#had to take time off last year when my mam died and ever since then its just been a massive nosedive | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

squidproquoclarice · 3 years

Text

Yeehawgust Day 26: Vultures Circling

August 1870

Gerhardt’s Pass, Oregon

Beatrice wasn’t sure whether it had been one day or two since the doctor had come. She’d seen the look in his eyes, heard the hushed tones with which he murmured to Lyle over in the corner, and with Lyle cursing as he left the wagon and the pallet where she lay, she’d known what she already felt deep in her bones.

The fever and the pain that had once consumed her had faded, felt now at some peculiar remove like hearing music from another room. It would all be over soon, and that was a relief. The vultures might be circling, so to speak, and she’d seen so many of them in the five years since they’d arrived in America. She felt them watching her now just at the edge of her vision, not certain whether they were real or phantoms, and not certain whether it mattered. Exhausted as she was, she could only accept it. This was her end.

A part of her wondered whether she had caused this by her thoughts. The nervousness and sometimes despair over being pregnant again, worrying what she would do. David and Arthur both had readily crossed Lyle’s temper, for all David had been just a baby yet when he died. Having lost two already, she knew the signs. But this time, the bleeding hadn’t stopped. Maybe it was being four months along this time that had done it.

We go together then, you and me, she thought towards that child that would never be, now finally able to offer them nothing but love and tenderness rather than having it mingled so heavily with trepidation and fear. Perhaps we shall see David, and your other brothers or sisters.

But peaceful as that notion was, that still left Arthur. He’d be alone with Lyle after this. Lyle had gone to town hours ago, awkwardly grunting something about getting supplies. She suspected it was only that he couldn’t sit here and watch her die, and that he’d be at the saloon nursing his sorrow. Hard-handed and angry as he sometimes was, there was a peculiar vulnerable and tender streak in him all the same. She was only thankful Lyle had taken Arthur with him. He’d chased Arthur off most of the time since Beatrice took to bed, growling for him to go find something useful to do. Sparing him the experience of it, she supposed. She thanked him for that.

She’d managed to talk to Arthur last night, though, when he’d crept in after Lyle went to sleep. Given him the portrait of her taken earlier that year in Wyoming, and showed him the papers she’d hidden behind it. Papers neither of them could read, but papers that would hopefully be the key to a better future all the same. The ones that officially made him an American boy, not just another immigrant child. He would belong here. He already sounded far more American than Welsh, and she was grateful for that. She could only hope he’d have the chances she’d wanted for him, even if she wouldn’t be here to see it.

In the end, that was all she could do for him. It seemed so little, and she was afraid for him all the same.

Hearing the creak of someone climbing in the wagon, she couldn’t help her surprise. Lyle had come back so soon? No, that couldn’t be. But she heard footsteps approaching, and she heard the scrape of glass and the hiss of a match, saw the brightening behind her closed eyes as someone lit the lantern that had gone out awhile ago. It hadn’t mattered to her, but now that there was light again, she opened her eyes to look at who had come to call.

She didn’t know either of them by sight, fair-haired and well past her own twenty-eight years. Neighbors? No, they were far from anyone. Lyle had made certain of it. Who else would simply climb up into the wagon like this? KInd strangers, perhaps. “Are you looking for Lyle?” It always seemed to come down to that. She closed her eyes again. “He isn’t here just now, and I’m sorry for whatever he’s done, but I’m afraid we don’t have much for the taking.” Money ran through her man’s fingers like water, fast as his quicksilver dreams of riches.

“Should we...” The woman spoke, her voice soft.

She was too tired for this. “Are you missionaries, then? I suppose the saving of a soul becomes even more important at the very end. There’s no need of that. I’ve made what peace I might with my God, I assure you.” Even if she’d come so far from the girl who’d attended chapel so faithfully back in Aberdare.

The man finally spoke up, his deep voice low and gentle. “No. You don’t need to worry about missionaries.” The words in Welsh, no less, and the familiar lilt of it lifted her spirits in spite of herself. “Mam, it’s me. It’s Arthur.”

Now that snapped her to attention, and she opened her eyes, finding she had some fury to spare yet for someone who’d tease her like this as she lay there dying. But she saw those eyes looking at her with a sad, knowing tenderness--that familiar blue-tinted green, the eyes she saw whenever she chanced to have a mirror. The ones she saw too every day in her boy, her Arthur. His hair--it was dusted with grey, yes, but the same dark blond as hers. Lyle’s brows for certain, and something of the cast of his cheekbones.

Her boy had just turned seven last month, and yet she’d swear he also sat here beside her now, a man of at least forty, perhaps fifty. She looked at him, and something in her knew him, something deeper than blood and bone, an echo within the soul. “So you are.” She didn’t know how it could be so, only that it was. She drank in the sight of him. Such a large man, tall and broad. He hadn’t gotten that from Lyle, perhaps instead from her own father Dylan, such a large man he’d been permanently stooped long before he died from working in the cramped mine tunnels. Seeing the marks of age on him, the lines etched into his face, and the scars--the small nick on the bridge of his nose, another on his right cheek, and a large one on his chin only somewhat hidden by a short-cropped beard. Child-Arthur was healing a similar cut on his nose even now, earned by tumbling off the wagon while playing out a week ago, and by the look of it she’d known it would scar, just as it had on this man. She glanced past him to the woman. Tawny hair, a riot of freckles, amber eyes, a large scar on her right brow. Watching Beatrice just as carefully as she was watched. She asked, speaking in Welsh and managing some good humor, “Well, my boy, who is this you’ve brought with you?” But she already suspected.

If she hadn’t already believed, that shy smile, that half-lowering of his gaze, would have told her. “This is my wife. Sadie.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Her Welsh was less polished, her accent more obvious to Beatrice’s ear, but it surprised her all the same to hear it. Had Arthur taught her? There were a thousand other questions.

But she licked her lips, needing now to ask the important question: “Why have you come? And...how?” She switched back to English for it. He was an American, her boy, and she would have him be so to her at the end. She’d fought hard for that. It was good he hadn’t forgotten his Welshness entirely, but some things needed to be kept close and secret. She knew that full well.

“How? I don’t know for sure. There’s some red-headed fella named Sinclair who’s gonna have some explanations for this.” He leaned in, and reached out to take his hand in hers. A large hand, work-roughened, so unlike the small hand she still took sometimes to hold onto him in crowds and the like. “Why? That’s a question that’s got more answers than I know what to do with, really. Cause I...” He sighed, shook his head, and the aching look in his eyes told her too much.

“I know there’s no return from this, <i>fy ngwash i</i>. It’ll be soon enough. I knew it last night when I gave you those papers. Did you have the use of them?”

“Sort of. We ended up in Canada, so uh, proving I was born in Wales actually helped us there.”

“Not America, then?”

“There was better land in Canada.”

“So you’re a farmer?” She couldn’t help but brighten at that. She’d wanted something like that for him. Something peaceful, gentle, nothing like Lyle’s life.

“Horses, mostly. Some sheep, cattle, and the like. It’s a good place. A pretty good life. And the rest, well…”

“You’d best tell her, Arthur,” Sadie said, her voice full of the twanging accent she’d heard in New Austin and some parts of Texas. “She’ll see it eventually anyhow.”

He sighed, shoulders sagging. “I reckon you will at that. It weren’t...all what you hoped for me, Momma. Daddy ain’t gonna live but another four years past this. Gets hanged for horse theft in San Francisco just after Christmas. After that, a lot happened. And it took me a long time to get things right.”

“Then tell me how it was, son.” She heard the tone of both inflexible command and gentle invitation in her words, and knew it for the way she spoke to him sometimes as a mother, asking to know the truth of something. Usually when he’d done some petty mischief or theft that she knew was Lyle’s influence on him. You must tell me, and perhaps I’ll tell you that it was wrong and why, but I won’t hate you for it. Because I love you enough to want you to know what’s right. She saw that conflict in him already, a boy who could steal candy from the store and shrug about it, but who’d come home the next day taking a beating to save a stray cat from being kicked to death by some older boys.

So he told her. And perhaps it wasn’t the worst she could imagine after hearing Lyle was dead when Arthur was eleven. But it made for no pretty picture. Hearing he’d been taken in by criminals, and ones far better and more sophisticated than Lyle could ever be, something broke within her heart. She’d wanted so much better for him. But even as he didn’t quite look at her, he kept talking.

He told her of the gang he’d been in, of seeing no other life or future for himself. Told her of a little boy named Isaac, her first grandchild. You’ll meet him someday, long before you should. He’s such a good kid. I know you’ll love him, and he’ll love you. Told her of nearly three decades of mistakes and failures after this. She might have thought it was a life of only regrets, but then he told her of a new life he’d made, of Sadie, of Canada and the children who had lived, grandchildren she would never see: Beatrice, named for her. Matthew. Susanna. Andrew.

She felt that pull, as if being summoned. Light fading, like a fire dimmed now beyond embers. Arthur must have seen it as well, because he stopped telling her about little things, and reached out to take her hand. Beatrice felt someone else take her other hand--Sadie, then. “I don’t exactly know how we got here,” he said quietly. “But I know how it was that day. I came back with Daddy and you was gone already. And...that always stayed with me. That I wasn’t there. And I know how it is. Nobody ought to die alone like that.” There was some kind of knowing weariness to his voice at that, a question she would never be able to ask and he would never be able to answer for her. “So here we are.” So much that would be left unsaid, but no matter. She would see in time. She would see all of it, and there was comfort to it, because now she knew her boy would be all right in the end. That he would remember her too, that he loved her. That put her fear to rest, and so now she could rest. There were no vultures now, only the final words of love and farewell spoken, and the reassurance of the hands holding hers as everything faded into peace.

#yeehawgust #yeehawgust 2021 #rdr2 #beatrice morgan #arthur morgan #sadie adler #sadithur #cw: miscarriage #writing #fic from the parking lot

53 notes · View notes

tokisguitarpick · 3 years

Text

balcony

characters: Pickles the Drummer x Reader

length: 1700+ words

listen this is really self indulgent but pickles’ back story hits me on a personal level. tried to phrase the mom self in a way that even someone with a good mom could see themselves in the reader but s/o to bitches who’s moms stress them out, we see you

You sighed, holding your own hand and staring up at the night sky, sat on top of Mordhaus. About three months into your employment, you had found the perfect place for lunch breaks, sneaking out with a joint mid-shift, anything. Up the emergency ladder, around the smokestacks, and over a large generator, there was a tiny balcony that no one seemed to know about and it was one of your favorite spots on the whole ship. And tonight, you needed it for the clarity it gave you.

Nails bitten to the quick, you had spent a couple of hours pacing in your bedroom before making your way up here to sit in the peace and quiet and really just be alone.

“Doode, what ahre you doin’ up ‘ere?” Your eyes closed. Of course.

It’s not that you would normally mind Pickles for company. In fact, quite the opposite. Something about the drummer drew you to him and between his chill demeanor and frequent offers of hits off his joint, he was typically your favorite band member. But tonight, any company felt like more energy than you had to spend.

But it was your job to spend energy entertaining, safeguarding, and checking on Dethklok so you fixed your face into a neutral expression and replied, “I like to come up here when I need some fresh air.”

Pickles swung himself over the generator with ease and plopped down next to you, both of you sticking your legs through the wide gaps under the balcony fencing and letting them hang down. “Oh yeah, me tooh.” As usual, the drummer brought with him the stale scent of alcohol and sweat, as well as the very pungent smell of fresh weed. “You know me, I like to be high.” Pickles chuckled at his own joke as you watched him pull a silver cigarette case from his back pocket but his laughter died on his lips when he met your gaze. “Sam’thin’ wrong?”

Your head tilted as you looked over yourself in your mind’s eye. “What do you mean?”

Slowly, Pickles raised a calloused thumb to your cheek and you felt him wipe away some wetness. Fuck. You hadn’t cried much and the cool night air had dried most of the tears as Mordhaus chugged forward but apparently, there was enough evidence left for him to find.

“Yah knoow,” Pickles started, his eyes trained on his hand instead of meeting your own, “I’m naht really one for… talkin’ about feelin’s and shit. But ah, uh, I can listen?” His eyes were a deep, comforting shade of green, something you noticed when they finally met yours, his pierced eyebrows raising as he ended with a question.

Your heart softened and you smiled softly, prompting a lopsided smirk from the drummer as he finally dropped his hand. He fiddled with the cigarette case in his lap until he produced a blunt and held it out for you. “So whaht’s goin’ on?”

Taking the blunt from him and then the offered lighter- a zippo with a dill pickle carved on the side-, you lit up and took a long drag before passing both back to him. The paper crackled next to you with his inhale and you stared at the sky again, breathing your hit out like a cloud in front of you.

“My mom called.” No longer a happy notification to receive, the information turned your stomach. Ever since you had gone against her wishes and applied for the stressful, dangerous, terrifying job of being a managerial coordinator for the band Dethklok, she had turned into someone you could hardly recognize. Cold, petty, always passively asking for money and aggressively telling you how little you must care about her since you were always too busy to call her when she was free (not when you were, though. She was a busy woman and she couldn’t wait around all day just for a call). You assumed she was angry you hadn’t listened to her and was even angier that you didn’t volunteer those, frankly, sweet as hell Dethklok paychecks to appease her.

You glanced out of the corner of your eye to see Pickles make a sour face, his cheeks puffed with weed smoke. Releasing his hit with a cough, he passed the blunt and nodded. “I know that feelin’. When my mam’ calls, I send it straight tah’ voicemail.”

“Maybe I need to start doing that,” you mused quietly. Puff and pass, you moved your gaze down to watch the traffic passing on the various highways around the house.

“That bad?” Pickles asked, holding onto the blunt for a minute as he tried to fix a run in the burn. You didn’t mind, your high creeping up and the wad of anxiety in your stomach loosening.

Turning your answer over in your mind a few times, you finally spoke when you realized you had been quiet for an embarrassingly long time. “She’s just different now. I feel like she’s not the same person I knew growing up and the person she is now… I don’t know if it’s a person I like.” You had wondered a few times if she was destined to become this woman but when memories resurfaced, you felt as though your current feelings tainted them and you weren’t sure what the truth was. “I just- I don’t know. Do you ever feel like your family would like you so much more if you just shut up and gave them all your spare cash?”

This time, Pickles was the one who was silent for what seemed like a long time and when you finally looked up, you were surprised to see he had completely disassembled the blunt and was rolling a joint with the leftover weed on one side of the open cigarette case. It was balanced carefully on his thigh- full of a few dime bags of ground weed and spare rolling papers- but his face was angled towards you. “Uh, yeah. That’s all I feel when it comes to my family.” Bringing the joint up to his lips, he gave you a curious look, furrowing his brow. “Cahn I ask you sam’thin’?”

You nodded.

“Is yuhr mam’ hasslin’ you for money?” Lighting up with a couple of puffs, he passed the joint to you and leaned back on his palms.

That was the long and short of it from as far as you could tell, you mused. You took a deep hit, studying Pickles as you nodded again. Your high was hitting you and suddenly, the terse phone call that had been weighing on you seemed much less important than the physique of the drummer next to you. Long, deep red dreads flowed in the light evening breeze, drawing your eyes down his neck and shoulders. Almost always in a dark tank top, his muscular shoulders and arms stole the show, lithe and wirey from years of being a professional musician. God, he was hot. Sure, he was more than a little older than you, and balding just a little, and maybe unable to be sober for longer than a half hour without complaining. But otherwise, very hot. Your gaze fell to his hands, fingers with blunt nails spread to support himself, and the backs of his palms flexed with large veins.

You were only moments away from poking one when his voice broke your concentration. “Like whaht yah see?” Looking back to his face, Pickles’ smirk was now a full blown grin and he wiggled his eyebrows at you. “Wanna take a picture? It’ll last longer.”

“Sorry,” you chuckled, the heat of a blush finding your cheeks as you puffed and passed the joint, “I’m kinda stoned. Your weed is always so fucking strong.”

Pickles broke out into nasally laughter and you couldn’t help giggling yourself in response. “That’s why I get it, only the good shit,” he replied, still chuckling. He puffed then snuffed the joint and tucked it behind his ear for safekeeping as he sat up.

Unable to get a handle on the stoned laughter coming out of you, your giggle fit continued and you leaned over, resting your forehead on his shoulder. You put a hand over your mouth as you tried to relax. Pickles shifted under you, letting your head find his collarbone as he wrapped his arm around your waist. He seemed to freeze like that and if you had been sober, you probably would’ve stayed that way, savoring the feeling of closeness with your celebrity crush in such a private moment. There were over a million Dethklok fans who would kill or die for this to happen to them.

But you were high as fuck and didn’t like how stiff the embrace felt. You shifted yourself to lean more comfortably against him without realizing it, until his hand started to fall from your side. Instantly, you grasped his wrist and brought it back to your hip, murmuring, “You’re good.”

Pickles laughed again, squeezing you and resting his hand on your ribcage. He was so warm, you could feel his palmprint burning through the thin cotton of your sleepshirt, so close under your breast that it made you shiver. “Oh, honey, I could get you tah’ say that a hundred different ways,” he stated confidently. It made your blush burn even hotter, no matter how much you tried to ignore it. Pickles, however, cleared his throat and muttered, “Uh, not like in a sexuhal’ harassment type way, just, uh, yah know… If you were down…”

You giggled again and nodded. “I got you, I got you… I’m down.” You erupted into nervous giggles and covered your face with your hand again. Unable to believe your own gall, you were about to dismiss your words with a quick ‘I’m joking’ but Pickles moved faster, goosing your breast with a bark of laughter.

“I’ll keep thaht in mind,” he said, seemingly to himself, his hand resting once again on your torso. You couldn’t say anything, your body alight with tingles radiating from your breast and your mind slowed, so you simply nodded against him.

Quiet for a moment, you tried to settle your breathing while Pickles relit the joint and puffed in thought. Finally speaking up, he just said, “Seriously though, Y/N, I think you need to tell your mom to go fuck herself.”

#metalocalypse #pickles the drummer #pickles the drummer x reader #guys..............idk what his accent is i sat here trying to say words like him to understand where the accent hits but idk idek

98 notes · View notes

missymurphy1985 · 3 years

Text

The Letter - Week 2

This was meant to be a one shot but you guys seem to like it...

Mini series it is 💜

Warnings - angst

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone

You opened your eyes last night. Only briefly, but you opened them. Squeezed Jamie's hand too - he was made up. He misses you y/n.. he can't sleep without his mam kissing him goodnight. He crawls in bed with me every night while you've been in here.

Ryan won't come now. He can't bear to see you with all the wires in you and the tubes down your throat. I don't blame him.. no 11 year old wants to see their mam so helpless.. he's terrified though, I can tell. He's barely spoken since the accident. He goes to Orla's when I'm here with you. Spends his time in their garden, pottering around with Damien planting vegetables or cooking. Anything to distract him.

Jamie's 7th birthday next week babe. Remember the party we had planned? The hall was booked, all the invitations sent out. I've cancelled it all, on Jamie's request. The only present he wants this year y/n.. is you. He wants his mam home. To read him a bedtime story, to build Lego villages with him, to wrap him up in a towel like a caterpillar after his bath...

Can't even picture those things now without the gut-wrenching pain across my chest. The thought of you not doing those things anymore... I won't let myself think it. I can't.

Your dad came to see you over the weekend. Did you know? Could you hear him sing to you, those classic Irish songs he used to sing you when you were little? He's put a photo of your mam on your bedside cabinet, that one taken just before she died, holding you as a baby in her arms.. He hopes her being close will give you the strength to come back to us.

The hospital allowed me to sleep in your room last night in case you stirred again. Your Dad took the boys. Did you feel me on the chair next to you, holding your hand? Didn't let it go all night did I? Put a movie on - one of those cheesy romcom things you love so much. Grimaced all the way through it I did!

Your eyes didn't open again, but I felt you squeeze my hand a few times. I spoke to you for hours, all night baby, did you hear me?

I told you about the day we met. Bumping into you outside that little pub in Dingle.. I've never sobered up so quickly. As soon as I saw those eyes, I knew I was in trouble. Moved in together after 6 months didn't we?

The day you told me Ryan was on his way was a shock, wasn't it? Hadn't planned for that one! We were only 19.. but we managed, didn't we? Watching you give birth to him was one of the most incredible things I've ever witnessed. You were breathtaking. Took the whole thing in your stride. Made it look easy, didn't you? I was the one freaking out! Remember the midwife telling me off for pacing the labour ward over and over, and for bringing you a McDonald's for lunch after you'd been induced?

Seeing you hold our son for the first time.. that image takes my breath away even now. How utterly beautiful you looked in that moment, feeding our boy.

We struggled with Jamie, didn't we? Took a long time to fall pregnant, considering how quickly Ryan came along.. happened eventually though didn't it.. once again you were a powerhouse. Even when you had horrific morning sickness, your pelvis caused you major issues towards the end, you never complained. I missed a lot of that pregnancy didn't I? Filming... Theatre shows... Press junkets... I nearly missed his birth!

I vowed once I came home after that I'd never take on that much at once again. One job a year, that was it. I'd be home with you and our boys the rest of it.

And that was us then wasn't it? Our happy little bubble, a family of four... Until I screwed up. And I really did screw up didn't I.

More work.

More time away.

One more film... One more theatre show...

"Too tired for a call tonight, don't wait up for me."

"I'll call you tomorrow, I've got a meeting after filming. Won't be back til late."

Excuse after excuse after excuse.

I'm not surprised you thought I was cheating on you. I was angry at first, I know I was, but I understand it now, looking back. Took you for granted, didn't I y/n? You were home 24/7 with two boys running you ragged, miles from your Sligo roots.

How many parents evenings did I miss? Tooth fairy visits? End of year school plays? And for what?

Money? No, we had everything we ever wanted.

Fame? No, I never wanted it in the first place.

Honestly? I don't know what happened. I can't put my finger on it. I just couldn't say no to producers, I guess. Couldn't say no when Enda offered me another play... I felt obligated, he gave me my first break...

Couldn't say no to that movie with Robert De Niro... Couldn't say no to working with Danny Boyle again... Couldn't say no to them, but I said it to you often enough, didn't I?

God I've fucked up y/n. I've really fucked it all up. You'd never have even been in that fucking car if I'd been a decent man, a decent father... A better husband. You deserved better.

Wake up, yeah? Come back to me?

I'll make every ounce of it up to you, I swear it.

#cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy #cillian fanfic

34 notes · View notes

livia-dovehallow · 3 years

Note

Hello ! I just finish COI and I love your gabrily fics,

CHAIN OF IRON SPOILER

so can you do one about the part of Gabriel near death experience, maybe in the infirmary or Cecily realising Gabriel in distress with Anna, Christopher and Alexander in it ?

THANK YOU!! :’) You actually have the perfect request as I was already working on a piece on that exact topic. I plan to make an extended version of this soon, but for now, please enjoy!

WARNING: COI SPOILERS AHEAD

Stay With Me - Gabrily (Chain of Iron Fix-It Series by livia-dovehallow)

Characters: Gabriel Lightwood, Cecily Herondale-Lightwood, Anna Lightwood, Christopher Lightwood, Alexander Lightwood, Will Herondale, Thomas Lightwood, Alastair Carstairs

Time slowed down.

As if the world had stopped along with the beat of her heart, Cecily could only watch as the creature’s barbed tentacle grabbed hold of her Gabriel and brought him down.

“Father!” she heard her precious Kit scream before he ran toward Gabriel, Thomas and Alastair Carstairs close behind.

No, Cecily thought, Raziel, no, please no. She held the witchlight stone in her hand with a grip that should have shattered an ordinary rock. She knew she shouldn’t scream; Alexander was in the room, sitting quietly on the bed behind her, and she need not frighten him more than he already was.

“Be brave, my darling,” she had told him when they first fled up the stairs. She had tucked him in below the sheets, kissed his head, and gazed into his wide, scared eyes. “We are brave, yes?”

Alex had nodded and believed her. Cecily did not believe her own words now.

A scream—a terrified, broken scream—lay stuck in her throat. Gabriel was nowhere to be seen, taken below the murky waters. The only sign he was still alive were the signs of struggle in the rippling water and the young boys slashing vigorously at the creature’s extended body. Christopher was unlike his normal self; his face was hard, his body swinging and throwing with all its might. Cecily did not know what she would do if she lost them both today—the love of her life and their sweet, sweet boy.

She knew her marriage runes were symbolic—meant to display their vows of love and loyalty to one another—but she did not lose faith that there was something more. Something beyond symbols that connected her to Gabriel.

Come back to me, Cecily prayed. Come back to me, Gabriel. Please don’t leave me now.

This was not how Gabriel wanted to end his day. Or his life, for that matter.

The barbs on the tentacle twisted around him dug deep into his skin. Had he screamed with the pain then he would have drowned by now, surely. He heard Christopher’s shout before he went below the water and hoped he was all right. Gabriel wanted to live, but if giving his life meant his family would live, it was an easy decision.

Above him he could see the faintest of shadows indicating that there were people above him fighting to set him free. He knew from the shape of one of the shadows that it had to be Thomas and Christopher there, hacking away. The third shadow was anyone’s guess.

Gabriel thrashed, ignoring the continual digging of the barbs into his skin. He’d lost his knife in the fall but there was no time for sorrow now. Just as he was about to pull a Will Herondale and sink his teeth into the closest flesh, a ringing sound went through his mind.

Come back to me, Gabriel.

It was Cecily. He would know her voice anywhere. He thought of years past, when she had nearly died taking down a pack of Raum demons and he was sure he was moments away from losing her. He would not do that to her.

A wave of strength came over him. He turned his body and rammed against the boulder he had fallen from. He fought for a sturdy grip, reaching higher and higher until—

A hand clasped around his wrist and pulled hard. At the same moment, the tentacle engulfing him fell away with a screech, and the rest of his body came flying through the waves and back onto the solid rock, where he lay gasping for air.

“Father!”

“Uncle Gabriel!”

Gabriel coughed up water before looking up into the concerned and frightened eyes of his son and nephew. “Are you hurt?” he choked, reaching his hands toward the both of them.

Christopher burst; his lavender eyes wild. “Me? Father, you are bleeding! Thomas, where is your stele?”

Thomas fumbled at his coat desperately and swore. “Bridgestock took it from me!”

“Use mine.”

Gabriel glanced behind Thomas and was surprised to find Alastair Carstairs standing there. He held his hand out to Thomas, offering his stele with a softer expression on his face than Gabriel had ever recalled seeing. Without a moment’s hesitation, Thomas took the stele and began scribbling runes all over Gabriel’s arm.

The world suddenly went silent. Then, a roaring thunder sounded across the Institute lawn as the water that had filled the land drained away; the monstrous tentacles draining away with it.

“Bring him down,” Thomas said to Christopher. “They’ll be filling the infirmary soon.”

Christopher paled; his eyes wide toward the Institute. Gabriel started. He was badly injured and bleeding, but the look of fear on his son’s face paled in comparison. “What is it, Kit?”

Christopher swallowed; then, in a shaking whisper, said: “Mam’s coming.”

The boys scrambled quickly to bring Gabriel down to flat ground. Gabriel turned toward the doors. The closer Cecily got, the more he realized that the fierce expression on her face was not anger--it was desperation. She was, or at least had been, crying.

“Mam,” Christopher started, but faltered when Cecily reached them. She fell to her knees beside them and brought Kit into her arms in an iron embrace. “Are you hurt?” she fretted, looking him over. A stele had appeared in her hand, though from where, Gabriel couldn’t say. Years of marriage had not yet answered the mysterious origin of a mother’s love and protection.

Christopher shook his head. “Father—”

Cecily turned to him, her skin flushed, eyes wide with worry. She kissed Kit’s head and scrambled to Gabriel’s side, her eyes now scanning his body. He knew it was not a pretty sight—the barbs had torn his flesh and he’d lost a significant amount of blood. “Cecy—” he began and was promptly cut off.

“Boys, we must move him to the infirmary,” she commanded, gathering her skirts and squatting, ready to lift. “Now.”

There was no disobeying her; Thomas, Christopher, and Alastair all assisted her in lifting him off the ground without the slightest hint of hesitation or protest. The scenery passed Gabriel in a blur; of Anna spotting them and racing down from her position; Will running between the injured and barking commands; even James, Lucie, Matthew, and Cordelia appearing at the gates.

The infirmary was in chaos. Beds had been quickly assembled and set across the vast room. There had been no deaths reported yet, and Cecily Lightwood was determined to keep it that way.

After ensuring that all three of her children were safe and unhurt, she sent them upstairs to stay with Alexander. “Keep him busy,” she had told them, her heart racing. “He’s frightened.”

“So are we,” Anna had answered, but it was not argumentative. Cecily placed her hands on both their cheeks.

“Your father is a stubborn one,” she had said. She smiled, though it was wavering. “He will not go without a fight. I will make sure of that.”

With a flurry of kisses and “I love you’s,” the children finally left to care for their brother, leaving Cecily at Gabriel’s beside squeezing his hand tight while a Silent Brother tended to his wounds.

“Stay with me,” she whispered to him. His eyes were fluttering. He was fighting hard to stay awake, yet he had not the energy to do much else. Against her will, Cecily’s tears had begun to fall again. “Stay with me, Gabriel. I love you. I love you.”

Cecily had begun to fall into a dark pit of grief when she felt a hand grip her shoulder tight. She turned to find her brother looking at her intensely, concern evident in his expression. He said nothing, but she knew that he would always be there when she needed him, and here he was. “I can’t lose him,” she told him blankly.

“You won’t,” Will said.

“Is that what you told him, too?”

Will’s eyes were sad. “Yes. And here you are, aren’t you?”

Cecily placed her hand over her brother’s on her shoulder and looked back at Gabriel. His fight to stay awake was lost. He was too pale for her liking, his lips faded into the slightest memory of pink. “The children need their father.”

She felt a tugging at her arm and found herself being lifted from her seat and into Will’s arms. He held her tight and rubbed her back soothingly. “The last thing Gabriel would ever do is leave you or the children,” he assured her. “Not if he has any say about it. The man is a stubborn and loyal bastard.”

Cecily was unsure how much time had passed since she had last seen her children. Jem had come by to treat Gabriel, who slept, and had told her to take a break. It would do him no good if he woke and saw she had not eaten or slept.

When Cecily emerged from the infirmary, she found all three of her children posted along the wall across from the infirmary entrance. Anna and Christopher sat beside one another, each resting their head on the other’s. Alex sat in Christopher’s lap, his back to his brother’s chest, and was fast asleep. The sight alone warmed Cecily’s heart, a welcome distraction from the wounds that nearly tore the love of her life away from her.

She stepped forward and kneeled in front of them. She hated to wake them, but the corridor was cold, and she worried they may catch a cold waiting out there for too long. “Fy anwylyd,” she said gently, brushing their cheeks with the pads of her thumbs. “Come along. It’s much too cold to wait here.”

“Mam?” It was Alex, blinking sleepy eyes at her. He shifted his position, which woke Christopher with a sudden, “What ho!” and disoriented expression.

Cecily smiled gently at them. Her boys were such gentle people that sometimes she could not believe they came from her. “Come along now,” she repeated.

Anna lifted her head from Christopher’s with a tired scowl. “Watch your head,” she told him, rubbing her temple. “Those curls do not provide ample cushion for sudden movements.”

“Sorry,” Christopher mumbled, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. “Mam,” he said upon noticing her kneeling in front of him. “Is Father all right?”

Cecily brushed his curls from his face. “He will be,” she said softly. “It will take time for him to heal, but he will be all right.”

Relief filled her children’s faces—even Anna’s, who had pretended she wasn’t terribly worried despite rightfully being so. “Can we see him?” she asked carefully. Cecily patted her knee.

“In a bit,” she told them and stood. She held her hands out to them, to help them stand or hand Alex over, whichever they chose. They chose to hand Alex over. He immediately hooked himself onto her neck and dug his heels into her side, firmly planting himself there in her arms. “He’s been given a sedative to sleep while the Brothers work to heal him. Your father will fret over us all if we have not eaten or slept before visiting him, you know.”

“Bridget is cooking a feast in the kitchen with so many people about the Institute. I hope there are still lemon tarts,” Christopher said wistfully. “I can save one for Father, too.”

Cecily smiled. “Let’s go find them before the others do.”

When Gabriel awoke, he had forgotten where he was. His body ached terribly and he could feel beads of sweat drip from the hair at the base of his neck. He could feel something warm in his hand—something comforting. He forced his eyes opened and groaned.

“Father,” someone gasped. The warm feeling—a hand—tightened in his and a head full of dark hair shot up beside him.

Cecily gazed at him, her grip strong as it ever was. Her hair had fallen from its pins when she rose from his shoulder, but he’d never been so happy to see her looks so disheveled. She rose her other hand and brushed at his cheek softly. “How are you feeling?” she whispered. Over her shoulder he could see his children. Anna, with Alexander climbing about her back, and Christopher stood beside each other, hope and weariness filling their eyes. He smiled at them all.

“I ache,” he admitted. “I don’t think I can move very much. But I don’t feel terribly under the weather.” He squeezed his wife’s hand with as much strength as he could muster. He saw the tension release from her shoulders and felt himself relax with her.

“Incredible!” Christopher said in awe. Gabriel met his son’s eyes and smiled in amusement. Christopher was observing the bandages across his body with fascination. “These were severe injuries, Father, and you only ache? I must figure out how that’s possible and recreate it in the lab.”

“I’ll do what I can to help,” Gabriel answered affectionately. Christopher grinned.

Cecily brushed away the hairs that had fallen into her husband’s eyes. He had regained color in his skin soon after waking up and looked like her lively Gabriel once again. She’d sat beside him for hours upon hours, her children coming and going throughout. “How many times do I have to tell you to stay with me?” she wondered aloud with a soft shake of her head. Gabriel chuckled. “This is not a request. It is a demand.”

“Leave this?” Gabriel asked, gesturing to their children asleep, their heads on the end of his bed, and Alex clearly enjoying the nook between Gabriel’s feet and the iron railing at the foot of his bed. He turned back to Cecily. “Not a chance. I’ve worked too hard to get here. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Lightwood, but I will not be throwing away all my hard work.”

Cecily’s smile grew until she could no longer hold in her laugh. “Hard work indeed,” she said and kissed him.

@tsccreatorsnet

#maggie answers #kind anons #request #chain of iron #chain of iron spoilers #coi spoilers #tlh spoilers #tsc spoilers #gabriel lightwood #cecily herondale #anna lightwood #christopher lightwood #alexander lightwood #will herondale #thomas lightwood #alastair carstairs #chain of gold #the last hours

45 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

The Third: Killan

CW: Literally nothing beyond some vague visual references to past torture, plus some unpleasant/negative generalizations about a fictional species. Killan is truly living the comf dream.

TIMELINE: ... later

As always, Killan’s universe and details of fae meta/biology/magic all belong to @wildfaewhump!

Even though the young woman knew the way, it still took three hours to walk from the barn, where she always stopped first to give a final scritch behind the ears to her favorite barn cat, to her aunt's tiny wooden cabin.

It wasn’t even an easy three hours of walking. Instead, it was three hours of hard hiking in her loose pants and shirt with a shawl thrown over for warmth, her thick black hair with its rough curls sticking to her neck with sweat even as she shivered from the chill breeze. Sometimes the walk felt like it was all straight up, placing each step with care as the rocks scattered back down below and her heavy boots dug into the earth to keep her hold.

At least her skin had held its color from summer and she felt the warmth of the sun settle in as she walked up to see her aunt.

The old woman lived up high on a ridge, hugging the side of the great mountains where the fae stayed hidden, with a view in the winter of the village far below and in the summer of acres upon acres of bright green trees and fields.

No one lived closer to the fae than her aunt did without coming to harm - the young woman even saw them circling overhead sometimes, out on the hunt. She’d even seen a mother, or she thought it was a mother anyway, with three littler fae flying behind her.

Might’ve been cute, if the fae didn’t teach their fledglings to hunt by siccing them on lambs and other defenseless things in the spring. The young woman had made a note of the fledglings, that year, and they’d kept an eye out. No lambs went missing, though, so maybe the fae mam had decided to teach her babes to hunt somewhere else.

Living this close to the fae was dangerous. Anyone else would’ve been terrified to live that way, but her aunt had kept the same home since she built it herself as a young woman and swore she would live nowhere else.

I have honest dealings with Sidhe, love, said the old woman - who wasn't really her aunt, not by blood, but who was connected to her instead through a complex web of distant relations and friendships that her family simply called kin. Honest as can be. There had been a twinkle in milky green eyes that the young woman never quite understood, when she said those words. You might say, if you were so inclined, that I have had the most honest sort of dealings one can have.

Her aunt’s laughter had near lifted the roof off with its volume, and the young woman had smiled uncertainly along, even though she didn’t quite get the joke.

Her aunt’s sense of humor always puzzled her. Fae weren’t to be joked about, not with such a jovial, even affectionate, tone. They were dangerous. They hurt people, slaughtered those who tried to find the pass through the mountains. They spoiled milk and made people sick. Everyone in the village kept iron along every window and doorway to keep the fae out.

Everyone except her aunt, whose windows were always open, like she wanted them to crawl in with their wiry limbs and claw her face off. It had never happened, but… still. It wasn’t safe to live alone, to live so close to the fae. Her aunt did it anyway.

The young woman didn’t even know her real first name. She was Aunt Llyrie, but everyone knew Llyrie was just a name she’d taken, said she’d been given by someone and thought she’d keep.

By who, Auntie?

Mmmn, someone else, from long ago, when I was prettier than I had any right to be and he took a liking to walking on the ground for a while. That’s all you’ll ever need to know, love.

The young woman and her sisters and cousins had all asked her aunt, and the answer was always the same. Someone else. What could that even mean?

She was called Aunt Llyrie because all women above an age were Aunt So-and-So or Auntie Whoever. It was simply how you did things, and the young woman had never thought twice about it. Her mother's sister was her aunt, and so was the old woman up on the ridge who grew herbs and made potions and salves. She came down only to check on pregnant women and new babies, and otherwise people who needed help went to her.

Not that very many people did. The old woman was spoken of in hushed tones. People made a sign against evil, they called her touched.

But they asked her to be there when their babies were born, anyway. No woman had died in childbirth in forty-three years, not since the old woman had taken up midwifery and started bringing her medicines with her. She had been there for the births of babies, and those babies’ babies. She might be there to meet the first babies’ grandbabies, too.

Who knew?

She was odd, though. Ask her about the fae and her aunt's face would settle into a hundred wrinkles like lines on an ancient browned map as she smiled.

Her voice creaked a little as age wore down its firm strength in sound but not in the iron-tough foundation of her spirit, and she would only shake her head. I do not fear the Sidhe. Will they carry an old woman away when they did not take the young one? Paugh, maybe he will one day. I would thank him for the final journey into the sky.

The young woman didn’t understand that, either.

Still, she had gone to see her aunt a hundred times or more, in her life. She was always welcomed with open arms by a woman who had seen her coming long before she actually arrived.

Today, though, she wound her way up the small path only to find her aunt’s cabin closed up tight. Even the shutters to those open windows were closed, despite the mild mountain air. A thin curl of smoke wound up from the chimney, the only sign of life beyond the solid black cat who slept along the low stone wall that encircled the garden. She gave it a quick run of fingers along the top of its head and down its back as she passed, feeling it arch up gratefully into her touch. It meowed, stretching, and leapt gracefully down to the path to trot along beside her.

Swallowing, she knocked on her aunt’s door, feeling trepidation curl cold and heavy in the bottom of her stomach. “Auntie? Are you at home?”

Where else would she be? In the young woman’s twenty years on earth, she had never once seen her aunt be anywhere else but home or seeing to the birthing of a baby. And since there were no new babies in the village…

The door popped open with a creak of ancient hinges, and the young woman swallowed as her aunt’s eyes peered through, with an expression she had never seen before - suspicion. “What are you doing here?”

“Um, I-” The young woman blinked, startled. She felt suddenly guilty, even though she had committed no crime. Did I do something wrong and I just don’t remember? “I came to ask for a tincture, there’s an ague has hit the blacksmith and his family. My mam sent me up-”

Her aunt cleared her throat, cracked the door just a little bit wider. “Today’s not the day for it, love,” She said, her voice slightly sharp, snappish in a way that made the young woman take a step back, unsettled and uncertain.

“Well, I… it’s just, the ague is quite-... Aunt, are you well?” The young woman’s head tilted, trying to take a closer look, only to have the old woman close the door slightly, showing just one blue eye through the crack. Her heart began to race. She had clearly done something, said something on her last visit, angered the old woman in some way. But she had no idea what she could possibly have done. “If you’re sick, Auntie, I could nurse you?”

“I’m not sick, dear.” There was a pause, the old woman taking time to think, and then she said, “Can you keep a secret, love? From everyone but me?”

“A… a secret?” Despite her nervousness, and how ominous everything seemed when put together, the young woman had to admit she felt no small thrill at the idea of something secret. In a village like hers, there was no such thing as a secret. Even a quick kiss with the blacksmith’s son was reported to her mam within minutes, and she a grown woman whose kisses should be her own business by now. “I could, Auntie, of course I could. But what is the secret?”

Her aunt hesitated a moment more, and then the door swung open. Inside smelled like a mix of smoke and something savory, and the young woman’s eyes lit on the meat pies cooling out on the table as she stepped into the open cabin’s kitchen-side. “You must swear on your life you won’t tell a soul, love.”

“I won’t, Auntie, swear on my heart.” Her eyes scanned the walls, finding all the cooking pans hung on their hooks, bundles of herbs drying above the fireplace, a kettle hung for water to boil for tea. It was all the same, and yet there was a change in the air in here, something different indeed. Something smelled sharp and cold, like the way the night smelled in autumn when the sky was clear and the stars gave off nearly as much light as the moon. “What is the secret?”

There was a rustling from the bed-corner, and the young woman turned that way to stare, wide-eyed, at what she thought at first must be the largest bird she had ever seen.

Her aunt’s hand, warm, dry, with softly wrinkled brown skin like thin creased paper folded a thousand times until it is nearly cloth, came to rest lightly on her shoulder. “It’s not a ‘what’,” She said, her voice gentle. “It’s a ‘who’.”

“Wh-what-”

The wings moved, parting to reveal-

“Gods almighty, a fae!” The young woman scrambled backwards, tripped over a broom, fell flat on her arse on the flat wooden slats of the floor. She let out a breathy scream, backing up until her back hit the wall, grabbing the handle of a cast-iron cookpan as tightly as she could - let the bastard fae try to hurt her, she’d whack it with iron until its face was nothing but boils, she would, she’d not go quietly into some fae’s stomach - and holding it in front of her as a weapon.

The thing on the bed flinched back when she did, curling itself up tightly, staring at her with wide, terrified bright blue eyes with razor-thin slit pupils, perfectly inhuman. Its face, though… well, its face and hair looked nothing like she’d been told fae should look. It wasn’t angular or pointy-chinned, had no pointed ear that folded back or forwards, it just looked like… like a person. Like some man her own age, really.

It looked… well, it looked frightened, is what. Of her.

It made a high keening sound of fear, not a human sound at all.

“Calm, the both of you,” Her aunt snapped, stepping between them. The young woman didn’t move, kept the iron pan out ahead of her like a knight brandishing a sword. The fae-but-not-fae stayed pressed up against the wall in the bed, his wings shivering, trilling low in its throat. She could hear the feathers rustling with its fear. “He won’t hurt you, love. He’s just looking for a place to heal.”

“H-Heal? From what?” Her voice shook, but her hands didn’t. She was proud of that.

Her aunt began to laugh, and the young woman simply stared blankly, wondering if the old woman had perhaps lost her mind. “The ague, dear. Same as the blacksmith. This young man has taken quite ill.”

The young woman turned narrowed eyes back to the thing on the bed. Had it bewitched her aunt, somehow? Used their wicked dark magics on her? “Fae don’t catch our sicknesses, Auntie.”

“Hm, that’s true.” Her aunt’s smile was shining, beatific. “Fae don’t. But this young man isn’t fae. He came in delirious overnight. I’ve given him a tincture has brought his fever down some, though not all. Come, love. It’s rude to threaten a young man without even learning his name.”

“But-... but he-...” She frowned, and took a step closer, and then another. The thing on the bed did look like a young man, that was true. He wore tattered old clothes, worn to holes where his knobby knees poked through. But for his wings and his eyes… “He’s not… fae? But the wings-”

“Mmmn, yes. I did ask about that. He says they came later.” Her aunt shrugged, as if to say, pay it no mind. “He’ll not give me a name but said I could call him Del. That’s fae for boy, that is.”

“How d’you know that?” She took a closer look at the old woman, then, and wondered how much about the woman’s life she had kept secret from the village, too.

“Just do. Isn’t important. So anyway, he clearly knows a fae, even if he isn’t one.”

“I-I’m not,” The young man spoke for the first time. His voice was low and hoarse, but sort of… lovely, too. The young woman took another step closer, slowly lowering the cookpan. “I’m not fae.”

“Are you… half-breed, then?” The young woman asked.

The boy looked away from her, and it was that more than anything that made her think he wasn’t fae at all. Everyone knew fae would never look away from you, never let a threat or a meal pass their sight. Everyone knew that.

“No,” He said, softly. “I’m not. Half-made, maybe. Are you-... her niece?” His eyes went, puzzled, from the young woman to the elderly one.

The young woman’s aunt threw her head back and laughed, shining laughter that filled the room all the way to the roof, and even the young woman felt an answering smile on her lips. “Oh, my, no, sweet boy. I’m just an old crone in the woods. Now, your tea’s just about ready, and here I am with a new guest to serve the extra to. Let’s make introductions, and you’ll stay for dinner, love,” She said, turning her eyes back to the young woman.

“But the blacksmith-”

“Will be right as rain by morning. First, though, you’ll stay for tea. My name is Llyrie, this is Del, and… Del, let me introduce this woman who would hit you with a pan if she could.”

“She could,” The young man - Del - said. He smiled. It was faint, but there, and if it weren’t for his eyes she might have said it was a handsome smile indeed. “I wouldn’t, um, wouldn’t stop her.”

Despite herself, the young woman smiled at Del, and watched the tension in his wings relax, just a little. The kettle began to whistle as the water boiled within, and the old woman moved it to rest to the side, pouring in a generous palmful of dried herbs, leaves, and flowers to steep. Then she moved over to the bed, reaching out, and the young woman’s muscles tensed, her hand jerking forwards and then stopping itself, as she watched the old woman grip onto the not-fae’s taloned right hand as though he were perfectly normal, perfectly human.

“You’re safe,” The old woman said, softly. “Nothing with wings has ever come to harm in my home, Del.”

The not-fae - the young man, wasn’t he, really? Just a young man, and yet all wrong and not a young man at all - nodded, slowly. “Please,” He whispered. “I’ve never wanted to hurt anyone.”

He sounded so… genuine. It didn’t seem like a trick at all.

The young woman did not lighten her grip on the pan.

“Del,” Her aunt said, patting the back of his hand while holding it, and his talons never touched her, “this young lady is one I have known her whole life. Come here, love, say hello.”

The young woman moved carefully, cautiously closer. She could see, now, the bright red blotches along Del’s cheeks that gave away his lingering fever, the shadows under the bright blue eyes that spoke of restless sleep or little sleep at all. This close, she could see that he was still trembling, just a little, even relaxed.

“Hello,” She said, softly.

“Hello,” The young man said in return. “I’m-... I’m Del.”

“She said that.” He looked down, and a bit of wavy light brown hair fell over his eyes, hiding them from view. She leaned slightly forward, until he looked up again. It was… strange, to see inhuman eyes in a very human face, but if she really thought about it, they were… pretty, weren’t they? “Del, are you-... sure you’re not fae?”

“Pretty sure.” He had a hint of wry humor in his voice at that. He glanced over at one wing, then back at her. “Last anyone checked, anyway.”

She realized, all at once, that there were rings pierced through his wings in two places, just above his shoulders and again at the topmost join. Small brass rings ran through the piercing, and they clinked a little when his wings shifted.

Who had done that? She’d never heard of fae piercing their own wings before. But if he wasn’t fae, maybe… maybe whatever he was did it. Maybe there was more than fae in the world with wings.

“Will you… show me your teeth, Del?” She asked, voice low and quiet. Her auntie hissed at her about rudeness, but the boy obeyed immediately, baring his blunt, human teeth. She breathed out in relief at the same time her stomach twisted at the thoughtless, instant obedience.

“Auntie, you said you… you found him sick?”

The old woman nodded, checking on the scent of the tea steeping in the kettle. “He was wandering the woods talking to no one. He’s lucky I found him first.”

“He sure is. My da and the others’d sooner shoot him than speak to him.” Del’s wings bristled, nervously, and she glanced back over at him, flushing slightly. “Sorry. I shouldn’t talk about you like you’re not right here, should I?”

“It’s all right,” He offered. “I’m used to it.”

“Still. Just ‘cause you’re used to rudeness doesn’t make it any less rude. And I haven’t told you what I’m called, either.” She held out her right hand, watched him hesitate and look down at his talons, and then she laughed and held out her left. He slowly reached his left hand - simply human, nothing else - out to shake hers.

“I don’t know what you are,” She said, voice firm, “But you don’t seem like you’ll hurt me, and my auntie likes you. You’re Del?”

He nodded, slowly, eyes on her face in a way that made her feel strange, like her skin was stretched too tightly over her body, like her nerves were too close to the surface. “You can call me that, yes.”

“All right, I will. Nice to meet you, Del. I’m Laekna.”

---

Tagging Killan’s crew: @astrobly @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @slaintetowhump , @quirkykayleetam , @whumpallday , @whumppsychology, @doveotions, @broken-horn, @moose-teeth, @whumpfigure, @spiffythespook, @oceanthesarcasamfox, @whump-only, @just-strawberry-jam(if you would like to be added to an OC’s tag list, please send your request via an ask! Those are easier for me to keep track of and I tend to lose requests in comments, reblogs, tags, or PMs!)

80 notes · View notes

imherongraystairstrash · 4 years

Text

Wessa baby Part 1

A/N: Thank you @daisyherxndale for recommending this!! I’ll post part 2 a bit later today. This story takes place about two years before Chog. I hope you enjoy!

Tessa was trying to read, but her thoughts were clearly elsewhere. She found herself reading the same sentence over and over again as her mind rattled with mixed emotions. Was she happy? Yes, she was over the moon. But was she allowed to? Would Will be happy? Or would he be distraught? Maybe she was just worrying too much. She put her hand on her abdomen.

However inconvenient it might have been, Tessa Gray was pregnant. Tessa Gray was pregnant with a third, completely unexpected, child.

By the time Will came into the room, Tessa had long abandoned her book. There was no point in trying to read about characters’ struggles, when all you could think about were your own misfortunes.

Tessa didn’t even notice him coming in until he was kneeling in front of her.

“Tess? You look like you’ve aged fifty years since the last time I saw you.” Concern was etched across his face.

“Ha ha, very funny.”

“No, literally, you changed.” Will said, referring to her shapeshifting. “Are you feeling alright?”

Tessa held a hand up to her face. Of course. Whenever Tessa got pregnant, her warlock magic went haywire.

She forced herself to change back into her normal self, now understanding why she had felt a bit winded before. She blinked and looked back down at Will.

“I’m fine, Will.”

Will gave her a face that said he knew she was lying to him.

Tessa bit her lip. Now’s as good a time as ever to tell him. Will deserved to know. Besides, it might take some weight off shoulders.

She drew him in her arms and kissed his forehead. She held his face in her hands and looked into his deep blue eyes, seeing herself reflected in them.

“Whatever is matter, sweet Tess?” Will said, turning his face to kiss her palm.

“Will, I’m expecting.”

Will’s eyes widened, almost comedically, as he stared at Tessa, looked down at her stomach, and then back at Tessa.

“Tess, that’s…”

“Horrible?”

“NO! No, Tess, it’s wonderful.” he said, kissing her and resting his forehead against hers. “I was going to say unexpected, but anything that’s part you, even if it’s only half, is a blessing.”

Tessa felt her vision getting blurry. Will wiped a tear from her face.

“And anything that’s half me, is a blessing to the Earth.” He continued.

Tessa laughed and dug her face into his neck.

“My sweet Tess, I’m so happy we created something so wonderful.”

“Me too.” Tessa said.

...

Will was reading a book while stroking James’ hair, absentmindedly. Jamie had his head rested on his papa’s shoulder and was reading along side him. It was A Tale of Two Cities, a book they had both read many times, though they still seem enthralled by it, as though it were the first time they were reading it. Meanwhile, Lucie and Tessa talked about the new baby.

“Have you picked out a name yet?” Lucie asked.

“We were thinking of Ella, in honor of Will’s sister.”

Will looked up at the mention of his name, completely oblivious to the conversation the girls were having. Tessa waved him off as to say he could go back to reading.

“So, she needs a middle name.” said Lucie, tapping out a inconsistent pattern on Tessa’s belly.

“Well, she doesn’t need a middle na—” Tessa looked over at Lucie who she giving her puppy eyes. “Why? Did you have one in mind?”

Lucie looked up at her, enthusiastically. “You can name her after another book character, like you did with me!”

Tessa laughed, “Which one were you thinking of?”

Lucie sat up, practically unable to keep still.

“Elizabeth! After Lizzie Bennet!”

Will looked up from his book. “I like that one, Lulu.”

Tessa smiled. She didn’t remember ever having told Lucie that her mother’s name was Elizabeth; she did not have a strong memory of her as she died when Tessa was merely three years old. And yet, it seemed fitting to name her unborn daughter after the women who never got to meet her mother. The women who did not get a chance to raise her own daughter.

“I love it, Luce.”

Lucie, clearly proud of herself, sandwiched herself once more in-between James and Tessa. Tessa kissed her temple and ran her knuckles over Lucie’s cheek. She caught Will’s eye over their son and daughter’s heads. He smiled warmly at her and reached out to hold her hand. She placed it in his and he rubbed circles into her palm.

…

“Me first!” Lucie whisper-yelled as she pushed James out of the way. James stumbled at the sudden impact and would have fallen, had he not grabbed the couch in front of him and steadied himself. Without a second glance at her brother, Lucie plopped down beside Will ready to hold her new baby sister.

Will carefully handed over the baby. Lucie smiled and cooed at Ella.

“Hello,” she whispered. “I’m Lucie, your favorite sibling.”

“Hey!” said James.

Lucie ignored him. “Has she opened her eyes?”

“Not yet,” said Tessa.

She inherited Will’s dark hair, but she had yet to wake up and see the world.

“Can I hold her now?”

“No, Jamie,” said Lucie, “being the klutz you are, you’ll drop her.”

“Lucie, honey, Jamie will be careful. He should be able to hold Ella as well.”

Lucie grumbled and turned towards Ella. “I apologize greatly for abandoning you, and leaving you to succumb to the evil clutches of Cruel Prince James, my sweet sister— oh, that would make a wonderful line for a new chapter of The Beautiful Cordelia.” Lucie looked at James. “Alright, you can hold her, but only because I have been in a writer’s block for months, and I just had a wonderful idea.”

She was about to give Ella over to James, before pulling away.

“Don’t even think about turning into a shadow once I hand her over.”

“Why would I do that?!”

“Because you are sketchy. And unpredictable. And just of being replaced as my favorite sibling.”

“I was your only sibling.”

“Exactly. That’s the only reason you were my favorite sibling.”

“Lucie!”

“Mam, Lu’s hurting my feelings.” James said, humoring her.

Finally, Lucie handed Ella over to James and got her pen and paper. She peered over at Jamie holding baby Ella while she wrote.

It was sweet to watch a smile stretch across James’ face as he looked down at Ella and bounced her lightly. James, who was always solemn, even as a child. The contrast between both Lucie and James’ personality was like white against black. Tessa couldn’t help but wonder what shape Ella’s personality might take when she grow older. She was also worried that Ella would grow lonely, as both of her siblings were quite grown, and were likely to have moved out of the institute by the time she turned five.

Tessa forced her concentration on something else. She’d long given up on trying to fix things that were out of her control. She often found it to do more harm than good. Besides, Ella is not truly alone; she’ll have her cousin Alexander to keep her company. Who knows, maybe they’ll become parabatai.

“Mam,” James said.

Tessa looked up.

“She’s got your eyes.”

The whole family leaned in closer, as Ella scanned her surroundings. They were, in fact, the same shade of gray as Tessa’s eyes.

“She’s a perfect hybrid!” Lucie said.

Tessa put her head on Will’s shoulder, perfectly content on enjoying this moment with her family.

#tessa gray #will herondale #tessa herondale #lucie herondale #james herondale #wessa #wessa fanfic #wessa fanfiction #wessa baby #tsc #tsc fanfic #tsc fanfiction #tid fanfic #tlh fanfic #wessa au #tlh au #tlh au fanfiction

89 notes · View notes

writingsweetroll · 3 years

Text

Village- Chapter 2

I sigh in relief as I stretch my body. I get up and put on my boots, the smell of fresh coffee fills the hallway. Little things like that had always made me happy, apparently ever since I was little. "Alright then" I mutter as I make my way to my door.

"We ready?" Brent asked in a slight huff. I look at him with annoyance, little brat was way to pampered. He got everything he wanted by his dad's. So whenever he actually had to do a days work, he gets frustrated. "Look Brent, why don't you just shut up and do work for once? Or why don't we feed you what you hunt- Oh wait then you'll be dead because you don't anything!" I snapped back. He glared at me, about to respond until Clem came to say goodbyes.

Brent and I hadn't always been this way. It started just about a year ago.

"Come on hurry!" AJ called to us. Brent and I ran as fast as we could, but we were slower, me being only 12 and Brent being 14. AJ was around 18 and he had loads of experience running from walkers. AJ cursed under his breath as Brent fell down, he ran over to him and helped him up, but in the mean time AJ was dragged down by a walker and almost bit. AJ franticly grabbed his knife and the boosted up adrenaline caused him to cut his ankle as he slashed at the Walkers hand. I ran back to him to help him up. I grabbed AJ's arm and wrapped it around my shoulders as we ran together. "Brent, help us!" I screamed. All he did was just look, and he looked at us with pity. He ran off without helping us, he screamed he was sorry. I cursed at him, without holding back. Our pace quickened as fast as we could. We barely made it by a scratch, and when we into the court yard, Clem was furious. Louis was upset to, I had actually never seen him that way. But the wrath of my mom was just like her anger came from the pits of hell. His dads, Tim and Mark were trying to calm down my parents as much as they could, but ultimately, this was there last straw, if Brent fucked up again, they're out of the school.

"Ok then, Willow, you have your knives?" I nod at my mom. "Carson, you have the gun?" He replied "Yes mam." She smiled at the both of us. "Alright, make sure you two are extra careful, make sure you make it." She glared at Brent. We all nod and make our way out.

"She needs to get over it." Carson and I look at Brent in shock. "Dude, how would you feel if your child, you know- the thing you tried to create, then got in your stomach for 9 months, then went through hell birthing, and then raised for 13 years-- dies-ALSO--imagine if the kid you raised ever since you were 11 years old just died because of some kid whos new to the community." He rolled his eyes. "In an apocalypse, you have to think of your safety first, not some strangers." I glared at him. "You mean the same strangers that took you in off the road because you guys had no where to go right?" He looked forward and started to walk faster. "Whatever bitch." he muttered under his breath. "Hey!" Carson yelled out. I sigh and place a hand on his arm. "It's fine, people like him suck but at least we got each other."

"Hey Willow, what have you got for us today?" Elena asked. I pull out my backpack and take out some knives, and a few seeds for different vegetables. Elena grabbed them and smiled. "Ok I will be out with your share." Brent waited for her while Carson and I roamed around the village. They set up their little 'village' about 5 miles from our place. Of course, Clem had to approve of them first, and turns out they were actually good people. Even if they weren't our group would kick there ass like in the old days. "Oh uh, wait here Willow." I look up to Carson, and then look at what he was staring at. I laugh and tell him to just go. He was a huge nerd for board games, and he saw a goldmine of them. I actually had seen a goldmine for myself as well...

I climb onto the watch tower to look out on the army. Girls and boys of all ages were training. Some were fighting in the mud, some in the water and some training with bow and arrows. I look in awe, imagining if that were me, I would totally impress everyone with my badass skills. Like mom. Dad had told me some bad ass stories, and one time I even got to see the scar on her arm. Dad she had a lot more, but wasn't comfortable showing me. I rest my palm on my chin looking out to the heavy workers. Mom never wants to talk to me about her past. Its not fair, AJ knows a lot of it, and he's not even her kid. I widen my eyes at the sudden jealous thoughts in my head. I hated when I got them, so I try to shake it out. "Willow?" My body jumped as I turn around. "Tripp! Hey!? Don't scare me man!" The blonde old man chuckled. He rested near me. "Longing to fight I see?" I look over to Tripp and nod. "You wanna train me?" Tripp placed a hand on my shoulder, "Clem already trained you on the basic's, if I trained you anymore she would kill me." I throw my head back in annoyance. "Well it isn't fair. AJ is trained in this stuff and he's so cool! I wanna do that to." I huffed. Tripp sighed. "I understand why she only trains you on the basics Willow. When she was your age, she was, broken. She had thought AJ was dead so in her eyes, living was just an unwanted assignment. She killed anything or anyone in her way. She just wants you to not have to be like her, she wants you to be a kid." Tripp looked down, and he sighed. "She told me that every time she looks at AJ, she thinks about how she might of failed him. She doesn't want the same for you kid." I feel sorrow as his words became more and more sad. "Ok" I reply, not knowing what else to say.

I make my way over to the front gates where Brent and Carson are waiting. "Took your sweet time huh?" Brent asked. "Its not my fault I'm not an anti-social prick." I respond with cockiness, Carson sucks in his teeth and then laughs. We make our way back home.

#twdg #twd #twdlouis #twdclem #telltale the walking dead #the walking dead game #clouis #our troubled youths

3 notes · View notes

bush-viper-cutie · 4 years

Text

Reunion - DAY 4

Pairing: none. Just Snape

Word Count: 1,828

Rating: E for Everyone

Plot: After years of not speaking to them, he visits his parents.

Warnings: none

A/N: Day four! My own challenging prompt for October again! HAPPY SPOOKTOBER! :D

Posted: 10/4/20

Masterlist

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Severus looked at the letter in his hands and reread the address, turning up to analyze the decrepit state of the house before him. There was tall grass all over the lawn, weeds growing between the stone slabs of the walkway, ivy growing up the rotting fence in spirals; it was depressing. He’d thought, when he received notice that his father had transferred their Spinner’s End house over to his name, that they’d done so because they finally had the opportunity to take all their saved up money and moved into a new house far away from him.

This house looked worse than the state of their old – now his – home. This run down shed was far from the city of Cokeworth, hidden deep in Muggle society where no one could have found them. His tired brain couldn’t fully comprehend how worth it had been for them to leave him behind without a note or trace in order to live in a moldy shoebox like this.

Severus pulled up his hood against the autumn wind and stuff the letter in his pocket. He stepped over the fence – broken to ankle height – and made his way down to the door, kicking through spider webs weaved between the tall fescue. He pulled his hood down as he reached the door and knocked cautiously. The letter was in his mother’s writing asking him to come at once, and he didn’t know if his father was around – or if he even lived.

The door opened and his mother – shorter than he remembered with long white hair the texture of straw – opened the door. She still had that sullen look about her, with drooping eyelids that seemed so harshly uncaring.

Severus opened his mouth to speak – Does she recognize me? – but she quickly turned, leaving the door open for him to close on his own. He stepped through and looked around. Newspapers littered the floor, falling off stacks by the walls. It wasn’t just Muggle papers, but Wizarding ones as well. He raised a brow. Father must be dead then, however the coughing in a different room told him otherwise.

He looked up and saw his mother, thin and frail, waiting for him across a small living room. He shut the door and that’s when it hit him. What’s that smell? It reeked inside the house. It smelled of decaying animals, by the dozens. He stepped into the living room and almost retched, feeling the carpet sink an inch under his weight. There was slime oozing out of the fibers, staining his shoes. Foul.

“Wh – ” he couldn’t bring himself to say a single word. This was all too much. He hasn’t seen his parents in eleven years, has lived in his childhood home alone, unaware if they were alive or dead, and he finally gets a letter asking him over and they live here? Look at the state of things!

“Think the house’s infested,” she said tartly.

He plugged his nose with his fingers and spoke nasally. “With what?”

She looked around and pulled back a box of empty bottles and cans with the toe of her shoe. A slimy green, eight-eyed sludge creature scurried away under a hole in the wall. Severus gagged and stared at the old woman before him. She shouldn’t look so old, and yet her skin sagged with wrinkles, outlining her unpleased eyes. “Bundimums. An infestation.”

“Why have you asked me here?” Severus backed away from her. “I haven’t seen you since I left for my seventh year of Hogwarts and you finally contact to – what – ask me to help you with a pest problem? Y-you don’t think I deserved – at the very least – some sort of note from you? You think one letter from the bank detailing the transfer of your house to me was enough?” Severus let go of his nose and gagged at the smell. He pinched it again and shut his eyes, trying his hardest not to cry.

“You left us, Severus,” she spoke quickly, as if it were a waste of breath. “We didn’t give you that house until you were twenty-one. Until we saw who you were involved with.” She shook her head in disappointment.

He scoffed. “You thought I’d come looking for you? Thought I’d come to kill you? I should have! After what you – and especially what HE put me through! You never cared when I left! You didn’t even try to owl me!” Tears seared hot on his skin. “If you’d known me at all you’d’ve known you were perfectly safe in that house!”

“Well I thought I did know y’better. I thought I’d taught y’better than to join that Muggle-hating cult.” She looked around again, pulling strands of white hair behind her ear. “But go if y’want. I won’t hold you here. Not like a’ever could.”

He hands balled into fists but he didn’t move. Her words stung more than they ever had before. He felt like a disappointment all over again. But she’d wrong. She taught me nothing but hate. I taught myself to fight against it. He breathed out calmly, fixing his composure. “Where’s Da?” For a second he wasn’t sure what to call him, ‘father’ or what he always did as a child. The accent he had now – taught to him by Lucius and other like him, rich and upper class – didn’t allow for the easy pronunciation. They always preferred to say ‘father’.

“Resting.”

He nodded and looked into the hallway. There was an open door with a bit of light shining out. “H… How is he? …I heard him cough.”

“Sick. With something. Doesn’ want t’go see a doctor.” She moved more boxes and stomped the life out of a bundimum, breathing heavy with age. She wiped her soles on the wet carpet and turned to him. “D’you want tea?”

“No.” Severus shook his head and moved more boxes, following the scampering slimes to their nest with his eyes. “They’re in the walls. It must be too crowded. They’re starting to spill out and over take the floors.” He dropped a box over a slime and winced as it splashed onto his trousers. “I’ll be ‘round tomorrow with… Bloody hell, I don’t know. Something. Goodbye.”

She opened the door for him and he gasped for fresh air as he exited the house. He shook his head and walked around the corner and ducked behind some bushes to apparate away.

~ * ~ * ~

He came back the next day with buckets of halophyte powder he’d gotten at discount in the apothecary. He knocked on the door and this time it was his father that had answered. He was hunched over and held pill bottles in his hands. His hair was cut short and a balding spot shone plainly on the crown of his head.

He no longer towered over him with muscles and bulging veins. He looked weak as well, and a little confused to be seeing him. “What’re you doin’? Why’re you here?”

Severus rolled his eyes and pushed the door open, watching his father shuffle out of the way. “Where’s Mam?”

His father wrinkled his nose and furrowed his brows. “Out in ‘er devil garden.” He moved into the kitchen and took down a glass, filling it with tap water.

At least the water looks clean. Severus followed him in, curious to see him so indifferent to his presence. He set down the heavy buckets. “How long has,” – he looked around at the dripping slime oozing from the walls, “… this been going on for?”

His father shrugged, gulping down several thumb nail-sized pills. “Few years?”

Severus gripped the counter. “Years?” He left his father and headed out the back door to the small garden of firethorns that his mother was tending to. “Your house has been infested with bundimums for years?”

She wiped her hands on her patched apron and nodded, looking up at him.

“Why? You’re a witch! You could have taken care of this yourself years ago!” He looked into her eyes and found something about them had changed, or, something in him had. He’d always feared his father, but his mother especially. He feared the possibility that she didn’t love him, or care for him. But in that instant he didn’t see a scared boy reflected in her dark eyes. He saw himself annoyed at her stupidity. She had always been a fool. He just hadn’t realized it before.

He turned on his heels and headed back inside. His father was still in the kitchen, struggling with his pills, trying not to tremble as he carefully tilted the bottle. Severus sighed and gritted his teeth as he reached for the bottle.

“You give that back!” His father gripped Severus’ collar but was too weak to shake him properly.

“Which ones do you need?” was all he said to his father’s act of aggression.

His father let go and made a large circle with his fingers reluctantly. “The big ones.”

Severus tipped the bottle enough to stick a slender finger in and pull out one of the large pills from the back. He handed it to his father and helped him with the glass of water as well and when he was ready to put the lid on the bottle he did that for him also.

Severus picked up the buckets and got to work on the house, pouring it along the walls and into vents. He made holes in the walls and poured the powder inside, hearing the bubbling sizzles of the sludge creatures as they died.

It took two days to get the whole house done, and only an hour to clean out the house with a few spells invented for the very purpose of bundimum messes. On the last day he repaired the holes in the walls with ‘reparo’ when his father wasn’t looking. The house was decent and all they needed to do was air out the place.

He grabbed his coat from their hanger by the door and called out to his parents. “I’ll be passing by weekly. If you need anything send me a letter.” They didn’t respond but he knew they both heard him. He shook his head and rolled his eyes to himself, knowing if they truly didn’t want his presence, they’d’ve done more than just complain under their breaths.

He closed the door and apparated behind the house again.

~ * ~ * ~

He reached the Hogwarts gate and locked it up, glaring at the few students who eyed the gate mischievously. He walked up the lawn and nearly slipped on some mud at the entrance. He steadied himself and looked up to see Minerva at the stairs on her way to dinner.

“How was your visit?”

Severus joined her. “It was… better.” Something deep in his heart mended, and he felt more whole.

Minerva gave him a warm smile and led them to the high table.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Masterlist

---

Day 4 Prompt: Swarms + bundimum (green many-eyed sludge-like pest known to infest houses; recognized by a foul smell of decay)

---

General Taglist:

@severuslovebot @bionic-otp

---

#my own snapetober #pro snape #october 2020 #severus snape #severus #snape #eileen snape #tobias snape #snape fanfic #snape fanfiction #snape fan fiction #fanfic #one shot #fan fiction

17 notes · View notes

jay-and-dean · 4 years

Text

Next Christmas

Dean x reader

Summary : She’s waiting for him, he’s coming home to her. This Christmas is a little different, but not as much as the one to come.

Warnings : So much Fluff you might get a little sick reading it. Implied Smut. No swearing ! (That’s really a first for me)

Words : 3.5 k (this was supposed to be a drabble, but you know me...)

Note : Merry Christmas everyone.

____________________

Just one more spoon of sugar, one more little fairy light on the iron banister. Everything has to be just like she remembers, but better. There has to be this magic atmosphere, like childhood were in the air ; happy childhood and silly dreams.

A shiver roams her back and stomach, so she grazes it with shy fingers, and a tender smile enlighten her face.

She takes a deep peaceful breath and looks at the room, it's almost perfect. Just like when she was a little girl. The Christmas tree is a little too big, with simple decoration in it : only sparkling lights and shinning bulbs ; a star at the top of it, not perfectly straight.

The oven rings and she goes to it, another batch of Christmas cookies in cute shapes. She can't help but bite in one of them, hunger roaring in her belly, and she grunts at how hot it is. When she puts the cookies next to the others, a smile spreads on her face : She cooked way too many, and that's exactly what she wanted. There are too many chocolates and candies too, left here and there like kids had forgotten them.

Christmas was always something special when she was a little girl, the one day kids were more important than adults in her family, the one day kids got to be kids. Not that her parents treated her bad, they were mostly nice to her, but their work was everything they had. So, as an only child being left alone most of the time, she had to grow up very fast, surrounded by ambitious adults and waiting during work meetings, late at night, that her dad finished work to finally go home and sleep.

But this precise evening every year, for a reason she never quite figured out, it was different. No economical news on TV, but cartoons. No organic super healthy food she had to cook herself on the fridge, just candies and cakes, and slightly drunk adults not paying attention how many the little ones ate. No loneliness, but other kids to play, cousins and parent's coworker's children.

The best night ever.

Then she forgot about Christmas, about watching Princess Bride and The Little Mermaid in the middle of the night, fighting sleep to make the best night of the year last a little more. Christmas died with her parents, it died with the last crumbles of her childhood.

When she met Dean and he fell in love with her, she really didn't need anything else to be happy, and every morning was like Christmas morning. Even covered in blood or digging in a graveyard... So she never paid attention to that day again. The Winchesters have their own humble way to celebrate it, in memory of being left alone that day, but together at least ; with only presents from the gas station and that awful eggnog. It was fine by her. As long as Dean was there.

But not anymore. Of course, Dean will always be all she needs but this year, something else is important, shining so bright in her nights. She needs Christmas. Her kind of Christmas.

She takes the robe's collar she's wearing to smell it, Dean's robe, hanging down to the floor a little when she walks, holding it like a princess’ dress. He wore it just two days ago, and when she closes her eyes, it's like his skin wasn't that far.

Dean...

He doesn't know she made all this yet. She did it in two days. After she had been a little sick, Dean asked her to stay home during this simple salt and burn hunt ; he's always so protective of her. It took her a few hours to decide if she could be without him for this long, nights without him are always the worst. Finally, when the need of a real Christmas eve came, she agreed, but made him swear that he will be back tonight, whatever happens.

Putting the last bowl of almond cookies on the library table, she goes to the control room and turns off several lights. The bunker is always so bright, tonight, she needs the fairy lights she put everywhere to be like stars, and we only see stars at night.

Now she sits on the wooden floor, where she puts pillows, next to the Christmas tree and the piano she bought to the bunker, her legs crossed like when she was a little girl. Opening her laptop, she presses play and smiles when The Lady and the Tramp starts. Not really watching it, she thinks.

She thinks of Dean, of course, and how much she misses him, how proud she is right now and how much she wants to feel him, his strong arms holding her, his beloved smell wrapping her, his emerald eyes piercing hers. A tear escapes the corner of her eye and she lets it fall until spread on her lips, salty and warm. It's not that rare that her love for him overwhelms her, but lately, she's really emotional.

And big adorable Sammy. She misses him too, him and his sassy comments on how she’s way too good for Dean. She hates when the bunker is empty. Because she worked so hard to make it a real home, not just for her, but for the man of her life that never really had one ; and she’s proud of what she accomplished over the last years. She helped her new family cleaning the world of nightmares and when it got a little more serene, she took time to make this military base a home. Now more than ever, she’s really glad she did.

With a glance at her phone, she sighs. Waiting is becoming horrible because lights are only bright when her love is here, life’s colors can’t be visible without the sun. But her man his on his way...

Wrapped in his robe with only panties and bra underneath to feel the tickles of the textile on her very sensible skin, she closes her eyes, imagining next Christmas ; a hand slipping inside the soft fabric to find her own skin, tracing the tattoo she got of his initials on her ribs, and a little lower.

When she hears the main door, her heart swells instantly, and, like the first night Dean joined her in her bedroom, she can't move, her blood rushing to her head, shaking a little in anticipation.

"Wow" his deep voice resonates. "Baby you made all of this ?"

Sam's voice joins his, commenting the peaceful atmosphere she created.

She turns her head, to see the tall hero she loves more than everything, but before she can get up, he lets his bag down and squats in front of her. She searches his faces for a mark of pain, a scratch, a bruise… but he seems fine.

"How do you feel ?" he asks with a worried smile.

"Better" she murmurs, looking at him in awe, relieved to smell him again.

How can he be so beautiful ? How is she supposed to get used to it ?

He bends to catch her lips tenderly, letting her feel the soft pillows she loves so much and her heart races again, after all this time. She takes his face in her hands, feeling his sharp jaw under her loving fingers. His face still in her protective hands, he turns his head to look at the screen and chuckles ; she usually never watches Disney movies. After looking around for a minute, he bites his lips.

"It smells so good in here..." he says softly, his right hand finding hers like always.

Dean loves holding her hand. In the streets, during researches, while driving and when he's buried deep inside of her, amazed that she offers herself to him every time he needs to come home between her legs.

She joins his fingers to squeezes his strong palm, lifting it to kiss his knuckles.

"I made cookies" she smiles.

"You made a thousand !" Sam rhapsodizes, putting his bag down too, and turning round to look at the bunker. "You definitely know how to make a place home."

Dean gets up to reach the cookies and she stops him with just a word.

"First..." she states and he freezes. "You two go put on your pajamas. Christmas eve is supposed to be comfy and lazy."

"Yes Mam" Dean says, putting his hand on her hair, messing with it a little. "But you're kinda wearing mine."

"You still have that cute hotdogs pants" she hums, leaning to his touch.

He nods and leaves, still looking all around as he walks.

She will probably never know how much Dean loves her, not really. She knows he does of course and she feels it to her bones, he tells her every day, but it's not even close to the truth. To know how deep he loves her, she would have to know how truly big his heart is, and not even Chuck is really aware of that. Dean Winchester loves with his entire soul : Her, with even more than that.

While he puts on his pants and a grey t-shirt, he smiles at the mess she made again in his formerly so tidy and cold room : the sheets are completely crumbled since they made love. How can she sleep good in a bed with folds everywhere and pillows on the floor ? There are books she all started at the same time, clothes she wore only a few hours… He makes the bed quickly, and puts the empty bottle of orange juice in the trash with a loving sigh.

For him, she’s not just his love, she’s Life. Brining music to fill every dark silences, she’s messy and beautiful, impatient and warm when he’s only grumpy and dark, worn out by Hell, by years of a painful loneliness and the coldness of self-hate. Sometimes, he just feels like November and in love with June… His love is a sunny girl, she always misses the sun when it’s hidden too long ; but for some reason, she seems to see him as the precious Star itself, and even calls him that from time to time. My Sun.

Taking care of her precious smile to make it last her whole life is all that matters to him.

What is happening to her ? Lately she seems nostalgic, she talked about her parents, she hadn't for years, she even asked questions about Mary and John... Watched the few pictures Dean has of his childhood, the one John had in his wallet when the house burned. She laughed at his freckles face, but it was an emotional laugh. And he wonders… Is she suddenly sad that nothing is left of her own childhood ? What can he do to ease that pain she must be feeling ?

The hunt is long forgotten, it was the second he told her he was coming home. But when he saw what she had been preparing, there was nothing more in his head than knowing what she had in mind. Long ago, she talked about how Christmas was important to her as a child, but it was in the course of a drunken talk in the middle of summer. Dean never really tried to make that day special and now he regrets it. Maybe she desperately needed it, and he didn't listen.

What she did is perfect for him, as usual. The lights everywhere, the peaceful smell of cake just coming out of the oven, this amazing tree. The bunker is unrecognizable. He just wishes he had had a little of that, growing up, that magic that is not witchcraft or demonic powers... So he could give her what she obviously needs even if she's a fierce warrior : a hint of fairy tales.

Taking a last look at the room, he thinks about what he wants to give her tonight, something that he knows is a gift to both of them : Love. He can see himself buried between her thighs, grunting in her ear while she holds on to him, filling her with all he has. He can see her mouth agape when she comes, strangled moans stuck in her red throat, letting go without any restraint, because she is his.

Taking the present he bought her from his bag, he closes the door behind him.

She takes a deep shaky breath and looks down at herself, playing with the belt of the robe. And once more, she thinks of next Christmas.

“Okay baby” Dean says coming back. “Good thing I bought you a present… I would have hated myself for coming home with nothing after you made all that.”

“I thought we already talked about the hating yourself part…” she grunts.

She started to move but he stops her with a word just like she did before :

“Stay…” his hand encourages her to remain comfortably between the pillows. “Guide me.”

“There are pizzas in the fridge if you want. I bought it because, after hunt, you might need real food, but…” she starts. “The tradition is that we eat only candies and cookies on Christmas eve.”

“Only candies it is then” Dean nods.

Sam enters and starts pouring three glasses of the fine whiskey she bought.

“Do you want pizza Sammy ?” Dean asks, his strong and beautiful voice making her smile in her head.

“I’ll eat like you” Sam simply answers feeling the perfect gratitude that warms him since his brother finally got his piece of Heaven.

“Tell me baby” Dean states, waiting for orders.

“You have to take the cookies…”

“The thousands you made” he cuts her in a chuckle.

“Yeah well, there are all the flavors you like…”

He starts making round trips to put all the plates and bowls on the floor, pecking her lips when he bends to arrange it next to her.

“Can you bring the orange juice bottle ?” she grins with her cutest face.

“When you drink too much of it, you get sick” he reminds her. “You puked like just four days ago because of that… Is it a good idea ?”

“I love orange juice” she pouts. “And I won’t get sick, Deanie.”

He goes to the kitchen and brings her only a glass of it, letting the bottle in the fridge so she won’t do that thing where she doesn’t care that too much gives her stomach pain… until she actually gets sick.

“That’s it, you can sit now. Come to me” she lifts her arms, reaching for him.

He does. He sits just next to her and wraps his arm around her body, letting her snuggle close to him in a hum of satisfaction.

“So… Cookies and sitting on pillows” his giant brother says, sitting with them, giving them the drinks he prepared. “Nice.”

“Shut up” she pushes him a little, taking the glass he gives her to put it next to her glass of orange juice.

“No” Sam chuckles, I’m honest ! It’s great. What other tradition do you want to share ?”

“I don’t exactly remember what I was doing” she sighs. “What I know is… It was kid’s day, nothing was forbidden. And yeah… eating candies on the floor, watching cartoons… Just, you know, be happy and carefree surrounded by the people you love.”

Dean’s glare is glued to her face as she talks, the little star-lights reflecting in his loving eyes.

Sam raises his glass at her words.

“To the people we love” he smiles.

Dean takes his own drink and raises it too.

“Yeah, to the people we love and to the woman I love” he states in his typical serious frown.

She takes the glass of orange juice and lifts it, amazed by her luck.

“To the people we love and who love us. And to every Christmases to come.”

Dean has to force himself to stop smiling to drink. He takes the box he kept in his pocket and gives it to her, sliding it between her palm and the thigh it’s resting on. She looks down and smiles, nuzzling in his neck to put a kiss there.

“Oh I forgot mine in the trunk” Sam says with his mouth full. “Is presents time now ?”

She shrugs, suddenly nervous and reaches for Dean’s hand, he takes it and searches her face, trying to hide the worried frown he got from suddenly feeling a hint of anxiety irradiating of her.

She starts to open the little box and a warm smile enlighten her face like a sunny spell. She takes the little gold sun hanging on the necklace and kisses it before kissing Dean’s plumb lips.

“You always miss the sun in winter” he states softly, taking it to tie it around her neck, his fingers lingering a little on her neck.

“I love it” she states. “I love you.”

Sam gets up.

“Okay I’ll go get mine” he says, taking two more cookies like he needed some for the road.

The second he leaves, she gives Dean a little flat gift with a perfect golden bow on it, taking a deep breath.

“Shouldn’t I wait for Sam ?” he asks, playing with the bow.

“No” she shakes her head, her eyes a little brighter than usual.

“Oh… sexy gift” Dean gives her a dorky grin.

She chuckles and bites her lips to hide the waves of emotions rushing through her. Dean can feel she’s shaking, and he can see the tears in her eyes.

“Hey baby… Are okay ? I always love your presents, why are you so nervous ?”

“This one is special” she murmurs.

Intrigued, he rips the paper and a word hits his pupils right away.

Dad.

In the paper, a tiny little black t-shirt, the smallest Dean ever saw, with the words My dad is a hero written on it.

He starts to shake. A thousand thoughts cross his mind and, despite what he would have said a few years ago, there are only good thoughts. He can’t move for a few seconds so she takes his hand.

“I know we… Only talked about that this time I was late. It was not in our plans, baby…” she speaks, searching his face. “But… when I told you my periods came and I was relieved… You really seemed…”

“Yeah… I…”

Dean can’t express his feelings right now. He can’t explain that this accident, she was afraid had happened made his heart grow twice his size in an instant. He can’t tell how secretly thrilled he was ; flashes of Sammy, of Ben crossing his mind. How proud he was that maybe she was caring his baby, like he belonged in her body for good. That nature had decided for them… And gave him the one thing he never dared to ask because well… He has nothing to give a child, and this life is a curse.

He had all those thoughts because, let’s be honest, everyone who knows him for real realized that at some point : Dean was made to be a father.

So yes, when she jumped at his neck that morning to tell him she worried him for nothing, he wasn’t able to hide it : A hope broke in him.

“You always say you want to fill me” she looks down, licking her lips, blushing a little. “Well you did for real.” As he still can’t talk she continues, putting a hand on her lower back. “I know you Deanie… You will be the best dad ever. A-and this life, we will compromise but we are not changing who we are. Our house won’t be like all the others, but our baby, he will grow up with people who love him so much.”

Dean is crying now.

He takes the love of his life in his arms and nuzzles in her neck, soaking the collar of his robe.

“I lo-love you s-so much” he stammers, making her sob on a strangled smile.

She kisses his temple, stroking his back like he was a little boy.

“I’m so proud to be caring your baby” she whispers. “I hope the child looks just like you… I already love h…” she can’t finish her sentence as Dean crushes his lips on hers, clumsily kissing her several times, each of them tasting the tears of the other.

Sam doesn’t dare to move. His gift in his hand, he looks at them, tears falling down his face too. He’s not worried, because everything that seemed impossible in this life became different when she came in his brother’s life, like a wave of hope. And she’s right : Dean and him weren’t happy growing up, but not because their dad was a hunter, because he was destroyed, because their mom wasn’t there, because they had no home…

“I can’t wait to be next Christmas” he finally murmurs, sitting back next to the tree.

_____________________________

***Feedback is Gold***

Forever Tags : @parinarain @animegirlgeeky @mogaruke @masterof-agony @rainflowermoon @tftumblin @deans-baby-momma @roonyxx @thefaithfulwriter @vicariouslythruspn @emeow1496 @daryldixonandfrogs @holylulusworld @cocklesbelli @sandlee44 @mogaruke @screenchingartisancashbailiff @donnaintx @hawaiianohana31 @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @sister-winchesters99 @neii3n @alanegaming @im-a-shrub @sadwaywardkid @hopelesslydevotedtoyou1912 @slyqueenj @i-love-superhero @waywardsisterandpie @sunsetsandbooks @fangirlxwritesx67

#supernatural #SPN #spn fic #spn fanfic #dean winchester #Supernatural Dean Winchester #dean winchester fic #fluff #dean winchester fluff #dean x reader #dean x y/n #spn dean x reader #christmas #jay-and-dean

326 notes · View notes

lovinlikeloki · 3 years

Text

The Lone Wolf

Masterlist // 01

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 2.7k

Orlaith and I get off the bus and start walking down the road.

"Where are ye going?" Orlaith asks me.

"I'm away de Saint Marie's, ye wanny join me?" I tell her.

"Aye, sure why not?"

"I finished a job last night and didn't get de give Eoghan the card," I say, brandishing a gold colored card, "I need to get paid and get me next one."

"Why do you do this?" Orlaith asks, shaking her head at me.

"Eoghan's letting me stay in one of the rooms at Saint M's. I'm earning my keep, besides, the money's good."

"If you say so," she shrugs.

We keep walking and then I pull her sleeve, to show her the alley we need to walk down. We reach the end and I pull off my school blazer, shoving it in my school bag and exchanging it for my green and grey striped hoodie. I push open the door to the old Catholic school, I see that people are already in, clearly people like to start drinking early, well, if 5 in the afternoon is early to you.

I pull Orlaith to the bar and I slam the gold card on the bar, making Eoghan look at me. He takes the card and puts it in the out box, he then lifts a wad of cash and gives it to me. He begins to tell me that someone called for me, someone who called me 'Malen'kaya Volchitsa.' Only two people have ever called me that...and one's... not here anymore, so I know exactly who's after me. And just in case I didn't, the name she left, 'Cáileach,' was a nice hint. The witch is a smart one, I'll tell you that much.

(Little she-wolf) (Witch)

I take the number she left and smirk at the gold card.

"We'll take two cokes Eoghan," I tell him before going to the corner table by the door, my table.

Orlaith follows me to the table and sits across from me, "Why's a witch looking for you?"

"Because after leaving me for two years she's finally reaching out," I reply.

"Okay...and what the fuck does that mean?"

"What it means is that I'm gonny be leaving for a bit. My sister needs me, and I can't leave her hanging, 'sides, I owe her."

"You have a sister? Since when?" my confused friend asks.

"Not by blood, not by law she's... emotionally? my sister. Yeah, let's go with that. Basically when I went missing two years ago she was there, we bonded, and she saved me. That's all you need to know," I finish.

Eoghan brings us our drinks and we thank him, I hand him back a tenner, he tells me that he'll be behind the bar if I need him and that we'll talk about this job later.

Orlaith and I stay at the table for a bit while we finish our drinks, talking about our day and how much we hate our math teacher. Then Orlaith gets a text from her mam saying that she needs to head home to do homework and have some family time, whatever that is. I wouldn't know, it's been a while since I was at 'home'. It doesn't matter though, this, Saint Marie's the mercenary job fair of a bar, this is my home now.

When Orlaith leaves I head up to the bar and sit on a stool. I look up at the dead pool to see who's been picked this week, the dead pool is fun for me because as a minor I'm not allowed to get picked, I can just sit and watch the chaos. Only downside is that I can't pick anyone, so... I mean it's a two-way street, so I guess that's fair.

"So, what's this witch after?" Eoghan questions.

"Not sure," I reply honestly, "But whatever it is, it must be important. We haven't spoken in two years, and last time we spoke, he was still alive."

"Him as in-" Eoghan begins.

"Yes, he as in my grá cáilte. She didn't even call me then, so whatever this is has de be big. It better be, or I might just hang up."

(Lost love)

"You won't. The stories you've told me- you wouldn't leave her. If you did you'd hate yourself. You can't bring do stóirín back, he's gone, but you can still help her."

(Your darling)

"You're right, it just breaks my heart, I had to find out they escaped from rumors and stories, but I found out that he died by watching it, live on tv. We had so much potential, he had so much potential, but now I'll never know. Glac siad a anam ró-ghasta."

(They took his soul too soon)

"You're right. But now she needs you. So go find out what the witch wants, and try your damndest to deliver," he says.

"I will," I say, smiling at him sadly, "Thanks, E."

"Not a bother," he assures me, smirking, "Mactíre."

(Wolf)

° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ ° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ °

I dial the number, she picks up after a single ring.

"Wanda, it's been a while," I say, trying to stay happy even though I know hearing her voice again will probably bring tears.

"Fianna, it has," she says, and I inhale sharply. No tears, not now, not yet at least.

"So, what do you need me for so urgently?" I begin to cut the shit.

"I need help. I need a friend, I need a soldier. Are you available for some last-minute travelling?" she says hesitantly. Clearly I'm a last resort, a "break glass in case of emergency" type help.

"Of course, when and where?" I ask.

"I need you to get to Leipzig-Altenburg Airport asap. We'll get you where you need to be from there," Wanda explains.

"Yeah, uh, when exactly do you mean by asap?"

"I mean, like literally buy a last-minute flight and get on it, within the next two hours. It'll be a two-hour flight, I'll pick you up and we'll get where we need to go."

"Alright, fine. I just need to know, what I'm up against. You said you needed a soldier? I need to know what I'm fighting for before starting a war."

"This is... the fight of a lifetime. You'll be fighting for truth and... safety. Who you'll be up against? Some of my closest friends and some of the deadliest assassins in the last thirty years. Now are you in or are you out? I don't blame you if you're out, but it would really help."

Wanda sounds... more than desperate, she's hopeless, she needs me, more than she ever has. I've fought many's a fierce foe in my time, but Avengers? Deadly assassins? That's usually more than a smidge above my paygrade. But she needs me, she's calling in her last favor, she clearly thinks I'm up for it. I hesitate for a second, weighing my options before making a life-changing decision.

"I'm in. I'll be there in four hours, max," and with that I hang up.

Guess I'm going to Germany.

I walk back into the bar and go through the side door that brings me to the lodging. I go to my room at sit on my bed. I'm leaving. I begin to pack my shit, I pull my kitbag out from under my bed and begin filling it with clothes. Leggings, t-shirts, hoodies, leather jackets, everything I might need. I pack all the essentials and then begin to think of how I'll smuggle my brass knuckles through security. I lift my mattress and take out a couple hundred pounds in cash, shove it in my wallet and keep packing.

When I'm all packed I begin to forge a note from my 'mother' for the school so that I can get time off without them calling up people who haven't seen me in over a year and a half. I make a simple excuse of appendicitis, was rushed to hospital late tonight blah blah, they won't really care, the school year's nearly over. I just need something for show so that I don't get called out.

I text Orlaith, letting her know I'm being called out of the country. She questions me at first, but when I explain that Wanda needs me, and I can't let her down she lets me be. She says she'll drop in and pick up the note tomorrow morning before getting on the 212 to Coláiste Feirste.

(Belfast College {It's an Irish speaking high school})

Now I've just got to talk to Eoghan. I tell him to come to the lodging hall, behind the bar. He serves the last couple of drinks that were ordered and joins me in the back.

"I have de go de Germany," I tell him, "It seems above my paygrade, but she needs me and I gotta be there for her."

"Okay... do ye have enough for the flight?" he simply asks.

"Aye, I've got all I need, me kitbag's packed an' everythin'."

"Ye said above yer paygrade. What'd ye mean by that?"

"I'm not just fighting with Wanda's friends. I'm also fighting against a couple o' them."

"What? Naw- What the fuck Fianna!"

"Look, she needs me, Eoghan, I can't just leave her."

"You're not fighting them assholes."

"Yeah, I am, Eoghan."

"Naw you're not."

"You can't stop me. I tol' her I'm in, and I'm going," I say, standing up and throwing the strap of my kitbag over my shoulder.

"Fianna, ye can't just leave to fight those dickheads," he stands up.

"I'm away," I say firmly, walking out the door.

"Get your arse back here, now!"

"You're not my da, Eoghan. You can't make me stay."

"I might not be your da, but I'm the closest thing to a father you've had these past years. You better treat me with a bit more respect."

"Maybe," I shrug, "But I'll stick with this for now," I say, throwing up my middle finger before leaving the bar. The taxi I called beforehand pulled up and I got in.

"The airport," I tell the driver.

"Right," is the simple reply he gives me.

I get a text when we're about halfway to the airport.

I click my phone off and look out the window at the familiar city I've grown up in. All my life except a year was spent here. When I wasn't here I was with the twins, me becoming who I am, them becoming who they are... or were, and then I left them. Not by choice. Not on purpose. But I still left them.

But now I've got Wanda back, and while I don't know how long I'll be with her for, it will be good to see her. If only I could've seen him one last time before I left, spoke to him one last time, made sure nothing was left unsaid. Instead I'm here, he's gone, and I'll never know how things could've gone if perhaps I never left.

The driver stops at the airport entrance and lets me out, I pay him the fare and he takes it with a smile. I grab my bag, close the door, and go into the airport. I go to the desk and ask if there are any last-minute tickets to Leipzig-Altenburg I could get on. While there was a seat I could take, it cost a little more than a pretty penny. Luckily I had enough to buy it and went through security immediately. I opted for a pat-down rather than the metal detector and thanks to my damn good hiding spots the woman didn't find my brass knuckles.

I wait for the half hour before my flight and board along with the others. I get to my seat and sigh. A two-hour flight isn't long, it's just boring to sit through, no one to talk to and not long enough to sleep through. I just sit there messing on my phone for a bit, making faces at the baby looking through the gap between the chairs a couple rows in front of me.

When the plane finally lands I prepare myself. This is it. I have to fight Avengers. I have to fight deadly psycho assassins. But first. I have to see Wanda. For the first time in two years. For the first time since he died.

° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ ° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ °

When I leave the airport I scan my surroundings and all the cars parked there. I stop when I come across a van that could be owned by no other, a white panel van with what I'd consider an iconic license plate: L: T34MC4P, I know that it's gotta be my ride. I go to the passenger side and knock on the window, the door opens, and I'm promptly enveloped in a hug.

"Someone order a conriocht?" I sat into my sister's shoulder.

(Werewolf)

She laughs and hugs me tighter, "I did, you little volk."

(Wolf)

I look at her with tears in my eyes, smiling sadly. She looks back at me with a similar expression and we just stay there in the embrace for a moment.

"Okay," I say, finally pulling away and wiping my tears away, "So who's ass do I have to kick?"

She laughs, wiping away her own tears, "No one's just yet. We gotta get there first, so get in the back."

"Back of a van?" I quirk an eyebrow, "Are there seats of does this look like a kidnapping?"

"There are seats, but they're laid down. Scott is sleeping on them, and I thought you'd want to stretch before we get there, human or not."

"That's fair, but the second I shift I'm gonna be stuck with Lu, you know that."

"I can get her to ease up, but you're stuck with her, you have to learn how to get along with her, okay?"

"Yes mom," I mock, "I'll see you on the other side."

I salute her before opening the back door, seeing a middle-aged man sleeping on the seats. Must be Scott. I climb behind the seats and lay down, shifting to the Mactíre, and as expected I hear Lu.

Lu is like a voice in my head, she's the canine and lupine instincts that got transferred during the experiments. She talks to me, mostly degrades me for my logic and emotions, planning things out rather than acting on instinct and figuring it out on the fly.

"So, she returns," Lu mocks.

"Yes, I've returned. Wanda needs help, she needs me, needs us to work together," I reply.

"Wanda? Wanda needs us?"

"Yes. And we're gonna work together. Right?"

"Yes. Of course. Anything for Wanda."

"Good. Now we're gonna be driving for a bit, so what do you suggest we do?"

"Sleep. Sleep is good. Sleep builds energy."

"Okay Lu, we'll sleep. But when we're fighting I need to take control, okay? I need to be able to focus."

"Okay Fi, you take control."

"Thank you."

And with that I begin to drift out of consciousness.

#peter parker x oc #peter parker x reader #spiderman x oc #spiderman x reader #peter parker #fianna macbhfloscaidh #the lone wolf #the lupine saga #nyx writes #jynx writes #pyre writes

1 note · View note

renee-writer · 4 years

Text

A Brawl Day Chapter 12 A Date

It was a long week. With he having Jane and having to do follow ups on the Black Jack article, he had no time for a real date with Claire. He saw her for a few minutes here and there( a quick coffee, a few minutes between meetings, at the school for drop off and pick up). They talk on the phone and text but he longs for hours with her. To sit and talk.

Finally Mary and Alex return home from their honeymoon. Jane is overjoyed to see them. So is Jamie. He loves his daughter and has enjoyed his time with her. He will have her more often, weekends, after school, weeks and months during her school breaks. But for now..

He calls her as soon as they all catch up and leave. A date is arranged.

She phones her mum. “Please can you watch Boyd tonight?”

“So, a meeting or presentation?”

“Neither, a date.”

Silence for a second. “A date! A real, getting dressed up, going out with a man, date?”

“Yes. He is the father of a friend of Boyd’s. His ex-wife lives just two doors down. He is sweet, kind, a gentleman, handsome, a grand father..”

“Oh my luv, finally! Of course I can. What time?”

“Seven. Thanks mum.” Now what to wear?

Boyd sit and watches as she rejects outfit after outfit. “To casual. To sensual. To proper.”

“Mum, why are you getting so dressed up?”

“I have a date with Jamie. You recall, Jane's daddy?”

“Yes. A date. Like a play date. “She almost chokes on her laugh. A play date indeed.

“Kind of. When adults date, they go out together to get to know each other better. Talk.”

“Oh. Like friends?”

It was easier, for now, to keep it that way in his mind, until they know exactly what they are doing. “Yes, like friends.”

“Cool. I like him.”

“Good. Me too. So, what do you think,” She holds out two dresses and wears the one he picks.

“Sorry to meet you in the lobby. I just want to keep it casual, for Boyd.” She says later as she meets up with Jamie. He smiles as he takes her hand.

“And your mam?”

“Yah. She is a bit~ well she is the one I get my stubborn, must have everything my way, way from. She was way to excited at the idea of me dating. I didn’t wish to subject you to her excitement just yet.”

“For that I thank you. I wish I could,” they stop by his car and he opens the door for her. She smiles and slips inside. He joins her.

“Could?” He starts the car, backs out, before reaching for her hand. Once they are linked, he continues.

“Could meet my mam and da? They passed away ten years ago.”

“I am so sorry Jamie.” She squeezes his hand.

“Thank you. I was just eighteen. My sister Janet, called Jenny, twenty-one. We inherited a huge estate. Lallybroch. Overwhelming doesn’t begin to describe it. I was in my first year of university. Jenny had just graduated and was newly engaged to my dear friend Ian. Jenny, she was and is a wonder. She shot off the parts of the house we didn’t need. She insisted that I return to school. She and Ian were wed in a small ceremony. I walked her down the aisle. While pregnant with her first, she transformed the parts of Lallybroch not used for the family, into a living museum and educational farm. Now, as the mam of two and a half, she still runs it, her and Ian.”

“She sounds amazing.”

“Aye she is. She and Lallybroch. When life gets to much, returning home is where I find my peace. I need to get Jane back there. Over the summer maybe.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“You and Boyd too if..”

“Yes if.” They have pulled in front of the restaurant.

“Come. We will get seated and you can tell me about your family.”

He pulls the seat out and takes a seat across from her. They order then he focuses on her.

“Right, so I told you my dad died. I was five.” His hand slips across the table and covers hers. She smiles down at them before continuing. “My uncle, Uncle Lambert, his brother, comes. He stays, going from being an archeologist to a professor of the same, to help my mum and I. I never understood the sacrifice until later.” She sighs as the waitress comes up and brings their drinks. They nod to her. She takes a drink before continuing. “He was awesome. Did all he could. I recall just vague memories of my dad. The way he lifted me over his head. The way he smelled of pipe tobacco and cinnamon. But Uncle Lamb, he walked me to school each day. Taught me how to ride a bike, to dance, interrogated my first boyfriend, walked me down the aisle, cried over Boyd in the hospital, offered to kill Frank for me. He was my dad, in all ways, but wasn't.

My mum, was wonderful too. Steady, dependable, loving. She plaited my wild curls back each morning, carried me to church once a week, hemmed my dresses and slacks, held me when I cried over my first heartbreak. Listened, as I talked for hours about music, boys, and school gossip, throw an enormous baby shower. Was my other coach during labor. Now she watches Boyd as often as she can, giving him the same strict loving guidance.

I wanted the same for Boyd. A mum and dad he could depend on but, Frank has seen him around six months total, in the last 5 years. Says these years it is more important that he be with me. That he will take over when he is older. Take over my arse!” A few people look their way, “Sorry it is just..”

“No, I understand. Your ex is a right bloody arse and needs put in his place. That sweet boy deserves better. I admit, I could be a better da to Jane. I intend to start. Have started. I am making a room for her in my flat. Her and Adso. After school, weekends, school breaks, she will be with me. To wait until the tough parts are over to be a parent is lazy and ridiculous. He really needs his arse beat.”

She smiles and chuckles. “That he does. I do all I can. I know though, that he needs both. I can't fully be a father to him”

“But you try. You are a good mam. Extraordinary.”

“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.” They are leaning across the table, a breath away. The ever present heat, raises again between them.

“Excuse me. Ah, excuse me.” She finally gets through and they break apart. “Your orders.” She places them before them with a smile. “Have a lovely dinner.”

“Christ! I tend to forget small things like time and place when around you.” He confesses.

“I suffer the same.” The both laugh, a bit shaky. “Shall we?” She gestures to the food.

“Aye lets.” They talk of work over dinner. They laugh and joke. They finish and he pays, leaving a generous tip. They walk outside and before he can open the car door, she takes his lips.

He groans into it, deepening it. They are breathless when they pull apart. “I had to. Been wanting that since the last kiss.” She confesses.

“Grand instincts. I feel the same. Wanted the same. So Claire, Do I take you home? Or..”

#my writing #outlander fanfic #jamie and claire #cannon divergence #outlander fandom #modern au #a brawl day #a date

19 notes · View notes

mwub · 4 years

Text

Etched in Stone

Chapter 1: Celestite

Sorry for taking so long, I’ve been moving and have limited internet access so I’m not online as often as I would like😅.

Anyways this is the first chapter for my multi fic Etched in Stone, thank you @ineffable-nalu for beta reading it, it gave me some ideas how to progress the story better

Without further ado~

——————————————————————————-

“Mama!”

“Yes dear?”

“Can you tell me our story?”

“Lucy dear, you've heard that story what must be a thousand times. Are you sure you want to add another to that tally?” A regal blond woman laughed at the expense of her now pouting daughter. The little girl greatly resembled her mother both in bearing and in looks. Golden blond hair framed her round but not too round face, a light dusting of freckles crossed the bridge of her button nose underneath large chocolate brown eyes, now sparkling with wonder as her mother began the story.

“Long ago,” Layla hummed, tucking Lucy deeper into her bed. Brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “There was nothing, no animals, no plants, no people to call Earthland home. For Earthland did not yet exist. And then one day the sun and moon, who loved each other very much but could not be together began to cry for they were lonely and wanted to share what they have with others. From those tears came life.”

“When the moons tears fell, so did the stars, oceans formed and moved to the moons silent songs. When the suns fell, volcanoes reached high up for the heavens in hopes of one day meeting the stars.”

“Get to the part about how real life formed mama”

“I’m getting there sweetheart” Layla laughed in reply.

“When the volcanoes split the earth, so did the ocean in response, creating lakes, rivers, and streams. And in some areas so cold the oceans becomes living stone.”

“ But it was not enough for the Sun and Moon, for they wanted more. They wanted children of their own. So in desperation they shed more tears and breathed life into the environments of their own creation. From the sea the first mermaids and mermen sang their first songs. From the stars came the first celestial priests and priestesses. And from the volcanoes came…”

“Dragons” Came an excited squeal from underneath a mountain of blankets.

“Uh huh, from the deep depths of volcanoes came Dragons. Now, when the Sun and Moon formed their children , they warned them that they must not consort with humans, for it will bring disaster. The creatures of the sea and stars agreed but the king of the dragons did not. He believed one should love who they wanted and did so anyway.”

Lucy clutched her dragon plushie tighter in anticipation.

“The Sun and Moon grew angry with the dragon and so cursed him with his disobedience. Never to be seen again”

“Whatever happened to the rest of the creatures, mama?”

“Despite obeying the Sun and Moon, the others were punished as well for fear of rebellion. Their powers locked away in the stones for which they were born, serving as relics to a great betrayal. Living as ordinary beings amongst the humans they were told to fear.”

Lucys eyes began to droop as a deep yawn escaped her, sleep taking its toll. Layla smiled lovingly at her daughter, reaching to wind a small music box on her bedside, delicate music tinkling gently.

“What do you think happened to the Dragon mama?”

“ Well I would hope he’s found peace, one who loves too much shouldn’t suffer forever.”

“Good night my Darling... “ Was the last thing Lucy heard before letting sleep take her.

———————————————————————

“What do you mean you don’t have any of those kinds of books?”

“We sell fact not fiction mam, as I’m sure you are well aware of that by now miss Heartfilia.” A flat voice drawled in reply, timbre as dull as the face making it.

19 Year old Lucy Heartfilia couldn’t believe it, this was the third town she had visited that refused to sell any of the old lore books, believing them to be blasphemous to the sacred teachings of Zentopia. She had really hoped that Hargeons famous library would be different but no such luck.

Oh well, time for good ol’ plan T.

‘Are you sure there isn't any dusty old books hidden the back~” Batting her eyelashes with gusto, leaning onto the counter, giving the store keeper a peak at her generous cleavage.

“A-Absolutely not! For the last time miss, no one carries that type of literature anymore, the church ordered their burning years ago.” The old man blustered with a face as red as a Roma tomato. “I couldn't sell you any even if could get my hands on a tome”

“Now get out”

“Stupid old Geezer’ Lucy huffed outside the shop now, refitting her paperwork back into her leather satchel and straightening her dark blue tartan skirt and white button down blouse topped with a adorable black vest. She had even dressed the part too, a scholarly student researching for a history project. What a waste of time, Another day, another bust.

Oh right, I forgot to introduce myself didn't I? My name is Lucy Heartfilia, daughter of Layla and Jude Heartfilia, Jude being a local bank owner and Layla a seamstress, at least they were until the economy crash 13 years ago. Jude died of a stroke from over working and mama… let's just say fate had other plans for her. I’ve essentially been on my own since I was 15, with only a few belongings of my own I've been on my own ever since.

Taking out her notebook Lucy couldn’t help but sigh, there goes Hargeon off her list, uncapping her marker to cross it off. At least that’s what she was trying to do when life hit her with an unexpected surprise. A pink one in fact.

Before she could even put the tip of her permanent marker to the paper she suddenly was shoved to the hard concrete, black ink streaking across her cheek in a zigzag. Oh NO, her makeup was completely ruined.

Rising up on her elbows to give whatever hit her a piece of her mind Lucy was stopped short by something extremely odd. No, not something. Someone.

As her vision cleared she was confronted first with dark, almost black green eyes inches from her own chocolate ones, and even more oddly. Salmon pink hair sticking up in a messy disarray of spikes all over his head, almost seeming intentional in its unruly chaos.

Next was the alarmingly warm hands on either side of her waist, breaking the fall of what Lucy now realized was a boy perhaps her own age. Lucy could say for a matter of fact he was good looking, decently built with a muscular physique comparable to a pro athletes and a perfect tan to boot. Yes, definitely cute.

Lucy didn’t get to ponder for long as the stranger then suddenly jumped to his feet with surprising agility, his hands bringing her up with him in a rush that had her head swim a little dizzily. One hand on her waist and the other holding her own limp hand.

“Watch where you’re walking weirdo, don’t wanna get yourself hurt do you?’ The boy laughed, still holding her a little too close for a stranger to be doing. What’s with this guy?

“Excuse me? You bumped into me, who the heck sprints down the street like that without looking where they’re going” Lucy huffed, her head finally clearing from the shock of her present situation.

The boy only smirked. “Oh I know I where I was going, you just happened to be in the way. What's the point of going somewhere if you don’t know where you’re headed”

“I-I Know where I’m going” Lucy blushed. “I’m going to the Magnolia after I finish my work here.” Lucy finished with a sense of finality,gripping her satchel more firmly, why would he even ask that silly question? Of course she knows where she’s going.

“Ok… well in that case you were walking in the wrong direction. Magnolia isWest, not East of here.” Snickered her mystery boy.

“Oh, well thank you” Lucy coughed a little awkwardly, taking a step back finally to take in his full appearance finally. He really was in excellent shape. Broad shoulders tapered sharply under a black one armed waistcoat trimmed with gold thread, cream trousers held up by a similar colored sash around his waist and a pair of black sandals adorned his feet simply. The collar of his jacket open just enough for Lucy to get a glimpse of toned chest littered with faint white scars.

A bit of an odd outfit in Lucy’s opinion, but for whatever reason it seemed to suit him.

“What’s your name?” The boy asked suddenly, snapping Lucy back to reality.

“Lucy… Lucy Heartfilia” Answering automatically, Lucy cursed herself, she just met this boy and she already felt the need to spill all her secrets. Aquarius would be ashamed of her. Never trust a man with your secrets, secrets are a woman's best hand in a war.

“Thats a nice name,” Pinkie whistled. “My names N-”

“STOP RIGHT THERE! THIEF” A booming voice rang out over the stone courtyard, suddenly dozens of Zentopian royal guards flooded surrounding area.

“Thief..” Lucy whispered, eyes widening slowly.

“Crap” N growled, his Happy Go Lucky demeanor suddenly dropping as he made a run for it, he was practically a blur as he made a mad dash onto a more crowded street and seemed to vanish among the crowds of the local shopping district and boutiques.

“Excuse me miss” A grave looking guard approached Lucy. “Do you happen to know anything about this boy?” Holding up what appears to be a wanted poster of N. Except instead of the seemingly happy guy she just met, she was greeted with the face of a much more menacing looking criminal. Sharp soulless eyes pierced her soul with malice and a cruel sneer curved his lips. She did not know this person.

“No, nothing at all.” Lucy said curtly. Keeping a firm jaw in hopes of not giving anything away. While it was true she didn’t know anything about him, she wanted to. Gripping her satchel more firmly in an effort to stand her ground, she stared back at the guard.

Giving her a hard look the guard finally deemed her innocent enough and thankfully moved on to interrogate more passerby.

Releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding, she bent down to collect some of the papers that had fallen with her unexpected date with the ground, noting that some appeared to be missing or at the very least out of order. She’ll check on that later on the train to Magnolia.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts of pink hair and a fanged grin, Lucy slowly made her way to the train station with vague hopes of catching the last train of the evening. Better luck tomorrow she guessed.

#fairy tail #fairy tail 100 year quest #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #nalu #ft fanfiction #nalu fanfiction

38 notes · View notes

a-bear-at-hogwarts · 4 years

Text

Mc Interview

Tagged by @phyl-the-gryffinclaw and @ravenclaw-craftsgirl !! Ty ^-^

----------

What’s your Name? ➔ “Like... my full name? Well I dinnae use it often but m’middle name’s Ursa Minor. Dahlia ‘Ursa minor’ Goldman. M’told my father picked it out.”

Are you single? ➔ For a second the blank expression wavers, her eyes going a little wide as she just blinks. “I... I don’t think that’s relevant? But I guess...” She pauses, her gaze dropping to the ground. “Since fifth year or so, no.”

Are you happy? ➔ “Happy or no, it’s not that important. I’m alive aren’t I?”

Are you angry? ➔ She seems to withdraw a little, sitting back as though to move herself further away. Arms fold over her chest. “...yeah. I’ve got a lid on it though.”

Are your parents still married? ➔ “Well. M’dad’s been dead for years now so I’d hazard a guess at no. Not like she ever remarried but...”

- NINE FACTS

birthplace ➔ “Scotland. Family owned parcel of land, home birth.”

hair color ➔ “Really? Brown.”

eye color ➔ “Also brown. Green in... some lights I guess but it’s just brown.”

birthday ➔ “I dinnae get why this is such a big deal for folks but it’s the 22nd of December.”

mood ➔ She gestures to her face, which frankly doesn’t clarify anything. “Take a guess.”

gender ➔ “M’a girl.”

summer or winter ➔ “Ehhh... gotta pick winter here. Feelin drowsy all the time sucks sure, but the glittering and cold is just real nice. Summer’s just way too hot for me, always feel like crap.”

morning or afternoon ➔ “Morning. Early, EARLY morning. Before everyone else is awake yet, it’s nice feelin like the only person in the world. Just you and the sunrise...”

- EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

are you in love ➔ She presses her lips together, shifting a little; it’s a small tell but she seems uncomfortable. “I... don’t know. I think so. But I-” She cuts off, shaking her head. “Next question. Please.”

do you believe in love at first sight ➔ “No. Attraction maybe, but appearance is deceiving. You can’t trust even the people you hold dearest, let alone a perfect stranger and I... I still don’t know if you can love without trust.”

who ended your last relationship ➔ “We both did. M’first lover wasn’t meant to last forever, we were both just kinda usin’ one another t’figure out what way was up when it came to loving. Eventually we just figured it wasn’t goin anywhere anymore and talked it out. Mad’s still close... aye, Mads. Maddy. I dinnae call her Madeline she’s no keen on it.”

have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ She blinks again, brow furrowing. “Well I... no in terms of romantic love, no.”

are you afraid of commitments ➔ She seems uncomfortable again. Her ankles cross, leaning back again and folding her arms tighter. “Look. Trust’s hard aight? Lets just... move on.”

have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ Now at least she unwinds a little, taking a breath as a fond look flitters across her eyes. “Used to be I wouldn’t be able to tell ye the last time I hugged someone. I’m getting better with it. Sammy hugged me just the other day, Lau too... Jason still pretends to trick me into it by doin something reckless and waiting for me to scoop him up. They’ve been good for me.”

have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ Now for the first time, a tint of colour crawls across her face as she fiddles with her fingers. “Well I uh... yeah actually. I thought they were just kinda... watching me train? But the kids kept gettin tongue tied and runnin off when I asked about it, all red faced. Took me a wee while to realise what was up with that.”

have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ She breathes a quiet sigh, toying with her fingers again. “Aye. Aye I have. No I dinnae want to go into that, next question.”

- SIX CHOICES

love or lust ➔ “Ah Merlin... Lust hurts less, in the short run? Easier to deal with, get rid of if needs be, doesn’t control you nearly as much if you’re no an idiot...”

lemonade or iced tea ➔ “Lemonade. I’m no keen on tea I’ve a caffeine allergy.”

cats or dogs ➔ “Yes”

a few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “I dinnae think I have anyone I could call a best friend? I let anyone in and they’d count most likely, I’m nae exactly the social type...”

wild night out or romantic night in ➔ “I like a night in. Gotta plan for a night out, gotta have someone watching my back or I feel on edge all the time. Nice night in with one person, just talkin or watching something... nice, peaceful.”

day or night ➔ She wrinkles her nose, brow furrowing as she turns it over. “... I think I’d have to say night. Wouldn’t always have said so but now... aye. Night.”

- FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

been caught sneaking out ➔ She snorts briefly, shaking her head. “Sorry but- aye. Aye once or twice, not often but I’ve made foolish decisions. M’good at gettin away with it at least.”

fallen down/up the stairs ➔ “Ach... aye. Forgot it was winter and slid on stairs at some point of most winters I’ve weathered. Almost a tradition at this point.”

wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “Aye... aye I’d say so. Ironically usually I want like that when I need something to stop hurting.” A grim smile spreads across her face for a moment, before she shrugs. “Tad dramatic sorry, but aye, yeah.”

wanted to disappear ➔ The discomfort is back with a vengeance. Her jaw tenses and she seems to withdraw completely, an invisible wall rising that shuts her off completely. “Not your concern. Move on.”

- FOUR PREFERENCES

smile or eyes ➔ “Eyes. Harder to lie with than your smile... admittedly from experience.”

shorter or taller ➔ She looks almost sheepish for a moment. “Admittedly... I’d like to be taller. I’m 6′5 last I checked, but I’m no actually that tall for my lot. Can thank my dad for that, he was 5′2 to the day he died.”

intelligence or attraction ➔ “Like... on myself?” Receiving no answer she assumes this is the case. “Intelligence. Pretty garners attention, I’m no too keen on that.”

hook-up or relationship ➔ Her brows furrow again as she considers it. “I think... now? I’d pick my current relationship over anything else like it.”

- FAMILY

do you and your family get along ➔ She’s tense now. It’s noticeable in every visible line of her body, though she takes a breath and tries to pull it out. “That’s a... complicated question. Most part aye. Sometimes... sometimes things fall apart in a big way. But that’s our business, no yours.”

would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ The sharp bark of laughter seems to have been drawn unwillingly, bitter. Like boiling steam forced out by pressure. ”Ye could say that. Couldn’t we all?”

have you ever run away from home ➔ “Merlin, no. I... I used to sneak out. That’s not worked out for me. Dinnae have to anymore, ma’s... busy.”

have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ “No. Mam’s too protective to ever consider it.”

- FRIENDS

do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ “No? They wildnae be my friend if I did, and I dinnae hate many folk anyways.”

do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ “Aye. I’m not that sociable in the first place, the folks with me today understand an worked through that. Took time, and I’ll admit I got... real attached. They’ve been good for me too. Sammy, Lau, Jason ‘specially when it come to m’touch sensitivity. Talbott listens when I just need to talk, Corbyn understands a lot of the stuff I can’t explain well, Diego’s fun to goof with I just... I’m real lucky y’know?”

who is your best friend ➔ “Really couldn’t say, but I guess Talbott’s my closest confidant? Or Chiara... Rowan’s always gonna have a special place in my heart though. They read me years ago when I was still more closed off than a gringotts bank, and they took those steps that made all this... possible.”

who knows everything about you ➔ The ghost of a smile crosses her face. “Nobody. Not a soul in this world.”

-----

aaa idk who to tag but this was super fun!! if you wanna do it consider yourself tagged!!

#Dahlia goldman

13 notes · View notes

queensdivas · 5 years

Text

A Damned Soul Chapter 2 (A Gwil Fan Fic)

It’s all coming together! WHOOP WHOOP! If you would like to be tagged please let me know! If you got requests on one of the Bohrap boys or the dads! Please feel free to request! I hope you all enjoy because holy shit this is getting fun to write!

@mexifangorl @leah-halliwell92 @bonafiderocketqueen @i-live-for-queen @its-funny-til-its-not @b-i-g-i-r-l-b-i @teathymewithben @mayofbrian @brianmydear @i-live-for-queen

Previous Chapter

Next chapter

Masterlist

He viewed the world as the first cinematograph when he would be walking around this mortal world. The people in constant motion, the quality of viewing, and even trying to add the old piano music along for the ride. It was the only thing that was keeping him sane before walking into a church to drown himself in holy water.

Fixing his black gloves as the coat man took his cloak off the from the hanger. He placed his dark purple hat on top of his head then prepared himself for the walk out to start his day. Breakfast was on his mind Walking out to the cool evening as the world changed into the fast moving of what he saw.

Till his eyes drifted to her..is when the reality of how the world looks would come back to his sight. Hundreds of times he’s witnessed this moment...words still manage to fall short in this instance. It was how she carried herself around the world when he would see her. Always walking with a destination to go..strong footsteps..not light like some kind of fae.

To him..she was an absolute Goddess…

She walked down the street with a basket full of pastries to take home with her which I’m assuming was her little herb shop down the street from my home. Till a bum came running behind her, pushing her down and snatching her basket.

“Thank you for the free pastries! You bitch!” He screamed as I held my cane up to hit him on his leg, collapsing before me and basically rolling all over the sidewalk in pain. Grabbing the basket from the ground as she dusted off her dress then smiling as I handed her basket back to her.

“Ummm..thank you Sir Lee.” Her eyes always looked down when we would first come into contact. But never doing the lifting of the chin so we could meet. It was seeing her standing before me in embarrassment or even humility.

The sunset was causing a little sunburned was beginning form which was time for me to get into the next building. Tipping my hat to her as I moved swiftly past her but her eyes lingering as they always do after we first meet..

“Wait..Sir Lee..if it’s not too much of a burden..may I ask… Oh never mind you look like in a hurry.”

“No please..your want is my command.” She gulped as she hid her face again from me..I don’t mean to frighten her. Just these precious moments seem to fly by so damn quickly.

“I know it’s not far..but will you please walk me home..if it’s out of your way then never mind. Oh never mind you’re too busy!” She scurried off before I could even give her my answer..which will always be yes....

When it comes to the sunlight and vampires. It is your enemy yes..but you won’t burst into a pile ashes with being in it. Eventually they become a little resistant to it so going outside to the world with the sun won't kill them. It’ll hurt a little bit at first so basically it’s like they’re getting a very bad sunburn. Luckily for Gwil. He’d been alive since the 7th century so the sun hadn’t been a major issue to keep himself alive. Still hurts after a little bit.

In his bright red 63’ Corvette Stingray which stuck out like a sore thumb, traveling up along the coast in the strong winds of the night traveling along with him. He was determined that this would be the last time..or would just stay outside on the sunniest day of the year.

Parking at the cottage as the sun was already setting creating a gorgeous orange backdrop of what he would be viewing for when he wakes up from his slumber. The realtor came out of the cottage with her perky smile on her face and a large yellow folder for all the paperwork he has to sign.

“Mr. Lee! It’s truly a pleasure doing business with you!” She shook my hand with her eyes trailing up and down my body. I can’t tell you how many damn times these women just keep staring at me like I’m some sort of eye candy to them. Quite revolting.

“Now you’re more than welcome to walk around to see how the movers got everything put together and ready to go.” This isn’t the first home I’ve had to buy over the millennials. Usually my home has been a castle, some large mansion, and large flat on a square.

Sitting on top of the hill the cottage sat that was a pearl white color but was also a little into the hill so the top would be covered in grass. Keeps a nice natural temperature for the house. My new home was a little smaller than most of the grand places I’ve lived before. As in it’s not a castle, a mansion, or even large flat on the square. It had a living room, a bedroom that is pitch black..for obvious reasons. No kitchen which makes the living room much larger. Then of course a bathroom.

“Now regarding the whole no kitchen. I can always expand the cottage for some room for a tiny little kitc.

“No kitchen needed. I plan on doing most of my cooking outside so to enjoy the view.” Lying to her as she nodded then placed the paperwork I needed to finish signing on the living room table. Scribbling down my signature on the lines so I could get this woman out of my hair. I’ve got things to start working on before tomorrow evening when she should be shopping for the catch of the day.

“Please doing business with you mam and I hope we can do business again.” Practically shoving her out of the cottage then locking the door tightly. Might as well get some rest before I go grab some dinner.

The curtains were shut all over the living room of the cottage as I walked over to the record player. Usually some very light chants get me to fall asleep after a move such as this. Pressing the play button as the house was beginning to fill with beautiful music.

IF it’s one thing I miss about the 13th century was the vast amount of chants that were sung all Sundays. Thought entering a church would practically be a death sentence for myself..walking by them in the early mornings after a night of hunting was always pleasurable.

Entering into the bedroom to see a very large cat sitting in the middle of my bed. His tail softly moving on top of the covers, those very yellow green eyes were staring directly at me..as if he was planning on pouncing at any moment. Cats in this world are very interesting. The whole “cats have nine lives” is very real and to the point some cats have been with me for a very long time...all annoying with their meows and purs.

“Look. As much as I love cats and all the so called happiness you bring to this world. I would prefer not to have you in my home. So c’mon.” Standing at the edge of the bed but he wasn’t moving an inch..stubborn feline!

“Alright then you stubborn feline.” My hands reaching down to him as he began squinting at me.

“Call me a feline again..I dare you ya bloody blood sucker!” Did...did he just talk…? That’s so damn impossible! I must be tired and a little bit of a headache most likely because I’m hungry!

“Shocked to see a feline talking to you?”

“HOLY SHIT!” Falling to the floor as I backed myself to the dresser! Stopping so that he wouldn’t pounce at me to scratch my eyes out!

“How the!?! What the!?”

“Your really going to question why I’m talking? We live in a world with vampires, witches, and other mythical creatures. Is a talking cat really so bizarre that you threw yourself against the dresser?” He had a thick American accent which stung like a viper somehow! Still sitting on top of my bed but closer to the edge so we could have some sort of eye contact.

“If I say yes...I get the feeling you’ll scratch my eyes out.” He sat in the middle of my legs. His ears pointed straight up as I tried to get this entire situation in my head. Like I said..I’ve had cats follow me around..but none of them have ever had some sort of conversation!

“So you’re a talking cat...and you’re bothering me because…?”

“I’ve heard of you before. You’re very famous for your tragic story. To some fellow immortals your story makes even Elvis Presley sad.” Elvis is alive?

“Elvis is alive? I thought he died in 1970 or something…?” Rolling his eyes as he got down from the bed and even appeared bigger than what he was on the bed. His grey fur was very fluffy and his paws were massive for a cat.

“You’re missing the point you idiot! Those of us who have been wandering this world since the beginning have seen heart aches and the destruction. But you..oh boy have you inspired the masses.” For an American cat his vocabulary is better than what I thought it would be.

“So you’re bothering me because I inspired the masses?”

“Nope. I’m here to help your dumbass because after watching this fail countless times..it’s now just utterly depressing.” This cat is making me feel absolutely stupid! A stupid cat is making me feel so god damn stupid!

“You may call me Hyacinth! That’s what my last owner called me and I’ve liked the way it sounds. Now I’ve got to grab some dinner and your stomach growling is flooding my ears. So let’s go find some sort of grub!” Prancing off into the living room as I stayed there in shock. His head poking back into the room with annoyance written all over his face.

Opening the door as he walked out to the front porch, looking around the coast before us. I’m feeling elk. DO you think I go running around eating whatever virgin blood is available? I got tired of human blood around the 14th century...mostly because that nasty plague.

We started walking along the coast in silence..trying to read each other’s thoughts, emotions, and not wanting to attack each other. He doesn’t plan on staying around does he? I need to get on with my life and this cat will get in the way with it!

“So..Hyacinth. I know you said you’re here to help...but why and how do you plan on helping me?” We stopped walking as he entered the water a little then began searching for some sort of fish.

“Like I said. Some of us have had enough of what happens. You think you’re alone in this world..but you’re not the only ones who’ve been completely thrown under the bus. We figured if we start with you..eventually we can all finally have some sort of peace in our lives. A spark has to..” He stopped to dive his head down then pulled out a tiny fish in his mouth.

Their pools of blood crept into my nose with my eyes turning dark red. They’re so close..small animals have been doing the trick..but they’re so..juicy! A white cloudy trail appeared before me that would lead me to those Elk! I could distinctly hear their calm heart beats which was like hearing Beethovens symphony’s for the time! Loud! And so damn desirable!

Squatting on the rock from a short distance to see their blood vessels flowing through each of their bodies. Which one was diseased, weak, pregnant, and the healthiest. My tongue grazing against my lips, my fangs beginning to grow from hunger. It's been so long since I’ve been fully filled..

It’s come down to the point where drinking human blood is just gross. Most humans blood these days are filled with so much damn sugar, diseases, drugs, and even to much damn coffee. But animal blood..no..wild animal blood that live on the richness of nature it was fuels me now. Mostly small animals..since I’ve been living in areas where Elk just don’t come to live in your backyard.

Hyacinth wandered over to where I was drowning myself in my delectable meal. Once finished, he sat down next to me as I sat up. Licking the blood off my lips then beginning to clean myself up.

“As she ever seen your true form?” Catching my breath as he looked up at me.

“Yes..every time. She never cowards away..”

“I think I’m beginning to hatch a scheme for us. Oh yes..it’s all coming together.”

#gwilym lee #gwil #Gwil lee #gwilym x reader #gwilym x oc #vampire fic #vamp gwil #better than twilight #bohrap #it's a bohrap boy #joe mazzello #ben hardy #rami malek #gwil x reader #gwilym lee x reader

26 notes · View notes