking around at the others who all looked equally as upset, though somehow resigned, he acquitted, "though I guess, I can't deny it could be useful. Better a teacher who will force you to do your homework until you break free than a Death Eater."
"That better be the only spell he uses on them though," Lily said dangerously. "If he decides to give them a taste of what the Cruciates feels like, I'll rip his other leg and eye off."
"I get dibs," the others agreed.
Harry watched them all with fascination. Through most of his young life he'd always wondered what it would feel like if he had parents to write home to, to tell them how his day had gone and what he'd learned in class. He never would have dreamed of writing this type of stuff to Sirius, not now when he was so worried about him anyways. Now he was getting a first hand account of how they'd process things, and he would never not find it intriguing to watch.
Hermione tried to protest, saying how Moody had pointed out it was illegal, but Moody said back that Dumbledore agreed he thought they should be taught what if felt like,
They'd already realized that Dumbledore must have approved this, but the fact that Moody just so phrased it meaning he'd actually told Moody to go and do this gave all of them lockjaw. It didn't feel like it was a coincidence this was happening to Harry. Even if this was happening to all fourth years, it probably wasn't happenstance this was Harry's particular curriculum. There were too many times before where they'd felt like Dumbledore was putting Harry through a little something extra.
They'd all promised though, that since the man wasn't here to defend himself, they'd try not to throw too many accusations at him, but this was really hitting the fan.
but if Hermione couldn't take it, she was excused.
"How come we never got excused from class for questioning the teacher?" Sirius muttered, finding it much more pleasant to crack a joke then imagine his little pup being put under that spell for any bleeding reason.
"Because we'd have a zero attendance if we did pull that off," James sighed in agreement, both what he'd said allowed and what he'd been thinking.
Hermione went pink with shock but didn't move a muscle, as everyone knew Hermione would rather eat bubotuber pus then miss such an important lesson.
"That's as accurate as it could get," Harry chuckled.
Moody began calling the students up one by one and putting them under, and the rest of the class watched them do the most astounding things. Dean was made to hop around the room on one leg singing the national anthem.
"That poor kid," Remus said in pity.
Lavender Brown imitated a squirrel,
"Least Moody's being original," Sirius muttered.
and Neville did several gymnastic tricks he had no idea how to do himself. Then it was Harry's turn,
Harry watched all four of them tense as tight as they could go. It didn't seem to matter to them the reason and logic of this, clearly Harry being under the influence of any Unforgivable was like a nightmare come true to them. All it managed to cause Harry though, was a flood of warmth at how clearly concerned they all were.
and he moved to the front as Moody said 'Imperio.'
Remus let out a blistering sigh as he read that. First the problems with Sirius, now this, how come he hadn't been able to get one of the nice chapters?!
What washed over Harry was like nothing he'd ever felt before, and it was wonderful. It left him with a floating feeling of ease, and he felt a smile adopt his face as everything he'd ever worried about melted away, no longer even aware of those watching him.
"Well if it was unpleasant then you wouldn't want to fight it," Sirius grumbled.
James was practically shivering non stop by the end of that description, so he couldn't have added something if he wanted to.
From a long ways off, he heard Moody's voice instructing him to jump onto the desk.
"That's it?" Lily couldn't help but question. "We went from gymnastics and squirrels, to just jumping onto a desk."
"You've seen how high up those things are," Harry reminded with a shrug, "you try doing that without a running start."
Harry bent his knees at once to obey, before some small voice in the very back of his head asked why he'd do such a thing.
Remus wasn't sure he'd read that right, because that was the start to someone being able to break through the curse. Harry was fourteen, he couldn't really have that sort of will, especially on his first try!
Harry was watching all of them with confusion, and when they continued to just sit there gaping at him he demanded, "what?"
Sirius finally cleared up his expression and gave Harry a proud smile as he defended, "I'm really not that surprised, you managed a corporeal patronus at thirteen, around a hundred dementors! Clearly your strength is your DADA spells."
Harry flushed red in surprise at such praise, but Sirius' comment managed to shake the others awake as well. It was a startling and impressive feat for anyone to show, but Sirius was right, this wasn't the first time he's showed such strong strength in character.
Trying to push some of the attention off of him, Harry asked back, "hasn't any of you fought this off?"
They all went very still and quiet, this wasn't something any of them really wanted to talk about, but James broke first and whispered, "I did once," with such a disturbing look on his face, Harry was terrified to ask what he'd been told to do.
Lily watched her husband, her eyes suddenly too many shades darker, but knew that Harry deserved the answer no matter how unpleasant it was. "He came home one night acting funny," she explained for what felt like the millionth time, though every single one made the experience as raw and new as if it had just happened. "I was still pregnant with you, and he came home one day, but well, he wasn't acting right."
"I was there that day," Remus winced in horror as all the possibilities of what else could have happened that day still haunted him if he wasn't. His hand went to absently rub at his throat as he tried to get out, "and, well-"
"Remus stunned me," James got out in a frosty voice. He despised having to recall this, like the others he'd had to recant everything he could remember for the Order later, and it still gave him nightmares. Clearly no one else was getting this out though, and he wanted to move past it. "Sadly, that doesn't negate the effects of the Imperius curse, so it wore off, and I went to attack him. I was actually ordered to-" his face spasmed, he couldn't get that out if his life depended on it, so he hedged around, "well, anyways, I snapped out of it before I could do any real harm, but-"* he cut off, his throat feeling like it had closed shut.
Sirius' face was an ugly mask through this whole thing, he'd went nuts there for a moment when he'd heard and had felt so useless at only hearing of this after the fact. He'd tried, like Remus, to figure out who'd done it to him, but James had never recalled anything after he'd left the house.
Harry didn't think he could stand to listen to anymore even if the others could spit it out, so he was more then happy when Remus decided to move on.
Moody's voice kept repeating it, telling him to jump onto the desk, but that other voice was growing more insistent now, stating this was a terrible idea and he should do no such thing. Then Moody snapped the order, telling him to jump onto that desk, now! The results ended with Harry half trying to defy that, and ramming headlong into the desk and possibly fracturing his knees.
"I really am just blasted," Sirius said, shaking his head in utter amazement, still trying to shake past that terrible memory this stupid spell brought up.
"I'll take the surprise and be grateful for it any day," Lily agreed.
Moody was definitely impressed, praising Harry and telling the lot of them to see what he'd just done! He instructed that Harry was to do it again, and told the other students to watch his eyes, that's where you could see the struggle. Then he turned back to Harry, praising him that no one would be controlling him.
"If that doesn't show how impressive it is, nothing will," James murmured, "since it takes a miracle to impress Moody."
Harry was indeed forced to go through that several more times until he could throw the spell off completely.
An hour later as they were leaving, Harry was muttering to his friends about how Moody kept going on like they'd be attacked any second.
"You mean you aren't?" Sirius said with mock wide eyes. "Here I thought they had rabid bunnies around every corner."
"You and your blasted rabbits," Remus grumbled.
Harry frowned in confusion at the odd comment, but no one noticed.
Ron agreed Moody was borderline mad as he skipped along, not having been able to throw the spell off near as well, though Moody had promised the effects would wear off by lunch. Ron continued by pointing out he'd been like this for a while, pointing out the story he'd told Seamus about that person who shouted Boo at him on April Fool's Day. Then he bemoaned how they were supposed to fit in Moody's assigned homework along with everything else they had to do.
"Aw, we didn't get to hear the rest of the story?" Remus pouted.
"I'll tell you if you tell me what Sirius' thing with rabbits is," Harry offered.
James released a surprised snort of laughter, if anything could knock him back into this conversation it was that. He more than happily explained, "when referring to Remus' werewolf status in school, we called it his furry little problem."
"When anyone asked about it," Sirius said in a saint like voice, "I managed to convince them all Remus had a badly behaved rabbit. Had to keep up the gist, so I got him one that following Christmas."
"Of course I didn't keep it," Remus scoffed, "it would be insane of me to try and own a pet, plus most creatures dislike me. Yet he's persisted in trying to give me one nearly every bleeding holiday sense."
Harry was laughing so hard, it took him several moments to calm back down and explain his end. "I never heard the name of the witch, but from what Moody told, she got pinned to a wall by a permanent sticking charm. Poor thing had to undress in front of her whole department to go home and get a change of clothes, and they're still up on some floor at the Ministry."
"That's a kindness considering some of the things he could have done to her," Lily smirked, thinking that everyone knew better than to pull a stunt like that at Moody now a days, but add fifteen years to him, that was asking for trouble.
All the fourth years had noticed the increase in their homework, and when they'd complained about it to McGonagall in her class, she'd begun by lecturing them that their Ordinary Wizarding Levels were drawing closer,
"They're not until the end of next year," Harry protested.
"They do not care, one little bit," Sirius sighed.
Dean interrupted to point out that wasn't until next year, but McGonagall persisted they needed the practice now! In this class no one but Hermione could turn her porcupine into a pincushion. Hermione blushed at the praise, trying not to look pleased with herself.
"And how was that working out for her?" Remus rolled his eyes.
"She'd stopped raising her hand and asking McGonagall to triple check it was the same style as McGonagall's, so quite well," Harry chuckled.
The two boys had been very amused at Trelawney fawning over their predictions,
At least they could agree with her on something, as they all couldn't deny their own amusement at that.
even having read some of them to the rest of the class and praising them for accepting their fate with unflinching horror,
"Such brave souls," Sirius said tragically.
but weren't nearly as amused when she requested the same thing for next month.
"Ra-rock cakes," James said with a straight face and a snap of his fingers, the others blissfully ignoring what he'd been fixing to say.
They were running out of ideas.
"I suppose it might be a little too obvious if you asked her for some, she's chock full of them," Lily sighed.
In History of Magic, Binns had them doing weakly essays over the goblin rebellions, and Snape had them all researching antidotes. This they took seriously,
"I thought you were worried about me?" Sirius said with an innocent voice. "Why would you take it to me?"
James reached around Harry like he was trying to smack him for that, but Harry was too busy laughing and being in the way.
as he'd made not so subtle threats about poisoning someone before Christmas.
Lily muttered several foul things under her breath none of them needed translating, as they all knew they were going to shove several poisons down Snape's throat when they got out of here, but if he touched Harry it would get even worse for him.
Flitwick had them reading three extra books in preparation for his lesson on Summoning Charms,
"Excuse him?" Remus spluttered. "Books, plural? A chapter or two I'll give, but Merlin man!"
Harry muttered his agreement, but for some odd reason was feeling regret he hadn't jumped on that one instead.
and even Hagrid wasn't helping as he asked them all to come down outside of class and take notes on the Skrewts.
"That's still the best homework I've heard yet," Sirius smirked. He wasn't exactly fond of these skrewts, but he couldn't deny he found them fascinating either.
Malfoy flat out refused this idea,
"Joyful, flunk him out of the class so we can deal with him a little less," James scowled.
and Hagrid snapped back that he would do as he was told, otherwise he'd see to Moody's idea. Remarking how he'd heard what a lovely ferret Malfoy could make.
Causing all of five of them a relapse in amusement, that joke would never get old!
The Gryffindors all laughed at that while Malfoy flushed with anger, but clearly the threat seemed real enough to him as he said nothing back.
"Please never let that fade away," Sirius begged, "this is better than the time Hermione slapped him!"
"I never thought that could be true," Remus nodded fondly, "and I couldn't be happier to be wrong."
The trio found Hagrid saying this particularly satisfying after Malfoy had tried to get Hagrid fired last year.
"Charming as ever," Lily giggled.
"Bless irony," James agreed.
They were on their way up the marble staircase when they ran into the crowd in the entrance hall, all hovering around and reading the sign announcing the delegates from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would be arriving at six, the day before Halloween,
"Oh bullie!" Sirius chirped with real interest, he couldn't wait to see this Tournament getting started!
and that lessons would end a half hour early, where Harry interrupted to shout with joy that Snape wouldn't have time to poison them with that.
"There's the bright side," Remus snickered with only half his usual amount of jesting at that, considering they all felt it a very real threat.
Ron went back to reading that the students were instructed to leave their things in their dormitories and meet outside the castle to greet them. Ernie had been right by them as they read this, and he couldn't hide how excited he was before bustling off to go and tell Cedric. When Ron asked why, Harry suggested he was probably entering the tournament.
"Oh not him," James groused, "I couldn't stand rooting for someone who'd beaten Harry out of Quidditch."
Harry realized that his hands were starting to shake, a now familiar but never unpainful throbbing beginning in his forehead. It pained him that his first instinct was to snap at his father for saying a negative word against Cedric, while his fourteen year old mind fully agreed with James. He was sure that was indicative of something, but he knew he would regret it if he learned the answer.
Ron was outraged that this idiot could be the Hogwarts champion,
"Completely agree," Sirius nodded along.
Harry found himself having to beat down the urge to snap at both Ron and Sirius now for even thinking of saying a mean word against Cedric, and he knew they didn't really mean it...what on earth was that about?
Hermione snapped at him for that, saying they just didn't like him because he'd once beaten Gryffindor at Quidditch.
"Is there another reason not to like someone," Remus asked innocently.
"I'm not liking you lot very much right now," Lily shot back.
Ron said back that she only liked him because he was handsome, and Hermione was deeply offended as she said she'd never like someone for the way they looked! Ron coughed out the name Lockhart.
"Can't even argue with him that one," Harry cackled, more than pleased at finally being distracted from this.
The sign had reignited the talk of the tournament,
Harry had to press his lips tight together to suppress a moan. He'd quite enjoyed the long absence of this being mentioned, but now that it was all coming back that same feeling of unease was rising right back up. He tried his very best to ignore it, thankfully he'd had a lot of practice by now.
rumors of who was going to enter, what the contests were going to be, and comparing what little they knew of the other schools to Hogwarts, and what was better or worse.
"The accents," Sirius said with a dreamy look on his face.
"Do I want to know?" Harry asked with much more interest than he'd meant to, anything to keep the conversation off that Tournament for a moment.
"Oh please don't-" Remus began to protest, but Sirius instantly ignored him and explained, "I pinpalled with a girl from Uagadou, that's the school they have in Africa, and she was a real-"
"Perhaps we can continue this later," Lily quickly inserted, as she hadn't even known Sirius at that time and she could only imagine how inappropriate this was about to get.
"You lot are no fun at all," Sirius pouted at her, but Remus quickly threw her a grateful look and kept going while he could.
Harry also got to watch as the castle received a good scrubbing. Several portraits, much to the protest of its occupants, were removed of all dirt, all of the armor were removed of their creaking, and Filch became so strict to anyone with mud on their shoes he reduced some first years to tears.
Lily gave a huffy sigh, she really wished he'd be told off for that more.
The staff was beginning to act a little odd as well, McGonagall gave a much too stern lecture to Neville about not showing any Durmstrang student he couldn't perform a Switching Spell,
"I cannot imagine how that would come up in conversation," Sirius rolled his eyes.
"That was a bit harsh," James agreed with a wince for poor Neville.
as he'd somehow managed to get his ears on the cactus instead.
"Actually, now I can see why that would come up," Remus smirked. "That's quite memorable."
"What were you trying to do?" Lily raised a disbelieving brow. "When we learned that, we were supposed to switch petals from one flower to the other."
"We were supposed to be putting the spikes of the cactus onto our portion of the table," Harry shrugged, not wanting to admit that he'd somehow managed instead to remove his to Ron's chair.
The morning of, they went down to breakfast to find the Great Hall bedecked for a feast, with banners hung above every table with their house crest, and the school motto on a banner behind the teacher's table.
The three of them took seats by Fred and George, who were having another whispered conversation.
"What on earth?" Lily felt like she was asking for the fiftieth time.
"Hopefully they explain," Remus shrugged, several options still spinning around.
"I wouldn't hold your breath," Sirius sighed, thinking whatever their problem was, they clearly weren't up to explaining it to anyone.
They sat down to hear George saying that if 'he' won't talk to them in person, they'd have to send that letter after all, or shove it in his hand. He couldn't avoid them forever.
Remus looked up with a frown to indicate he was done with all the twins had said.
James's frown only deepened as he said, "well that didn't really explain much of anything."
"They're being avoided," Sirius said thoughtfully, rubbing at his chin as he swirled his mind around. "Maybe we were wrong and it is someone at Hogwarts, someone from another house this has to do with."
"What could they be accusing a fellow Hogwarts student of that's so bad?" Remus postured.
"We were clearly wrong, and it doesn't have anything to do with whoever attacked Bagman," Lily sighed, then waved Remus on to keep going as they were now having a fairly circular argument.
Ron asked who was avoiding them, and Fred shot back he wished they would.
"Ah sibling love," Sirius gave a light smirk.
Ron instead asked George what the deal was, and George snapped back having a nosy little brother.
"At that moment, I'm fairly sure they mean it," James snorted, no one liked having their conversations intruded on.
Harry instead changed the subject to ask if they had any more ideas about the Tournament, and George didn't seem any happier at the change of topic as he admitted he'd tried to get McGonagall to talk, but she'd just told him to stick to his work.
"How rude," Remus smirked.
"Should have gotten Hermione to try and ask," Harry chuckled, "she might have tried another argument like she did on Binns."
Ron wondered what the tasks were going to be, then told Harry how he still thought they could do them, they'd done plenty of dangerous stuff already.
"Who's this we?" Sirius gave a disbelieving look. "Harry's been left alone at all the big important things."
"Ron did knock out that troll," Remus said fairly.
"And he stood up to your arse, that's a dangerous feat in itself," James smirked.
"Plus going into the Chamber, and the Forest when he had a good idea what he'd find," Sirius agreed with a little nod, officially taking back his crack.
"This is actually starting to depress me," Lily muttered, she hated sitting around and thinking of all these things Harry and his friends had to go through.
Fred pointed out they'd never done anything in front of judges.
"There's that to," Sirius switched back, like he still wanted to press his point, "none of them have done any of that stuff with an audience around, and we know at least Hermione'll freeze under pressure."
"She was a first year," Harry defended.
Sirius still shrugged, giving Harry an obvious look, which the others suddenly realized he may be doing to try and get through Harry's head that he could fantasize about this all day, but he didn't want Harry in this tournament any more than any of them.
Harry either didn't realize that's what Sirius was doing, or was ignoring him.
George admitted McGonagall had told them that the champions get awarded points for what they did from the judges. Harry asked about who these judges were, and Hermione said she knew at least three of them were the heads of the participating schools.
"Which seems a little biased," Lily shook her head, "as they must be prone to supporting their own school. You'd think they'd get judges from other countries."
"I think it may be so that they can show how impartial they can be," Remus offered, "after all, a judge from Durmstrang giving a high score to someone from Hogwarts would make them seem fair and equal."
"That's if they actually do it though," James rolled his eyes.
She knew this because they'd all been injured during the Tournament of 1792, when a cockatrice the champions were supposed to be catching went on a rampage.
Sirius in particular gave a shudder at the thought of that, while Harry asked, "what's a cockatrice?"
"It's a dragon with only two legs and the head of a rooster," Remus said with a disbelieving look that students would have to put up with this. "They're born from a male rooster laying an egg, being hatched by a toad-"
"Thank you, because that wasn't a close enough description to how a basilisk's born," James muttered. It was amazing how the simple matter of the egg being from a male or female chicken made the difference.
"How would a male chicken lay an egg?" Harry politely interrupted to clarify.
Remus' pleasant grin only grew as Harry kept asking for more as he briefly added, "some hens can possibly change gender after they lay an egg, but they don't switch back to hens, so as long as the switch happened it is then technically a roosters egg. Cockatrice's have the ability that if it breathes on you it can kill you, which is a fair reason those judges made a run for it."
Now even Harry agreed with his dad, this was sounding far too much like a basilisk for his pleasure.
Remus was clearly ignoring all of them as he continued his rambling, "Merlin do I pity those contestants, but a sure fire way to keep it at bay would be to have a weasel around or to have it look at itself in the mirror, so while the challenge of capturing one is there, at least it seems doable."
"Can we please change the subject now?" Sirius begged, these things were far too close to dragons for his wanting to keep going.
Remus pouted at them, this was such a rarely mentioned creature he didn't get to talk about them much, but didn't argue the point either as he knew how uncomfortable it was making both of his friends.
She noticed them all watching her in surprise, and made a tsking noise that they hadn't read as many books as she had,
"I feel like you hear that a lot," Lily snorted.
as she continued the full account of it was in Hogwarts, A History. Of course she no longer considered that the most reliable book, as in her opinion it should instead be called A Highly Biased and Selective History of Hogwarts, Which Glosses Over the Nastier Aspects of the School.
"But that title's such a mouthful," Sirius rolled his eyes, "I'm sure she can understand why they tightened it up a bit."
Ron asked what that was about, and Hermione shot back house-elves! Not once in those thousands of pages did it mention that this school had its history based in the oppression of them!
"Why would it?" James asked with genuine interest. "They had nothing to do with the school's history."
"It's the principle of the matter James," Lily sighed, "it's an injustice not to mention the fact that slaves live on the premises."
"Never heard you saying anything about this before Hermione," Sirius grumbled.
"I never put as much thought into it as she clearly has," Lily scowled back, "which I'm deeply regretting."
There was a lull where Lily and Sirius kept glaring at each other, each clearly deciding if they were actually going to revisit their earlier argument already, but then Remus decided to keep reading loudly while he still could.
Harry quickly went back to his breakfast to ignore her looks. Neither his nor Ron's lack of enthusiasm had curbed Hermione one bit about this subject.
Lily switched her expression to Harry, wishing her son would take more of an interest as he must see how wrong that is, he'd hardly been treated any better at the Dursleys, but Harry was thoroughly avoiding her eye as well.
They may have paid their two Sickles for their S. P. E. W badge, but only to shut her up. It had instead seemed to boost her, as she'd taken to spending nights in the Gryffindor tower rattling her box under people's noses, badgering all of her house to do so as well.
"I feel like that could be classified as harassment," Remus raised a brow at just how forceful she was being.
"Best way to keep up attention," Lily spoke from experience, the good and the bad.
Sighting over and over that they were all taken care of by the magical creatures who were unpaid.
"Well when you put it like that, it sounds like a bad thing," Sirius muttered quietly enough only Harry and James heard him.
"And how would you put it?" Harry murmured back. He may not have been as gung ho about this as Hermione, but he couldn't deny either he didn't like the ideas of more Dobby's being out there. He just knew better to go badgering other people about it.
"You ever watched them do their work pup?" Sirius whispered, waiting for Harry to shake his head no before finishing, "trust me, they're singing show tunes and beaming the whole time. They think they've got it made, and Hermione, or Lily, telling them otherwise will not make them any happier."
Lily narrowed her eyes suspiciously, she could tell they were clearly saying something over there, but Remus wasn't pausing to let it come out.
Some, like Neville, had paid just to get her to stop. A few actually looked interested in what she was saying, but never campaigned with her.
"Maybe because Hermione can't prove her point either," James shrugged, throwing his hands up at once when Lily began scowling at him. "I'm just saying, most of the students aren't even aware there are house-elves there, so they can't get too worked up about something they've never seen."
Lily rolled her eyes, but wasn't going to say anything to that at least.
Many regarded the whole thing as a joke.
"There's the Sirius' of the school," Remus muttered.
Fred, who had refused to buy her badge along with his brother, leaned over to ask her if she'd ever been to the kitchens. Hermione said no at once, as that wasn't allowed,
"Can't believe she actually started to say that to those two," Sirius snickered.
but George cut her off to tell that they did all the time to nick food.
"Think you can hardly define it as nicking," James smirked in remembrance, "they practically give it away if you poke your nose in."
Telling her that they loved their job. Hermione practically growled back that was because they were brainwashed!
"No," Sirius drawled out, throwing this at Lily since Hermione wasn't around to here, "it's because that's about as much as their capable of understanding. Simple, normal chores."
"They can hold a conversation," Lily threw back at once, "you can't really say their un-"
"I didn't say they were troll levels of stupid," Sirius cut her off, instantly regretting saying anything as he should have known Lily would snap back. "Just that they aren't smart enough for anything higher. Didn't Dobby prove that when he tried to save Harry's life by killing him."
Lily wavered, recognizing that as she'd never personally held a conversation with a house-elf, she was being a bit of a prat by trying to say anything for them.
Sirius actually smirked, pleased to see he may have gotten through to her that time, but Remus still kept going before either of them could rally.
She was cut off though by the mail arriving, and Hedwig coming down to Harry's shoulder.
Which instantly distracted them from anything else.
She looked exhausted as Harry untied the paper from her leg, while also giving her his own bacon as he began to read Sirius' reply.
"There's the proper response," James muttered, not loud enough Remus would stop, but so at least Harry knew he was happy.
He made sure that the twins were no longer listening as he whispered to Ron and Hermione Sirius' response, which started with him telling Harry it had been a nice try,
"Actually no it wasn't, but you can't blame me for lying about that," Sirius gave an easy smile, slouching back into the couch with an insufferably proud look as far as the others were concerned.
but he was already back in the country and hidden away.
The others sighed, recognizing that Sirius had clearly gone off and done this probably moments after he'd gotten Harry's letter.
"You're welcome," Sirius huffed, glaring at James in particular.
James scowled at the opposite wall for a moment, working furiously to stop himself snapping that Sirius was being an idiot, before turning back and saying reluctantly, "thank you."
Sirius beamed, clearly starting to preen himself any moment now that he'd at least gotten someone's approval.
"Why do I even bother?" Lily moaned, rubbing furiously at her temple.
Remus gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder, completely in the same boat as her. It was depressing when he thought about it though, that Lily wouldn't have been there to tell Sirius in person he was being an idiot while helping him go into hiding. That Lily and James would never again be there to deal with Sirius and all the insane things he was going to get himself up to. Remus would be alone in making sure he helped to keep his last friend alive, and that thought was pretty terrifying considering more than half the time he'd been an encouragement to Sirius' terrible plans. He had no faith he could talk Sirius out of anything, to be honest he'd probably be so guilt ridden for having spent twelve years thinking the worst of Sirius he'd help him with anything to make amends. He'd probably be in the same pot of hot water as Sirius soon enough when the others realized he'd be just as bad as Sirius and was probably helping him in any way he could; at least he certainly hoped so. He'd much rather deal with that then just bloody falling back out of the picture.
Remus hadn't realized he'd sunk so deeply into his thoughts until he realized Lily was snapping her fingers in front of his nose to get his attention, and had to shake his head slightly to realize Sirius was talking to him.
"-Moony, would you get a grip. You've spent more than enough time worrying about me, can't you just pretend for a moment this is a good thing."
He mustered up a smile for his friend, saying, "so long as it's just for pretend, then sure."
Sirius rolled his eyes while Remus quickly jumped back into the book before he could let his thoughts stray anywhere else.
Then he wrote that he wanted to know everything that was going on at Hogwarts, but not to use Hedwig and keep changing out owls.
"Well would you lookie there, Padfoot's actually showing some intelligence," Lily tried to hide her beaming smile with a smirk.
Sirius gave her a challenging look back, though there was no force at all as he snapped, "hardy har Lil, this coming from the girl who once got herself stuck up a tree, you're not the poster child for smarts. And who said you could call me that." He added on, doing a double take as he fully took in what Lily had said.
Lily went beet red at the reminder, snapping back, "that has nothing to do with your levels of idiot, that was done to me. And I can call you whatever I want to." She actually finished that with uncertainty though, as she'd only ever once referred to Peter by his nickname, and they had all laughed that off. She hadn't really meant to do it to Sirius now, it had just slipped out in her desire to show she wasn't really as mad at him as she put on. She knew she could never put into words how grateful she was Sirius really was out there looking after her son, even if he did give her gray hair along the way.
Sirius could only leave her on tenterhooks for a few moments more before his expression broke, and he gave her an indulgent smile as he responded, "right, well, you do that then dear."
Lily couldn't even begin to hide her smile at that, while the other three exchanged bemused looks at the two.
For some reason, Harry was all for extending this as he wanted nothing more than to never get to this Tournament, so he asked, "How did you get stuck up a tree?"
Lily sighed, wanting to throw Sirius a nasty look for the reminder, but she couldn't seem to hold it against him anymore as she explained, "I had this friend Mary, and it felt like at least once a week her cat wouldn't come back at the end of the night like the rest of them always do, so I was out on the grounds helping her look for it. Well we found it, up a tree, on the edge of the forest. My friend, she was afraid of heights, so I offered to climb up there and get it down. I wouldn't recommend using a spell to get a cat out of a tree by the way," she added on when she saw he was about to ask, "they do not take kindly to that, and they come down one giant ball of fur and claws. So anyways, I scaled up there, but the moment I was in arm's length of it, it shimmied itself down the tree like the little shit it was. I began climbing down myself, when I got myself snagged on a branch. I don't mean my shirt might have got ripped a little if I'd just pulled, I mean I somehow got so stuck that if I kept going, I was going to have to make it back to Gryffindor tower in my skivvies."
Harry looked properly disgusted at his mother saying that, but Lily hardly seemed to notice as she was still glaring at Sirius through the majority of the story. "Well Mary got a hold of her cat, and she knew the second she put that problem back on the ground he'd just scale another tree and we'd be in exactly the same situation, so she was going to go drop him in the first empty room she could find then come back to help me. No she wasn't going to stun her cat Sirius," Lily snapped when she saw him opening his mouth to say something. Her look of agitation continued to increase as she said, "so Mary ran off, and who should come across me in that bloody situation but Black. What were you even doing out there anyways?" Having been so mortified by the end of this she'd never brought it up since.
"That's on a need to know basis," Sirius began to say at the same time Remus butted in saying:
"He was probably out there to snog some girl."
"Moony," Sirius rolled his eyes, "that was a highly kept secret."
"That the whole bloody school knew," he shot back with the same eye roll.
Sirius switched back to Lily then, batting his eyes at her lovingly as he told Harry from there, "you just know she was thrilled to see me, we were on the best of terms at that time." Harry snorted lightly, it wasn't hard to pick up on the sarcasm he was using, clearly this was at a time when his mother was still friends with Snape. "So being the gentlemen I was, I climbed up there and got her down. I managed to only tear up enough of her shirt she was still decent and then we both got down and parted ways as bosom friends."
"You were even more of an ass back then," Lily informed him primly. "You lorded over me for the next month that you saved my life."
"Pissed off Prongs as well," Sirius said without a hint of remorse, "he would have loved nothing more than to be her knight in shining armor for that moment."
"Plus I wouldn't have teased her so mercilessly about it," James agreed, not even bothering to hide his laughter at this retelling.
Harry couldn't help laughing at the end, thinking he'd much rather sit around all day hearing stories about their school life than his own, but he was clearly outvoted as Remus was looking at him expectantly. Knowing he couldn't delay forever, Harry gave a nod to indicate he was done so that he could continue.
Finishing with the request that Harry shouldn't be worrying about him, and a reminder of what to do if his scar hurt again. Then he signed off.
"With any luck you didn't say that name out loud," James muttered.
"I didn't," Harry assured, as Ron and Hermione knew perfectly well who it had been from.
Ron asked why he'd have to keep changing owls, and Hermione explained it was because Hedwig was too noticeable. It would look suspicious if she kept coming around to where Sirius was hiding.
Harry still couldn't help a slight frown. He loved his owl, and she was a proud creature, so she wasn't going to like the next time he wrote to Sirius and didn't use her. Sirius' advice was sound and a good idea, but it still prickled him that just because he hadn't got some common brown bird he couldn't use her.
Harry tucked his letter from Sirius away, trying to decide if that had made him feel better or worse.
"I'm going to pretend you said better," Sirius sniffed.
At least Sirius had made it back without getting caught, and it would feel better that he wouldn't have to wait so long to be getting his response.
Then Sirius really smiled, giving a gloating look to Harry who couldn't deny the smile back. He wouldn't have admitted that out loud for fear it would prove Sirius' point, which Harry still disagreed with as he shouldn't be anywhere near him in fear the Ministry would find out, but he couldn't deny it either.
"There's the bright side," Remus chuckled.
Harry thanked his owl as she took off, and couldn't deny he was in a better mood the rest of the day.
They all did as instructed and met up at the entrance hall to find very harassed teachers, McGonagall telling off Parvati to take a butterfly pin out of her hair.**
"I find that rather rude," Lily sniffed, "the people from the other school shouldn't care what's in the student's hair."
"I doubt they even would have noticed," James agreed.
Once their head of house was satisfied with her lot, she led them onto the grounds and had them stand in lines according to their year. Ron was watching his watch, telling them it was almost time, then asking if they'd be arriving by train?
"Doesn't seem likely," Sirius shook his head in thought as he mulled it over.
Hermione disagreed, then Harry suggested by brooms,
"Nah, that's way too far to fly," James disagreed.
Harry felt a small moment hit him, like he may have been closer than his dad was thinking.
or that they'd all apparated here? While Ron offered Portkey instead.
"Both of those are likely, though they'd still have to take the Thestrals in carriages to get up there, and that's not nearly dramatic enough," Remus chuckled.
Ron agreed with the first one, saying maybe they didn't have to be seventeen where they were from to do this.
"You have to be seventeen to enter the tournament this year," Lily reminded, "so I'm sure everyone who is appearing could do that."
Hermione reminded that they couldn't do either of those onto the grounds though.
"And there's that," Harry agreed.
The whole of the students stood in silence as they watched their surroundings, and something of what Mr. Weasley had told Harry at the Quidditch World Cup resurfaced to Harry's mind, about how wizards loved showing off when they got together.
"Which I can imagine will still hold true for this instance," James said.
Dumbledore first spotted the Beauxbatons arrival, pointing over the trees. One first year spotted it and began screaming it was a dragon!
Sirius went a very ugly color in shock at the very idea, but had the sense not to flip out as he knew no one would be stupid enough to do that.
Dennis told her that was stupid, it was a flying house!
"Yes, because that's not stupid," Harry laughed.
Dennis' guess was close though, as it came forward and they saw that it was a large, blue, horse drawn carriage, being pulled along by elephant sized palomino horses with wings.
Lily let out a surprised whistle of appreciation at that description.
"Abraxan horses," Remus said with undisguised intrigue. "Those are only native to France, I've never seen them in person."
"Well to me," Sirius began in tones that already had Remus scowling at him, "it sounds like all you have to do is picture an elephant with wings, but more horse like."
"And white," James happily added on.
"Palominos are tan with white manes you twits," Remus sighed.
"Well excuse us," Sirius said without a drop of remorse.
"How about you and I go on holiday there and see some," Lily told Remus while shooting his two friends a look. "They can stay back and stare at a wall all day, it's the only thing they'd appreciate."
Neither heard the slam, they were still too busy laughing at their own wit.
Remus gave her a grateful smile before deciding to move on.
The closest students jumped back in surprise as it landed, with a bouncing thud,
"I'm sure that was a comfortable landing," Harry muttered randomly.
while the horses hooves slammed into the ground nearly leaving cracks, their fiery red eyes watching them all carefully. A Coach wearing a powder blue uniform got down, went to the door where a crest of two wands crossed with three stars over them, and let down some golden stairs before releasing the door.
A high heeled shoe first appeared, the size of a small sled,
At the beginning of the description, Sirius and James's snickers trailed off and they listened in confusion.
followed by the largest woman he'd ever seen. The size of the carriage made sense once you saw her,
"I thought it was because of how many students would be arriving," Lily murmured in surprise.
and a few people even gasped as she took to her full height. The only comparable person was Hagrid, there could barely be an inch's difference.
"She's a half giant too," Sirius raised a brow in surprise.
"Thank you, captain obvious," Remus rolled his eyes, not hiding his own shock. Hagrid, and by extension this woman, were a very rare occurrence but Sirius' comment was still idiotic.
"She actually may have Hagrid beat in height just a bit," Lily smiled, "if she's wearing high heels."
"Thank you for that wonderful observation love," James chuckled.
She was certainly more well-dressed then Hagrid though, wearing satin clothes which complimented her olive skin with a rather beaky nose. The opals adorning her throat and fingers gave her a regal look as she gracefully approached Dumbledore, who began clapping upon arrival. Many students began standing on their toes to look at her as they joined in.
"I somehow doubt that's an issue," Sirius smiled lightly.
She gave a warm smile as he greeted her, though a tall man hardly having to bow his head to kiss her hand as he greeted her by the name of Madame Maxime, and introducing her to Hogwarts.
"Oh wow, that's the Headmistress for Beauxbatons," Lily spluttered, getting over one shock to run into another.
"Congrats to her," Remus smiled warmly.
She had a very thick French accent as she returned the greeting, asking how he was doing.
He politely replied he was doing well, and then Maxime waved her hand behind her as way of introducing her students.
"Oh yeah, these people I brought along," James snorted.
Harry's sole attention had been focused on her,
"You're not the only one I'm sure," Sirius agreed.
but now glanced behind her to see several students in their late teens all wearing the powder blue uniform of the school shivering in their headmistresses shadows. Clearly the silk material wasn't keeping them warm, and none of them were wearing cloaks.
"It is colder out here than in France," Lily agreed. "Though I am sad not one of them thought to bring something warmer. They must have had a general idea of where they were going."
"Wanted to show off more," James shrugged.
A few were wearing shawls. They were all watching the castle with apprehension. Maxime asked if Karkaroff had arrived yet,
Harry felt a shiver roll down his spine at that name, though he had no clue as to why. He looked around curiously to see if anyone else recognized it, but was disappointed to see no one give much thought to it.
and Dumbledore answered that they'd arrived first. He invited her to wait inside and warm up, or to stay out here to greet them? She decided they would wait inside, but first instructed about her horses.
Dumbledore agreed that they had a Care of Magical Creatures teacher to look after them, he was just taking care of other matters first.
Ron whispered into Harry's ear the skrewts.
"That's probably true," Remus snorted.
Maxime wasn't so certain, saying her horses needed a forceful handler, clearly thinking no one at this school was up for the job.
"She hasn't met Hagrid yet," Harry grinned, knowing full well that Hagrid could take care of anything, even if he did prefer the more dangerous ones.
Dumbledore promised Hagrid could handle it, and Maxime instead said that this Hagrid was to know that her horses only drank single-malt whiskey.
"Expensive," Lily raised a brow in surprise.
"So I can hope this won't go on your ever growing list of pets then," James smiled.
Lily nodded her agreement, then shook her head as she was still boggling at how much they must drink of this.
Dumbledore promised this would be done, and then Maxime and her students headed inside.
Seamus began talking to them about how if Durmstrang's horses were any bigger, even Hagrid couldn't handle them.
"Nah, I sincerely doubt they'd bring the same thing," Sirius shrugged.
"It's not like they asked each other in advance," Remus pointed out, "they might have."
"A Durmstrang school arriving by horse carriage," James raised a challenging brow, "I somehow doubt it."
"Stereotyping," Lily snipped.
James stuck his tongue out at her, since clearly no one else was going to argue against him.
Harry voiced Hagrid would be lucky to be taking care of anything after he was done with the skrewts. Ron said back that if they were lucky, they'd all escaped.
"Oh that would be a nightmare," Lily shuddered, "them running all over the grounds."
"Wandering into the Forest and populating," James agreed solemnly, "I think I'd prefer to hear they all came down sick with something instead."
Hermione shuddered in protest, thinking about all of those things running around the grounds.
The crowd elapsed back into silence, until a few minutes later when many began to murmur that they could hear something. It was a sucking noise, like water being pulled from a drain.
"Ah," Sirius began in genuine confusion, but Remus was too curious to let anyone postulate.
Lee Jordan was the first to shout about the lake, and they all looked to see that the smooth surface was being disrupted as if caught in a whirlpool
"That is so cool!" James squealed, his mind running in all sorts of directions as he tried to guess before Remus could say how they were traveling by water.
and what seemed to be rigging coming out.
"It's a ship," Sirius crowed.
"That certainly is one way to travel," Remus agreed, his head bobbing so much with excitement it was likely to fall off.
"Oh please tell me you get a tour of that," James begged Harry, his mind already visualizing all the pirate like stuff that was most likely aboard.
Harry gave a childlike laugh back, hoping very much for the same thing as Remus eagerly read on a full description.
The ship slowly rose, and settled back on the water's surface where it splashed against the shore before stilling. It looked skeletal in the moonlight, seeming to carry a fog around it as the portholes gave the impression of watching eyes. The sound of an anchor dropping could be heard, and they all watched a plank make shore.
Remus still sounded like a giddy child as he read about that, though none of the others would have been any better. Lily was even imagining this sight in her mind's eye and couldn't deny the beauty of the scene, even if she'd never grown up with fantasies of pirates like most boys had at some point. She did voice aloud though, "now I'm half wishing this hadn't been hosted at Hogwarts, I'd want to know how they would have traveled to another school."
"That's a really good question," Harry agreed, "let me know if you think of anything."***
They could only make out the silhouettes of those disembarking, and at first they all resembled the thick build of Crabbe and Goyle.
Sirius made a funny sound, thinking he was all the more lucky he wasn't shipped off there now, as he might have come out looking like that as well.
The closer they got though, they could see these students were instead wearing thick furs for their uniform.
"Oh, that makes sense, Hermione did say they came from a colder climate," Remus agreed.
The man in front was wearing clearly expensive ones of silver, matching his hair and goatee. Dumbledore greeted him as Karkaroff, and they both shook hands warmly. Karkaroff, in an oily voice with only lightly laced Russian, praised how good it was to be here at Hogwarts. Then he asked Dumbledore if one of his students could step forward, referring to him as Victor, as he had a bit of a cold.
"Well that was sweet," Lily smiled, "but if the poor thing's feeling sick, I do wonder why he came along."
"He probably got sick on the way there," James shrugged.
The student who stepped out of the crowd had a prominently curved nose and thick eyebrows.
Harry gasped in shock, but when a prod from both James and Sirius still left him looking like a gaping fish, Remus read out eagerly.
Harry did not require the punch he received from Ron, nor the hiss he put into his best friend's ear telling him that was Krum!
"Victor Krum!" Sirius all but shouted, nearly bouncing in his seat at once. "You're going to get to spend the year watching a professional Quidditch player walk around Hogwarts!"
"Bloody hell you get to see the coolest things," James groaned, nearly vibrating in place as a million questions went buzzing around his mind of what he wanted to ask him!
Remus was snickering without remorse as his two friends kept babbling like this, and they'd mocked him for being excited about a rare breed of horse.
Harry broke out of his shock as well and looked just as delighted as either of them, quickly joining in on the conversation, saying how he hoped to maybe get some tips from him!
Even as Remus handed the book to her, and Lily found her spot, she realized they were still going full steam, so still smiling she got up and snuck off to the kitchen to go and fix dinner without any of them noticing. Remus was quickly wrangled into the boy's argument to settle some debate, so when Lily came back to announce the food was ready she had to say it three times to get through the lot of them.
They ate in peace for what felt like the first time in ages, this was definitely their favorite book by far. The Voldemort mentions still terrified them if they thought about it too long, but they could brush that off and hope it would stop before they progressed any further. They truly hoped they could get through the rest of this book in the same manner.
HPHPHPHP
*AlyCat3 actually has a story called Pensive, and several of the chapters in that story are moments like the one I just described, except in a full one-shot. I'd recommend it for more Marauder moments.
**Funny story about this one random seemingly unimportant line that I can't resist sharing with you all. I once saw online someone say that Harry Potter isn't realistic enough because it took place in the 90's, but not one girl had ever been mentioned wearing a butterfly. Below that, someone posted this one line, and I cracked up laughing hysterically as I just thought of someone furiously flipping through pages for this moment just to prove that person wrong.
***I sat around for like ten minutes trying to come up with something cool, but I really was at a loss. It would have been kind of funny if they all road Thestrals there, apparently arriving by nothing, but there's no way they would have flown that far, it's as bad a travel as broom honestly. I was also really angling towards the idea they all got there somehow from underground. You know, Beauxbatons got there by flying, Durmstrang by water, Hogwarts somehow would have dug a tunnel the whole way there or something...kay now I'm rambling and need to stop. So let me know if you have any ideas. And please don't suggest by dragon, that also crossed my mind, but I just cannot picture anyone, even Hagrid, taming one to pull that off.
...There is no point to that second * story, but I can't read that anymore without thinking of that moment. Hope you enjoyed!
#Harry Potter#fanfiction#Remus Lupin#Sirius Black#GoF#Marauders#reading the books#James Potter#Lily Potter
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A Deep and Rapid River, Ch. 7 [18+]
<- Chapter 6 | Chapter 8 ->
Summary: The horniest chapter yet. And the beginning of the end.
Over the next few weeks, your arrangement works out smoothly—or it seems to, anyway. The creature remains hidden in the hayloft, undiscovered. As often as you are able, you are down in the barn with him, lying in his arms, sharing books and stories, or listening to the low, raspy panting of his breath in your ear and feeling the roughness of his hands on your bare skin.
Sometimes you cry together, frustrated and isolated, wishing the world you lived in was kinder, gentler.
And sometimes you dare to ramble in the woods, breathing the spring air and the changing harmony of scents of each new crop of flowers brings, listening to bird songs, and trusting in the solitude of the forest to protect you from prying eyes.
Every day his wound heals a little more. The bone-shattering gun blast which would have taken a regular human months to recover from—if they recovered—improves at an astonishing rate. Each morning you open the barn door to discover more of your chores have already been done, the dark-haired creature grinning proudly at his work, until one day, he had finished everything. You try to convince him he doesn’t have to do all that work for you, but, rubbing his neck sheepishly, he explains that it’s not so much a favor as a way to get you to spend more time with him.
You have to admit, it is much nicer this way.
Some mornings, you lie with your head in his lap in a quiet meadow you discovered along a solitary bend in the river. You gaze lazily up at your protector, his eyes bright as he weaves together the delicate stems of flowers. You had shown him how to do that—at first his large hands and herculean strength made him clumsy, and you giggled in commiseration, but soon he was gliding through the task as if he were one with nature, while you still managed to snap the stems more often than not. So you lie back and watch him work, smiling as he adorns you with spring. A crown of daisies circles his black hair.
How could anyone ever be afraid of such a gentle creature?
He still cries at every word of kindness you have for him. He still can't fathom how someone could show love toward an unlovable wretch—how you contradict his reality by telling him he is not unlovable at all, but loved. He still feels a sick squirming in his intestines at these incompatibilities of truth. Liar! Contemptible. Disgusting. Unworthy. LIES! his mind repeats at every compliment you bestow, but he swallows down the bile. Somehow, you find him pleasing, he reminds himself. He doesn’t flinch away as you touch his face, as you press mollifying kisses to his lips. He swore never to hurt you again, and he intends to keep his oath.
With no more manual labor to toil through, you are free to proceed with your pet project, as promised: making your dear daemon look human enough to be accepted by polite society.
Your theory is, the creature’s grim, unnatural complexion and titanic stature played only a small part in the terrified reception he received from everyone he had met (save you). His tattered, incomplete clothing, wild hair, and general state of dishevelment added to the bewilderment. People saw a crudely-dressed outsider emerging from the forest, of course they were afraid—they probably thought he was a cave troll!
But if you could make him look cultured and dignified…
After all, Lazarus Colloredo, whose half-formed brother protruded forth from his chest, exhibited himself at royal courts. It was common in any city to see humans with unusual physical characteristics begging on the streets, finding themselves unwanted in more sophisticated circles, but at least tolerated, and not feared or driven away. That would be enough.
People would tolerate your companion if they believed his condition were a natural one he was born with… if you could dress him to look like someone who had been born.
This proves easier said than done.
You find a few old clothes that fit him with a bit of tailoring, but you're not the best seamstress, so the finished result is only a small step above the rags he'd been wearing. And since you're not a cobbler, he still has no shoes. He looks disarrayed, and he needs to be perfect for this plan to have any chance of success.
Taming his wild mane is at least a pleasant task. After an initial battle with the worst of the tangles—filled with frustrated tugging and snagging of the brush, accompanied by his jolting and pitiful whimpering—you reach a comfortable, methodical pace. His whole body shivers as you run the brush through his hair, letting out soft noises of appreciation. The greatest impediment to progress is that he enjoys it too much. You’re no help, either. His noises encourage your hands to massage his scalp and purr words of praise to him, trying to draw more little breaths and groans from him. Soon he has flipped around and has you pinned under him, whispering sweet, sinful desires into your ear, grinding his tented pants against your thighs until you beg for him to take you right there.
It takes a few tries, interrupted by his superhuman stamina and overly-human desire for touch, but soon his hair is smooth as black satin, and looks just like a courtly gentleman’s when pulled back. Though he doesn’t like it pulled back. It exposes too much of his face, which, he points out, still looks like a corpse’s, and no amount of grooming will disguise that.
Reforming his appearance is not the only difficulty plaguing your idyllic life.
***********************
Bess stops by the barn to see you one afternoon in late spring. With the creature’s reflexes nearly back at full strength, there is little risk of being caught—he hears her coming and disappears into the loft without a sound.
“Come out to the dance tonight!” she implores. “It’ll be fun.”
“I don’t know…” You fidget with your fingernails, trying to think of a normal-sounding reason you can’t make it.
“Pleeease? I haven’t seen you in ages! Now that you finally dumped the loser,” she adds with a mischievous wink, “I've got a friend I think might be perfect for you.”
Ah, so that’s what this is about. She usually doesn’t push so hard to get you to socialize when you’re not in the mood, more of a you-do-you attitude. But she’s playing matchmaker now. “Oh, no,” you laugh nervously. “I'm not getting back on that horse yet, it’s way too soon.”
“It’s been months. You’ve waited an appropriate amount of time,” she crosses her arms, tilting her head to the side. “Nobody will think you indecent for moving on too quickly, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Is it getting hot in this barn? You pull at your collar. It feels like it’s getting hot in this barn. “It’s not that. It’s just, that whole situation was a disaster; I don’t want to go through it again.” There. That technically was not a lie. You’re not lying to your best friend.
“Come on, don't give up!” she slaps your shoulders encouragingly. “Love can strike when you least expect it!”
“Now that I agree with,” you meant to state without emotion, but you can’t curb the secret smile blooming across your cheeks.
Bess picks up on it instantly, her mahogany curls bouncing in shock. “DID YOU FIND SOMEONE?”
“W-what? Nooo!” you backpedal unconvincingly.
“Who is it? Someone I know? Where did you meet them?!”
“Shhh,” you hiss, looking past her exuberant eyes over her shoulder to try and see if your parents had magically appeared in earshot, like a pair of demons summoned by the sound of secrets. “There's nobody, just... shhh!"
“So that’s how it is, huh?” she raises an eyebrow. “Well, you better not be getting into anything scandalous, young lady,” she warns, putting on her best impression of your mother, before breaking character with a grin and a laugh, bouncing on her toes. “Oh please just tell me it's good. It must be juicy if you won’t even tell me. An errant noble? A gypsy lover? A married man? A woman? A married woman? Tell me tell me tell me!”
Eventually she lets it rest, and agrees not to pry (or say anything). But your secret isn’t safe.
“Come to the dance,” she pleads with you, back to the point of her visit. “People are starting to talk.” You’ve been acting stranger than usual. Keeping to yourself. Talking to yourself.
So that was why she was so adamant about you going. The romantic interest wasn’t the reason, it was just the carrot.
There are rumors that since your near-death experience, you’ve been haunted by something that followed you back from the other side. Your soul cursed by evil or some such nonsense. Ferdinand has been furious, and only making matters worse, adding fuel to the flames. Why else would someone of your station break things off with him? It could only be madness.
“Of course all but the most gullible of us knew Ferdinand’s ravings were just jealousy, but… A few people are claiming they’ve seen the beast he described lurking after dark. I don’t know, maybe he’s putting them up to it...”
A dagger of ice strikes you in the heart. They weren’t just rumors. The creature would wander at night—the only time it was safe for him to be out in the open. Or not so safe. You realize with a creeping dread down your spine that you have not been as clandestine as you thought.
You force yourself to laugh dismissively. “I’m sure if there was a monster, it would have found me and gobbled me up by now, don’t you think? So silly!” Ha ha ha.
“You’re so rational! To be honest, I would be terrified just by the thought some creepy demon thing might be after me,” she shudders. “You have to explain to everyone else what you just told me. Make an appearance, show everyone you’re fine.”
At length you relent, and go to the dance.
Everyone stares.
Nobody talks to you.
Ferdinand is there, and you spend the night avoiding him.
You miss the creature.
You wish you hadn’t gone.
***********************
When you finally get to see him again after the disaster of a dance, sneaking down to the barn in the pitch-black of night, he’s currying down the mule by lamplight. A bright smile splits his face when he sees you come in—wide, and showing rows of white teeth, which, you wonder, might seem terrifying to someone who didn’t know him very well, combined with hollow cheeks, dark-ringed eyes, and sallow skin pulled taut over the bone.
To you, he looks like a field of sunflowers on a summer day.
The animals seem to agree with your assessment. Even the mule, who used to rear up and bray at the sheer size of him, seems to have finally been swayed by his courtly manners. Now it snorts its disappointment as he puts away the brush to greet you. The chickens come running up to him, clucking for extra corn meal, one landing and perching on his head in a flurry of feathers. Barn cats swirl at his feet, and the cows are already lining up patiently to be milked, appreciative of his efficient hands and all-hours schedule.
You remember when you first taught him to milk. Now he’s more at home here than you ever were.
Unsettled by the rumors Bess had told you about, you pray nobody finds him. You pray that this can last. That he can stay here, smiling, until you’re ready to make his presence known to the town.
You long for a day you wouldn’t have to hide—that you could live together like a regular couple. You wish the world could see him the way you do, that this fantasy could become something real.
How could anyone ever be afraid of him?
***********************
He bolts into the barn, cloak whipping behind him, and skids to a halt over the hay-strewn floor, shutting the door quickly behind him. His wild eyes dart around the structure, adjusting to the dim light. When they focus on you, his body finally acknowledges it has found safety, and leans, trembling against the wooden walls for support. A frayed bouquet of wildflowers wilts in his left hand, stems destroyed in his crushing grip.
“Someone saw me.”
The pitchfork you were holding clatters to the floor.
“Who?! Where? When?? Are they coming? Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” You rush to his side, searching for fresh injuries, brain reeling with all the ways you were completely fucked.
It was broad daylight!
He hides his face behind a gangling hand, and tips his head down to get lost behind a forest of loose hair. “I… I do not know. A hunter?”
“What did they look like?” You reach up to grab his shoulders, trying to get him to look at you. His eyes are panicked and unfocused. You groan. “Not that it matters. Nobody in this town will understand. We have to control the circumstances carefully to introduce you without causing a panic. This is bad… If they followed you—”
“Fear in their eyes…” he murmurs, voice cracking. “Everyone who ever looks upon me has fear in their eyes.”
He’s still shaking, his face twisted up and on the verge of tears.
Oh.
He’s falling apart and all you can say is “This is bad”? This is no time for you to start panicking, too. You take a deep breath, and put a steadying hand on his arm. “Hey, it’s going to be OK,” you force a smile. “There have been rumors about you since I fell in the river—lots of people claim they saw you—this doesn’t change anything. We’re OK.”
“So much fear. That look of terror… Is that how I am meant to be looked at?” he collapses to his knees, letting his nails scrape down the wall as he sinks, the forgotten flowers dropping in a heap by his side as tears begin freely flowing down his cheeks. “How could I forget I am nothing more than a blot upon the earth? A sight to be abhorred.”
You wish you could swallow him up in your arms—cradle him like he does you. You give it your best try, spreading your arms wide and draping your whole body like a second cloak over his enormous, curled form. He rocks, continuing to mutter that he is a wretched thing made to be hated, while you whisper and hum soothing noises, rubbing his back.
“Look at me…” you whisper over his shoulder, gently tipping his chin toward you. He obeys, eyes dull and glassy as they meet yours. You smile, trying to pour every bit of love you feel for him into it, so even from whatever dismal well his heart has sunk to the bottom of, it will radiate affection to him like the sun.
For an instant, his tears stop actively flowing as he observes you. “Except for you. The way you look at me is so different.”
“This is how you're meant to be looked at.”
He chokes and turns away, rubbing his eyes. You circle around to his front, and lean your forehead against his. He looks at you again, a little calmer now. The adoration in your eyes is almost too much for him to bear, but he tries to smile back. The attempt shatters your heart.
“Oh, you kind, benevolent angel, blessing this foul villain with such a favorable gaze.”
“My wonderful, powerful protector,” you coo softly. You move to sit, and he instinctively makes room for you on his lap—muscle memory of the way you fit together—holding you comfortably in his strong arms. “So sweet and gentle.” Your voice dips flirtatiously, and you touch a hand to his cheek, serenely caressing his jawline.
“How can you look at me like that, in spite of all my flaws?”
The answer spills from your mouth with an infatuated grin before you have a chance to think. “You don’t have flaws. You’re perfect!”
He frowns.
The frown deepens until it nearly becomes a scowl, and he closes his narrowed eyes against the feeling threatening to boil out.
“Please stop that,” he removes your hand from his cheek. “Do not pretend I am not what I am. It is… mockery.”
Shit. You got carried away. Of course he would take that the wrong way. You had to be careful about paying compliments to his body, they hurt him. The cruelest words of insult wouldn’t sting half as much as calling him handsome. But you don’t want to apologize this time. After all, you meant it.
“My beloved,” you stroke his face with the hand he didn’t have restrained, determined to beat down his walls of insecurity with relentless affection. His neck and the tips of his ears redden with heat. “I—”
“Do not flatter me with sugared lies, and ignore the truth,” he interrupts, the tremor returned to his voice. “I know what I am. Being pitied is enough for a wretch like me; it is enough that you endure this unsightly visage without hating its owner. Do not pretend you cannot see me. It is worse to pretend.”
Your throat tightens, and a prickling of tears threatens your eyes, but you don’t cry. It’s heartbreaking that he still thinks of his body as something you have to endure. That you only put up with it, rather than adore it as you do. But he is stubborn in his hatred for his creator’s work. To explain your feelings to him, you will have to choose your words carefully.
“It’s not that I don’t see you, or your scars. I have eyes. I know most people are frightened by your appearance, and I know you’ve suffered horribly because of it. I should have realized you would think I was teasing you to say you’re perfect, but… I mean it.
“You are my heart’s gleam, my gentle dove. My beloved daemon. To me, you are the most wonderful being in all of creation. I am so happy to have met you, and to have had you in my life these past months. There is no one who lights up my heart as you do, none whose face it pleases me to see more. I am never more comfortable than when I’m in your arms, and I never feel so beautiful as when you look at me, nor so important as when you speak to me as if my thoughts matter. Your intelligent mind and poetic soul fill my days with wonder, and you make me feel accepted in a way I have never been before.”
You are stroking his face and the sides of his neck with both hands now, and he is melting into your touch, breaths drawing in slowly and puffing out in shaky bursts. You twirl a finger around a lock of dusky hair.
“I have never wanted you to be any different from the way you are. So I must conclude that the world’s measure of beauty is wrong—for you are perfect. Entirely, completely perfect.”
His head collapses into yours, leaning his forehead against you. He grips you tightly with both arms, squeezing you into his chest like he’s trying to absorb you. Warm, agitated breaths fan your face, and you feel his shoulders convulsing; you think he’s weeping, but then you realize it’s laughter.
“I sound wonderful,” he says, a hint of pride licking the edges of his voice.
“You are.”
He kisses your neck, awing that you let him press his lips to you, then buries his face against your skin. “In books there is always passion, but... this is far greater than that. You are so patient with me. What did young Werther and Charlotte truly share? What did Juliet know of Romeo? Only the impulses of desire. You offer friendship, and I should like to spend my life repaying the kindness you have bestowed on me.”
You hum with excitement. “Oh my daemon, my dove, my flitter-mouse,” endearments fall from your lips like apple blossom petals. Goaded by your words, he hefts you up with a now-familiar (yet still shocking) ease, an impish smile sparkling in his eyes as he bridal carries you across the room, ignoring the petulant clucking of chickens scattering from his path.
“You are perfect,” he kisses your forehead. He sets you down on top of a storage chest, your back supported the wall. “And wonderful,” he kisses your nose. From your new perch, your hips are close to the height of his, and the outline of something growing at the front of his pants tells you exactly where his mind is heading. “And you are mine, yes?” He asks, voice heavy. Instead of kissing you again, he waits for you to close the distance.
“Always,” you answer, stretching up to grasp his lower lip between your teeth, nibbling and running your tongue over it. He gasps at the novelty, and a surge of heat flares to life inside him. He moans as you tug his lip away from his teeth, and he chases your mouth down, a hand at the back of your head preventing your escape as he envelops you with a smothering kiss, his thick tongue demanding an invitation which you happily give, caressing your own tiny tongue on the probing muscle filling your entire mouth, wrapping your arms around his back as he consumes you.
Finally he pulls back, a string of saliva still connecting you, a wolfish hunger in his eyes. “You’re mine, and I love you so much…”
Love.
You pant, hands curling through his hair. Had you said that before? Had he? Well, yes, you had used the word to describe your feelings, but never so directly. Never in a way that couldn’t have been intended as general, familial, platonic love. You never obfuscated your camaraderie and affection… but this felt different. Pointed.
I love you so much.
You shiver with pleasure as his corpse lips trace your jaw and down your neck. He leaves a trail of tender kisses all the way down your arm, lingering to suck at the soft skin on the underside of your elbow. A sudden tightness builds in your core, accompanied by a sinful wetness that urges you to wrap your legs around his hips, hiking your skirt up above your knees, and pull him close. The pressure of his clothed cock—now fully erect—pressing into your inner thighs makes the urge worse. You shift to position the bulge against your aching clit, and rock your hips mindlessly seeking relief as his soft kisses up and down your neck and arms drive you into oblivion.
“I love you,” you murmur.
He stands straight, which makes you whine with disappointment as his warm lips leave your body, but he’s looking down at you with the softest eyes. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. “Those three words fill me with joy enough for a lifetime; and beyond even the veil of death, the happiness of that one utterance shall warm me for eternity. Say it again.”
“I love you.”
“Again.”
A tingle of goosebumps spread up your arm at his sudden demandingness—the way he leans over you, a hand against the wall, voice thick, and low.
“I love you.”
“Again,” he commands, leaning in close to your ear, voice barely a whisper. He nips the flesh of your earlobe and your back arches involuntarily.
“I love you,” the words brush against his cheek.
“Again,” he sighs, before his lips fall on yours, swallowing your reply.
You had been in the middle of refreshing the straw bedding for the cows when he burst in, and there is still a nagging at the back of your mind of what if he was followed? But no angry mob has appeared at your doorstep yet, and everything else can wait its turn. This is definitely… the most important thing on your mind.
It is a soft kiss, as his usually are—gentle and careful with one so much smaller than he is—but grows in intensity, his tongue parting your lips, running across your teeth and plundering your mouth as you moan and twitch your hips. All his insecurity disappears with the noises and writhing he can draw from you, how eager and helpless you are under his touch. Every fear eclipsed by his burning need to bury himself inside you, and hear you scream out for him as he satisfies himself.
His large fingers unfasten the lacing of your bodice with the same practiced ease as weaving flower stems, pulling down your blouse as his hot, sloppy kisses move from your mouth, over your jaw, and down your neck—this time leaving red hickies in their wake. You feel the direction of his mouth toward your exposed chest, and whimper in anticipation of the warm slickness in just the right spot. He kneads the fat of your breasts in his palms, his sucking kisses down your collarbone growing ever more needy, filling the barn with wet smacking.
With an electric jolt, his tongue finally reaches the sensitive flesh of your nipple, and you feel a flood of warmth surging through your body, curling your toes, and settling in the base of your spine. Your fingers curl into his hair, against his scalp, pulling him against the hardening bud, his lips closing over it, tongue making languid circles that make your head loll back, and your hips buck up to grind against him—but only meet the air. To bend his towering body enough to reach your chest, he had to adjust his hips away from you, and without the pressure of his erection to grind against your cunt felt desperately empty, aching for contact.
“Ah,” you gasp, grabbing his hand and placing it between your legs, under your skirt, “P-please!”
His lips pull into a smile against your breast, exposing his tongue as it flicks across your nipple, now bright red and sopping wet. A large digit runs down the length of your slit. You gasp and jerk into it, but his hand is already gone. He rubs the moisture between his fingers. “Hmm, already so excited,” he taunts in a velvety voice, switching to your other breast, rolling the first between his thumb and fingers.
When did he get so confident? He used to follow your lead, waiting on you to instruct him. He was still terrified of the world, but with you…
“Tell me what you want me to do,” he purrs, sucking your nipple sharply to draw another gasp from your lips.
In your private world, when things got like this…
You let out a strangled whine, moving his hand back between your legs. He lets it rest there idly, ignoring your frustrated, pleading groans and clawing at his hand to do something. He pinches a nipple, delicately tugging at it, slowly drawing his tongue across the other.
“Hmm? You must speak up. I want to hear your voice.”
...He could be such an arrogant little shit! It’s so hot.
“F-fingers! Please!”
“As you wish.”
With a possessive growl, his long finger plunges inside you, moving in and out, getting coated with your slippery wetness as he treats your breasts as his playthings. You can hear his breathing increase, too, each exhale a loud snarl. His hips begin jerking in time with the pulsing of his finger into you, feeling the twitch of your velvet walls squeezing him as he drives you toward your climax—he imagines it’s his cock inside you, and suddenly, this isn’t enough.
“S-so good. You’re so good,” you whine, eyes closing as you lift your hips into his finger, deepening every thrust. The heat in your core is building, coiling, tightening… You stroke his hair, savoring the motion of his head and the wet sucking noises at your chest as he sends wave after wave of pleasure through you with his tongue. You run your hand over the striations of muscle in his shoulder, over his healed gunshot wound, the feel of his skin and the sound of his ragged breathing sending you over the edge—
His finger pulls out. His tongue moves away.
The release so close on your horizon fizzles.
“Wah!” Your eyes shoot open, complaints pursed on your lips. Then you see the hungry look in his eyes, and a shudder runs down your spine. Maybe he’ll fuck you right there. By the look of it, his erection is ready to rip through his pants.
“Patience,” he purrs, swallowing the tightness in his throat—the only sign of his slipping composure.
He spreads open your legs, kneeling between them, strong hands on your thighs helping you balance on the edge of the crate. His chest rises and falls slowly as he inhales your scent. “S-stop it!” you blush, squirming but unable to budge from his firm grip. Why does he like to smell you so much? You close your eyes and look away from the lewd act. He’s really changed so much, no longer so eager to please you that he wouldn’t risk drawing things out, or embarrassing you. He trusts you, that you’re never going to push away from him in sudden disgust; he knows you enjoy every minute of his attention.
He extends his long, thick tongue, and traces it along your thighs, teasing you with nips and kisses. Your body shudders at the welcome heat. He’s become an expert on your body, listening to your breathing and waiting for exactly the right moment to finally taste your dripping cunt. Your fingers clench in his hair, urging him on, but he takes his time with a long, measured, broad-tongued lap down your inner thigh, his eyes watching yours, studying your reaction and giving a self-satisfied smirk at your struggle to contain yourself.
“Please… more.”
Slowly, patiently, he finally dips his tongue into your quivering, saturated heat. He lets out a muffled moan into you, savoring you, hands clenching on your thighs as he revels in it. You can feel that tension start to coil again, but he’s still taking his time with such an indulgent, unhurried pace, you’ll never reach the orgasm you were denied.
Your fingers dig into the back of his head and your hips twist in his vice grip, helpless to create their own pace. “Faster.” You try to jerk your hips against his tongue again, to no avail. “You feel so good, my love,” you coo in a honeyed voice, hoping flattery will achieve results. “What must I do for you to let me come? I’ll do anything. Please—faster!”
In a blur of motion, your legs are over his shoulders and he’s standing at full height, large hands holding up your hips to his mouth, your back resting on the box where your ass just was. It feels like the wind was knocked out of you—you can barely breathe as he points his tongue into a stiff rod and attacks your clit with incredible speed and vigor. You didn’t know tongues could move to fast! His mouth is working magic, and the angle he’s holding you at somehow makes it feel even better. Maybe it’s the blood rushing to your head, or the way you have to look up at him, holding you as you dangle helplessly at his mercy, but you can feel your climax returning in greater force.
“I’m… going to finish already,” you writhe and moan, cheeks hot.
He doesn’t stop this time. “Come in my mouth,” he instructs, licking and lapping you deeper, faster, his own moans of pleasure lost in yours, crying out louder, thighs clamping around his neck, pulling him in harder, deeper, until your muscles convulse and you bite your lip to silence your shaking scream. He thrusts his tongue deep inside you, feeling your walls twitch around him, tasting your hot release coat his tongue.
“Fuck, you’re so good. So perfect,” you praise as you start to come down.
He’s not through with you yet, however. Not by a long shot.
He keeps writhing his tongue inside of your still-twitching heat, then brings his mouth back to your over-worked clit, ghosting his lips over it, flicking softly and quickly with the pointed end of his tongue.
You cry out in surprise, an unpleasantly strong contraction ripping through your body in protest. “N-no!” you try to wriggle away, pushing your arms out against him, but from your upside-down suspended position, the only part of him you can reach is—your heart skips a beat as your hand grazes his throbbing steel shaft. A renewed surge of heat flushes between your legs, overwhelming the over-stimulation with pleasure. You swallow.
“Do you want more?” he murmurs, drunk on you. You nod breathlessly. You need him to keep going. To put that in you. “Good.”
You grope blindly for the inhumanly thick bugle in his pants, and lay your palm against it, feeling its incredible length. The heat it gives off is amazing. There is a sharp inhale, and a hiccup in the steady working of his tongue. Not so easy to stay cool, is it? You smile, finally turning the tables a little. You rub his clothed shaft until he makes muffled whines into your cunt, and his hips start rocking against your hand as you stroke him up and down.
This is heaven. He could live between your thighs, drowning in the taste of you. He loves making you happy—seeing you shudder with pleasure from his touch—and the power he has over you in these moments makes an intoxicating combination. You belong to him.
“Do I make you feel good?” he rasps. You stare back up at him—his tongue stopped. You pull at the back of his head with your legs, trying to get him to start again, to give you what your body desperately needs, but he only looks at you with heavy-lidded eyes and tips his head to the side. Fuck, he’s cute when he does that.
“Y-yeah.”
Lick.
Your hips buck into his mouth in appreciation, an electric pulse vibrating down your back.
“Only I can make you feel this way?”
Oh god, this is the game he’s playing? You’ll say anything to get him to keep going, but the only answer you can make right now is a pleading, affirmative whine and a nod.
Lick.
That was good enough. Your eyes squeeze shut. You were so close again!
“Only me?”
“Please don’t stop!”
Not good enough. “Say you’re mine,” he purrs, “That only I can make you feel this way.”
“Only you!” you cry, squeezing your thighs around him, trying to pull him back in, “I’m yours! Please!”
He smiles, and gives you a delicate swirl of the tongue, tracing your clit, then plunges his tongue deep inside you, fucking you with the large muscle, pulsating and tasting you, filling your longing core up with its heat. Oh god, it wasn’t as big as his cock, but the way it could move inside you was so strange and delicious, and the wet, hungry noises his mouth made sent you over the edge a second time, your hands grasping for something to cling to—one clenching the edge of the crate, the other gripping the outline of his shaft.
He slips his tongue out of you, dripping with a mingling of your juices and his saliva, and puts it back to work on your throbbing clit without pausing. In its place, he soaks two bony fingers in your empty core. The fingers are cooler and less slithery than his tongue, but make up for it with length and firmness, reaching deeper, and hitting nerves that his tongue missed.
“R-right there!” you squeal, voice shaking as he finds your g-spot. He feels your muscles twitching and pulling beneath his hands. Sucking hard on your clit, he pumps his finger harder in and out of your drenched pussy, focusing on that sensitive spot that makes you cry out for him, until you come again, your walls clenching and unclenching around his hand.
You expect a break after that. Your body is exhausted and trembling, especially in this uncomfortable—if arousing—position. But, whether he’s working off his earlier panic, or he just has that much more stamina now that he’s healed, he doesn’t stop. Instead, he adds another finger, stretching you farther and making you moan with the feeling of fullness. You don’t bother to protest or try to wriggle away, only whimpering praises and encouragement, eager for more. He builds you up and sends you over the precipice again, and again, and again relentlessly until you can’t stand any more.
Only when you’re shaking and soaking, so dizzy with sensation you can no longer speak, does he release his iron-clad grip on your hips and lowers them back down to the top of the storage chest, sitting you up with your back resting on the wall. Breathing erratically, he presses a tender but sloppy kiss to your lips, the flavor of you on his tongue.
“This is what… perfection tastes like,” he pants.
Settling between your legs, he finally frees his unbearably hard erection from its prison, the unearthly member glistening with precum and throbbing with pent-up desire.
The storage crate is tall enough that he barely needs to bend his knees to achieve the right height, and with little need for adjustment, he’s rubbing his giant cockhead along your entrance. It feels so good, but your tired muscles are too limp to buck your hips up to help push him in, so you merely bite your lower lip in anticipation of being filled with him.
After being forced to wait for so long, his cock aches to bury itself up to the hilt in you with one thrust, but if he just pushed it in, he might split you in half. He is your gentle creature, needy as he may be, and he can wait just a little longer if it means not hurting you. He rubs his shaft along you, coating it in your slickness with his hand, making sure you’re ready to take him. He pushes the head inside. A gurgled moan escapes your lips at the satisfying pressure. He studies your face.
“Do you want me?” His hands trace over the bone of your hips, kneading the fat of your thighs. You nod weakly, and he pushes in farther. He’s spreading you wide, filling you so magnificently. This is what you’ve been waiting for. Yet he still waits, pausing for your body to adjust to his size. “Are you all right?”
You put your hand over his, marveling at how much bigger it is than yours, and squeeze. “I love you so much. Now fuck me.”
He lets out a strangled whimper of affection at your declaration, and jerks his hips forward into your eager pussy. A cry of pleasure and brief pain tears from your throat. Those words were all the encouragement he needed to become ravenous, nipping at your neck, pinching until a trail of red bruises blooms over your skin. Suddenly, you’re in the air, still fully impaled on his prodigious length, and being slammed against the wall. He begins pounding into you hard and fast, hands squeezing your hips and shoulder, keeping you effortlessly off the ground, while your legs instinctively wrap themselves around his waist, holding on for dear life as he fucks you into the wall, the sloppy sounds of flesh striking flesh filling the serene bucolic air.
You hold him close, running your hands up his back and around his ass, feeling the powerful jerking of his muscles beneath the skin as he thrusts into you. So big. Everything about him is oversize, his arms, his cock, all of the scars covering his body… the textured discoloration of his skin. He did look devilish—but he was so sweet, and kind, and so, so passionate for you, he was more like a prince. Or, at the very least, he was your devil.
Even in his lust-fueled frenzy, he notices you noticing him.
Your eyes are undisguisedly observing parts of him he would rather not think about, and suddenly he remembers what he looks like—self-awareness lost in the passion of the moment returning like a revelation. What you see whenever he mounts you is a monster… and you still let him. You still beg him to. You moan, and whimper, and plead for more of him, your body at his command.
His grunts grow louder and less controlled, and each thrust of his hips sends tremors through the entire barn, little trails of dust and hay falling from the rafters.
“How does it feel to be fucked by a monster? To belong to me?”
It feels warm. You can barely articulate an answer through the fog. It feels rough, hard, fast, tender, passionate…
His breath hitches, a low rumble in his throat, and you realize you’ve been muttering out loud.
“You’re so perfect. So big. You know exactly what I want,” you run your hands up the misshapen grooves of his chest, struggling to keep your voice smooth and seductive as he knocks the wind out of you with each thrust. Compliments can often backfire with the self-hating creature, but in moments like this, you can praise him like a puppy dog and it gets him more red-faced than… than the fact that you’re fucking!
“You feel so good inside me,” you keep singing praises as he pounds into you, his grip getting harder and harder until you’re sure you’ll be left with bruises. “You're so big, you're filling me up. Nobody can do the things you do to me.”
Finally he buries his head in your neck and lets out a full-throated sob, as his hips meet yours in a powerful thrust, burying himself deeper inside you than you believed possible. You feel the warmth of his hot seed filling you, so much of it that it overflows out of you and drips down your ass.
He doesn’t move. He pants against your neck, practically growling, arms holding you in place possessively, pinning you to the wall. You’re not getting down just yet. He wants to savor his cock buried deep inside your warmth for a little longer. You sigh contentedly, closing your eyes and leaning your head against his sweat-dampened chest.
Exhausted and sated, his senses begin to return. He stares at the huge mummy-like hands practically swallowing your small body, your skin so elastic, vibrant, and alive in contrast. Softly, he asks again, absent any passion-fueled bravado, “You love me?”
“I love you.”
“Foolish girl.”
“You love a foolish girl,” you tease, grinning. You grab both sides of his face, rubbing your nose against his.
“I do.”
You could get lost in the little world the two of you share.
Unfortunately you were so engrossed in your own little world that you didn't hear the hens clucking as they rushed to the edge of the fence, or the cows mooing a friendly greeting to a familiar face.
You didn't notice Bess standing in the doorway of the barn until she let out a blood-curdling scream.
#Frankenstein#frankenstein's monster x reader#the creature x reader#monster x human#smutfic#smut#lemon#my writing#FINALLY FINISHED#This one took so long y'all#I hope you enjoy
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My little mischievous partner ~ part 2
It felt all too slow. How Cassian opened his door, how he ran over to Rhys room on a mushy ground - where normaly cold,even marble should have met his naked feet.
With cold sweat cloaking his forehead and chest, he flung open the dooble door to Rhys and Feyres bedroom - locked it shut and jumped under the heavy blanket his brother slept under.
To Cassians luck was Feyre still out together with Mor and Amren. Just great, now they had to fight off Bryaxis on their own.
Cass would rather wait for Nesta than do this now. No hundred Illyrians could get him out there to this horrible creature.
Rhysand stired slowly awake by the constant shivering of his blanket. At first he had turned to his side and had hugged the round bundle, nuzzling into it as he mumbled “Oh, Feyre darling, you don’t need to purr for me.”
If the thing waiting outside the door wouldn’t have been Cassians worst nightmare he would have perhaps laughed, or thrown the blanket, over his together rolled form back. Making it obvious that he isn’t Feyre - but he was motionless. The shivers that wrecked through him already too much movement for him.
And so he wasn’t able to do anything as his brother pulled the heavy blanket aside. Rhys sleepy face was enlightened by the soft hue of moonlight as he looked down at him with a lust stretched smile and something dark welling in his violet eyes.
But all that was gone as he suddenly noticed the form of his shivering brother. A yelp escaping him as he hurriedly skidded back to his side of the bed.
The soft midnight blue blanket between them a strained bundle, as both gripped onto one side of it.
“What in the mothers name are you doing here Cass!” The commander swallowed hard, not answering as he only asked “Can I please stay here? Feyre won’t be here before sunrise anyway. Like that you won’t be lonely.”
Rhys only glared at him before heaving a sigh, dragging a hand through his already sleep mussed hair “Fine. Just don’t tell Feyre of this - you know just as much as I do that she will not let us live this one down.”
Cassian only nodded - fine with whatever his brother wanted from him, if it prevented him from having to step out of the room.
For a long time there was only heared the rustling of the blanket, that shifted back and forth between the two of them until they settled. Both their naked backs turned at each other.
While Rhys closed his eyes again and his breathing started to even. Cassian was far away from finding sleep again. His heart still beating like a thunderstorm in his chest, his wings slowly closing in around him. Every movement outside, the sway of one of the trees, a bird or a bat fluttering past the window -every motion that caused the shadows to move made him shift. His nerves strained to the point of snapping at any moment.
The ticking of the grandfarther clock in the cornor had him wince with every tick. Still he managed to calm down, thinking that all the things he had seen in his room were probably just an imagination because of his drunken state.
Maybe it was just that.
Still with an unerving feeling in his guts, did he close his eyes. An exhaused sigh leaving his bloodless lips as he nuzzeled into the pillows.
The dancing shadows in the room, that had danced around his vision and had frightened him, were now a soothing black blanket behind his closed eyelids.
Sleep soon wanting to drag him down into its cloudy world - that was until he heared it again. That meatallic sound of a laugh.
“Hihihihihi!”
His body moved on its own accord as it sat up straight. The sweat that had once vanished returned as his gaze hurried around the room. His brother was snorring beside him and everything seemed normal, that means almost normal.
There was a dark shadow, just by the door.
A pitch black clawing fog that swirled around aimlessly on the wooden double door.
His heart beat spedup at the sight, the metallic laugh a screech in his ears he did never want to hear again. Cassians breathes came uneven as he shook his brother awake - this time not taking his plate wide eyes off of the shadow, that slowly started to take form.
Rhys growled as he was once again dragged out of sleep, but as his grumpy glare saw Cass ,almost porcelain white skin - he did not question his brother -that looked straight ahead.
With a tired puzzeled gaze did the High Lord follow the view of his Commander, after he sat up. His thick black eyebrow furrowed as the question was written all over his face. The clawing fog that now formed into the stature of two persons was not at all familiar with him. Wait a clawing fog?!
Rhys violet eyes slowly widened as he came to the realization - still he breathed to his brother “I’m pretty sure there is a reasonable reason behind this.”
And it would most likely not the reason of a company searching Bryaxis, that had killed off dozens the last time they saw them.
Cassian only stared further at the fog, as the metallic laugh was heared again.
And the black mist started to lift. Strand for strand it unwrapped two persons. At the sight of those two pairs of legs, was Cassian glad - knowing it was not his worst nightmare, but who were then the intruders?
Rhys slowly scooched closer to his brother as he ,too, saw the two pairs of leggs. One pair, the more delicate and smaller one, covered in a pair of shiny grey harem’s pants. The tiny feet covered with a pair of silver ballerinas. While the other one seemed more masculine, a long turquoise sheet of fabric dangling over a pair of white pants.
And soon the two frightened brothers were greeted by their little angry, ancient friend. Amrens silver eyes swimming with an emotion both did not want to know what it promissed, while her blood red mouth formed into a twisted smirk as she looked up at Varian.
Varian beside her, was quiet as always. His face seeming a bit more grimm, but also lighter as a smirk, too, layed on his lips and he picked up the tiny female.
Her short legs wrapping around his middle imedeatly as his lips found purchase on her red painted ones. One of his large hands wound around her behind, to keep her steddy beside him - while the other tangeled and ruffeled her silky short black hair.
A growl escaping the two of them, while they did not seem as if they noticed the confused and quiet disturbed gazes of the two brothers, that were frightened for their life at the view.
They both were happy to call someone like Amren their family and that she found herself Varian, but both did never want to find out these specific things. Seeing how their chests pressed into one another, her hips grinding into his. There would have not even fit a sheet of paper between them. It seemed like as if the two wanted to become one right infront of Rhys and Cassian.
And it might have been that the two accted like little boys, that just had cought their parents in the middle of something, but they did not want to watch this unfold even more. A shiver running down both of their spines as they thought about it. And so Rhys took the bravery to clear his throat - loudly.
But the pants of the two were louder as they broke appart. Amrens arms wound thightly in Varians hair, their eyes only snapping away from each other as they heared Cass massive frame coliding with the floor.
The commander did not want to see this unfold any longer, but the blanket had cought his legs at the attempt to flee. All pairs of eyes on his form on the cold floor. Annoyed by the reason for his fall he snapped “You two having your fun?!”
Amren only smirked, as her whole body stayed wrapped against Varians. Her blood red lips one devils smirk as she answered: “Thank you very much Cassian, it is actually quiet fun for the both of us, yes.”
Varian had the decency to turn a bit red as he nudged his dark nose against her almost white cheek. But the smirk that formed on his lips as well, had the two brothers shaking.
Rhys slowly crawled to Cassian as to not caugh the attention of the two smirking lovers and leaned down to him. Freeing his brother all too slowly from the silky fetters around his ankels. “We run at three, got that?” Cassian only nodded. Bracing himself on his forearms as to slowly get up.
But before Rhys had even got the chance to say one, went Amrens attention back to them. That words that left her smirking mouth had them flying for the door behind them. “Would you like to join us?”
They both moved fast as lightning for the door. The heavy wood flinging wide open at the force Cass used to open it up with. This was worse than Bryaxis! decided Cassian for himself as he bolted down the hallway to the living room.
There was no way in hell he would open up that cursed chamber of his. Afterall they both had already been in his room. Oh gods he did not even want to think about that!
And while both, Cass and Rhys, ran down the stairs to sleep on the couch. They did not hear the metallic laugh that left Rhys and Feyres bedroom.
None of the two carred about the sound, as they both ran to get their eyes as far away, from the two, as possible. Rhys not carring at all that his bedroom was used for their fun.
There were plenty of rooms in the riverestate. He and Feyre could simply move into one of them, though the explanation might be a bit difficult.
Even though both Illyrians did not know why Amren showed up in the middle of Rhys bedroom - they were horrified. The few pictures that they had seen in the dimm hue of moonlight, enough for the rest of eternity.
The fire in the fireplace to source of warmth as they , both, layed under a pile of blankets on the couch. Sleep without a nightmare hard to find for the two of them.
*****
As the two drunken and sleepy Illyrians stumbeled out the room, was the seer in need of biting her bottom lip -hard- to prevent herself from bursting out laughing.
And it seemed that even the stoic shadowsinger beside her, had to pull hard on his leash of restraint to not burst out lauging too.A light snicker escaping him.
Elain nudged his, brown painted, arm with hers. A smile on her lips as she gazed up at him. Him and his turquoise eyes.
She pounted.
Bold in her drunken state did words leave her mouth, she would have never said if she was sober - but that whole plan of hers was something she would have never done in a sober state.
“I like your hazel eyes better.” was all she mumbled
Azriel grew stiff for a moment at the comment, before he lifted his scarred hand and pulled the two contact lenses out. Revealing his hazel eyes onse again. The emotions inside of them, that made the green and brown appear like one swirl of color - as if they had been painted by Feyre herself with her oil paint, a true master piece. Making the seer lose her breath.
And so did the Shadowsinger as he heaved a sigh once the two foreign bodys were out of his eyes.
The kind smile he offered his friend was something breathtaking, but Elains breath was knocked out of her lungs for another reason.
Her still silver eyes widening at the red smeared lipstick on his sinfull lips.Those lips that had touched and caressed hers like a real lover, wrapping her soft cold lips into the warm blanket of his.
Even though the act, they just had put up, seemed wild and full of passion and like something that was clearly created by Amren and her lover.
But it wasn’t.
It was a song that was sung by the uniting bodys of the Shadowsinger and the seer. A symphony that only their soul and body could create, but that was something that could only be felt by the two of them.
Two drunken ones not even able to notice the difference between those who played infront of them and those which were the real ones.
The hight difference between ‘Amren’ and ‘Varian’ , that stood in the middle of Rhys and Feyres bedroom, gazing at each other with such warmth and intensity that could melt ice, was a lot lesser than the original one.
Something the make up skills of Elain could not make up for.
As well as the bulkier stature of ‘Varian’ and since it was dark, it was also not noticed that his entire backside was covered in shadows.
The black swirling whisps little snakes around Azriels wings, covering everything up like a cloak. Something he had already done many times - mostly durning spies and visits to the mortal lands after the war.
And Elain needed to admit, her eyes taking in every inch of Azriels disguised form, that she would never want anyone else besides the shadowsinger.
His tan, but not ebony skin. His hazel eyes - not quiet brown but also not grey or green either. His touseled soft black hair, instead of white flowing one.
Elain realized with shock, as she lifted her hand to cup the Shadowsingers brown cheek, that there would never be anyone as beautiful as Azriel for her.
Body and Soul. Of course did he have cracks and weired habits of his. Scars covering his body, his hands mostly, but also his heart. His kind heart that seemed for most cold, but was in truth the hearth of a fire to which, at least, sweet Elain wanted to come home forever.
Her pale hand that rested on his dark cheek and tried to smear away a bit of the color on his gods crafted face, did nothing. She only caressed his cheek. And the Shadowsinger could do nothing more than close his eyes - leaning in to the soft touch of hers.
A chuckle escaping his relaxed face as he realized what the intensing swipes with her thumb attemted to do. “You do remember, El, that you yourself had put smearproof make up all over my skin, right?”
Elains eyes widened slowly “Oh.”
Azriel burst out full laughing at her short memory, that usualy remembered everything from the start of her fae life, her tipsy state having clearly infected her a bit too much.
Both probably too tipsy at this point that they did not care at all, that they were laughing like maniacs in the middle of darkness. Bold words leaving their mouthes as a fire ignited between the two.
Elain innocent smile, seeming all weired and twisted in Amrens form. But Amrens looks fit her wicked tongue just right.
A gleam in the silver contact lenses of hers. “Well I guess that I have to remove it all again then.”
Azriel did not know how he would have reacted if he had been sober, but all he remembered in his tipsy state, was that he closed the little distance between them. One of his scarred hands holding his lenses as the other lifted to the seers soft cheek.
The distance between them, the distance that was barely there - was unbearable as Azriels already red smeared lips were only milimiters away from hers. A soft whisper of them and his words everything against them.
A few little words, a touch all it needed for Elain to shiver from delight. Gosepumps appearing all over her body.
“You would not be capable of what you unleash, little seer.”
Elains breath was cought in her lungs. There were only a few times were he called her with such names. She mostly knew in which situation he used which nickname for her, but with these she never knew.
His gaze always holding, in such moments, a stronger intensity.
“I think you’re underestimating me, Spymaster.”
And just before she closed the milimeter between them, breathless words left her lungs.
“Because I know I could handle you, Azriel. Forever.”
Those were the words that unleashed the Shadowsinger. Never in his life had he heared such sweet words and for the first time of his life did he want to taste these sweet words on her lips.
Every mother damned syllable of them.
A dance of soft lips fighting against each other, erupting in the soft hue of moon light before they were gone in a shadowy breeze.
_______________________________________________________________
Taglist (please contact me if you want to be added or removed from the list):
@heirofthrnightcourt004
#mischivous elriel#elriel#mentions of Vamren smut#Amren#Varian#two disturbed Illyrians#rhys#cass#elain x azriel#azriel x elain#azriel#elain#elriel fluff#tipsy elain#tipsy elriel#acotar#tipsy az
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@ the anon who asked for kandreil angst: THIS IS YOUR RESPONSE tumblr fucked up the editing of the post so I copied the response to a new one whoof
see my first thought was, death
but the thing about writing about death.....see death in fiction is never as important as death in real life, right? oh it still can hurt a shit and a ton, but at the end of the day, nobody real has died, and you can read the beginning of the story again...
so what would be worse?
:)
(3 guesses if you can figure out what I’ve been reading in quarantine, starts with p and ends with ercyjackson,)
---
The dawn wind rose from the spray of the sea, briny and humid up the pitted rock of the cliff to ruffle the flight feathers at the base of his thumb, tickle the fringe of his secondary coverts. Andrew grumbled and lifted his head from under his wing, snapping his beak a few times to get the sleep-taste from his mouth. He would have preferred a lie-in.
Eat, little cousin, the wind said. Its tone was amused. Patronizing. Andrew wanted to bite at it, but he could feel the edged ache of emptiness in his stomach and crop both; the wind was right, today was a day he could not fail at hunting. Already the wind was carrying to him good smells, food-smells, fish-smells, sweet and fatty. His stomach rumbled.
Nicky was always telling him to stretch his wings properly in the morning so he wouldn't cramp. Andrew took a special pleasure in ignoring that advice, unwrapping his wings from his body and hopping off the edge of his nest on the next up-draft. The muscles of his breast and shoulders soon lost their morning stiffness to slide into familiar rhythm, gliding lazily down towards the flashing waves. Silvery scales, just under the surface, promised a filling breakfast. Andrew considered for a moment, but his tongue was insistent; he was tired of fish. Something different, then, today. Andrew turned his head towards the sandy shore.
There were food-smells here, rabbit and mouse and other mammal. With no-one close enough to hear, Andrew allowed himself a quiet chirrk-chirrk-chirrk of anticipation. His brother-nest-mate told the others Andrew didn't like anything, and Andrew figured that was correct in all the ways that mattered. The hunt, the chase and dive and tearing of talons in flesh, all in instinctive drive to soothe the ache of hunger-- it wasn't that Andrew enjoyed it. It was that he appreciated the brutal utility of it. The plants ate the the sun, which Andrew could not; the fish and rodent ate the plants, which Andrew had not the beak for; and so Andrew ate these small things, these creatures too weak to cling to life. Muscle to muscle, bone to bone, and Andrew kept alive another day. Apollo and Demeter were no matter to a hunter, though Andrew had never sworn the heart-oath to his father he was commanded. He was free as the wind itself; freer, for he rode atop it.
A new scent had him ducking in-- not interest, for that was too strong a word, but attention, maybe; a large creature this, larger than was safe even for a bird of Andrew's size, but today Andrew had a mighty hunger. He banked left and followed the meat-smell to a jagged rock jutting out from the cliff into the sea, streaked with generations of excrement from fowl and creeping lizard alike. The churning of the waters around swallowed the cries of the poor creature, and so Andrew was right against the rock before he realized how big the thing was. Quickly, he landed on a spike hidden on the backside of the outcrop, poking his head over the top to catch a glance of what was on the other side. It howled in pain and confusion, struggling; why was it not running?
Andrew saw why a moment later, the iron manacle chaining the animal to the rock. So: a stroke of someone else's luck (for Andrew never had any luck of his own). He was surprised no-one else had come to pick at this choice offiering. Perhaps they were waiting for the correct hour. Andrew would take it then, while it was still early, before it could be stolen away.
With such a feast there was no need to stint himself. With a cry Andrew spread his wings and rose up over the sea-cracked rock, diving towards the softest meat of the animal's belly. Skin gave easily beneath his talons, spilling the warm viscera from within. Andrew stuffed his beak again and again, lost to the frenzy of eating, the wholly sensate experience that was the only time he felt truly in his own body. His stomach bulged now, yet Andrew knew he could fit more. He dug into wet meat and felt the blood spray across his feathers.
Look, the wind said, look at what I've given you…
Fuck off telling me what to do, Andrew thought at it, but he was a suspicious bird by nature. He chanced a glance upwards as he paused to draw breath between bites, talons tightening in his prey. The face that looked back at him wavered strangely. Andrew blinked, lifting his beak to smell, and all at once the face and his memories sharpened into awareness.
"Andrew," the face was saying, tear-streaked from pain. "This isn't you, I know, think, remember," a wave cut the words off, dashing the side of the rock and filling the mouth with saltwater. When it turned to cough Andrew saw the thin marking of a number two.
Why--
How--
What had Andrew done?
He tried to throw himself backwards, horror rising like bile in his throat, trying to carry Kevin's bodyflesh back out of it, but Andrew was trapped, his talons twisting stuck in bleeding muscle. Andrew cried out, beating his wings. He only succeeded in battering Kevin's face, making him flinch backwards more than he already was.
Ah, the wind said. Ah ha, ha ha ha…
If Andrew could not get away, he would at least stop this. Against his trembling panic he made his muscles relax, seeking to keep himself as far back from Kevin as he was able, giving his wings only enough lift to keep from dragging Kevin's skin down under his hanging weight. For a moment he managed it, and he saw Kevin's eyes fix on his, hopeful; hopeful, even though Andrew in the worst of senses tearing him apart. But then against Andrew's explicit instructions his muscles seized, drawing him closer. He watched as his right claw rose without his own permission, diving deep into Kevin's guts. Kevin threw his head back and screamed.
Another scent rose on the laughing wind, like Kevin's, man-scent and metal. Andrew wrenched his head to look, and before he was wrenched with a compulsion like iron to bite again, he saw a lone figure toiling over the algae-slick rocks, sword held aloft and red hair tangled from the brine.
Your hero. This is my favorite part…who do you think wins this time?
Why are you doing this? Andrew cried to the cruel wind, fighting against bonds he could not break to stay his ravage of Kevin's body. The fresh meat tasted good; that was the worst part, and Andrew gagged to know it. The flat of Neil's sword caught the sun and shone into Andrew's eyes, but he was not permitted to close them, to hide from the sight of his own inescapable gluttony.
Why? Why, because I like it. I think it's fun. Don't you think this is fun, Andrew?
You can't keep Neil from killing me. I won't stop him.
Ah, ha. But for that he'd actually have to make it to this rock, no? I've reconsidered, I think this is my favorite part, the wind said. It was high-pitched now, too cold for summer, stolen from some place where ice froze too thick to stand grain. Every day, you still think you have a choice. Oh, yes, and Andrew's horror grew to blot out the sun, have you forgotten? That's okay, I can tell this lesson tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrows for all the rest of time...
#all for the game#the foxhole court#kandreil#my fics#this gets a lil bit gory but like....greek mythos......so there will be blood#i've deffo written worse#half also an excuse to write andrew as a bird#Anonymous
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Can a Skeleton be Ticklish?
Arial was spending time with the Sanders sides, and reading something on her tickle fanfic page. But Arial didn't realize until it was too late, that Roman was reading her phone and now knew her secret. But...Perhaps it might've been for the better?
This prompt was sent in by @smileheart110, and features their Undertale OC, Arial. I hope you enjoy the fanfic! And if I got anything about your OC wrong, feel free to let me know in the comment or in DM's. Thanks!
This work features a shoutout to @fluffymary! I'm a HUGE fan of your fanart!
Arial was visiting the sides for a little while today. She had eaten a really warm soup and sandwich lunch meal with Patton and some of the others, and was now just hanging out in the living room with Patton and Roman. Roman was coloring in a coloring book on her left, while Patton was playing angry birds on his own phone.
What was Arial doing?
Well...She was looking at fanart on Tumblr that was made by @fluffymary! There were tons of really good fanarts of the Sanders Sides, coincidentally. Looking at the pictures were making her a little flustered, but it depended on what spots the fanart focused on. Why she was looking at fanart instead of just declaring a tickle war in the middle of the living room?
Easy: Too embarrassing. As much as she’d love to, something told her a few of the sides wouldn’t be quite as amused with her childish endeavors. Specifically...Logan.
Arial soon moved on and looked down a list of lee questions. It didn’t take long for her face to flush a light magenta color. Whoops...Guess she didn’t really think this through...Now her face is all flushed and they’re all gonna notice because it’s magenta contrasting with her snow white skull. What’s she gonna say if they notice and bring something up?
“Hey Arial! Look!” Patton said to her, pointing to his phone. Arial just about jumped 5 feet, but managed to keep her composure while she looked at Patton. The phone was showing her a video of a puppy that was trying to learn to howl, but was doing a lot more baby babbles than actual howls. Arial burst out laughing and allowed her face to flush with color again. This was worth being flustered at!
“Awwww! Babbling pup!” Arial reacted.
“I know!” Patton reacted before pulling his phone away.
Arial smiled and thought of the puppy for a little longer, before focusing back on the reblogged questions. She had started to determine which numbers to answer, when she froze and looked to her right side. Roman had stopped coloring in his book and was now reading her phone!
Uh oh…
“Uuuuuh…” was all Arial could get out of her mouth.
“Can I see the phone?” Roman asked.
Arial widened her eyes and looked at him with nervous eyes. She looked down at her phone, before slowly looking back at the man who had caught her in the act. Should she give him the phone to lessen suspicion? Or should she tell him no so that she doesn’t get any more embarrassed than she already is?
Finally, Arial handed him her phone. Roman started reading the questions and picked the second one. “Would you rather be tickled on your worst spot for 5 minutes? Or on 5 less ticklish spots for 1 minute?” Roman asked out of nowhere.
Arial’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. The other sides had looked up from their entertainment to listen to the question and hear the answer. Arial felt like she wanted to sink into the void hidden under her seat and hide in space forever. Did he just seriously ask her that?
Not fully in control of her actions, Arial slowly hid her feet under the couch. “Uuuuuuh…” Arial muttered.
“Worst spot for 5 minutes, or 5 not as bad spots for 1 minute?” Roman repeated.
“5 spots for one minute.” Arial got out quick.
“Alright. Would you rather see someone else get tickled? Or have someone watch you get tickled?” Roman asked, still reading off her phone.
Arial grabbed her hair and hid her face behind her newfound hair curtains. “See someone else get tickled.”
Roman chuckled. “Would you rather be tickled with tools? Or just fingers?” Roman asked with a smirk. Arial squeaked like a mouse and sunk deeper into her seat. To make matters worse, Roman had summoned a hairbrush, a toothbrush AND a feather! All in one hand! The moment she looked up and saw THAT freaking bundle, Arial shrieked and fell into Patton’s side.
Patton giggled. “Uh oh! Is Arial flustered?” Patton teased. “Because I hate to break it to you…” Patton leaned in really close to her ear hole, “...but you just bumped into the biggest tickle monster in the house.” Patton whispered.
“Hey! I heard that! I thought I was the ultimate tickle monster?!” Roman protested.
“I mean...You are a close second…” Patton let him know. “You’re my assistant!” Patton explained.
Arial didn’t know how much more of this she could take. “Are you ticklish by any chance?” Patton asked.
“Can skeletons even be ticklish without nerves?” Virgil asked.
“Actually, bones have nerves hidden within the blood vessels that bring blood through the bones. Not only that, but bones can also contain nerve endings within the bone marrow. So anatomically, Arial could be ticklish.” Logan piped up.
Arial gulped and looked towards Logan. Logan just sent her a wink, which sent chills down her spine. Then, she looked at Roman. But Roman, being the hidden devil he was, booped Arial on the nose hole with the feather. Arial slapped the feather out of his hand. “Knock it off!” Arial ordered, growing slightly annoyed.
Suddenly, Patton wrapped his arms around her. “Uh oh! Looks like someone is getting a little impatient! Could I at least hear a pleeeeaaaase?” Patton asked with an innocent voice.
Arial whined. Did she seriously have to say please in order to get tickles from them? “I wanna hear a please first…” Roman told her.
“You gonna ask? Or you gonna stay quiet?” Patton teased.
Finally, Arial gained a slight bit of courage to say it. “Please?” Arial asked.
“Please...what?” Patton asked.
Arial whined yet again. SERIOUSLY?! “Pleasetickleme?” Arial asked.
“I think I might’ve understood what you said, but...I think I need to hear it again...just to make-”
“PLEEEEAAASE TICKLE ME!” Arial yelled.
Roman widened his eyes. “Oh my…”
Patton chuckled. “I appreciate that you said it, but I didn’t really like HOW you said it.” Patton told her. Arial let out a toddler-like whine. “Can you please ask me again...but with less attitude?” Paton asked.
Arial growled and finally shoved her hands into Patton’s sides. “AriaAAAHAHAHAHA! Nohohow hold on there, Arial!” Patton laughed, unable to stop himself from laughing from the accidental, aggressive tickles.
“You’re frustrating the poor girl, Patton. Let me help:” Roman suggested before skittering his fingers on her ribs. “Besides, I’ve always wondered how ticklish you might be.” Roman added.
Arial let out a squeal and started giggling almost immediately. “Wooooow! Not even holding anything back, huh?” Roman reacted. Logan looked over at Arial and smiled.
“I see you have ticklish ribs!” Logan commented. “Makes sense.”
“But just HOW ticklish are these ribs?” Roman asked before drumming his fingers up and down her ribs.
“NononONONOOOHOHOHOHOHO!” ROHOHOHOMAHAHAHAN!” Arial bursted out laughing.
“Whaaaat?” Roman replied.
“IHIHIHIT TIHIHIHICKLEHEHEHES!” Arial yelled at him.
Logan chuckled and got up. “I will remind you that you were actually asking for this.” Logan added as he walked up to the scene.
“THAHAHAT WAHAHAS UHUHUHUNCAHAHAHALLED FOHOHOR!” Arial protested.
“Uncalled for, you claim?” Logan reacted. “Okay. Let’s play it that way then.” Logan sat down at the end of the couch and grabbed her ankle. “Is thiiiis uncalled for too?” Logan asked as he skittered his fingers on her feet.
Arial let out a loud, high-pitched SCREAM! She wanted to protest against him, but her cackles and quick loss of breath stopped her from even trying to talk! Logan stopped tickling her foot almost immediately. “WOW...That was...very unexpected.” Logan admitted.
“I guess her feet are her death spot!” Roman reacted. “Now, how ticklish are your armpits?” Roman asked rhetorically before lifting her right arm up past her head. Roman didn’t waste a second and had dug into her armpit almost immediately!
“OOOHOHOHO GAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HOHOHOHOW DAHAHAHAHARE!” Arial yelled at him.
“Oh, you don’t think I dare touch the ticklish skeleton’s armpits? I most definitely dare!” Roman replied. “I even dare to ask Logan and Patton to join me!” Roman added.
Logan smiled and winked. “I’d love to help!” Logan replied.
“I’ve been waiting very patiently! Now is my time to SHIIINE!” Patton shouted before kneeling in front of the couch. Patton brought his hand up to her belly and was about to start tickling it. But...the shirt caved right in. Patton widened his eyes and lifted her shirt up a bit. There was indeed no belly to tickle! “...What?” Patton asked.
“IHIHIHI’M AHAHA SKEHEHELETOHOHON! IHIHI DOHOHON’T HAHAHAVE AHA BEHEHELLY!” Arial explained.
Patton frowned and crossed his arms at first. But it didn’t take long for Patton to try going fo her pelvic hollows on either side. Arial squealed and fell into a hysterical laughing fit almost right away! She was swaying her body left and right, yet still couldn’t shake Patton’s hands off her upper hips. “There we go! Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle, Arial!” Patton teased. “Who’s got such ticklish hips? Remember, no lying! Cause girls with your kind of hips CAN’T lie!” Patton teased.
Roman and Arial both bursted out laughing at that weird comment. “WHAHAHAT DOHOHOES THAHAHAHAT MEHEHEHEAN?!” Arial asked.
Patton giggled. “I was referencing the song ‘Hips Don’t Lie’ by Shakira!” Patton explained.
“Were you calling her Shakira?” Logan asked.
Patton tilted his head. “Did it...sound like I was?” Patton asked.
“It kind of did, yeah.” Logan replied briefly.
“Then yes! I did call you Shakira! You have some nice hips.” Patton said as he started poking the sides of her pelvis again.
Arial’s laughter raised an octave from both the really weird but endearing compliment, and from Patton’s poking. Arial couldn’t stop laughing for the life of her. Two people were attacking her really ticklish upper body!
“Where else should we go? Is your neck ticklish by any chance?” Roman asked before he started skittering his fingers on the neck part of her spine.
Arial curled her neck back and squeaked. “HEHEHEHehehehehey! Ehehehevihihil prihihihince!” Arial protested.
Roman guffawed. “So, I touch your armpits and you’re all like ‘Hehe! That tickles!’. But the moment I even SLIGHTLY tickle you’re like ‘Nuuu! Bad Roman! Evil Roman!’ Why is that?!” Roman reacted.
“Ihihihi dohohohon’t knohohohow.” Arial replied.
“Maybe she just can’t help the words that come out of her mouth!” Patton suggested. “Or maybe...light tickles are harder to handle than intense tickles.” Patton also suggested.
“It might be a bit of both.” Logan concluded. “I mean, how would you feel if someone just started tickling your neck for a while without stopping despite your protests?” Logan asked.
Arial looked up and smiled when she saw Logan tickle the left side of Patton’s neck. “eeEEK! No! NNNNO! Hands! Away!” Patton ordered.
“How about YOU keep your OWN hands away?” Logan suggested as he grabbed Patton’s hands and pinned them above his head with both his hands. With his arms out of the way and bent to give Logan more room to tickle, Logan leaned into his neck and blew a raspberry onto Patton’s neck. “NOOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHA! LOHOHOHOGAHAHAHAN!” Patton shrieked like a child.
“See? You can’t quite think properly when you’re being tickled by someone.” Logan explained. “Buuuut...how about light tickles?” Logan asked as he adjusted his grip. With one hand holding both his arms, Logan started skittering his fingers on Patton’s neck. When it was covered, Logan would move to an exposed neck spot. Logan kept doing this so he could guarantee lots of light tickles for Patton.
“Stahahahap! Whyhyhy mehehehe?! WHYhyhyhy?! Ihihihi thohohought wehehe wehehehere tihihicklihing Ahaharial?” Patton giggled and squeaked.
Logan smiled. “I’m just proving a point.” Logan replied confidently.
By now, Roman had stopped tickling Arial and let her go. Not only that, but Roman even took the time to whisper something in Arial’s ear. With new information in her mind, Arial lifted herself up and started tickling Logan’s hips.
“BAHAHA! ARIAL, NOHOHO!” Logan jumped, collapsing onto the couch.
“You’re right: Arial no. Buuut, Patton YES!” She replied. “Go for it, Pat!” Arial declared to him.
“You got it!” Patton started quickly tickling Logan for revenge. “Can’t test a theory without testing it on yourself!” Patton declared as well.
Logan giggled and started laughing hysterically in less than a minute. Patton chose the really ticklish and juicy spots, which ended up keeping Logan down and stuck in defeat. While Arial only watched the tickle fight from there, Arial did get some information on where to go when tickling Logan. She also eventually found out Patton’s many ticklish spots when he managed to dominate Patton once again!
The day ended up turning into a big tickle fight between her, Roman, Patton, Logan and eventually Virgil. And this all wouldn’t have happened, if Arial didn’t show Roman the embarrassing list of questions on her phone.
Boy! Isn’t embarrassment a blessing sometimes?
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the unfortunate case of nonchalance
PART II - BIRDS OF A KIND
summary: while in town, jethro bumps into the endearing lady he met several days ago. and he finds it hard to tell her no.
words: 3,943
warnings: female reader
tags: @fairytale07 @jrenn10 @f4nboi @purplestarsr5 @ladyzombiielove @littlemiss3ma @minikate--24-05 @consultingdoctorwholock @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy @ms-allenbrown @ikbenplant @dylpickles1267 @diaryofafan17 @specialagentlokitty @pageofultron @stanathanxoox @kittenlittle24
author’s note: part 2 of the cowboy!au series. this is a part of meg’s 11k challenge. the prompts are cowboy au and secret relationship trope.
PART I | PART III
February 22th, 1889
It finally feels as if we’re settling down, even just a bit. Nobody likes being this far East - I can see how on edge everyone is. But we’re safe here, for the time being. That’s what matters.
Anthony still hasn’t told me his grand money-making scheme. Says he won’t until he’s worked everything out, but that don’t make me feel any better. There was a time when such promises of a plan would’ve interested me. But now, it only leaves me with a sour gut feeling.
For now, I’ll wait and hope that man has enough sense in his skull not to get us all killed.
At least Doctor Mallard is rescuing me from sitting in camp - he wants to go into town for supplies, and asked if I would accompany him. He says he’ll need help bringing everything back, but I suspect he knows I’ve been idle for too long.
He thinks I’ve been distracted. Thinking about what we left behind in the West.
I’ll let him keeping thinking that.
-
Doctor Mallard brought only one sack to carry the supplies in. And Jethro’s holding that single sack, tucked against the crook of his arm. It only confirmed his suspicions that the older man felt Jethro was spending too much time in camp. As tedious as camp is, though, it’s preferable to walking through town.
A man bumped into Jethro’s shoulder. “Hey!” He snapped, but the man just kept walking without a single apology. And it made Jethro huff. “Rude bastard.”
“The youth today have scarcely any manners, Jethro,” Doctor Mallard muses. He didn’t seem all that bothered by the rude display.
Jethro just gives a small hum, head shaking as he hitches the sack up higher and glances around at the bustling street. People coming in going, paying little attention to two dirty cowboys who are merely making their way back to their horses. Their clothes are spotless, stylish, full of lace and pristine furs - Jethro’s never felt quite so different than he does now.
The sun comes down on them hard. The long brim of his hat keeps the light out of Jethro’s eyes, but the day is long and hot. He’s looking forward to riding out of the stifling town. Feeling the wind and returning to the camp, where everything seems more free. More normal.
They pass the bank. Jethro’s eyes are shielded by his hat; he doesn’t see the person coming out of the building. Barely cares, until he hears her voice say his name in a way he recognizes.
Well, it’s more like his body recognizes it. Because his feet stop, his head comes up, and his eyes peer out from under the shade.
“Mr. Gibbs,” you repeat. Slower, this time. But still high-pitched; obviously pleased to see him away, and Jethro honestly cannot tell if he feels the same. He enjoyed your company, sure. Enjoyed talking to you. Found you amusing and endearing and interesting, all that once.
On the other hand, Doctor Mallard was right there...
“Is this your friend?”
You’re looking to the doctor now, stepping closer and holding out a hand, which he obviously takes. Jethro has to swallow before nodding his head. “This is Donald Mallard. He’s a very good friend of mine,” he answers. And the older doctor may be able to fool strangers, but Jethro was no such fool. When he introduced Mallard to the girl, he gave Jethro a look. So nonchalant - barely there - but he knew its meaning:
She’s quite pretty, isn’t she?
Jethro looked away so his face wouldn’t answer.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Doctor.”
“Believe me, dear. The pleasure is mine.”
“Well, we must be leaving,�� Jethro cuts in quickly. You look at him, surprised. But he keeps his eyes away as he puts on hand on Doctor Mallard’s shoulder, trying to steer him away. “Our friends need these supplies...”
“Oh, that’s alright! I was just on my way home, anyway!” You call out after them. And Jethro can’t help feeling relieved. He can only imagine how Doctor Mallard will tease him about this back at camp. Meeting and befriending a pretty lady without mentioning it - scandalous stuff.
But the Doctor stops, and for an old man, his feet are rooted to the ground quite firmly. Despite Jethro’s shoves, he turns back to the woman still standing before the bank. “Jethro, what kind of gentleman are you?” He asks in a scolding voice. “You’re not going to offer to take this nice lady home?”
Jethro sighs, his fingers tight on Doctor Mallard’s shoulder but lets his hand drop away. He knows what the older man is playing at, but he’s also right.
“That’s not necessary,” you pipe up. When Jethro looks over, you’re smiling shyly. Obviously trying to wave off the offer.
And yet, Jethro hands the sack over to Doctor Mallard, who takes it gleefully. “No, it’d be my pleasure,” Jethro says. And he hopes you don’t catch rueful tone of his voice.
“Our horses are hitched right over here, dear.” You and Jethro follow Doctor Mallard in silence. He’s ranting off about the price of canned goods in this town; how they’re impossibly high compared to other towns. Jethro barely listens. He’s focused too much on you - how you’re walking next to him, movements so elegant, it’s alien to a rough cowboy like him. His own spurs clinked against the gravel road, footfalls heavy. A startling contradiction.
Jethro waits silently as the doctor pulls himself onto his old nag. And once he’s settled, Jethro dips his head to him. “Safe ride,” he says simply.
“And you, as well,” Doctor Mallard replies. And there’s a certain edge in his voice, almost teasing without being blatant about it. But Jethro heard the mischief in his voice - it made him scowl and turn to his own horse.
You’re waiting patiently, wearing a soft smile, and he realizes why the good doctor had told him to ride safe.
“You live far?” Jethro asks while pulling himself up. Once he’s in the saddle, he reaches down for your hand. And when you take it, his eyes avert away. The contact was so small and simple but the soft skin of your hand and the light grip you have, it affects him. And he hopes the wide brim of his hat is enough to hide his face as Jethro pulls you up to sit behind him.
“Not very. On the edge of town - it’s the big white house. Just head down the main street-”
“Oh, I’ve seen it,” Jethro cuts in. He pulls the reins and starts heading down the main road. “Big house like that, it’s kinda hard to miss.”
There’s a light laugh from you. Jethro’s grateful his back is turned, face hidden. “Almost too big, in fact. There’s a lot of empty rooms. Sometimes it feels almost....lonely,” you reply.
Feeling lonely in a big ol’ house, that’s not a feeling Jethro was too familiar with. Then again, he knows he owns his own brand of loneliness. The type that lingers, even when he’s surrounded by people. Especially in this town, when the strangers are even more strange to him than usual.
He doesn’t feel that loneliness right now, though.
Jethro clears his throat, head turning a bit to see you in his periphery before looking forward again. “So, what were you doing in that bank?” He asks nonchalantly. Though, he scolds himself; the question was both mundane and prying.
But you didn’t seem bothered, remarkably. “Visiting my father and his associate,” you answer quickly. “He says I should become familiar with how the business is run, since I may be involved running it, one day.”
He hums low while pulling the reins, turning his horse in the direction of your big white house. “Sounds like your father’s got your life all figured out,” Jethro says.
You’re quiet for a moment, and Jethro’s worried that perhaps he’s offended your father. Or worst yet, offended you. “Oh, it’s not like that,” you tell him. “I’m happy to learn. And he’s right, after all.”
Still, Jethro disagrees. But he doesn’t say anything, this time. Doesn’t want to run the risk of angering you. Or give you a reason to stop seeing him in a good light. And Jethro’s well aware that such a thing will happen eventually; just not right now.
There’s a bit of rough terrain on the road. Lots of mud from when it rained the night before, and it has the horse’s hooves sliding. It lets out a little whine, and Jethro pulls on its reins to keep it balanced. But the sudden jolting around must’ve spooked you - your arms are suddenly around his midsection. Holding on tight, afraid to fall. A normal reaction, of course.
But it shocks Jethro. His hands grip the reins even harder, and he’s grateful for the muddy road. Because you can’t feel the way his lungs suck in a deep breath.
What a humiliating response, Jethro chides himself. It’s as if he’s some dumb young man getting squirrelly when a woman touches him. And yet, that’s how he’s feeling. With your arms around his midsection, your front against his back, Jethro can’t think of any words to use to continue the conversation.
He rolls his eyes at himself.
It feels like an eternity to reach your home, riding in silence. But Jethro stops by the end of the fence, lifting his eyes to get a good look at the impressive white house. He imagines it must be even more beautiful inside, and quickly decides it fits you just fine.
“Thank you for the ride home, Mr. Gibbs.”
Your voice draws his attention away from the house. Jethro immediately dips his head, and his hand comes out to help you down from the back of his horse. “Wasn’t a problem,” he replies simply. Once down, your hands run down the length of your dress, straightening it back out.
He’s gotta go.
“Well, you have a good day, miss,” Jethro says. And with another nod of his head, he steers his horse away from the magnificent homestead. He’ll just ride back to camp and lock himself away in his tent for the rest of the day...
“Mr. Gibbs, hold on a moment.”
Despite himself, Jethro stops his horse. Sighs, and turns to look at you. “Yeah?”
You’re nervous, he can tell. Not on your face, but in your hands. How they wring together and keeping running down the fabric of your dress. “Would you like to join me for a drink in the saloon tonight?” You ask.
A drink? Jethro doesn’t know how to respond. He knows his answer should be no. He should make up an excuse for not being able to join you tonight, or any other night. Instead, he says nothing. Just stares.
Still nervous, you continue. “Or perhaps not tonight, if you’re otherwise engaged. I would just like to thank you for bringing me home when you didn’t need to.”
Jethro’s hands are in his lap, absently fiddling with the old leather reins. “A lady like yourself enjoys the company in a saloon?” He asks, tone conveying a teasing disbelief.
Just say no, you old bastard...
Finally, you smile. Jethro doubts he’ll be able to go through with his plans.
“You forget my father, sir.” Your hands come behind your back; more relaxed than you outta be, around him. “No man dares to lay a hand on me, if he knows what’s good for him. Not without my consent, that is.” You add on that last part with haste, and Jethro doesn’t miss it.
In spite of himself, he smiles and shakes his head. Disbelieving that you’re so able to change his mind in a snap, but somehow, not adverse to it. “I think I’ll let you buy me that drink, ma’am. I will meet you there tonight.”
Looking pleased, you dip your head to him and turn to walk up to the house. Jethro watches, just for a few moments. Once the breeze picks up and starts billowing your dress, that’s when he turns and rides toward camp. And he doesn’t see when you look back to him.
The ride back to camp was slower than usual. It gave Jethro a few peaceful moments to think things over. It was just a simple drink, he told himself. A thank you from a nice lady because he rode her home. Not all the women in this town are so snooty and uptight, he reminds himself. A couple glasses of the finest bourbon they have (Jethro’s confident you can afford it), and he’ll be gone.
He’s still in his own head when Jethro comes back into camp. Everyone seems to be doing their own thing; too preoccupied to bother with him. Abigail and Eleanor doing chores. Doctor Mallard going through his medicinal stores. Tim seems to be scolding Jimmy for getting the fishing line in knots again.
Jethro ducks into his tent, going straight for his clothing chest. Surely he has something decent to wear. It won’t be anywhere close to the level of prestige he’s sure you’re used to, but it’ll have to do.
He opens the chest, and instantly spots a pure white cotton shirt. That outta suffice.
“Hey, Boss!”
Instantly, Jethro closes the chest and straightens up when Anthony comes in.
He’s wearing that troubling grin again. Jethro’s mood instantly drops a little; he has a hunch of what the younger man is here for. “What do you want?”
Anthony isn’t turned off from Jethro’s icy question. In fact, it prompts him to step closer. The excitement is nearly palpable from the Italian, and it’s slightly worrying. Anthony’s not-exactly-legal idea to get some cash was something he hadn’t divulge that day in town. He said he wanted to work out a plan first. Wanted to make sure it was full proof.
Evidently, he’s worked it out.
“My plan to get us some money,” Anthony starts off. His grin turns into a proud smile, and he’s standing straight. Jethro’s stomach is suddenly a little tight. “The big bank in town. It’s sure to have a lot of money and valuables in it - you know these rich folk would keep their money in a vault. Tim and Jimmy said they’d come along as extra guns. Even Ellie is going to provide a distraction. I’ve worked it out, and it can’t go wrong. Especially if you’re there with us.”
Perhaps in the past, and Jethro was a little more reckless, he’d agree to the plan. And for what it’s worth, it seemed pretty solid. Anthony’s annoying, but he’s competent. A born thief and this is just flexing his muscles.
But Jethro remembers just this afternoon when you came out of the bank - how much time you must spend in there. Knows that you think him a good man, for whatever reason that he can’t understand.
“No,” he says. And instantly, Anthony’s face falls. Jethro’s head shakes as he takes a step closer to the younger man. “Our plan was to lie low. To not get into trouble while we’re here. Our life is out west, don’t you remember that? A bank robbery would ruin all that.”
“We’re wearing masks. Nobody would know-”
“You have my answer, Anthony,” Jethro snaps out. “I suggest you go tell the others that your plan is off. We’ll find other ways to get money.”
Anthony’s silent. Doesn’t move for a few tense moments, and Jethro wonders if he’ll continue to fight for his plan. But eventually, he huffs and stomps out of the tent. Jethro watches him go, and he hopes he rejected the plan for the right reasons.
-
The music could be heard from outside the saloon. Music, and the rowdy noises of dozens of people inside. Every one of them drunk and that’s what gets Jethro wary. Drunk people are often very stupid.
Still, he knows you’re inside. Waiting to buy him a glass of bourbon, and Jethro’s not known for keeping a lady waiting.
He pushes through the door, and instantly gets more than a few sets of eyes cast on him. And by now, he’s used to it. Being in this town, looking how he looks, he’s accustomed to side glances as these rich people size him up and decide he’s likely lower than dirt.
But while they’re looking at him, Jethro instantly finds you. He notices you’re wearing a finer dress than you were earlier, and new sets of jewelry twinkle in the saloon lights. Jethro’s not really a religious man, but he reckons this is about as close as angels can look. Both ethereal and warm.
His good mood is halted, however, when his eyes finally drift away from you. There’s a man beside you, leaning against the bar on one arm but facing you and judging from the look you’re wearing, this man isn’t wanted. The look, Jethro notes, is more-so the lack of an expression. Because he’s known you to be smiley and friendly with those you like.
There’s not any smile gracing your lips.
The man touches your arm. Not aggressively, granted. A brush of his fingers. But Jethro recalls your words earlier, and his feet are instantly moving. Thudding hard against the wood to bring himself to you.
And you see him approach first. Your eyes lighten up, but there’s still no smile.
So Jethro stops beside the man. His clothes are expensive, and his hair (if it weren’t so messy) is expertly cut. He can dress like a gentleman all he wants, but Jethro knows better. “Leave the lady alone, alright? She don’t want your company.”
The drunken man looks to him, only just realizing his presence. And then he pushes off the bar, standing at full height, but Jethro keeps his eyes steady on his. “Excuse me, sir? Don’t believe you were invited in on this conversation,” the man rolls out. His words are slurred and his breath reeks of liquor. Jethro can’t help but wrinkle his nose.
“You ain’t excused,” he replies steely cold. “Go stink up some other poor bastard’s saloon.”
It seems the man is finally catching on that Jethro was antagonizing him. His red eyes narrow, shoulders squaring. Jethro’s hands curl into fists, even after he feels your hand on his arm. A light squeeze, almost desperate. “Let’s just leave him, Mr. Gibbs. It ain’t worth-”
“I’ll show you who’s excused!”
The punch he throws is sloppy. Uncoordinated. Jethro should’ve been able to dodge it. But your hand had been on his arm. He was distracted.
The fist connected with his face, just below his eye - a solid hit, despite a poor swing. Pain exploded against Jethro’s face, and it’s nearly enough to knock him to the floor. But his hands hit the wood first, and he stumbles back up to his feet; Jethro’s not about to let some drunken idiot get on top.
He whirls around, fists up, ready to strike. In the background, he notices the music stop. People are cheering. But Jethro’s attention is only on the man advancing on him, arm cranking back for another punch.
But this time, Jethro’s ready. He dodged the punch easily, even feeling the wind of it brush past his face. And in the next second, his own fist connects with the man’s jaw. A more solid punch than he was given. More power behind it. More pain delivered.
It sent him crumbling to the ground, hitting the wood floor with a solid thump and made the bar patrons all gasp in shock. A few of the drunker, more rowdy ones even cheered. Jethro kept his eyes on the man, now out cold but silently hoping he’d get back up. To give him another reason to deliver another hard punch.
There’s a hand on his arm again. The same soft, lightly gripping touch that Jethro was so quickly becoming familiar with. His head swung around, instantly catching your eyes. They were wide and worried; a bit frightened, but he couldn’t tell why you’d be afraid. He’d just taken care of the problem. “Let’s go, Mr. Gibbs. You should get that cut cleaned up.”
Cut? What cut?
It was then when Jethro remembering the throbbing ache of his cheekbone. And rest assured, when he raised a hand to touch it, his fingers came away red.
You started pulling him away toward the back of the bar before the bartender called out. “Hold on, little lady! Your man just caused a fight - the law’ll want to speak with him!”
With a huff, you turn back around. Jethro wasn’t aware you could look so mean, but the look on your face was nearly enough to make him go running for the hills. “I know you saw that big oaf swing the first punch. If anything, my man was only defending himself - and me! You wanna bother the law about something like this?”
Jethro watches the bartender grapple with his words before sighing and turning away back to his work. That’s when you continued pulling him along to one of the back rooms, grumbling about the no-good idiots in this place, but Jethro was only really focused on how you called him your man.
That drunken bastard must’ve hit him worse than he realized.
He’s silent as he watches you move to the washing basin, soaking a piece of cloth in the water. “Sit on the bed, please,” you tell him. A polite request spoken in a snipped voice, so Jethro doesn’t think twice to obey. And just as he sits, you’re approaching him.
“That was a very stupid thing you did,” you remark sternly. The cloth is cool, at least. It soothes the quickly-swelling bruise. But still, he’s bleeding. Jethro can’t help but wince when you have to rub harder.
You scoff at his wincing, not seeming to care. “I swear, you’re just as much a ruffian as any cowboy I’ve ever met. Are you in the habit of getting into fights over something so trivial?”
Getting into fights? Sure, he’s used to it. But Jethro wouldn’t call defending you to be trivial. Quite the opposite, in fact.
He doesn’t say so. He’s too focused on how gentle you are in cleaning him up. Perhaps gentle in a way he doesn’t deserve - you’re right, he is a no-good bar-fighting ruffian. It’s difficult to understand why you’re this gentle with him.
So Jethro watches your face, screwed up with tight brows and a flat frown. And he can’t help his own lips from quirking up. “Are you busy tomorrow?” He asks.
You stop, and your eyes flicker to meet his. Jethro could’ve sworn he’d seen your face flush. “Don’t change the subject, Mr. Gibbs.”
“I’m not attempting to,” he replies quickly. “In fact, I’m trying to stop something like this from happening again.”
You’re confused. Looking skeptical, but your head shakes slowly. “I’m having brunch with my mother tomorrow at noon. But after that, I’m available. Why do you ask?”
The quirk in his lips grows into a small smile. “Good. Meet me behind the old church on the south side of town after your brunch.”
A small sigh comes from your lungs as your hands fall away from his face. The blood must be cleaned up, but Jethro can’t even feel the throb of his swollen cheek. “Can I ask what for?” You prod on.
“I’m gonna teach you how to shoot a man who can’t keep his hands to himself.”
#ncis imagine#ncis reader insert#leroy jethro gibbs x reader#leroy jethro gibbs imagine#ncis x reader
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