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minty-mumbles · 1 year

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Shifting Hues (Chapter 1: Blue Earrings)

Summary: In all the eras of Hyrule's history Wild has travelled to with the heroes of courage, red is considered a feminine color. Wild likes the color red.

Or: A fic that follows Wild’s journey to discover themselves

A/N: Beta read by @supraobsessed !

(Read on AO3 | Chapter 2)

~~~

It’s traditional for Hylian men to wear blue earrings.

Wild doesn’t know why. He just knows that most of the Hylian men he knows, at least those who have pierced ears, wear small and simple blue hoops. Time, Twilight, and Warriors all wear them.

There are exceptions, of course. Not everyone likes tradition, or cares to adhere to it. Legend wears gold studs and small silver hoops. He even has multiple sets of piercings in both of his ears, which isn’t common for men or women. But still, his earrings are simple. Masculine, even if they aren’t blue hoops.

Sky wears spiky orange hoops, made out of strange orange metal. But they're small, and they have magical properties, and Wild is pretty sure that's the only reason Sky wears them in the first place

But Wild- well.

Wild.

Wild wears flashy pieces of amber that dangle from his ears. If he turns his head quickly enough, they tap against his neck comfortingly, reminding him that they’re there.

He has some blue hoop earrings, stored away in his slate. He’d woken up from the shrine wearing the blue hoops and hadn’t given it a second of thought. He hadn’t even noticed he had earrings on at first.

The first time he’d seen a woman wearing dangling gems from her ears, Wild had known that was what he wanted. He’d stopped the woman in the street, asking her where she had gotten the earrings. The woman had laughed, asking him if he was looking for a gift for a special girl in his life. It had thrown him off balance so badly that he hadn’t even corrected her.

The woman told him of Isha, a renowned jeweler who lived in Gerudo town but had warned him that as a man, he wouldn’t be allowed into the town. He’d have to do some trade with one of the Gorons that traveled to Gerudo Town to get his jewelry. Apparently Gorons- not having genders like the rest of the Hyrule’s races did- are allowed into the town indiscriminately.

They traded the uncut gems they mined for the finished jewelry that Isha produced. Then they took the jewelry around the rest of Hyrule for other races to buy. Wild would have to buy from one of the Gorons.

It’s well worth tracking one of them down, the woman had told him. Isha’s products are always high quality.

He’d been quick to do so when he next had time to spare. The plain uncut gemstones he mined or picked up after fighting a talus were enchanting, with all their raw facets that reflected sunlight. He wanted that beauty captured in a form he could wear.

He’d bought the amber earrings he wore most often from a Goron in Hateno town. Thinking back on it, Wild suspects that the Goron had seen how eager he’d been and overcharged him, but he hadn’t cared at all about the extravagant price.

The second he got his hands on those pretty earrings, the blue hoops had come out of his ears and had gone straight into his slate. He hasn’t touched them since, and his collection of jewelry made by Isha had expanded significantly.

Wild had gotten his amber earrings blessed by a Great Fairy, enchanted to increase his defense. For practical reasons, but also so if anyone ever asked him why he wears the more feminine jewelry, he’d have that answer for them.

No one ever asks though, which he’s thankful for. He doesn’t like to lie, and he’s not very good at it.

He doesn’t think the other heroes have even noticed that he wears flashier earrings. If they have, they didn’t find it strange enough to comment on.

~~~

Wild’s still relearning things about the culture he stumbled into when he was released from the shrine. He knows he’s pretty socially inept, and he doesn’t pick up on other people’s cues very well. Whether that was a personal quirk or an effect of his amnesia was up for debate.

It wasn’t just reading other people’s body language he had trouble with, though. There are norms and traditions that people assume Wild knows, when he just didn’t.

Thankfully, people in his era were more than used to merchants and other travelers who spend most of their time out in the wild and are a little rusty with social interactions. They’re also more than willing to be more flexible with such things when they learn who Wild is.

His entire Hyrule seemed to feel a debt to him, for a reason Wild can’t explain. He had only been fixing his own mistakes when he’d walked into Hyrule castle and taken on the Calamity. He doesn’t deserve praise for finally finishing his duty a hundred years too late, even if everyone else seems to think they can never repay him.

Regardless of why though, people were a lot more willing to overlook his social blunders, and slowly but surely, he’s been learning.

He doesn’t love everything he’s learned so far. Some things seem just arbitrary and pointless. The pressure to conform to these norms grates under his skin.

For example, he’s pretty sure that red is considered a feminine color. The whole masculine versus feminine colors thing confuses him; he doesn’t understand how it’s decided whether colors are masculine or feminine.

Red is a feminine color. Wild thinks it might be because Gerudos so often have red hair, and Gerudos are always women, but he doesn’t know.

Wild likes the color red.

He likes it more than any of the other colors, he thinks. It’s bold, like the blood that has soaked every aspect of his short life. It’s bright, like the autumn leaves the Akkala region is known for. It’s a cleaner, purified version of the sickly purple-red color of malice.

People always tell him blue is his color, and failing that, green suited him best. Wild, reluctantly, thinks he agrees. With his pale coloring, any bolder, warmer colors he wore stood out too much. The softer blues and greens fit him better. So when someone asks him his favorite color, he says blue. He doesn't know why.

It’s not like men aren’t allowed to like red, but admitting he likes red feels like he’s admitting to something else, and he doesn't know what.

~~~

Wild has ruby red earrings that he keeps tucked away in his slate. The jewelry protects him against the cold, warming him when he travels too high in the mountains, or stays in the desert at night. However, when the temperature is decent, they act as regular earrings with no magical properties.

He doesn’t wear them too often. He worries they’re too gaudy, that they’ll attract too much attention to his odd jewelry choices.

But today, he wakes up and finds himself wanting to hide away from everyone. He hasn’t even opened his eyes, and he already knows it’s going to be one of those days. One of those days he would rather spend hidden away in the woods, far away from any prying eyes. The mumbled speech from around the campfire from the early risers among the heroes makes him want to turn over and hide in his bed roll.

He doesn’t want anyone's eyes on him, on his form, or his clothes. It all makes him feel so wrong.

He forces himself to sit up anyway. The camp is still quiet. As usual, he’s one of the first up, with only Time, Twilight, and Four sitting around the fire. He has to get up and get breakfast ready. And to do that, he has to get dressed.

He selects his normal outfit- the Champion’s tunic, trousers, and a black cloak- from his slate, and it appears on his body with a quiet fwoosh and a blue glow. None of the other heroes even look at him, more than used to the noise by now. Although he wears the Champion tunic every day and usually never has a problem with it, today it hugs his form in all the wrong places. Wild swallows down a hot, uncomfortable, nameless emotion, and tugs his cloak tighter around himself.

He needs to get up and make breakfast, but he really doesn’t want to.

He needs… something, today. Something just for himself, that no one else will comment on.

So he swipes through his slate and pulls out the ruby earrings. The earrings are incredible works of art. Isha did a wonderful job with the gemstones Wild had brought her. She’d managed to shape the stone so they caught the morning light as Wild holds them up in the sun, but still retain their rough and somewhat natural shape.

Wild puts them on, and smiles as the weight of them tugs on his earlobes. They’re a little heavier than his normal amber earrings, and they pull at his ears a little more than he's used to. The sensation- that little reminder that they’re there- soothes his irritation away.

Throughout the day, none of the other heroes seem to notice his wardrobe change, but Wild notices, constantly. He finds himself fiddling with the jewels throughout the day, running his fingers over the smooth facets of the gemstones. The tap-tap of his fingernails against the stones makes him smile.

Every time he sees himself in something even slightly reflective, his eyes are drawn to the beautiful red stones, hanging like drops of blood from his ears.

He’s washing dishes after supper in a river, and he sees himself. His long hair and red earrings are reflected back at him from the water, and like he has all day, he pauses and looks at himself for a moment. He can see the smile beaming from his face in the reflection. Maybe it’s vain to care so much about how he looked, but he couldn't help it.

And when he turns his head just so, and the ripples in the water are particularly strong, he can imagine that his cheekbones are a little less sharp, that his face is softer.

It’s times like this that he's glad that he doesn't have a larger frame with more muscle mass like Time or Twilight do. He’s always loved his leaner build, meant for flexibility and running instead of the solid muscle meant for overpowering strength. It would be harder to pretend, even for a moment, if he was built like that.

~~~

Wild knows he should’ve gotten rid of the vai clothes after he no longer needed to enter Gerudo town. Or at the very least, he should have tucked them away in a chest in his house, and not put them on again.

He put the clothes on again.

Of course he did. He can’t leave well enough alone.

He did so only once. It had been well before he was whisked away on this new journey, before he even knew about the heroes of the ancient past or of the spreading infection of black blood.

He had wanted to put on the clothes again, but he knew he couldn’t go back to Gerudo Town.

No matter how careful he was, Riju would eventually hear about his return, and she’d want to know why he’d returned to the town when there was no reason to do so. He didn’t want to be disrespectful of the Gerudos’ culture. If their laws said no men in Gerudo Town, that meant no men in Gerudo Town.

So when he inevitably cracked after weeks of thinking about the clothing, he didn’t go to the town. Instead, he tucked the clothing into the bottom of his bag, and took it out to the middle of the woods near Hateno, far away from any prying eyes.

But he still hasn’t been able to bring himself to put it on. What if someone saw him? He’d known the thought was irrational. There was no one out here who would possibly see him.

He wanted to put it on so badly.

He wanted to put it on, but someone could see him. No one would be fooled for long, especially if they knew him. The clothing was made for women, but it didn’t conceal his masculine figure. It definitely didn’t conceal his scars.

(Wild wasn't an idiot. The Gerudo guards, along with everyone else in Gerudo town, knew who he was. They knew he was a man. The only reason they had let him stay was that their Chief had given him permission to enter the town, and they’d needed his aid badly. It also helped that Wild never caused a scene or took advantage of being allowed inside the walls. He was also willing to adhere to their traditions, and wear the vai outfit. If he went back now- when he had no need to and Riju no longer had any reason to let him into the town- it likely wouldn’t turn out so well.)

So he left Hateno, leaving any sign of Hylian life behind. He ended up at the Great Plateau, his birthplace.

No one would find him there. Most couldn’t scale the walls, and those who could, like the Rito, usually didn’t find any reason to.

It was dark by the time he’d arrived, and by the time he slipped the clothing on, nighttime had fallen completely. But it had been summer, and the night breeze had been balmy, so even with the thin fabric of the Gerudo clothing, he’d felt comfortable.

He’d felt more than comfortable, actually.

It had made him happy, somehow, to know that if someone looked at him, they might not have seen a man, even if just for a moment.

He had left the clothes on all night, and had simply existed. He’d hunted, he’d explored the plateau (even though he’d long since memorized it like the back of his hand,) and he’d laughed, a good deal more than he usually did.

He’d felt light on his feet, and he had almost been dancing when he entered the Temple of Time.

And then he’d turned around to face the front of the temple, and he’d seen the stoney face of Hylia, eyes closed in perfect peaceful prayer, and everything had gone quiet.

Not that there had been music playing before, or any sound at all besides his own heartbeat, but it felt like the whole world stops breathing when he’s faced with the pinnacle of why this was wrong, wrong, so very wrong.

He wondered if Hylia had been laughing at him, or if she’d been watching him at all. He wondered if the goddess even has the ability to laugh. He felt ashamed, when he thought of her looking at him when he was dressed like that.

Hylia had chosen him to be the hero.

He’s the hero, and everyone knows the hero was always a man, even if they didn’t start out as one, like Hyrule and Warriors.

And men don’t wear women’s clothing.

Wild doesn’t understand why, but they don’t.

Did these feelings mean that Hylia chose the wrong person to wield the sacred blade? Or had she chosen correctly, and it was Wild who was just… wrong?

He left almost immediately, using his slate to teleport away. And he hadn’t gone back to the Temple of Time for a very long time, in the vai outfit or out of it.

~~~

When Wild was invited to join this group of heroes from the past, he hadn’t hesitated to say yes. The only time he had faltered when getting ready to leave was when it came to packing his clothes. He took his regular outfit, his heat and cold resistant clothes, his climbing gear, his Sheikah stealth outfit, and any other pieces of clothing that may help him on this journey.

He also took the vai clothing with him. He’d shoved it down to the very bottom of his bag, and when he rejoined the other heroes, he could have sworn that they would be able to tell what he carried somehow.

No one could, of course. As many talents as the heroes of old possess, none of them had x-ray vision.

Wild doesn’t know why he had felt compelled to tuck the silky fabrics into his pack. Sometimes he regretted bringing them with him on the journey. It’s not like he could wear them, and it put the clothing in constant danger of being discovered. But he had brought it with him, so there was no use regretting.

So now, several months into the journey, the vai clothes remain at the bottom of his pack for the most part. None of the other heroes have the habit of riffling through other people’s bags, so he doesn’t worry too much that they’ll find the clothes as long as he’s careful.

Sometimes, late at night when he’s on watch, he puts his bag in his lap. His hand slips into the bag to feel the silken fabric brush against his fingers. Only one hand, primed and ready to casually remove it at the first sign of someone waking up.

It’s comforting for some reason, to remember how the fabric felt against his body. To remember that what he’d felt when he’d worn the clothes- that inexplicable joy, that freeness- had been real, even if he can’t experience it again.

He doesn’t dare take the clothes out of his pack though, let alone put them on. Not even in the dead of night, not when there’s a chance that someone could wake up and see him. He doesn’t want to think of the questions that might arise from any of them seeing him dressed like that.

His late-night habit backfires on him, and bringing the clothes on the journey comes back to bite him eventually.

Wild doesn’t see the moment that Warriors finds the veil. He’s not really one to go through someone’s bag, so Wild has to assume that he had forgotten to put the clothes back at the bottom of the bag. That part of them had been poking out of the top of his pack and Warriors eyes had caught on the blue fabric.

Warriors doesn’t think the clothes belong to Wild, to Wild’s immense relief. Instead, he thinks it’s a gift for some girl Wild likes. It’s still not a good outcome. It’s still embarrassing.

But at least there doesn’t seem to be any inkling in Warriors' mocking tone that he knows about Wild’s shameful secret.

The others pay dearly for their teasing with their burnt taste buds, but his revenge doesn’t make Wild feel much better. The whole situation should make him angry. Instead, it’s only stressing him out and upsetting him.

He does his best to ignore the hurt bubbling up inside of him while he’s around the other heroes. He pushes it down, replacing it with righteous anger, angry glares, and a sharp thwack on the back of Warriors’ hand when the man tries to sneak food that isn’t spiced to high heavens.

Once the commotion around dinner has mostly calmed down, he walks off alone into the nearby woods. No one dares follow him, not while his temper is still so obviously sensitive and ready to snap.

He keeps going until he’s far enough away from their camp. When he’s determined that no one will hear him, not even Twilight with his wolf-like hearing, he stops. Slumping down, he sits at the base of a tree.

Slowly, WIld lets go of the anger he’s been using all evening to suppress his other emotions. Sadness and confusion and frustration well up to replace it, and tears are quick to start flowing from his eyes.

He doesn’t know… why.

Why he’s crying, why he’s so upset about this. Warriors and Legend- and Sky and Twilight to an extent- were only teasing. And the others didn’t interfere or stop them because they had only been teasing. Usually Wild is all too happy to engage in that kind of play and banter. But this time… it hurt.

It hurt because even though they hadn’t even known Wild’s most tightly kept secret- even though they hadn’t known that the vai clothes are his, and not a gift for someone else- they still made fun of him. What would they say if they knew the full truth- if they knew he was the one who the clothes were for?

Because men aren’t supposed to wear these kinds of clothes. And everyone knows that the hero is supposed to be a man and-

And Wild isn’t a man.

Wild growls, posture shrinking defensively against the tree as if that would help stave off the thoughts. They shake their head as they finally let themself think what they’ve known for a while. Their teeth grit in anger, and slam their hands down on the soft earth. Sharp nails dig into the loose, moist soil. It’ll be a pain to clean under their nails later but Wild doesn’t care!

This isn’t fair! It isn't fair, Goddess damn it!

They’re not crying anymore. The tears still well up in the corners of their eyes, but they blink furiously, not letting them fall. Why did this have to be them? Why couldn’t anything be simple for them?

This is how Hyrule finds them, an indeterminable amount of time later. Angry and seething at no one except themself for daring to feel like this. Wild doesn’t know if Hyrule had been looking for them, or if he’d just been wandering nearby and happened to hear Wild’s distress.

Hyrule’s concerned, as anyone would be if they found their friend rocking back and forth on the ground, one hand digging into the earth and the other, still muddy, gripping tightly at their hair.

He sits next to Wild, slowly and carefully, as if trying not to startle a wild animal. There’s a moment of silence where he just looks at Wild with concern gleaming in his eyes.

After a moment, Hyrule reaches out, giving Wild plenty of time to draw away from him. When they don’t move away, Hyrule eases their hands from their long hair.

Wild lets themself relax slightly. They can’t bring themselves to clutch at Hyrule’s hands as punishingly as they had been gripping their hair, so they’re forced to let their muscles loosen.

Hyrule looks at them carefully, no doubt trying to find Wild’s cause for distress. When he finds no obvious injuries or ailments, he asks them what’s wrong, but Wild has no answer for him.

If anyone would understand, Hyrule would. Or Warriors. But Wild can’t help but think of the relief that Hyrule and Warriors must have felt when they figured out they were men, when they knew that was what they were supposed to be. What the hero was supposed to be.

Wild can’t help but think of how angry Hyrule might be, at Wild for wanting so desperately what Hyrule himself has rejected.

Any thought of telling Hyrule dies before Wild even opens their mouth. They can’t tell anyone about this. Not now. Not yet.

#it gets happier I promise #linked universe #mint's fanfiction #shifting hues #Lu wild #Lu hyrule #Lu legend #Lu warriors #lgbtq+#queer themes #trans wild #gender dysphoria #misgendering cw #(unintentional)#angst

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amphibious-thing · 1 year

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Nothing puts the arbitrary nature of gender roles in perspective like historical gender roles. For example in the 18th century umbrellas were considered feminine and men who used them were characterised as effeminate and foppish. In the 1780s as umbrellas became more popular amongst men there was a cultural pushback to the perceived gender transgression. On the 16th of August 1780 the Morning Post complains of of the “canopy of umbrellas” bemoaning that “the effeminacy of the men, inclines them to adopt this necessary appendage of female convenience”. On the 4th of October 1784 a letter to the Morning Chronicle goes on a tirade against men using umbrellas:

Sir, Fashion, or custom, stamps an authoritative power on every absurdity, otherwise by what right do men establish the several inconveniences, which are daily felt by all who wish to pass unmolested in the public streets. If any one is so ridiculous as to make a dead stop in the common path, and gape about like a country lout, the frequent gibes and jolts, which are the common consequents of such misconduct, will in little time enliven the understating; but what shall we say to evils which are unavoidable to the most attentive and alert? Of this kind is that vile foppish practice of sheltering under a umbrella, and moving forward with such momentum, as might very quickly scoop out an eye, draw a tooth, or detach an ear, were those parts to be opposed to the severe stroke of one of those fantastic instruments. That the ladies should be allowed to secure their beauty and persons from the heat of the sun, or the inclemency of the weather, every one is too much interested to deny; it is natural, and has a striking effect. Besides the base of the hoop, and a decent respect, keeps us at an awful distance, and prevents any ill to those who are so happy as to meet them; not to mention the peculiar adroitness with which they manage both superior and inferior shades. But to see a great lubberly cit, bounce from his shop, with a coat, hat, and wig that are not together worth one groat, with a bloated ruddy countenance, which bespeaks him to have guttled like a hog, shelter his heavy [illegible] from the influence of the solar beam, is intolerable. Let him be stationary under cover of the shade of his shop window. The macaroni being of the doubtful gender, may in part claim a feminine right; his dress is too delicate to bear an heavy shower, perhaps his person is so too; but a coach, if a clean one is to be found would serve his purpose much better, as there would be less likelihood of his being washed away into the kennel, which he deserves to be kicked into for his d-----d affectation.

Upon the whole, let me tell you, this is a vain and dangerous custom- For the safety, therefore, of his Majesty’s liege subjects, who sensibly fence themselves with a good beaver and surtoot upon necessary occasions, let it be enacted, that the Levitical Law be put in full force in case of injury done to any party, viz. “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,” &c. if the face should be scratched or torn, let the Coventry Act be in full force; but as prevention is preferable to penalty, be it also enacted, that all such male animals as use these unhandy instruments be drove off the foot path into the streetway, and that their umbrellas be left to the mercy of the hackney coachmen.

#fellas is it gay to shelter oneself from the rain?#macaroni

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marzipanandminutiae · 3 years

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Okay but genuinely curious so I’m giving you more than a slight excuse if you’re willing. Please tell me all the things about historical ear piercing?

So, this interests me a lot because it's something that's both small and significant to many women in modern western culture.

You may not think about your ear piercings much beyond "what earrings should I wear today?" but everyone has a story about when they first got them pierced. It's a minor rite of passage (sometimes depending on your heritage/ethnicity), and it's a common Thing in so many lives despite not being talked about all that much.

Also because it was Okay for a long time- and then wasn't.

I know less about western piercing culture pre-1800s, but I believe women in at least some parts of Europe and European-colonized America did it going back quite a long way. And by the time 1800 rolled around, it was fairly commonplace.

There were a couple of routes the 19th-century girl or woman could go when it came to piercing her ears. One was the home method, which seems to have been more or less as seen in The Parent Trap (1998). Specifics could vary, but generally the piercer was a female relative, servant, or friend. Ice and a piece of fruit to catch the needle seem to have been optional. Louisa May Alcott's novel Eight Cousins, published in 1875, mentions threading the needle with silk thread, which is then tied into loops like thread hoop earrings, to be turned through the holes often. I imagine that was one way of replicating the effect we now get from turning our studs for a few months so the holes heal open.

This 1830s painting shows a little girl having her ears pierced at home:

("The First Ear-ring." Sir David Wilkie, 1835.)

Another option was to go to a jeweler, in a sort of proto-Claire's experience. Many jewelers offered ear-piercing services to women, although I get the impression that may have been more common in the latter part of the 19th century. I could be wrong, though- it warrants more research.

(Section of an 1878 ad for the shop of J. Julius Weinfurter, a New Orleans jeweler.)

But around the 1890s, the occasional grumbles about ear piercing being "barbaric" began to get a bit louder. Some suffrage activists complained that women were being expected to mutilate themselves for fashion. Racism/ethnic prejudice and classism also contributed to the tide of public opinion turning. Screw-back earrings, an ancestor of clip-ons, were invented in the late 19th century, and by the end of the 1920s, they were far more common than earrings made for pierced ears.

During the 1930s-1950s, piercing one's ears was widely considered vulgar and possibly an indicator of sexual promiscuity. Nice Girls Didn't, at least among the culturally dominant ethnic groups, in the U.S. and U.K. (So you can imagine how that made things for girls and women for whom it was still part of their culture- gotta love that extra dose of stereotyping/prejudice.</s>)

In the 1960s, however, things shifted again and mainstream culture began slowly accepting the idea of pierced ears. A lot of Baby Boomer women have war stories about trying to persuade their parents that it wouldn't be the end of the world. My own grandma let my mother have it done by a local doctor against Grandpa's wishes, though he ultimately didn't notice until she'd been wearing her new earrings around the house for a week.

And now, it's so incredibly normalized again that I was being gifted pierced earrings like three years before I actually had mine done. People just assumed I'd be able to wear them- most eight-year-olds could, after all.

We've come full circle, in a weird way. Makes you wonder what minor bit of modern personal adornment may come to be considered taboo- and then acceptable again -in the future.

#ask #justalifelongphase #ear piercing #history #social history #19th century #fashion history #dress history #piercing #long post #also I just wrote a brief description of a 7-year-old getting her ears pierced (at home by a maid) in 1872 #in my current WIP fanfic #so I have it on the brain #(same character is 20 in the main story and just re-pierced herself after her holes closed up due to 6 years of not wearing earrings)#(long story)

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grogunotfound · 2 years

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pairing ╾ ben poindexter x fem!reader

word count ╾ 1.6k

synopsis ╾ a long night at the nyc gentlemen’s club results in a brewing attraction between a certain fbi agent and dancer

warnings ╾ flirting?? that’s all really. maybe slight nsfw hahah but nothing serious

a/n ╾ i just finished watching daredevil and i have found my muse.. possible spicy part 2? (;

———

“Come on, girls! Let’s go!” Your boss shouted into the dressing room, music blasting from the club behind him. “Can’t keep the gentlemen waiting!”

You rolled your eyes and continued taking your time with fixing your makeup. The private dance you finished earlier got a little too handsy for your liking, so you had to redo your look. You carefully outlined your eyes with black eyeliner, adding gems to the inner and outer corners of your eyes along the way. You continued to add more highlight before taking out the messy ponytail you had. You quickly brushed it out, letting your natural hair waterfall onto your shoulders, effectively accentuating your collarbones.

Then, you changed your pink outfit into a dark purple one, paired with your usual black stilettos. You quickly sprayed on perfume before following your fellow dancers out the door onto the main-stage. You placed a smile on your face, quickly maneuvering yourself around the dancing pole in the middle of the stage. Men with wads of cash carelessly threw dollar bills by your feet, clearly desperate for your attention. You chuckled to yourself, sliding into the floor to teasingly pick up your earnings.

This routine of dancing, changing, refreshing, back to dancing on stage, dancing on people, and changing again was how you spent your usual nights. Dancing at a strip club in New York City was your survival job—and, hey, who’s to judge? It has been your dream to live in that so-called “city that never sleeps.”

You finished the night with $3000 in your pocket, which was pretty good for an early Friday night. You asked for the weekend off because you have been working nonstop for the past month. You said goodnight to your friends and headed for the closest bus stop.

The “Northstar Lounge” was located closer to Times Square, but you lived in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen with a few roommates—majority of them your age. When you came home that night, all four of them were there as well. They cheered when you walked in, knowing that you had a stay-cation weekend. You smiled in response and quickly dove into your room to change.

When you came out, you had a comfortable outfit on and quickly found yourself melting into the couch. They huddled over to you, offering water or some snacks—being the angels they are. After providing a bag of popcorn and pizza, they made themselves comfortable on the couch with you.

It was the most amazing, relaxing night of your life. You realized you should probably take breaks more often, but that dream quickly faded when your closest coworker called you on Saturday.

“BITCH,” they squealed into the phone, “you have to come to tonight. These fuckin’ FBI weirdos are renting out the place. So weird, but it has gotta pay well. Come on, it’ll be fun!”

You considered it for a moment, remembering that you loved the job for it’s interesting characters and learning about the people who come in. And, this would be the next-best gossip for the next couple of days—you couldn’t miss this. You groaned, “Fine. I’ll see you later.”

You dragged yourself out of the bed to prepare yourself for the next couple of hours. You promised to just sleep in tomorrow morning. You threw on your favorite dance outfit before putting on regular clothes.

You said bye to the other roommate who stayed in tonight before heading to the club. You checked in with security and your boss before heading backstage.

“There she is!” One of your friends screamed at your arrival. You greeted everyone with kisses and then headed to your mirror. You touched up on your makeup, switched out your stud earrings for hoops, took off your outerwear, and pulled your heels on.

Music bounced off the walls of the club with lights flickering here and there to add to the ambiance. It was darker than usual, but you figured because it was a “work” event. You ignored the circumstances and made your way across the room.

You greeted various agents and officers, none of them catching your eye. You scanned the room so more, searching for the right person to sort-of interview. Just as you were about to head in to change, you crossed paths with an agent with perfectly slicked, dark blonde (nearly brunette) hair sitting by himself in the darkest private booth.

He seemed like he wasn’t enjoying self, nor that he wanted to be there in the first place. You strutted over to him, letting yourself get swept away with compliments by some passing agents. When you reached out, he had already seen you coming.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to do anything.” He gave you a slight nod, pursing his lips in awkwardness.

You grinned, “No worries. How about a chat instead”

He hesitated, “Oh, sure. Can’t guarantee I’ll tip as much as the rest of the guys out there.”

You let out a laugh, “What’s your name, agent?” You slid in the seat next to him, catching a glimpse of his fading cologne combined with a hint of sweat—god, you were entranced.

“My friends call me Dex,” he took a sip of his drink. “What’s yours, ma’am?”

“Definitely not ma’am. And, we’re friends now, Dex?” You reached over to dust some lint off his jacket.

“We could be,” he whispered in response, pulling closer to your face before going for another sip.

You were slightly caught off guard by his behavior, but you weren’t complaining. A good work night always consisted off heated flirting, “they call me Love.”

“You sure that’s really your name?” It felt like he could see right through your lies.

“Sorry, I’m working. And we’re not friends.” You teased and stood up to leave him wanting more.

“Love, wait,” Dex cleared his throat. He opened his mouth to finish his thought, but it never came.

You sighed in an exaggerated, exasperated manner, “I’ll stay.”

“Good,” he nervously laughed, “I’m not used to being here.”

“That’s okay, I can do whatever you’re comfortable with.” You shrugged, making yourself comfortable in the seat across from him. This allowed him to get a full look at you—and he was captivated by your essence. He doesn’t remember seeing anyone so perfect, so commanding before.

“Sure,” Dex gulped, his head buzzing with thoughts. He took a deep breath and pushed them away. “You from New York?”

You shook your head, “you?”

“Me neither,” he responded. “Do you like it here?”

You nodded, “you?”

“Yeah, I really enjoy my job.” Dex smirked as if a happy memory came back to him.

You smiled in response, “that’s good to hear. Don’t know if I can say the same things sometimes.” You playfully played off the last part.

“What makes you say that?” He asks, genuinely curious.

“Sometimes men suck,” you shrugged and leaned back into the cushioned pillow behind you.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault,” you smiled and placed your hand on the table that separated you two. You hesitantly glanced at his hand, just mere inches away from yours.

You and Dex continued to talk throughout the night in profound water-cooler conversations—small talk that allowed you two to get to know each other better. He was really an interesting character: he was in the army, he worked at a suicide prevention hotline, and he played baseball. So, when the party left, you were kind of disappointed to see Dex go.

And, what sucks most, is that you didn’t get any of his information nor did he get any of yours. You sulked back to the dressing room to get ready to go home. You did your usual nightly routine and hopped on the next bus to your apartment.

When you made it to your stop, you quickly got off to rush home. You hated being out in your neighborhood late for every and all safety reasons. You heard rustling in the bushes across the street, which was enough to prompt you to speedily walk to your front door.

———

The next morning you woke up decently late. You decided to spend the day running errands since you had the time to take your time. You were able to do laundry, buy groceries, and drop off mail at the post office. However, you struggled with the amount of laundry and groceries you had to carry.

You wobbled over back to your apartment to complete your list of chores. Then, one of the straps of your reusable grocery bag snapped, causing some snacks to fall out.

Before the wrappers could hit the ground, you heard someone practically dive for them. They grunted as they stood back up. He had that similar lopsided smile with dark blond hair.

“Dex! Are you stalking me or something?” You playfully teased as he put the snacks back into your bag.

“I was just meeting a friend in the neighborhood, so I think you’re stalking me.” He joked, flashing that cocky, charming smile you have grown to like.

You rolled your eyes, “And, I just happen to live in the same area. Very coincidental.”

“You live here? Here, let me help you with that.” He gestured to your massive load of bags. You agreed and took him to your front door.

“I got it from here, thanks Dex.” You hoisted the remainder of your bags onto both your shoulders.

“Are you sure?” He rose a brow.

“Yes, I’m just as strong as you.” You laughed.

“It’s really no problem,” he insisted.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m just worried about the state of my place.” You placed a timid hand on his arm.

“Maybe we can hang out someplace else then?” He suggested.

You tried not to scream in excitement, “I’d love to.” He took out his phone to get your number, which you gladly gave to him.

“I’ll see you around then, my Love,” he chuckled, already sending you a text so you knew who it was.

You giggled, “You know where to find me.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #writing #dex #ben poindexter #daredevil #netflix #dex x reader #ben poindexter x reader #daredevil x reader #imagine #bullseye #marvel #marvel x reader

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bump1nthen1ght · 3 years

Text

Waltz of the Vampire (Vampire x Reader)

Pairing: Fem!Fat!Reader/Fem!Vampire

Genre: Fantasy (Vaguely Historical/Renaissance)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3469 words

Summary: You forcibly attend the ball of the rich family that has just moved to town, unexpectedly finding comfort with one of their daughters.

Request: Hey!! I love your writing a lot! Would you consider an elf or a vampire whatever suits your fancy with a fat fem!reader. I try hard not to hate my body but it can be really hard sometimes and I know a lot of people go through it not just plus size folks but... idk it’s my weakness and a huge comfort. Anyway I hope you have a awesome day!!!

A/N: I really loved writing this request, and after I finish Thicker than Water, I might make a part two.

Serena has been to a lot of parties. Too many, in her opinion, even over her 326-year span of life. Her matriarch, “Mother” as she is called by her and the coven, believes there is no such thing.

Every move they make is celebrated by a grand ball, invitations sent out to every available person. Mother claims it’s the best way for them to fit in, to hide in the crowd rather than the shadows.

Serena understands this, she’s seen it work wonder for their reputation time and time again, but she still does not like them.

Tonight is especially dreadful, a bad hunt the day before and a quick spat with her “brother” enough to sour the whole get together. Serena spends most of the night eluding suitors and dance partners, embracing a mysterious persona so she can enjoy some alone-time.

As she looks around at the dance floor, Serena concludes that she is not a fan of the new fashion statements of this era. A bit too strict, too formal, with precise lacings and starchy hoop skirts. It makes the dance floor too stuffy in her opinion, no room to twirl your fabric or move your limbs.

She sips on her special red wine, eye’s lazily perusing the hall for her siblings, hoping to gain some company, when she spots you. Selena is brought to a pause, mid-drink, as your embroidered skirt glimmers, catching the light as you twirl it across the room. Her eyes widen, determination peaked when she notices you don’t have a partner.

How beautiful.

----------

Oooh, I love this song.

You hum, unconsciously bouncing from side to side as your favorite piano piece begins to play. It’s a piece you have on your list to learn in the future, bubbly and cheerful with a bumpy melody and the option for a fun violin accompaniment.

The energy of the music quickly translates to the dance floor, where couple’s begin to giggle and improvise amidst the strict waltz and counted-steps. It’s a shame that it’s such a good piece because for the first time of the night, you really wish someone would ask you to dance.

When the news the MacArthur’s were throwing a huge welcoming ball had reached your household, your mother quickly began throwing together preparations for you to attend. You had sighed, set your feet in a preemptive ice bath, and ready for another boring night.

As a former socialite herself, from girlhood you were forced to attend party after party. While it had done as intended and transformed your sister into a perfect lady, it had the opposite effect on you. The stiffness of the hoop skirts, the suits, and all the damn people always stuffed up your throat and flushed your face. With your sister as the shining star, it was easy for you to slip into the shadows, and avoid the preening of your mother’s etiquette lessons.

Now, as a growing woman with more and more free-time, you used all of your abilities to avoid huge social gatherings. You found your place amongst small gatherings with local friends, sneaking wine from the cellar and telling stories in the freezing cold around a fire

But as the music increases it’s tempo, with flourishing skirts and plenty of laughter, you can’t help but lose yourself in the joviality of the gathering. The fancy dresses, the even fancier alcohol, and the decadent ballroom had you wondering if you had been missing out a bit.

If only Margaret and Min-Young were here, now that would be a party.

You giggle into your champagne, heels still tapping against the hardwood and hand slightly tossing your skirt back and forth. You easily fall back into your reclusive corner to avoid embarrassing eyes who may glance upon your solitude. But a tiny yelp escapes you when your heel accidentally digs into a foot. You whip around, faced already flushed red with embarrassment.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! I didn’t look where...I was…”

Behind you, dressed in a dark purple satin gown, is Serena Macarthur herself. She stands a solid two heads above you, hair done up in an immaculate up do and two shimmering ruby earrings dangling from her ears. Her face is serene, lips curled up in a bit of a smirk. You quickly jerk away and give a half-decent curtsy, noticing her beautiful black dancing shoes which you just stomped on. “I apologize, Miss Macarthur, I can’t believe I acted so foolishly. I didn’t realize-”

“Oh, there is no need to worry darling. I’m alright, no harm done.” She says, her voice low and musical, almost like a thrumming bass line. Her gloved hand is placed on your shoulder, the other slides up your neck and tilts up your chin to meet her eye line.

My god, she is stunning.

Her eyes are a color you’ve never seen before, not dissimilar to the sharp gemstones in her earrings. Serena’s makeup, simple yet sharp, does everything to accentuate the cardinal-red of her irises. You can feel the simmering blush heating up your skin as she continues to stare. “I was actually coming this way to speak to you, flower. It’s my fault really, for sneaking up on you.”

You shake your hands, nearly spilling over the champagne in your glass. “Oh no, it’s no problem. Like you said, no harm done”. You force a giggle, hastily taking a sip of your champagne. “May I ask what you wished to speak of?”

Serena smiles, a smirk which is just as sharp as the rest of her, though her eyes betray no slyness or ill-will. “I was going to enquire about your dress. I noticed it from across the room and was stunned by how enchanting it is.”

“Oh! Well, thank you very much.” You blush, unconsciously rubbing your finger over the embroidered flowers on the skirt. “I actually-”

“Whoops!”

In less than a second, you find yourself right next to Serena, as a drunk dancer trips and spills his drink all over the floor. You blink, brain not even fully processing what just happened, as you notice Serena’s arm on your elbow and the red wine splattered where you stood just moments ago.

Did she move me? But when-how did she-

“Sorry! Sorry about that.” The man slurs, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. His partner, a distressed young woman, grabs his elbow and forces him to stand straight. “Guess I’ve had too much.” His embarrassed partner chokes out a laugh as he continues to sway.

“Yes, it seems you have. Make sure to fix that, soon.”

Serena’s tone is barely above talking volume, but holds a command like a powerful shout, Both of the dancers jerk with surprise, furiously bowing as the female drags the man out of the hall.

Serena sighs, rubbing her forehead with exasperation. She turns toward you, smiles back on her face.

“Would you like to take this to the garden? Seems the party is getting a bit too rowdy for good conversation.”

You nod, still a bit befuddled by Serena’s quick mood change and even quicker reflexes. But you link elbows when she holds hers up in invitation nonetheless, following her outside.

---------

The Macarthur estate is beautiful, as expected, and the garden fits that image to a T. Even in the moonlight you can see the finely cultivated roses bushes which decorate it, along with the gleaming marble fountain and sitting space under an ornately decorated gazebo. The two of your heels click along the paved path as you walk towards the center, your half-empty drink still in hand.

“You were sadly interrupted, but you were mentioning something about the dress?”

You nod, taking another long sip of your champagne, hoping a little alcohol may temper your thoughts.

“Yes, I was just going to say that I made it myself.” Serena’s eyes grow wide, eyes darting up and down your attire, and you feel yourself fluster. “It’s a tradition in my family, you see. My great-great-grandmother was very diligent when it came to teaching her kids how to sew, even the boys, and it became such an insisted upon skill that all her children ended up making their own evening clothing for special occasions. It ended up filtering down that every child makes one special outfit themselves, for what occasion it doesn’t particularly matter, but something thatt is uniquely you.” You pull up the end of your skirt, pointing out the flower pattern. “I’ve always had a fondness for gardening, so I tried to incorporate that into my dress. Plus,” You smooth out your skirt, “Most party dresses I’ve found are a bit too restrictive for my tastes, I wanted something I could really get into some fun with, y’know?” You force a giggle, immediately wondering if that comment was a bit too salacious for high-society talk. Serena simply smirks, letting out a low chuckle of her own.

“I wholeheartedly agree. May I take a closer look?” She gestures to your skirt and you hastily nod. The two of you take a seat by the fountain, Serena’s glove accidentally brushing against your calf as she picks up your skirt. You try and control your shiver from the simple contact. She hums admirably as she runs along your work. “Such incredibly done Sunflowers, the detail you put in is astounding. And these are forget-me-nots, correct?”

“Oh yes, those are my favorite kind.” Serena’s hands continue to run along the linework, following the bumps and dips of each flower petal. “As you can see I had trouble with the lavender, what with the petals being so small.” Serena shakes her head, a fond smile on her face. She looks up at you, forcing you to hastily act as if you weren’t admiring her face.

“The work you put in makes them twice as beautiful, mistakes be damned.” You blush even harder, throwing your hand and taking a final sip of your champagne.

“Thank you very much, but I have a long way to go.”

Serena’s hand hasn’t left your skirt, now resting on her lap as she continues to look at you. You swallow the last droplets of champagne down your throat, trying to fill the silence.

“The band is incredible, did you hire them locally?” You stutter, setting down your glass. Serena continues to fiddle with your skirt.

“Some of them, yes, but the violinist is actually my older sister, Marigold.”

“Wow! Make sure to give her my compliments, she’s very talented.” Serena nods, before her eyes dart down your toes. As the music echoes out of the hall and into the garden, you had unconsciously begun to tap your toes to the beat. When she glances at you, she can see your head slightly bobbing, a content look painting your face. A small smile forces one on to hers.

How cute. She internally sighs, noting how soft the skin of your cheek looks, the nice curve of your jaw, and your adorable noise. The pulsing blood which would run down your throat, the crimson looking devine against your exposed collarbone and dripping below your breast line.

She stands up abruptly, forcing those evocative thoughts out of her mind. You were quite cute and good company, someone Serena would like to get to know. Sometimes the crossed wires of her brain confused attraction for bloodlust, mistaking the butterflies for hunger pains.. She is almost embarrassed; It was one of the common hurdles new vampires had to overcome, a bridge she thought she crossed years ago

You startle, looking up at her with innocent doe eyes. Serena holds out her hand, ignoring how she can hear your steady pulse, unintentionally matching the beat of the music.

“May I have this dance, fair lady?” She almost whispers, bowing slightly.

Your face flushes, nodding without a word, and slipping your bare hand into her glove.

Serena boldly grabs your hip and presses you against her, quickly taking the lead. Your brain fervently recalls all of your formal dancing lessons, pressing your head into her chest as she takes you along.

In her arms, following her perfected steps, that slithering self-consciousness sneaks back into your brain. Your logic tries to reason with it;

You wanted to dance, but now that this beautiful woman has gladly offered her hand, you want to stop?

But your insecurities are louder, screaming about every trip and every spare touch. This close, you can feel her firm musculature through the dress, spotting the hint of her bicep as she leads you. With her dainty and elegant hand on your side, you feel twice aware of your size underneath, every imperfection concealed by your dress.

You had fallen in love with this dress when making it, but had always been hesitant to wear it. You feared that once you put it on, that beautiful picture in your mind would shatter, leaving you forlorned of what could never be. Not with you wearing it, you had thought, avoiding your own mirror as you left.

“Something on your mind, flower?”

Serena whispers into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. Your back jerks and contorts back into position, almost stepping your foot on hers. You shake your head furiously.

“Oh no! I-I just-” You stumble, trying to find an easy excuse, but are stopped when you take a look at her face.

She’s resplendent, even up close, not a hint of makeup to be seen. But across her cheeks, slightly faded from what looks like years away from the sun, are-

“My, you have such wonderful freckles.” You murmur, without a second thought.

Unbeknownst to you, if Serena could blush, she would. But the scrunched up look of embarrassment is telling, hinting that maybe this beautiful heiress has her own things she hides away.

“W-well, thank you.” She hastily utters, eyes averting from yours. It’s uncharacteristically shy and you can’t control the giggle that escapes you.

To give her some reprieve, you take your eyes off her face and trail them around the garden. They catch on the fountain, where the contrasting colors of your dresses stand out amidst the black. In the reflection, the two of you could not look more different. Serena stands a head above you, slim-fitted dark purple dress pulled across her curves, while your bright green dress cinches at the waist, flowing out like the flower's detailed skirt. It blows and beckons with every movement, brushing occasionally against your form and showing off the contours of your body.

Damn, you think, we look hot.

Just as fickle as it’s counterpoint, confidence quickly overtakes your mind, blocking out the noise of your doubt. You hold tight to your beautiful partner, in the beautiful dress that you made, and allow the happiness of this moment to exist uninterrupted, however short it may be.

The music increases its pace, the smooth line of a saxophone bringing up the energy. With a new burst of energy, you allow yourself to improvise amidst the strict waltz. You lift your weight off your heels and try to glide from step to step, like the fast-paced tango dancers your mother once took you to see. Serena matches your enthusiasm, gripping your waist, even lifting you a few inches off the ground when a particular chord strikes. Her fingers slightly tickle your ribs, an ecstatic giggle escaping you and you falter a misstep. Your mind almost stops, embarrassed by your stumble and that insecurity sneaking back in, but Serena follows your new tempo with grace, urging you along with improvisation.

Your bodies follow the music with abandon, ordered steps devolving into impassioned stamps and twists, Serena twirling you around as the violin and piano sing from afar. Your heart and mind are running on adrenaline. It’s like when you were little, letting out your energy in any way possible. Serena’s laughter is magical and for once you don’t detest your awkward snorts and chuckles.

As the music slows, the two of you near-tumble back into the fountain, taking a seat with heaving chests.

“Whew, I haven’t danced like that in a while!” You say, brushing a stray hair back behind your ear. Serena nods, patting her stomach as she continues to laugh.

“Me as well. I forgot how fun it could be, when you’re not counting your steps.”

“Oh good, you do that too. I always wondered how no one got dreadfully bored just saying 1-2-3 over and over.” You mutter, taking in a deep breath and patting her thigh. Your other hand drifts down to the fountain water, letting your fingertips brush across the top and inadvertently catching your reflection once more.

It’s not the most flattering angle, your shoulders slump and the water slightly distorted, and those intruding thoughts try to slip in once more.

Oh shut up, let us have this.

Your logic sighs, batting it away without another second thought.

As the two of you sit, your energy eventually begins to drift back down, your muscles slightly tired from that short burst of impact. You sneak a glance at Serena.

While her outfit is still immaculate, her updo shows the smallest signs of dishelevement, curly black hairs falling down above her ears. In a way, she’s more beautiful than ever.

“Me and some friends are actually getting together next week. The shepherd's daughter, Violet, is getting married and they are throwing a little shindig at the barn to celebrate. Do you want to come?”

Serena looks up at you, slightly surprised, face furrowed with that hidden bashfulness. But she nods nonetheless, shooting you a bright smile.

Still high off your dance, you just barely miss her large fangs, which glimmer under the moonlight.

You smile back, only startled when the large bell tower from the center of town chimes. Your head looks towards it’s large face and back towards the moon position. You’d guess it was midnight. Seems the two of you had lost track of time while dancing.

“Well, I should probably be going.” You say, standing up and brushing off your skirt. “I do have some gardening to attend to in the morning, going to need a solid amount of sleep. But,” You say, eyes demure and locked on your toes as Serena stands up, “I had a lot of fun tonight. More than usual, I would say.” You giggle, twirling a strand of your hair. Serena hmms in agreement.

“Me as well, flower. Your company has been the highlight of my night.”

In a bold move, Serena grabs your hand and lays a kiss on the back of it. Her eyes radiate that power and certainty from before, crimson irises shining in the night. Your blush crawls its way back up your neck.

“I-I can say the same.”

The two of you stay in that position for a moment, Serena pulling away her lips but keeping a lingering hold on your hand. Your heart thrums in your chest, while hers is deathly silent. Neither of you wants to be the first to pull away.

“I-uhm.” You stumble, hand still locked in place.

Now’s as good a time as any. You suppose.

In a quick movement, your hand loosens from Serena’s grasp and you give a quick peck on her cheek. In another, you have pulled away, sprinting towards your carriage.

“I-I’ll see you Saturday!” You shout, nearly tripping over a rose bush.

Left behind in the garden stands Serena, cold hand pressed against the burning skin of her cheek. Your kiss shot through her body like a lightning strike, almost jolting her frozen-heart alight.

That night, Serena goes for a hunt. She barely takes the time to change out of her formal clothes, nearly tearing the delicate lacework of her dress. Her claws catch on her gloves and almost rip apart, her heels scuffing the floor as she kicks them off and to the side. Her undead body is thrumming with life, untapped energy that longs to get out.

Her thoughts run a mile a minute, forcibly distracted by the Grizzly bear she currently has in a choke hold. It puts up a good fight, but Serena is running off of pure bloodlust.

At least, she thinks it’s bloodlust. A deeper part of her knows it's something else; The sparking fire of something new and a little bit frightening.

The last time she was personally invited to a ball, an event, a ceremony was less than a couple months ago. When you hold a position such as hers, look like her, they are common occurrences.

But to a party? Not a politically motivated meetup, but a genuine, let your hair down, party? Well, she hadn’t been to one since she was a youngling of 150.

And for the first time in a while, she is excited.

#reader insert #monster romance #female reader #monster x reader #vampire x reader #my writing #vampire

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vennilavee · 3 years

Text

heat, mind, soul (5)

tsoaf masterlist pairing: levi x reader of color summary: in which there is a party, and you spend the night at the survey corps HQ. and your bar is destroyed. warnings: alcohol, cursing, fluff, smut!!! 18+ word count: 5.3k a/n: i guess 2 months between each chapter is the norm for this story huh

Notification of the pre-expedition party comes in the form of one of the younger survey corps scouts walking into your bar late one evening. You recognize him as the boy you saw on the wall a few days ago. Eren.

When you had your midnight kiss with Levi on top of Wall Rose. His kiss was something that played on repeat in your head, the soft feeling of his lips against yours, his hands over your hips, the way he pressed himself against you when you both fell asleep…

Despite the grimness of this world, his warmth and the map of his hands is a feeling that has fondly crawled into your heart and bloomed. And over the last few days, he’s stopped by when he can, opting to spend the night with you whenever possible.

It’s moving fast, but with him, it just feels right. And for two souls from the Underground, taking things slow seems like a waste of time. Considering that you both know how fleeting life is. And that small joys should be cherished and held on to for as long as they can.

So you hold on to him. You cherish him. You ask questions about what it’s like beyond the wall, and he only looks at you as if he can see right through you-

“It’s...it would be better without the fuckin’ titans.”

“Oh, you don’t say?”

“It’s endless. There’s so much sky...trees...you would like it. You like that kinda shit.”

Levi pauses, kissing his teeth.

“I’ll take you someday. When this is over.”

You scoff. Tomorrow is not a promise for today, and you both know that.

“You shouldn’t make promises you won’t keep.”

You’re lost in your thoughts for a moment, thoughts of Levi and his steel eyes, when the boy in front of you clears his throat with wide, green eyes.

Despite him being just a boy, you can see the undercurrent of tragedy and blood in his bright eyes.

“Think you’re a few years shy of legally being able to buy a drink from me, Eren,” You say dryly, wiping a beer glass with a cloth.

“I’m not here for a drink,” Eren says, sounding affronted, “I’m here because the commander wanted to relay a message to you.”

“Your commander and his captain couldn’t come tell me themselves, huh,” You mutter under your breath.

“Oh, you’re telling me that Captain Levi isn’t going to be stopping by soon?” Eren says smugly, without batting an eyelash and you gasp at his attitude.

“That’s-that’s not-” You sputter, cheeks warming up at his grin, “What is the message, Eren?”

“The commander is requesting your services for a party in about a week. He wants you to provide alcohol and drinks for the Survey Corps.”

“O-oh,” You nod, “Yes, I can do that. Just give me the details and I’ll do my best.”

Eren tells you that he and some other members of the Survey Corps will arrive during the day to help bring the barrels and bottles of alcohol over to headquarters. You don’t bother to tell Eren that you are well aware of where the Survey Corps headquarters is located.

Because Levi somehow trusted you enough with that information.

The thought of seeing the castle where Levi lives sends a rush of nerves through you. He hasn’t invited you himself, not yet at least. After all, he usually stops by your bar more often than not and you’ve never asked to see the castle.

You think that Captain Levi of the Survey Corps probably has more pressing things to worry about than the blossomed feelings of the bartender pining after him.

Perhaps his leg is still slightly hurting him, you think. Levi had mentioned here and there that sometimes his leg would ache at random moments. You wonder how much of him aches and how much of it he internalizes. He hasn’t been by to see you in a few days, and if you’re a little disappointed, you’ll keep it to yourself.

Because there are more pressing things, and you’ll see him soon enough.

Levi wonders if he should ask you to stay the night. After all, you’ll be essentially hosting this gathering for the rowdy soldiers of the Survey Corps. And you’d probably be tired by the end of the whole ordeal.

He’s already tired from it, and it hasn’t even happened yet. But if you’re there, that makes it a little more bearable.

Levi tries not to stare when you walk into the mess hall with Jean and Connie on either side of you, each carrying a barrel of what he presumes is wine while talking your ear off. And you smile with them, laugh with them.

You’ve been here for two seconds and Levi can already tell that you fit in with them. And he struggles to keep his eyes off of you- the fit of your long black skirt hugging your hips and the green blouse tucked into your skirt, gold hoops on either ear…

Pretty. You look pretty and Levi’s throat goes dry.

He catches your eye and you offer him a crooked smile. Levi makes his way over to you and tells (really, demands) Jean and Connie to go get the other crates of alcohol, and you smile a little wider at him.

“Missed me so much that you wanted to throw a party here, huh?” Levi says, letting his fingers brush over your clothed elbow. His touch is fleeting, barely there, but you can’t help but try to lean closer to him for more.

“You caught me,” You reply dryly, “I wanted to see you so bad that I offered more than half of my stash of liquor for you to consume in a single night. You know, I should report you to the MP’s for encouraging underage drinking. Pretty sure your kids were frothing at the mouth just from the smell of beer.”

“Underage drinking? Yeah, right,” Levi scoffs with a roll of his eyes, “Those kids wouldn’t be able to tell water from wine.”

Levi brushes his pinky finger over yours and the small touch sends your heart accelerating.

You let out a laugh, your head tipping back in mirth and you miss the flash of fondness in Levi’s grey eyes.

“You gonna give me the official tour or what,” You ask. You’re curious about the space that Levi lives in, about where his friends and colleagues live. The Survey Corps has always felt like an enigma to you- a flurry of forest green capes and silver blades.

“Maybe later. Don’t you have work to do?” Levi says, voice flat but you catch the undercurrent of teasing.

“You gonna help me? You didn’t even help me bring the barrels inside.”

“You had it covered.”

“Oh, did I? If your kids are drunk off of the fumes, don’t blame me.”

Levi exhales sharply, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips. The sound echoes in your heart, a sound you never want to let go of.

“You’re stupid,” Levi mutters and pokes your forehead. You only beam at him.

Organized chaos fills the mess hall quickly once the Survey Corps begins to fill in to the hall. You can’t help but wonder when the last time any of them had laughed like this- were they laughing for themselves or fallen soldiers and comrades? Both? It’s the least you could give them, you think.

The raucous sounds of laughter and shouts emerge from the corner of the mess hall, where you spot Eren and a few other boys his age. Namely, one of them with brown hair. They’re yelling at each other, about to start throwing fists, while a crowd forms around them.

Nobody moves to stop them, but clearly, everyone’s either too intoxicated or too lazy to try. But really, maybe this is a reprieve that they all need.

The shouts get louder and punches start being thrown. You pay it no mind, expecting someone in the Survey Corps to stop them. Before you can give it another moment of your attention, your vision is blocked.

You look up, somehow maintaining a perfect poker face when you come in contact with Erwin Smith’s deep, blue eyes.

“Was wondering when the Commander himself was going to grace me with his holy presence,” You remark dryly.

He only looks at you in that disarming way. The same way he looked at you the first time you saw him in your bar. And it’s a look you’ve seen on him from years ago.

You’re very familiar with him, it seems. And the thing you both have in common is Levi.

“I assume you found your way here alright?” Erwin asks. He’s intimidating and his mere gaze makes you swallow nervously.

“Yes, Eren and the rest were really helpful. And thank you for asking me to supply you. I’m really-”

“I trust anyone who Levi trusts,” Erwin says simply and your jaw nearly drops.

“Do you?” You can’t help the question and Erwin looks amused.

“Do you have something you want to say?” Erwin asks, his eyebrow raised.

Your palms sweat- should you tell him? Should you tell him that you recall seeing him all those years ago in the Underground? Should you tell him that you and Liya had been paranoid that he and he team were coming for you and your little not-so-legal operation?

“No, not at all,” You shake your head, “And a word of advice- maybe it’s not a good idea to blindly trust anyone who your Captain trusts.”

“Who said anything about blindly trusting anyone?”

And he walks away from you, effectively rendering you speechless. You think he has that effect on people quite often.

By the time the night ends, it’s well past midnight. In fact, it’s closer to three in the morning, and your eyes are burning with sharp fatigue. Most of the Survey Corps soldiers had drank their fill and the descent into drunkenness had been a merry one.

You always love to see how people enjoy the things you create. It’s part of why you genuinely enjoy being a bartender. But making drinks for the entirety of the Survey Corps was pretty taxing, even if you had enjoyed every minute of it.

And if Erwin Smith himself had paid you well and complimented your bartending skills, it was a win for you.

You had managed to have a few drinks of earthwater to ease your nerves, but now you were eager to go home and go to bed. Sleep is calling your name, and yet your eyes always land on Levi.

He hadn’t approached you much during the night. Not that it bothers you. You know he wants to let you be in your element without him as a distraction. But really, he’s not a distraction for you.

Levi sees you yawn a few times and something hesitant gets stuck in his throat. What is he so hesitant for? It’s so late already. It would be stupid for you to walk home right now, let alone walk home alone.

He could walk you home, he supposes. But he doesn’t want to do that either. It’s been a few days since he’s seen you last. Since he’s stayed the night with you.

Maybe you could stay the night with him. For the first time.

Levi scoffs at his own internal monologue.

“It’s late,” Levi says off-handedly. Everyone else has cleared away from the mess hall, taking their drunken antics with them to bed.

“Great observation,” You mutter.

“Stay with me tonight,” Levi says. He says it so easily, as if it’s not the first time he’s asking you to stay with him. He forces himself to look you in the eyes, amused to see a knowing grin on your face.

“I was waiting for you to ask. Can’t believe it took you until three in the morning to ask me to stay the night-”

“Don’t make me rescind my offer.”

“What a gentleman,” You tease.

“Shut up.”

Once the door of his bedroom closes, you immediately tug his wrist and he turns around, about to ask you what’s wrong. But instead, you impatiently press your lips to his, tasting liquor on his tongue immediately. Levi tastes sweet and minty, refreshing like a cool sunrise.

Your hands are instantly in his hair, chest pressed against his. His hands hover over your hips before sinking his fingers over your ass.

“Missed you,” You say into his mouth, your voice soft and sweet. You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, somehow already knowing that he was aching to be near you. To hold you, to touch you.

Levi lets himself indulge with you a little longer- the press of your hips against his is too much for him to want to resist. His hand cradles your neck as he steals your breath with soft lips. You don’t think you ever want to live in a world where you can’t feel his quiet desire.

“Wait,” He rasps and you look at him with wide eyes, “Go change.”

“And what would you have me change into?” You ask with a raised eyebrow, “I don’t have clothes here.”

“I have clothes,” Levi murmurs, his thumb caressing your cheek.

“They’ll be small on me-”

“Just try them on,” Levi hushes you and pulls you towards his mahogany armoire. You can’t resist touching the different iterations of his uniform, his dress shirts, his trenchcoat. And then his linen night clothes.

“You’re not shopping,” Levi says dryly, “Stop touching everything.”

You smack his chest lazily. “I’m assessing my options. I guess this’ll do-”

You pull a shirt from his closet, it’s soft under your fingertips and you wonder how it might look on you. Maybe Levi would enjoy the sight of his clothes on you the same way you had enjoyed your own clothes on him. Levi gives you a shirt, similar to the style of the grey linen shirt you enjoy seeing him in.

“Turn around,” You shoo him away.

“I’ve literally seen you naked,” Levi says flatly, but turns around regardless. He hears you rustling your clothes off and hopes that you don’t let your clothes drop to the floor. What a mess.

You neatly fold your clothes and place them inside his armoire, tucked into the corner. Levi can’t resist turning around and catching a peek of your bare legs, a hint of cotton black panties, and the way his shirt cinches around your waist.

Levi swallows.

“Told you it wouldn’t fit,” You say pointedly, “Look at this-”

Levi’s looking alright. His shirt rides up on you, your bare belly and your hips calling for his touch. The shirt is tight over your chest, your breasts defined and detailed by the fit of the shirt. You’re afraid to raise your arms too high, for fear of ripping the shirt.

“Looks great to me,” Levi murmurs, stepping closer to you. His hands instantly grip your hips, your warm skin under his fingertips and pliant to his touch.

“You’re only saying that because you have to,” You roll your dark eyes playfully and smack his chest. He takes your wrist, thumb absently soothing your pulse and he raises your wrist to his lips. He presses a light kiss to your inner wrist, leaving your heart fluttering and your lips upturned.

“I don’t have to do anything,” Levi points out.

“Yeah,” You breathe, “But you should kiss me-”

Levi easily picks you up, his hands tight on your thighs and carries you to his bed, dropping you carefully on his crisp, cotton sheets. Everything smells like him, his beige sheets, his pillow, his covers. You could drown, and you’d gladly sink in love with him.

You’re both a synchronized mess of limbs and lips, of murmurs and moans- neither of you can get enough of touching the other. It’s only been a few days, maybe a week or so, but you’re overcome with a familiar feeling. A familiar feeling of longing, of not wanting to let him go. You cross your ankles hastily around his narrow waist, pulling him closer to you.

The dimming light of the candle at Levi’s bedside illuminates the soft planes of your face, giving your brown skin a fiery glow. You look like you belong here, your dark hair a sharp contrast against his sheets. You look like you belong here, with him, in between his sheets and fitting in the rough crevices of your hands.

But your hands are rough, too, in the way that they scale his back. Your touch is rough but gentle against his scarred skin. The scars on your skin match some of his and he squeezes your hands as he dips his head to meet your rouged lips.

Levi wonders if he should pull away from you. Not just from this moment, but from you in all of your fire. If embracing his feelings for you is dangerous, then he’ll be a risk to himself.

If his feelings are something to avoid for some grand, noble cause that he doesn’t quite understand, he won’t. Not when he’ll regret it if he does. Not when the noises he pulls from you, the soft sighs and breathy calls of his name sound so sweet to his ears. Not when the cacophony of your sweet noises shoot straight down to his cock.

He won’t deny himself of this divine rapture- nothing would ever compare to the way your moans crescendo in his ear, only for your wet, warm walls to squeeze down all around him. Levi kisses the junction in between your shoulder and your neck, panting into your glistening skin as he rolls his hips into yours. His hands are bruising over your hips, hands squeezing every inch of your skin that he can.

Levi’s eyes are blazing, bits of grey steel sputtering out in ash when he looks at you. The intensity of his gaze makes your cheeks heat up, and instead you tip your head up for a needy kiss.

He curls a hand around your warm cheek, stilling inside of you momentarily. “Are you with me?” Levi murmurs. He’s so close to your face that soft puffs of his breath tickles your nose.

“Yes,” You mumble hoarsely, “I’m with you.”

Waking up next to Levi in his bed felt as natural as anything else in the world. As the sun rose, illuminating his bedroom with soft rays of gold, you did, too. Specifically, you woke up to Levi’s hands on you and his lips attached to the back of your neck.

You could get used to this. You could really get used to this.

“You don’t have anything to do today?” You ask, sleep still curled in your voice.

“Couple things later,” Levi murmurs, “For now, just us.”

“Okay,” You hum, closing your eyes and almost drifting back into sleep.

Mornings with Levi are slow and steady. Just the way you like it. No interruptions outside of the concrete walls of his bedroom, only your breaths and his. He slots himself between your legs and you make a home out of him as the sunlight pours onto your skin.

Levi doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything as beautiful as the golden sunshine on your brown skin.

Once you and Levi are both dressed, Levi wordlessly hands you something heavy in your hands. It’s in a sleek, black box and you raise an eyebrow in curiosity.

“What’s this? Parting gift?” You ask. Levi rolls his eyes and opens the box for you. It’s a silver dagger, one that looks a little used.

You look up at him with wide, confused eyes.

“In case you need it,” Levi says simply.

In case you need something to remember me by.

A bullet almost as wide as your palm slings past you and into the shelf of alcohol behind you. Before you can shout at whoever it was for destroying your precious liquor, a piercing pain erupts from your upper arm.

Blood drips down your arm, staining the edges of your nice blouse. The bullet grazed your bare arms apparently and Levi meets your eyes from his position behind the bar counter. Silently, you tell him you’re fine and to handle his mess. He gives you a curt nod and eyes the bottle of alcohol in front of him and takes your shotgun.

He always would ask you why you had a shotgun if you never learned how to properly use it. And you’d tell him you’ve always been a knife kind of girl, as he should know.

You briefly wonder how Levi reacts so quickly. Are you in shock? Why are you thinking about Levi’s quick reflexes when your arm is bleeding out? You feel lightheaded but you force yourself to stay awake and stand firm. It’s your bar, and you’ll be damned if anyone gets in the way of that.

Words and the shouts around you sound muffled to your ears. You briefly hear Levi and the stranger with a fedora exchange a few remarks, before Levi lifts your shotgun over his head and shoots. Your ears are ringing fiercely and you barely hear Levi mutter to you that he’ll try to come back to you before tossing one of your bar stools out of the door and into the stranger.

“That’s my fuckin chair,” You mutter, “Ass.”

Levi doesn’t look back at you before swinging away on his cables. You hear the sharp twist of blades and the booming sound of bullets fill the air once more before black dots coat your vision and you pass out.

Cradling your left arm close to your chest, you survey the damage at your bar. The bar top itself is split in half with stray pieces of wood littering the floor. The stench of fear and adrenaline lingers in the air, even though it’s just you in the bar.

You decide to tell Levi that you’re putting the damages on the Survey Corps’ tab.

You had woken up several hours ago in the infirmary, with a nurse and a doctor looking at you warily-

The throbbing in your arm had subsided for the most part but you just felt so… woozy.

“We cleaned out your wound while you were passed out. Unfortunately, it does require stitches. Eight to be exact.”

“You couldn’t do that when I was passed out, too?” You groan hoarsely. Stiffness begins to settle into your left arm and you wince.

And about thirty minutes after that, you had left the infirmary alone with only the new moon as your company. You vaguely remember Misaki being in the infirmary with you, but you had told her to go home. She had a younger sister to take care of, after all. That much you remember, in your exhausted delirium.

Sweat breaks out over your forehead when you attempt to pick up the pieces of broken wood from the floor. You manage to clean all of two feet of space before giving up from exertion. You sit in front of what remains of your bar counter and lean your head back with your eyes closed.

What a day. You hope Levi’s okay, and that whatever reason he had for dramatically slamming into your bar completely unannounced was worth it.

He’d roll his eyes at you if he heard you.

“You gonna sit there all day or what?” A voice, quite possibly one of your favorite voices, calls from the entrance of your bar.

“We’re closed. For construction,” You reply, still with your eyes closed.

You hear his footfalls before they stop right in front of your crossed legs and he crouches down to be eye-level with you. You feel his fingers brush over your bandages and you finally open your eyes to come face to face with Levi himself.

“Hey,” You murmur, the last bits of your strength evaporating into the air with your words.

“You should be resting,” Levi says, eyes intensely trained on you.

“I suppose,” You reply, “You should be resting, too.”

You eye the cut over his eyebrow and splotches of dried blood caked over his cheeks. You wonder if it’s his blood.

“Couldn’t even make it upstairs?” Levi asks, ignoring your comment.

“Obviously not,” You roll your eyes.

“I should leave you here. For that mouth of yours.”

“Shut up. I quite literally took a bullet for you, so help me up, Captain Levi.”

His eyes soften marginally at that. He pulls away from you to quickly clear away the broken pieces of wood strewn across the floor. He hoists you up with his hands gently over your ribcage. You’ll never deny his touch on any part of you, and you both know it.

Levi carries you to your small but cozy apartment above the bar when he sees you fighting off fatigue. He wonders if you do that for his benefit. Pretend like you’re not the most tired you’ve been in a long time just so he doesn’t feel bad about it.

He knows of your tough exterior and he knows your smart mouth. But he knows that you’re soft, too.

Levi seats you on the edge of your bed and you watch him flit around your apartment with tired eyes. He’s been here enough times to know where things are- ointment, bandages, medicine, water.

“Stitches?”

“Eight of them,” You nod.

Levi wordlessly peels your bandages off of your skin. You expect a sharp sting, but there is none. Only Levi’s rough fingers gently prodding at your skin.

“I could’ve done a better job,” Levi scoffs, “Look at this. It’s going to leave a scar.”

“Should I have waited for you while you brought your fancy medical supplies?” You snark, “Besides, it’s okay. Nobody will fuck with me now.”

Levi ducks his head to examine your stitches further, but you’re certain he’s rolling his eyes at you again. His fingers are gentle and warm along the outer areas of your fresh stitches. He washes his hands before dabbing ointment over the gash and wrapping it with new bandages.

“You should watch what I’m doing, rather than stare at me. I won’t be around to change your bandages every night,” Levi says without looking at you.

“What an honor that would be,” You mutter, “Having you stay longer than a night. What a dream.”

He hears the bite in your teasing, but lets it go. Hands brush over his cheek, fingers flitting over his eyebrow curiously. You pad across the skin there, satisfied when you feel a mostly healed cut.

“And you? You were bleeding when you flew in here. Who was that guy anyway? Can’t believe he fuckin’ shot me. In my own fuckin’ bar. What an ass.”

“That was Kenny.”

“That was Kenny?”

“Yes, close your mouth. You look like a fish out of water.”

“How else do you want me to react? The guy who raised you is trying to kill you? What the hell, Levi?”

“He’s part of the shitty MP now. With the interior police.”

He can’t hide the disdain in his voice.

“Wasn’t he the one who killed over a hundred MP’s? Kenny the Ripper?”

“The one and only.”

You’re quiet for a few moments, fingers reaching behind him to lightly scratch his undercut. Levi dares to let out a quiet sigh, closing his eyes and allowing himself a few moments of silence. And you. You press your forehead to his, a light breath tickling his nose.

Dark circles under his closed eyes are prominent and his shoulders seem to slump in your embrace. He’s tired, even if he’ll never say it.

“Stay with me tonight?” You whisper, breaking the silence. Levi opens his slate grey eyes and peers into your own, reluctance already swirling in them.

You press a kiss to his jaw. His cheek. The corner of his mouth. Finally, his lips. As if you’re trying to coax him into staying with you.

Like he needed any persuasion to begin with.

“I have to leave early tomorrow,” Levi finally says. You nod and he buries his head in your neck, breaths soft and steady against your skin. His chapped lips are rough but welcome over your throat as he kisses you. Levi is gentle with you, mindful of your arm, as he melts into you wordlessly.

You wonder if this man knows the extent of how deeply he’s burrowed himself within you. You wonder if he knows that your blood and your heart belong to him.

The words, the confession. It never comes, no matter how often you think of spilling the words from your lips. It remains silent in your throat, caged away like a bird that will never sing.

You tug at Levi’s shirt, trying to lift it off of him with one hand. Mostly, you want to see if he has any fresh bruises that need attention. But you always get distracted by him and his curious hands.

But tonight, you can tell his mind is wandering. And you can tell he needs to sleep. You wish he’d sleep with you for half a day, or even sleep in with you once in a while. But you can only dream.

“Levi,” You say softly, “Will you help me get out of these clothes? I’m so tired. Kinda want to just… lay down.”

You rub your eyes and press your forehead to his shoulder. You sigh contentedly as his hand rubs your back and you lazily rub his chest.

“Sit up then,” He murmurs. He knows where your sleep clothes are, and pulls out one of two shirts he had given to you weeks ago. To remember him by.

Levi undresses you, deliberately sending you little shocks with his touch across your warmed skin. His lips are upturned slightly. He’s being playful. He tosses your clothes in your laundry bin as you crawl into bed, waiting for him.

“Wait,” You say sheepishly, “Can I have some water? I mean, I’d do it myself. But I’m just so cozy right now.”

Levi kisses his teeth in pretend annoyance but brings two glasses of water to bed with him. One for you and one for him. You drink generously, watching him change into sleep clothes before he blows out the candle on your nightstand. Levi climbs into your bed and immediately pulls you to him, fingers under your shirt instantly. His arm is around your waist, wrapped around you, quiet and steady. He’s careful not to touch your injured arm.

There are a million things you want to say to him. You want to speak to him until the sun comes up, not wanting to waste a second more with him. You want to hear about every second of his day and you want to tell him about every second of yours. His time with you is rare and limited and you’re always left yearning for more when he inevitably leaves you for the world.

His world. The one without you in it.

You swallow those slippery thoughts down, and instead snake your fingers through his hair and enjoy the way he hums into your neck. Levi rubs the bandaged area around your arm gingerly. His touch is gentle and featherlight, yet still somehow carrying all the words he doesn’t say in it.

“I need to get you another chair, I think.”

“You need to get me another bar, I think. I’m putting it on the Survey Corps’ tab. It’s a Levi tax. A levy if you will.”

“Hilarious,” Levi mutters, but you hear the airy chuckle against your skin. You laugh with him, before turning towards him and cupping his cheek. He meets your dark eyes, peering at you as if he can see your heart beating through your gaze.

“Sleep, Levi. Wake me before you go,” You say softly, pressing a fierce kiss to his lips.

Levi allows himself to get lost in you, in your familiar jasmine scent. He allows himself the luxury of a lover stealing his breath away at least once more.

Sleep comes easily for him that night. As it usually does, when he’s with you.

tags: @simpingmaize @captainchrisstan @alrightberries @kentobean @melancholicmonologue

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #aot x reader

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trashmenofmarvel · 3 years

Text

Branded - Chapter 46

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You try to find your way back.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Angst, anxiety, mild body horror

AO3

You woke up coughing and gagging, pulling your jacket out from under your head to wrap it around your face. For there to be so much dust in the air, another dust storm must have kicked up outside.

Just as predicted, when you looked out one of the air holes of the cave system, you saw the wall of dust that cut off all sight after a few feet.

You sighed and sat back in the deepest part of the cave, making sure to keep the jacket wrapped around your head. It was much different being here as a physical entity instead of just living in someone’s head. You knew which one you preferred.

Still coughing frequently, you picked up a stone tool, no bigger than a piece of chalk, and added another tick to the rows of marks Bucky had started. Tenth day in the demon realm, with no sign of rescue.

It had been sheer luck that you’d woken up in a place with landmarks you actually recognized. You weren’t far from Bucky’s old territory, and after hours of walking barefoot through the sand, socks stuffed into your pockets, you made it to the cave system he’d used as a home base.

Seeing the same walls, the edible fungus, the dried “bamboo” strips as bedding, even the old journal Bucky had left behind, it had been the most relieving and the most painful thing you’d felt in a while. That was saying a lot, considering you’d been murdered just a few hours prior.

Your shelter and source of food and water secured, you’d done nothing but decompress, going over everything that had happened.

Bucky falling into Zemo’s trap. Forced to be a weapon once more and ordered to kill Rogers. He probably would have if you hadn’t managed to pull on the thin thread that had remained of your bond.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. The bond you’d both wanted to get rid of had been the thing to save Bucky’s life. The cursed book had been right; the only thing that could break your bond was Bucky’s death… or yours. It hadn’t said the death would result in you being banished to the demon realm, but it wasn’t like the damn book had been trying to be helpful to begin with.

No, if anything, the ancient sorcerer whose words it had quoted had been more insightful. Especially the part where he’d witnessed a human slave die in his master’s place, and his body had burned to ashes.

Is that what had happened to you? Had Bucky been forced to watch as you’d crumpled to dust in his hands? God, you hoped not.

At least it explained how you ended up here and that corpse you’d seen through Bucky’s eyes. A human with a demon sigil, it could only mean one thing. This was where all human slaves ended up, eventually.

You just hoped you wouldn’t meet the same fate.

Thoughts turned back to Bucky as they usually were, you couldn’t begin to imagine how Bucky was dealing with your death. All you could hope was that he realized it hadn’t been permanent, and that he would find a way to the demon realm without dying himself. Knowing him, Bucky would take that route if he had to.

But here it was, day ten, and you were beginning to have doubts. You knew time flowed differently here and you would have to be patient, but it was impossibly difficult. You just prayed you wouldn’t have to wait another fifty years. Unlike Bucky, you doubted you would remain ageless in this place.

Day ten became day eleven. And then twelve. And then you’d been in the demon realm for two weeks with no sign of Bucky or the wizards.

At day fifteen, you decided it was time to stop waiting, and time to start being proactive. If your rescuers couldn’t come to you, perhaps you could bring yourselves to them. You’d glimpsed the truth in Bucky’s memories after him coming through the portal. Your younger self had practically bragged about opening a portal, and you’d been ten years old.

Surely you could still do it, even if you didn’t remember how… and even though you’d never shown a spark of magic while training under Wong.

But what else was there to do? It wasn’t as if there was anyone else around to embarrass yourself in front of.

Only… that turned out not to be the case.

You had managed to create a spark in the air. It was orange and sputtered after a few seconds, but it was the most you’d ever accomplished before. After a few more hours, you got a glowing circle the size of a hula-hoop.

But it was the wrong color, orange and not blue, and the image you could see through it was just more red sand. You didn’t need to travel across the planet; you needed to get away from it.

Frustrated, you weren’t as aware of your surroundings as you should have been, and that was when the demon attacked. Drooling and growling, it charged at you from over the sands and chased you into the cave system. You recognized it from before; a large beast that looked like it was part-bear, part-bull, and it was pissed.

Terrified and without thought, you made a jerky circular motion just as the demon launched itself at you.

The portal fizzled to life and vanished just as quickly, and the bottom half of a demon body landed on top of you. It was still smoking from where the portal had sliced through it like a hot blade.

It was the first and last time you tried to make a portal.

The days continued to crawl by until a month had passed, or at least, the best you could guess as days and months when the sunlight never changed or faded.

Until it finally did. And that’s when things truly started to take a turn for the worst.

You’d managed to keep your spirits up by reading the journal Bucky had left behind, reliving the time you’d spent together in a weird, symbiotic partnership, but when the rare night came and shrouded everything in cold darkness, you didn’t even have Bucky’s words to comfort you. The jacket was no longer a breathing mask and went back on your shoulders, barely keeping the chill at bay.

Through the dim starlight that came through the overhead holes in the ceiling, you could see your breath fogging up before you. You huddled into a tighter ball, tried to keep your emotions in check, and eventually gave up. You turned your head and sobbed quietly into your arms, letting the despair and fear pour out of you like a flooded dam.

And still it grew colder. You couldn’t remember Bucky being this cold, but then again, he wasn’t fully human. Plus, even though you’d been an observer in his head, you’d been able to raise his body temperature and keep him warm.

Now, all you could do was shiver and stay huddled against the wall that still retained heat from the day. You didn’t want to think about what you’d do when it faded.

Somehow in the night, you’d managed to fall asleep, or maybe fall unconscious. When you stirred, something was… wrong. You shifted your arms and legs and your skin tingled oddly, goosebumps breaking out along your flesh as the sensations felt off, both muffled and heightened at the same time.

You opened your eyes and wished you hadn’t. Instead of the bare skin of your arms… they were covered with grey-blue fur. Smooth, short, and thick, like a cat’s.

The panicked sound you made wasn’t human, and that just made the panic worse. You scrambled across the cave floor and ran to the nearby underground stream. There would be enough light now that the sun had risen for you to see…

Horns.

The face staring back at you was barely your own. Thin fur covered your face entirely, your pupils were no longer round but narrowed into slits, and the horns. They curved from either side of your forehead, several inches in length and grey, like ashy bone.

That wasn’t the only oddity. You turned your head and gasped at the long, pointed ears sticking out from under your hair.

You looked like a strange mixture of part-human, part-demon, part-cat.

This can’t be real. I’m hallucinating. Exposed to the cold, this is just the effect of a dying mind.

Expect, it didn’t go away. Your shock continued to mount as you took stock of the rest of yourself. The same blue-grey fur covered every inch of you. When you flexed your fingers, sharp nails slide outward from the nailbed, strange but natural at the same time.

You weren’t completely cat-like. There were the horns, of course, but when you stretched and felt along the back of your neck, scaly ridges continued all the way down your spine to your—

You jumped when something moved inside your pant leg, and you earned yourself a flare of pain when you slapped it to discover it was a long, puffed up, furry tail.

You startled giggling. The giggling devolved into hysterical laughter, and when that faded, it turned into breathless crying.

Now you knew why you hadn’t frozen to death in the night.

Your curiosity as to what you had become waned along with the days. The anxiety and fear was gone too. Something important had slipped your mind, like a half-forgotten dream, but there was nothing to remember. You had your cave system, your food source, and your territory to defend. There was nothing else you could possibly want.

Even the scorching sunlight no longer bothered you and instead filled you with strength. Your fur protected you from the worse of the sandy wind, and a third eyelid, transparent and able to cover your eye, allowed you to see even in the worst of dust storms. And there was a power that seemed to sustain you, an energy from this place that kept you strong and brimming with a power you didn’t quite understand.

Your body was perfectly suited for this world, and after a while, you couldn’t remember a time when it’d been any different.

Sometimes, you had dreams. Confusing ones, because they were of both a man and a demon. You always woke from these with your chest aching and your vision blurred, but you blinked the moisture away and soon, those were also forgotten.

Most demons knew better than to encroach on your territory, and in turn, you left them to theirs. Any demons foolish enough to ignore your boundaries were easily chased away with your outstretched talons and ripping claws. Once, when a demon that stood twice your size and had the head of a skeletal horse (how did you know that word?) tried to push you out, you conjured a rope of fiery orange. Striking at the beast, you’d left a burn across its back, and it hadn’t returned since.

You were comfortable in your solitude. Barring the strange dreams and the moments when you would wake up, confused into believing something was missing, you were content.

Until the day when a new, strange demon encroached on your territory. Worse than that, he’d wandered into your cave system. You were grooming yourself, tongue licking across the fur on your forearm, when you heard the telltale sounds of feet moving against the stone floor.

You hid in the shadows, eyes narrowed into slits as you waited. It didn’t take long for the intruder to walk directly into your cave, and you were taken aback at its appearance.

It—no, he, the demon was definitely masculine, with broad shoulders and prominent facial features. He seemed human, but the rest of him was not, with a demonic arm, wings, horns, and a tail.

He raised his head and flared his nostrils, testing the air at the same moment you caught a whiff of his scent. It was almost overpowering, heady and male, and your fur puffed up in response. This demon would try to take your home from you, and you wouldn’t allow it. You’d defeated bigger threats than him.

When he turned toward your makeshift nest and bent down to open the journal you no longer took interest in, you crept from your hidden nook. The demon was still crouched, his tail lying flat against the ground, but the tip flicked back and forth.

You drew closer, closer still, completely silent and pointed teeth bared. Bunching your muscles into a tight coil you leapt, claws outstretched.

The demon turned just before you landed.

He grabbed you around the throat, spun in one fluid motion, and slammed you against the cave wall.

You released a yowl and dug your claws into him, but they merely skidded off the shifting plates of his arm, leaving him unmarked.

Pinned with your back to the wall, you were trapped with his claws around your neck. The demon bared his teeth in his own impressive growl, inches from your face. His eyes were a cold sort of fury that made you doubt your chances of survival.

“Where is she!”

He spoke a language you somehow understood. The words had meaning, but you didn’t know what they were, so you remained silent.

When you didn’t answer he leaned forward, fangs sharp and ready to tear open your throat.

“You reek of her, and these are her clothes. Did you—did you kill her?”

You gave him nothing but a growl in your throat. When he squeezed tighter around your neck, you bared your teeth and snarled in hatred.

Just as quickly as it had arrived, his deadly glare vanished. He blinked rapidly, brows furrowed as if trying to put together a puzzle. And then his grip relaxed as something very different crossed over his face.

“No…”

He was distracted, his mind clearly elsewhere, and you wiggled out of his grip and tried to dart past him. The demon immediately seized you from behind, wrapping his arms tightly around you so you couldn’t escape.

You screamed and fought, your feet shoving against the ground for purchase, but with your arms pinned to your sides you couldn’t even conjure the fiery rope to defend yourself.

“Stop, stop, it’s me!” he cried. “It’s Bucky!”

His words were simply noise, and you swiveled your head to bite into his shoulder, this time making sure it was the fleshy one. But he still wouldn’t release you, even as the coppery taste of blood touched your tongue.

He gripped you tighter, and you let go of his shoulder and continued to struggle. He was much larger and stronger than you, and he didn’t move an inch. Instead, something soft touched your hair, and you realized it was one of his hands.

Gathering your strength for one last attempt, you twisted violently in his arms, pulled back your lips and sank your teeth into the junction between neck and shoulder, biting down. You were about to take out a chunk of his flesh when the concentrated aroma of his scent slammed into you.

You released him, licking the blood off your lips, and carefully sniffed higher up his neck. Something pulled at you, something familiar but lost, and you gave a curious lick just below his jawline.

Pine trees, earth, warm stone. He smelled like…

He smelled like…

Home.

You pulled back, staring in horror as blood continued to trickle down his neck.

You knew him. You knew him, how could you forget him, how could you forget—

You tried to say his name, but no words came out. You couldn’t speak. When had you lost the ability to talk?

When had you forgotten Bucky?

“Sweetheart?”

You whimpered at the cautious hope in his voice, at the pet name, at him being here.

Bucky wrapped his arms tighter around you, and you began to lick at the wound you’d caused, an apology and a way to prove he was real and you weren’t imagining this. To force yourself to remember everything you’d almost lost, even as the pain and grief grew worse every second.

Bucky had finally found you.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he apologized, voice choked with tears. “I came as soon as I could… I thought I was too late.”

But he was too late, wasn’t he?

You stopped mid-lick. Your tongue had done a decent job of cleaning his wound, because it wasn’t a human tongue anymore. It was dry and barbed, like a cat’s.

You buried your face into his shoulder, giving another miserable noise. How could you go back home now? You were a monster. A thing made of the demon realm. How could Bucky stand to even look at you, let alone touch you?

When you tried to pull away, he wouldn’t let you. Even his tail was stubbornly wound around your leg now.

“We’re going home,” he said, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. You tried to jerk away, not wanting him to look at you, but he didn’t let you budge an inch. “We are going home.”

His image blurred as your eyes stung. How could he say that when you were… when you…

“It’s okay,” he said when the tears slipped down your furred cheeks. He brushed them away and pressed his lips against your forehead. You sighed and closed your eyes. “You’re okay. I’m not leaving you. This time, for good.”

You wanted to believe him, but how could you when you had the face of the very thing he hated about himself?

As if knowing your thoughts and afraid you would bolt, Bucky kept one arm firmly around your waist. He turned you toward the cave exit that would lead into the tunnels, but you resisted, pointing down to the nest when he looked at you.

Seeing what you were pointing at, a brief flash of fondness and pain crossed his face. He picked up the book, Bucky’s old journal that had documented his days and adventures with the “mysterious voice,” and you grabbed it and held it to your chest. You’d forgotten before, but now you remembered how this book had been your lifeline, and you couldn’t bear to leave it behind.

“Ready?” he asked, voice soft, eyes even softer.

You nodded, leaning into him when he tucked you against his side. Now that you remembered who he was, the thought of not touching him for even a second was unthinkable.

Bucky led you outside, and you spared a single glance backwards at the series of mounds, hills, and boulders that signified there was an underground cave system. It had saved your life, and before that, Bucky’s. It had been your temporary shelter, but it wasn’t where you belonged.

Spreading his wings, Bucky lifted you easily into his arms and leapt into the air. You curled protectively around the journal, but you felt safer now than you had since being captured by Zemo. As the hot, dry air ruffled your hair and fur, a deep rumbling came from inside your chest. It took you a moment to realize you were purring. Indicating he could hear it too, Bucky kissed the top of your head, making your purring even louder.

You kept your eyes closed and pressed to Bucky’s tactical vest until he said, “There it is.”

You turned to look, eyes widening at the sight of a shimmering blue portal near the ground. It looked tiny from this distance, and your stomach churned with nerves.

“Hold on!”

Taking Bucky’s advice, you gripped onto him tightly as he dived. Just before he went through, you shut your eyes tight.

The difference between the demon realm and Earth was a lot more extreme than you remembered filtered through Bucky’s memories. You immediately started shivering, buffeted by the cold air, taking shallow breaths because each one felt like you were breathing ice water.

The colors assaulted your vision—bluebluegreenblue—leaving you whimpering into Bucky’s shoulder, painful after you’d seen nothing but red for so long.

And the smells. No longer diluted with dry air constantly in motion, the salty and perfumed scent of multiple humans, of mildew and stone and ozone that made the tip of your tongue tingle—

It was too much. As soon as Bucky slightly relaxed his hold, you dropped the journal and scrambled behind him, hiding between his wings as you buried your face in the back of his neck.

It was toomuchtoomuchtoomuch—

“Sergeant Barnes, is that… who I think it is?”

The smooth, commanding voice was familiar, but you couldn’t place it. Unlike your recognition of Bucky, everything else was a struggle to recall. You didn’t even know where you were, the domed room unfamiliar and intimidating.

“Yes,” Bucky responded in a low tone.

“Ah, well, that is… unfortunate.” The man who had originally spoken cleared his throat. “We will need to do a thorough examination—“

You had peeked over Bucky’s shoulder to get a better look at the others in the room—they were wizards, weren’t they?—but as soon as one of them drew forward, you gave a spitting snarl.

“Or not,” the man said, raising his hands. He had a goatee and a ridiculous red cape. Your ruffled fur went flat against your skin. Was that… Strange? And next to him, concerned but not without pity, your mentor, Wong.

How could you have forgotten so much? How long had you been gone?

You hid behind Bucky’s shoulder blades, misery forcing your ears to fold back and curl your tail between your legs.

“I’m taking her home,” Bucky said quietly.

“But—“

“No,” he said, more firmly this time. “I’ve been where she is and I know what she needs. She needs to feel safe, somewhere quiet and familiar.”

He waited a beat.

“Are you going to stop me?”

“No.” Strange’s tone was weary but surprisingly relenting. “I’m not. Just make sure you take your next doses with you.”

“I know,” Bucky muttered and then bent down to pick up the journal you’d dropped.

He did it slowly and carefully so as not to dislodge you, because you still half-clung to his back like a lost duckling. It would have been funny if you weren’t already knee-deep in the urge to bolt. Your fur was puffed again, as far as it would go, heart hammering in your chest, and all of your senses were in overdrive as you struggled and failed to adjust to your new environment.

When Bucky straightened up again, you retreated into the sanctum of his folded wings and refused to let go. You couldn’t bear to look around, not when you could sense the wizard’s peering at you, at the freakish thing you’d become. Just the thought of it provoked a whine from your throat.

“One of you mind making a portal?” Bucky said dryly. “The sun’s still up and we’re obviously not taking a cab.”

You heard footsteps shuffling against the stones, and you clung tighter to Bucky. He reached back and put a hand on your leg, reassuring you he wasn’t leaving. Your trembling subsided slightly, but every muscle of your body was still taut enough to snap.

When he stepped forward, you went with him, keeping your eyes shut until you felt the familiar but unsettling shift of space as you stepped through a portal. Only when it fizzled out behind you and you caught the comforting scent of Bucky’s penthouse did you open your eyes.

You thought by “home” he would take you back to your room at the Sanctum. Instead, you were standing in the middle of Bucky’s loft.

Before Bucky could say or do anything, you buried your face in his jacket and released everything you’d kept buried, your soft keening echoing inside the old clock tower.

Next Chapter

#branded #demon!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #demon!bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction #i'm sorry whoever i stole the gif from i couldnt find the source to share it

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lifeofkaze · 3 years

Text

An Art of Balance #37 (Bonus)

Orion Amari x MC

A/N: First bonus chapter! Quite some people asked me when Everett might get what he deserves. Well, here you go (finally)! Judith Harris belongs to @judediangelo75 , David Willows to @that-scouse-wizard and Katriona KC Cassiopeia – as always – to my wonderful wifey @kc-needs-coffee

Warning: The smallest mention of blood

Word Count: ~ 2.700

_________________________________

Bonus - Chapter 37: Doppelbeater Defense

Despite of the biting wind in her face as she whizzed through the air, Lizzie could feel a drop of sweat making its way down beneath her shoulder blades and along her spine. Ignoring the soft tickle, she gripped the Quaffle tighter and held it to her body as she ducked beneath a Bludger send in her direction by Erika Rath and prepared to make her move.

Whipping her broomstick sideways at the last possible moment, she used the momentum to let go of the Quaffle and send it through the left one of the other team’s hoops. The Keeper had no chance to block her throw and she broke into a grin as the goalposts lit up for a moment, signalling her success to the crowd.

“Jameson scores for her team in an almost artistic manner!” Murphy reaffirmed only moments later. “Her choice of hoop came 68.5 % unexpected and left the Keeper with no chance to deflect the Quaffle in time.”

Her grin widened as she flew along the stands and let the whooping of the fans spur her on. Considering that they were only playing a friendly, the stands were packed. The Quidditch season was over and Hufflepuff the reigning Quidditch champion; to let out some of the penned up energy, Orion and Rath had decided to organise a mixed match for the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw teams. With the exams being almost over, a lot of their peers had found their way onto the scalding hot pitch today, just happy to escape the dusky shadows of the castle for a few hours.

In full flight, she held onto the handle of her broom before coming into a standing position as she surfed past her friends, raising her fist into the air. Lizzie had pretty much abandoned broom surfing for a long time, but had picked it up again this year; ever since she and Orion had started dating officially three weeks earlier, it had slowly but surely developed into her favourite way to celebrate a scored goal.

Sitting down, Lizzie made her way back into the middle of the pitch again. With a smile just as bright as her own, Orion came up beside her, visibly proud of both her goal and her skilled display of his favourite flying technique; he had taught it to her after all. He clapped his gloved hand on her shoulder and gave her the smallest wink. When the Quaffle re-entered the game, he smirked, turned around and was gone chasing after it.

Completely lost in thought, Lizzie stared after him. The place on her shoulder where his hand had rested only moments earlier, was still tingling and she felt her heart beat faster. She watched as he relieved Skye of the Quaffle with a laugh and a graceful swipe of his hand. Even though it had been some time since they had gotten together now, the thought that he was actually her boyfriend still felt surreal to her.

She was violently broken out of her dazed state when she saw a Bludger racing towards her at a ridiculous speed. It was aimed straight for her head and she only managed to duck out of it’s way at the last moment. She could feel the air move as it whizzed past her, her heart beating in her ears, this time from pure adrenaline. She let out a shaky breath; that had been a close one.

Straightening up again, she whipped her broomstick around and flew over to Everett, who had beat the iron sphere her way. He smirked at her flustered state as she came to a halt directly in front of him.

“Are you mad or what?” Lizzie snapped at him. “This is supposed to be a friendly! We don’t go for the head in a friendly!”

Unimpressed, Everett looked her up and down haughtily. “Shut it, Jameson, it’s your problem if your distracted.”

His sneer turned into a derogatory smirk as he continued, “You’d better focus, sunshine; we wouldn’t want that pretty face of yours smashed, would we? I guess, the captain would like you considerably less then. After all, there’s not much more to you than a halfway decent look.”

Her temper flaring for a moment, Lizzie had the strong urge to just push Everett of his broom and be done with it. Instead, she took a deep breath, grit her teeth and left him behind. Arguing with the sixth-year was no use; she knew it was his hurt pride speaking. He had been shooting snide remarks at her ever since she and Orion had become a couple. Letting him get under her skin was exactly what he wanted.

Even though she tried to ignore his comments, Everett was far from done with her. Every time she came close to him over the course of the match, he was shouting a new profanity at her, every new one worse than the last. After a while, despite her best efforts, his verbal attacks were distracting her so much she couldn’t concentrate on playing anymore.

Her passes were starting to get unprecise, her manoeuvres were failing more often than not. When she tried to bring the Quaffle past the opposing Keeper, her throw got blocked with ease. Annoyed with herself, Lizzie gave vent to her frustration with a scream and a hit against the handle of her Comet.

Her increasing anger didn’t go unnoticed by Orion. Hovering beside her, he was trying to centre her again with his calm, reassuring voice until Lizzie felt her rage melt away at the sight of his smile. Taking a deep breath, she smiled at him thankfully and returned into action by his side.

But Orion hadn’t been the only one to notice Everett’s constant slurs. Judith and Katriona, who was one of the Ravenclaws playing on Lizzie’s team, had already shared more than one eyeroll ever since Everett had started attacking their friend. All of them were sick and tired of his rudeness anyway, but his behaviour today was just downright disgusting.

When the Hufflepuff Beater made the mistake of sending a Bludger to the spot where both of them were hovering in the air, KC and Judith only needed to share a look between them to know what to do.

Anticipating the rotating Bludger with their bats raised and ready, they hit the Bludger both at the same time. It changed its course back to its sender with incredible speed, leaving Everett no time to dodge it. With an audible, ugly sounding crack it collided with his nose, blood spurting out of his nostrils as he dropped his bat and cried out in pain.

Murphy winced into his megaphone as the stands around him erupted into cheers. “Ouch, that must have hurt, ladies and gentlemen! Someone had better get Madam Pomfrey to take a look at this, there’s a 98.6 % chance of a really nasty bruise.”

The laughter in Murphy’s clear voice was very badly hidden and he had to clear his throat before he could continue. “But all jokes aside, the only thing more fabulous than this perfect display of one of the most challenging Beater manoeuvres known to any skilled Quidditch strategist is the sheer perfection of the two players conducting it! With Harris’s unmatched strength and Cassiopeia’s unrivalled technique, the Tigress and Ravenclaw’s rising star effectively knock Everett out of the game, giving their team a considerable advantage.”

It was true; Everett had clapped his hands in front of his face and was in no state to stay on his broomstick much longer, let alone continue playing. His eyes shot daggers at them through his fingers, Judith glaring back and KC only shrugging it off nonchalantly; he’d had it coming after all.

Luckily for all of them, the Snitch had been caught pretty quickly after KC and Judith had broken Everett’s nose, leaving no room for more injuries, accidental or no.

Being a member of his original team, Orion had insisted on escorting Everett to the Hospital Wing, however impossible he might have acted. Madam Pomfrey had been busy when they had arrived, so her assistant had taken care of him. Her healing spells were usually impeccable, but today she claimed she had been distracted by a nasty headache. Lizzie suspected very much she hadn’t been distracted at all. They had left a cursing and ranting Everett to her further care and had made their way to the Great Hall.

With one more exam still ahead of them, Murphy and Orion had separated from the rest of the team to go over their notes together, while Judith, KC and Lizzie had found seats at the Hufflepuff table.

They were chatting about the match, the Charms exam taking place in two days’ time and the prospect of new players come next season. While KC was enjoying the prospect of fresh blood, both Lizzie and Judith were sighing at the idea of having to spend another year with Everett on their team.

“You know, David Willows could step up,” Judith suggested between two bites of her dinner. “He’d fit the team so much better than that airhead.”

Lizzie tilted her head. “I thought he was stuck in detention forever.”

“Only for the whole year, next year he should be free again,” Judith shrugged, “if he doesn’t do any more stupid stunts, that is.”

“Any more stupid stunts and get caught, you mean,” KC added with a smirk.

Judith laughed. “Naturally.”

Her golden eyes wandered from her friends’ faces to something in Lizzie’s back and one of her eyebrows arched in dismay. “Speaking of the devil…”

Lizzie turned around to see Everett stomping their way. His face was looking truly dreadful; his nose was hidden under a thick bandage and the skin around it red and bruised. The proportions of his usually not unattractive face were oddly contorted by the swelling. What was visible of the rest of his face was screaming murder as he approached them.

He drew himself up to his full height as he stared down at the three girls. He would have looked threatening had his broken nose not made quiet wheezing noises every time he breathed.

“Look what you did to my face,” he snarled at them through gritted teeth, his fists shaking with rage. “This is all your fault! That incompetent amateur of a healer said my nose might not go back to the way it was before! You’ll answer for this!”

Lizzie shifted uncomfortably in her seat under his glare. She was honestly sick of him and his attitude and wished he would just leave them in peace; she’d had her share of insults for the day and was too tired to get into a fight.

Judith and KC, on the other hand, didn’t seem to share her notion. Judith looked him up and down, her muscular arms crossed in front of her chest, while KC’s eyes never left him. She took a deliberately slow sip of her coffee.

“I don’t see your problem,” she answered coolly after setting her mug back down. “How did you put it? It’s your fault if you’re distracted.”

She turned her attention to her fingernails, as if the sheer presence of the seething Hufflepuff Beater was boring her out of her mind.

“Look at it that way: a crooked nose might suit you after all,” she continued. “I heard it gives people more character; Godric knows you’d need that.”

Despite herself, Lizzie had to snort into her cup of pumpkin juice at KC’s words. This turned out to be a mistake, however, when Everett turned all his attention on her.

He stepped forward, right into Lizzie’s personal space. He was effectively towering over her with no chance for her to get away as he bend down to hiss into her face.

“I have no idea what’s so funny about that, Jameson. Only because you’re shagging the captain doesn’t mean you’re special in any way. Harming your teammate intentionally is against the rules, I’ll have you and Harris kicked off the team. You’ll regret this!”

He abruptly straightened himself up and began striding away, head held high, not even sparing them another glance. If he had, he had probably seen KC turning and sneakily sticking her foot out. He caught on it and swayed for a moment before he tipped over and landed face down onto the floor with a resounding bang. He screamed and Lizzie was sure to hear the crunch deformed bones for a second time that day.

Everett turned around, staring up at them with pain and hate edged onto his face. He opened his mouth to say something but there was nothing coming out of it but a loud, high pitched whine.

Not impressed in the slightest, KC rose from her seat and set a foot on Everett’s chest to prevent him from getting up. Bending down, her long, strawberry blonde curls almost grazing his face, she locked eyes with him. There was a fury burning in her blue eyes that made him go cold on the inside.

“You’re right, harming your teammates is against the rules – good thing you aren’t one of mine,” she hissed at him.

She slightly increased the pressure of her foot on his chest. “So, if I hear one more word about our lovely Lizzie or my fantastic friend Orion coming from your filthy mouth ever again, be sure to know that the next Bludger will be aimed lower – a lot lower.”

A confident smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Consider this a warning; according to Murphy I have a pretty good accuracy of 97.8 %.”

Everett made a strangled sound as KC stepped over him, applying her full weight onto his body for a moment. Judith followed her, driving the point home by tapping her Beater’s bat on his chest as she walked by with a hard stare.

KC turned her head and looked down at him; she might as well have looked at a cockroach.

“On a sidenote,” she added, suddenly sounding very sweet, “I heard the N.E.W.T.s are pretty tough to prepare for. Maybe you might want to reconsider returning to the Hufflepuff team next year. Don’t you worry about your position, we know just the replacement for you.”

“You’re bright spirit will be missed, but I think we’ll get over it,” Judith agreed with a satisfied smirk.

Everett’s gaze flicked from one to the other; if Lizzie didn’t know any better, she’d say he was actually scared of her friends.

When KC and Judith turned around to walk away, he muttered a curse under his breath, prompting the redheaded Ravenclaw to turn around again.

“What was that?”

All defiance lost, Everett cowered in on himself. “Nothing.”

“Good.”

KC’s eyes rose to Lizzie, who was still sitting at the table, staring at the scene unfolding in front of her. “Liz, are you coming?”

Lizzie snapped out of it, got up and didn’t miss out on stepping over Everett herself, a big grin on her face. Judith and KC both flanked her, linking arms with each other as they marched her out of the Great Hall.

“Godric, did you see his face?” Lizzie chuckled as soon as they were out of earshot. “He’s going to have nightmares, I bet.”

Turned more serious again, she glanced at KC. “But was that really necessary?”

“It was,” KC answered equally as serious. “He practically begged for this for a long time now.”

“I’d have done anything to not have to put up with him for another year,” Judith agreed wholeheartedly.

Lizzie laughed and pulled her friends closer as the three of them marched across the Entrance Hall in lockstep.

“Thanks girls, I appreciate it. Just do me the favour of reminding me to never ever cross my Beater Babes.”

#hphm #hogwats mystery #quidditch #lizzie jameson #katriona cassiopeia #judith harris #he's had it coming #never cross the beater babes #aob #art of balance

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starmieknight · 3 years

Text

Plus One, Two, Three (part 1)

Pairing: (poly) Jeongguk x Jimin x Taehyung x Original Character, [background OT7 implied

Summary: Hari attends a wedding with her boyfriends - a magical wedding. She’s excited, but still feels a bit out of place as she gets an idea of what her future with the boys might look like.

Contents: magic!au, college/university!au, a look at the more flirty side of this au, hari and jimin are doms, tae and kook are subs, hari has fun with that, worldbuilding, was supposed to be sweet and a look into magical culture but they’re all THIRSTY, part 2 coming soon (hopefully)

Related Work(s): Gray Morning, Golden Home

Hari and Jimin peered unhappily out of the window at the sight of the light snowfall that had just started.

“I’m going to bust my ass in these heels.” Hari said mournfully, shuffling her feet as if to steady herself already.

“And we’ll both freeze to death.” Jimin concluded, regretting his choice to forego his usual sweater for the sheer, charcoal dress shirt he wore under his blazer. It looked so good with that particular blazer though, the shirt a teasing shimmer beneath the matte black and gold accents.

He had chosen the combination specifically to match Hari’s dress. She wore an inky black, sleeveless turtleneck dress with matching heels that had shiny golden buckles. Hari and Jimin had both traded in their usual silver jewelry to match their gold theme. Hari had gone with more simple choices, thin rings and stud earrings, while Jimin wore thick, jewel encrusted rings and dangling hoop earrings.

They complemented each other while still being unique.

Their coven rings rested proudly on their right index fingers, the ever color changing metal matching their choices of the evening.

Taehyung snorted from behind them, dropping a pair of coats on their couch .

“You two knew this was going to be a winter wedding.” he reprimanded with a smirk. “You should have found some boots and a sweater instead.”

He was smartly dressed in a sharp black blazer and matching turtleneck. Taehyung matched Hari as well, but offset the effect by wearing pearl earrings instead.

He was dressed the most simply, but his natural good looks were shining through strongly.

Jimin and Hari ran their eyes over him appreciatively.

“Your hair looks so good,” Hari sighed appreciatively at the new color and cut. She left the window to steal a kiss. She couldn’t help herself when he looked that good. “And it may be winter, but it’s indoors. I’d burn up in my boots.”

“Not my little bird.” Taehyung denied, taking the chance to drape her coat over her shoulders. He tapped his earring. “I’d give you a warming charm. But I do like these heels. Sexy.”

Hari grinned, quirking a brow at the idea.

Jimin wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning over her shoulder to kiss Taehyung as well.

“Are we actually going to this wedding or was this just an excuse to get pretty and make out?” Jeongguk teased as he came down the stairs.

The older trio wolf-whistled at the sight of him.

He preened at the attention, ruffling his hair and striking a pose to urge them on. They didn’t disappoint, turning their wolf-whistling into raucous applause and shouted compliments at his sharp figure.

“Helloooo, Nurse!” Hari grinned, letting her tongue poke out of her mouth a bit in an impression of the old styled cartoons.

Jeongguk wore a white button up under a black leather jacket and topped it off with a black, silk tie around his throat.

His older lovers beckoned him over and he came willingly into their arms. Taehyung pressed a kiss to their maknae’s jaw while Jimin reached up to kiss his mouth.

Hari eyed that tie appreciatively, running a slow hand over his chest. The fabric was almost see-through and she could see the outline of his chiseled stomach, see the way his dark nipples peeked through the thin cloth, the way the crisp collar was just a teasing border to what was waiting beneath for her.

Jeongguk pulled away from Taehyung and Jimin, looking flustered and his mouth red.

All three of the boys fixed their eyes on Hari’s wandering hand as she made her way up his chest to grab that teasing silk.

She tugged lightly, pulling Jeongguk down to her level so she could kiss him.

He tasted like mint and Jimin’s chapstick and Hari loved the taste. The only way it could be better was if there was a hint of Taehyung there too.

“Let’s make a deal.” she suggested, trailing her lips over Jeongguk’s jaw to where Taehyung had kissed him. The maknae was left dazed and wanting by the loss of her lips on his. “When we get back from the wedding, you keep this tie on and I’ll keep the heels and we’ll have our own after party. I’m really liking the fit on you…”

“I vote we skip the wedding altogether.” Taehyung suggested hoarsely. His pupils were blown wide and his throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly.

Jimin made a displeased noise. “As much as I wish that we could now,” he gave Hari a pointedly annoyed look. “Soyul-noona would curse us with blue balls for a week if we tried.”

“Hari-noona is a Curse Breaker.” Jeongguk protested, attempting to kiss her again. “It wouldn’t last.”

“I don’t know.” Hari grinned, ducking away to tease him. “I think I like the idea. It’d be fun to see what ya’ll’d get like if you couldn’t get off for a week.”

The boys’ hands froze wherever they rested on her body.

“You-” Jeongguk swallowed thickly, looking wrecked already. “You’d make us beg, noona?”

Taehyung looked similarly affected by her teasing words and Jimin looked intrigued, but more for the effect it had on the younger boys instead of himself.

In their bedroom, Jimin and Hari were a pair of doms to be reckoned with. They fed off of each other’s energy and often left Taehyung and Jeongguk limp and dazed by their effect.

He couldn’t wait to see what their dynamic could be like when their coven was whole again.

He thought Hari might be more shy with the older boys, much like she had been with him at first before she found her confidence. And he knew she could play a slightly more submissive role, even if she liked being in charge. Or she just liked to let Taehyung act like he was in charge from time to time. She and Jimin knew exactly where they stood with each other, no playing the power game like they did with Taehyung and Jeongguk.

They liked to hold the power in their hands, unable to let go as freely as Taehyung and Jeongguk could.

Jimin tsked disapprovingly at Hari. “You shouldn’t tease them like that. They’ll be unbearable during the wedding now.”

Hari laughed at him. “My bad. In that case, we’d better hurry and get this over with.”

“Right.” Taehyung murmured, blinking slowly as if coming out of a deep sleep. “Are we ready?”

“We were just waiting on you two.” Jimin confirmed. He considered them for a moment. “Who has the wedding gift?”

“I went ahead and put it in the car.” Jeongguk sighed, disappointed at the turn of events. “We’re all good.”

“Then let's get going.” Hari hummed, heading for the garage like nothing was wrong.

The boys grumbled as they followed after her.

_____

The boys’ mood lightened as they got closer to the wedding venue. They traded their frustration for light-hearted jokes and inevitable flirting, which turned to fondness as they watched Hari’s face go slack with awe at the magically decorated space.

Taehyung understood her best in that respect, having joined the magical community as a teenager instead of being born into it like Jimin and Jeongguk had. Even after nearly ten years of exposure to magic, he still felt giddy by its effect.

While Jimin went to park the car, Taehyung and Jeongguk helped Hari down the snowy path, watching her carefully in case she slipped.

She looked nervous about both potentially hurting or embarrassing herself if she fell.

However, the moment her legs wobbled even once, Jeongguk swept her off her feet and carried her the rest of the way inside.

Taehyung laughed as he followed, using his magic to float off the path a bit and just fly inside. He nearly bumped into the bride’s sister. He beamed at her.

“Soeun-ah!” Taehyung’s hair poofed around his face as he landed and hurried to take the girl’s hands into his own. “You look so pretty!”

“You charmer.” Soeun grinned, flushing a bit. “You look good, too. All of you.” She looked at Hari and Jeongguk appreciatively as the pair joined them.

“Hello,” Hari said shyly. She was tucked into Jeongguk’s side, almost hiding as she offered the other girl a tentative smile.

Soeun wasn’t having any of that and pulled Hari into a hug, “You must be Hajoon! It’s so nice to meet you - your boys talk about you so much, I feel like I already know you!”

Hari blushed, but looked pleased. “I think they just like to brag about their friends. Jeongguk went on for an hour about your photography portfolio the other day. I’m a little starstruck.”

Soeun laughed brightly and moved to hug Jeongguk too, her apparent fan suddenly as shy as Hari. “He’s too kind. I have a couple of stories about them I could tell you. Here, I’ll show you to your seat. I need a break and this is a good chance to make a new friend, too.”

Taehyung and Jeongguk were left in a stupor as Soeun swept Hari away, the girls’ arms linked like they’d known each other forever.

Hari shot them a sheepish grin over her shoulder.

“Well,” Taehyung blinked. “Jimin’ll be glad she’s making friends instead of hiding.”

“Yeah, but the ‘Hari Protection Squad’ is going to blame you if Soeun starts stealing her away from them.” Jeongguk pointed out amusedly.

Taehyung blanched at the reminder of Hari’s jealous best friends and their apparent vendetta against him.

They rarely went after Jimin or Jeongguk. Taehyung was their unfortunate victim since he was the first to openly date Hari and had a reputation as a ‘playboy’ when they first met him. Even if it had just been an exaggerated rumor.

Nothing he did ever seemed to get him on their good side.

Taehyung pouted.

Once Hari was in Soeun’s care, there was no separating the pair of women from each other.

Jimin rejoined his coven and was at a loss with the new friendship that had formed in his absence.

The trio of boys watched their girlfriend flutter around with their old friend, getting introduced to Soyul and Soeun’s family and coven before they disappeared into the back to meet Soyul herself. The boys were banned from the dressing room and resigned to greeting Soyul at the reception.

All three of them were pouting as they found their seats, jackets piled on Hari’s empty chair between Jimin and Taehyung. They didn’t trust her and Jeongguk to behave if they sat next to each other. They were both too mischievous.

Hari had been so reserved and polite when they first met her. She really had been corrupted by the boys.

By the time Soeun returned Hari to her coven, the boys were practically melting into their seats due to neglect and Taehyung’s hair had even begun to frizz as his magic grew restless. Jimin had begun oozing a mild slime on his fingertips that he kept wiping off on the bottom of his chair while Jeongguk began picking at his nails which were slowly turning into claws.

Hari snorted at the sight of them.

They were all so dramatic.

It was no wonder that the trio had gotten themselves reputations on campus if they behaved that way while the older members of their coven were gone.

Hari flicked Jimin on the forehead as she sat down beside him, smoothing down Taehyung’s hair as she went. Jeongguk reached for her, his claws receding as she held his hand over Jimin’s lap.

“Really,” Hari laughed lightly. “You can’t survive without me for ten minutes?”

Taehyung pouted. “Not when you get kidnapped like that.”

“We wanted to be the ones to introduce you to everyone.” Jeongguk whined, leaning over to rub their joined hands against his cheek.

Hari’s heart warmed at the gesture.

“Anyways,” Hari murmured, tucking herself closer to her boys. “I’m glad we’re together again. I’m feeling a little out of my element. There’s so much magic and I feel out of place…”

Taehyung rubbed a soothing hand over the back of her neck. “It’s not all magic - at least, the people here aren’t. Look, the groom’s family are mundane. They probably feel just as overwhelmed by it all.”

He nodded at the groom’s side of the venue, where most of the people gathered there were dressed more conservatively and looked like they were both in awe and nervous of the magical decorations and guests.

The children looked ecstatic at least.

Hari wondered how her own family would react to a magical wedding.

She flushed at the idea, then snorted.

Her family would probably be more concerned with her amount of lovers than the idea of magic.

It was fun to watch the groom’s family - Jiyong’s family, Jimin informed her helpfully - watch the ceremony with wonder. Hari tried her best to stay focused on Soyul and Jiyong as they made their vows, but constantly found her attention straying to the mundane humans present, her mind wandering to her own family, or the many fluttering baubles that flitted about overhead, like little shiny birds.

Hari was reminded of the golden Snitch from the Harry Potter universe and wondered if there was any correlation between the real and fictional worlds.

She caught Taehyung watching her with an amused smile and she guiltily tried to watch the bride and groom again.

“It’s okay to get distracted by them.” Taehyung breathed against her ear, lighting her skin up with goosebumps. Hari’s skin felt hot whenever his lips brushed against her. “They’re there to ward off evil. The idea is that anything that would wish the couple harm would be too distracted by the changshik to go after the actual people. They’re usually made of gold and jewels.”

“Oh, like the bridesmaids tradition.” Hari muttered, then frowned at the unfamiliar word. “Changshik?”

“Uh,” Taehyung frowned, making a small gesture around the venue. “All the stuff they set up? Like the flowers and ribbons? Gguk, what’s the English word for changshik?”

Jeongguk’s brow furrowed as he tried to remember. “Declaration? No… decoration! It’s decoration.”

“Oh!” Hari thought it might have been a formal name for the baubles. She repeated the word quietly to herself, memorizing it.

Jimin shushed them, but rested a hand on Hari’s thigh, rubbing circles against the fabric of her dress absentmindedly.

It was as soothing as it was maddening.

She liked the subtle show of affection, but every touch from the boys burned pleasantly against her skin and made her feel aflame inside.

By the time Soyul and Jiyong finally sealed their vows with a kiss, Hari was ready to explode. Once everyone began to rise from their seats, Hari practically flew out of her seat. Her ears were red and the ends of her hair were beginning to merge together into feathers. She combed through the unruly auburn locks to keep the boys from seeing how flustered she was.

“Time to see Soyul-ssi!” she announced, dragging Jimin out of his seat.

He looked surprised for a moment by her suddenness until he saw her red ears and realized that he’d managed to rile her up without even trying. Jimin grinned cheekily with pride.

Taehyung and Jeongguk shared a bewildered look, not having caught on yet, and hurried after them.

“Payback time,” Jimin whispered against Hari’s ear as they headed to greet Soyul and Jiyong. “Remember, what goes around, comes around, Little Miss Tease.”

Hari let out a quiet moan of dismay as her grip on Jimin turned into him pinning her to his side, not letting her escape as the boys happily greeted their newly married friend.

Jiyong gave her a sympathetic look, understanding her exasperation with her lovers, even if he didn’t know the reasoning behind it.

“Magical people,” Hari sighed as she rested her head against Jimin’s arm. She shrugged in a what-can-you-do type way.

“It gets easier,” Jiyong promised with a laugh. He bent down to kiss Soyul on her temple, the bride radiating happiness at the simple affection. “The being in love part helps a lot.”

It was a cheesy line, but all four members of the BTS Coven swooned at the words right alongside Soyul.

“Please enjoy yourselves!” Soyul urged them as she ushered them towards the reception room. “And work up an appetite! We’ve got lots of food, so go dance your asses off!”

Taehyung laughed heartily at that and tugged Jeongguk along, trusting Hari and Jimin to follow. “What else can we do when you put it like that, noona?”

Jeongguk reached out and wrapped his free arm around Hari, caging her in between him and Jimin. “I can think of a few other things.” he whispered, his sudden boldness and reminder of their earlier flirtations making the older coven members’ blood run hot with promise.

All four of them wondered how long they had to spend at the reception before they could excuse themselves to their own after party.

#bts x oc #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #poly bts #bts magic au #bts x original character #jungkook #jimin #taehyung #bangtan #my writing #light in a nocturnal world

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traditional-with-a-twist · 3 years

Text

xxxi. Beauty and Her Beast

@the-pompous-potato this was so encouraging with how difficult this arc is turning out to be :’) thank you so much! I would say to relax and not worry - everything will be fine from here on out -- but... XD

@bubblesthemonsterartist hahahah yes, exactly! Haruka is willing to make sacrifices for propriety! and I agree, let’s hope there is some fatherly feeling there... deep down...

<<Previous || first arc || second arc || AO3 || Next>>

Fate had granted them a second chance; they were determined not to waste it.

Shirayuki had assembled a list of everything required to effect a legal marriage ceremony in Clarines, and she doggedly pursued its completion with all her customary tenacity.

Obi was ready to jump through whichever and however many hoops as he was bid.

...

After the gift shopping expedition, Shirayuki acquainted him with their next task: finding a companion to attend each of them during the ceremony.

“Traditionally, it’s a role given to his brother and her sister,” Shirayuki quoted to him solemnly, “or to next of kin.”

Obi rubbed his chin. That didn’t seem practical in their case, and there was no one to offend by not asking.

So perhaps they could skip it altogether?

...

No, no, Shirayuki assured him, the companions performed important roles for the ceremony, even if they weren’t blood relatives.

Flattening his face in forbearance of this unlucky verdict, Obi asked what those roles might be?

Perhaps they could choose based on skill set. According to her research, the man’s companion stood on guard in case of disturbances. He carried the only weapon permitted at the--

...

“Whoa, whoa!” Obi broke in, waving his hands palm out. “This man has a weapon? Where does he stand?”

“He - next to… you,” Shirayuki faltered, eyes round with surprise at his vehemence.

Obi suppressed a growl. “What does your companion do?” he asked grimly.

“Oh, well, she stands by me, and, um…” Shirayuki was blushing, “I suppose she helps beforehand with...dresses...and linens...and...things.

“That’s why it’s better if she’s a sister,” Shirayuki added with a sigh, “because it could end up being quite an expensive gift--”

...

Obi snapped his fingers. He had been thinking furiously, and now he had it: the one man he could trust at his back with a sword.

...

It wasn’t easy to approach Ryuu about the wedding, because Ryuu was doing his utmost to avoid all talk of the wedding whatsoever.

When Obi cornered him in the dispensary, Ryuu was an arm’s length away from the royal apprentices and a pharmacist visiting from Port Town. They were all buzzing with questions and rumours, but Ryuu was deaf to it.

He carried on grinding pastes and salves without any change of expression while the whispers rose and fell like waves around him.

...

It was not that Ryuu disapproved of Shirayuki’s marrying Obi, or Obi’s marrying Shirayuki.

It was simply too much.

Wistal hadn’t felt the same since the war - perhaps would never feel the same again, since they had lost Prince Zen.

Away in Port Town, overloaded with work, Ryuu had successfully avoided thinking of all these things. Now it was staring him in the face, and he still wasn’t ready.

...

The only thought that comforted him was the half-hidden wish that if he ignored everything to do with the wedding thoroughly enough, it would all fade away.

...

When Obi clapped him on the shoulder, Ryuu jumped, upsetting his jars.

“Ah, sorry, little Ryuu…” Obi worked a vanishing trick with a rag. He seemed as oblivious to the silence greeting his appearance as Ryuu had been to the hubbub preceding it.

Exuding unconcern, even as his fingers crept up to his shoulder, Obi leaned towards Ryuu. “It sure is stuffy in here. Fancy a walk?”

...

The friendship of Obi and Ryuu was like that of a hound and a fox, in that neither understood the nature of the other.

Obi passed in and out of Ryuu’s life like acts of nature: impossible to ignore or explain, often cataclysmic.

Meanwhile Obi regarded him with the wondering curiosity one might direct at a woodland animal that lived in the garden: inscrutable, evidently brilliant at the mysterious work with which it busied itself, and yet often helpless in the face of obstacles that Obi would have found trivial.

In moments like those, Obi would approach with cautious affection, not wishing to spook the little fellow, yet drawn irrepressibly to mend his troubles.

...

In this they were alike: Neither spoke freely of his inner life.

Even if Obi had not vanished without a word then returned to find Ryuu absent, they would not have found the occasion to unburden their hearts to each other.

Neither did they now, sheltered by the relative privacy of the open castle grounds, consider that the moment of confidence might have arrived.

...

They strolled side by side, passing between the shimmering mounds of garden beds that receded from them like the gentle roll of an ocean swell.

Each preferred to think of anything but the present moment.

Ryuu’s thoughts tended backwards, returning to the project he had left behind him, while Obi’s bounded ahead to that fateful day that hovered so tantalizingly close.

...

Being declared fit to marry a princess didn’t make Obi feel any more in his element than he had while trailing her around her royal duties. He had little experience to guide him in an affair of this magnitude. Nor could he trust his usual instincts in such a delicate matter.

He had only this: a bone-deep desire to serve her.

Knowing what would please her, or at least lay her anxieties to rest, emboldened him to leap where even a most inferior sort of angel, such as his former self, would never have dared to tread.

...

She had asked him, so he would ask Ryuu; there was no other way forward.

To cover his uncertainty, Obi blustered.

He spoke volubly of nothing at all, remarking on what-not and entreating Ryuu’s opinion on hows-it.

...

His words washed over Ryuu, unintelligible as the wind in the branches. The young pharmacist was just beginning to feel himself safe, just starting to hope that he might have escaped the looming danger of confronting the future face-to-face.

Then Obi asked, “How about it, little Ryuu? Will you stand up for us at the wedding?”

The words, the gardens, and above all, the sense of calm receded from Ryuu rapidly.

Everything began to blur as, trapped by the very thing he had tried his hardest to avoid, he frantically sought to escape from his own senses.

...

Oblivious, Obi carried on, “It shouldn’t be too much trouble for you, if it’s here at the castle. Think the chief will let you get away for a bit?”

Ryuu’s eyes had widened until they reflected the clouds.

He said nothing.

...

“It’s all for the miss, you know.” Obi leaned over Ryuu conspiratorially.

He remembered mostly to address Shirayuki by name to her face but slipped into his old habits when referring to her.

For Obi, names were precious; he didn’t bandy them around lightly, not even among friends.

...

Ryuu looked thin and pale.

His eyes seemed to swallow his face as he wished himself away, far from here, into nothingness if necessary.

He wet his lips, but no words came to him.

...

“There’s only...ah, right! You could wear that pharmacist uniform,” Obi went on, as if in agreement with Ryuu’s silence. “It’s a royal thing, isn’t it…

“Then there’s just one extra - a little thing - you wouldn’t mind carrying a sword, would you, Ryuu?” Here Obi paused to smile winningly at his companion.

Ryuu’s eyes, pupils dilated, hung somewhere over Obi’s left ear.

He had stopped dead.

...

“Perfect!” Obi slung an arm around his shoulders. “That’s exactly why I chose you. Just...remember that we don’t want anyone cut with it, hmmm?”

#Akagami no Shirayukihime #obiyuki #PurePassion #Beauty and Her Beast #this chapter only exists because my sister helped #if it were up to me #we'd stall here forever #or skip to after the wedding #but it didn't seem fair to the cast #hope you enjoy some man-to-man talk #xD

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certifiedskywalker · 4 years

Text

Are You Bored Yet? - Benjamin Poindexter

Anonymous said: Hi!! Can I request some more Poindexter x reader? I’ve read ever fanfic on this website and I’m so sad that the amount of fanfics for him is so limited! Maybe some more dark, Dex stalking the reader but the reader falling for Dex and everything goes according to his plan! I’ve fallen down the Dex hole

AN: It’s been a while since I’ve written for Dex! I hope I did him justice! (I will forever be bitter that we will not see him and DareDevil in the same way again)

This was not part of Dex’s plan. Hell, the idea of it set him on edge. With his occupation, his senses were used to overloads. The sound of gunfire and flashing lights did little in the ways of hindering him during his working hours. Outside of his schedule, well, it was different.

Different meaning near piercing. There was noise everywhere. Crashing, geering, shattering, all of it all at once. It took everything Dex had not to cover his ears. That day he learned that he hated arcades. There was nothing worth the smell, the sounds, any of it.

Except you. You were worth it all and that confused him.

How could someone like you, all collected and cool, work at a place so obnoxious? The answer alluded Dex, taunted him, teased him with the tilt of your smile. When he learned where you worked, he almost lost his tether to you. Yet, he found himself watching you smile at people under the neon lights and assault of noise almost daily now.

Dex pulled the brim of his cap down as he stepped further inside. You were behind the ticket counter bartering with a gaggle of loudly dressed children. Despite how annoying they were, how annoying Dex assumed all children were, you were smiling. It, no, you amazed him. If he could, he would watch you smile like that all-

“Fuck off, loser!”

“Hey!”

Dex forced himself to take a long, barely steadying breath before turning to face the high-pitched yelling. When he finally opened his eyes, his gaze was assaulted by the flashing, gold lights of ‘Shoot ‘Em Up Hoops’ and the pair of children fighting there. An older looking girl was pushing away a younger boy until the basketball in his hand fell. The orange ball rolled over to Dex, bouncing slightly, almost to the beat of the game’s music.

“You can’t shoot for shit.”

Dex reached down, hands gripping the ball tightly as he listened. The young boy was growing red in the face, tears welling up in his eyes. For a moment, Dex saw himself. He could feel the sting of rejection and twinge of fear as if it were his own.

As if to prove that he was real, that the boy he once was was truly no more, Dex effortlessly threw the ball. His aim was sharp as always, the impact ever-so satisfying. There was a sudden silence around him as eyes turned to study him; but Dex was focused on the ball, where it had hit.

So neatly, the ball ran circles around the edge of the hoop before dipping inside. The older girl stared at him wide eyed as points were awarded to the younger boy. It was just enough to put the boy’s score ahead, winning the game. The children turned then, still in a stunned silence, to study Dex. The girl looked furious.

Slowly, Dex walked up to the pair, crouching down before them. He locked eyes with the girl and he could see her resolve melting. Now the fear was hers.

“Cheating will get you no where,” Dex said lowly, “because there will always be someone better than you.” The children blinked at him, dumbfounded. “Run along now.”

Dex stood up as the two kids ran off. With a little more quiet, he found himself set a little more at ease. He turned his head only slightly to peer back at you. For a moment, in the din of jingling tokens and game sound effects, Dex swore you were looking at him. Yet, with his senses so overwhelmed, he convinced himself he imagined it and turned away.

Just leave, he thought, just fucking go. There was other things he could be doing, new regimes he could follow to distract himself from you. Hell, the new routines could even prove to be grounding. Dex needed stability. He turned to glance back at you.

You were talking to a frazzled looking mother and a very young girl pointing at a stuffed pony. Despite the obvious annoyance, you were smiling. It was a steady smile, one that Dex would have to practice in the mirror to get just right. You were the stability he lacked and Dex couldn’t leave you.

He let out a sigh and eyed the tokens that rest beside the ‘Shoot ‘Em Up Hoops’ game. The dumb kids left them there. They wouldn’t be back for them and Dex had time to kill before you shift ended. He would walk you home, well, a few paces behind, then. He had to make sure you were safe. There was too much going on, too much at stake.

Leaning down, Dex picked up one of the tokens and stepped up to the game. The coin slid into the slot and the game’s music started up again. He picked up the ball as the timer began and took aim. With an ease that never needed practice, Dex made a basket.

Many, many baskets later, and Dex took note of how much the noise in the arcade had died down. Most of the evening crowd had funneled out the door when the first stars began poking out in the dark sky. Now, it was a scattered few teenagers and desperate adults clinging to what they could; and Dex. Though, he was clinging to something, someone, too.

But your shift still wasn’t over yet so Dex continued racking up the points in ‘Shoot ‘Em Up Hoops’. It was so easy to get lost in the movement. Though, it wasn’t as fluid as throwing knives or axes. It reminded Dex of a simpler time. A time when-

“Are you bored yet?”

Dex felt a rush of heat wash over his back and shoulders. Slowly, he turned around to see you, with those eyes of yours, studying him. Dex gripped the basketball tightly as an automated voice entreated him to continue on with the game.

“I…”

“You’ve been shooting hoops for a while now and we’re closing in a few minutes.”

“Oh, sorry, I just,” Dex set the basketball down to mask the shakiness of his voice. He needed to get a grip. “I just lost track of time.”

“It’s alright,” there was that smile again. Dex felt his lips pull up too, just a little. Every other sound around you melted away then, leaving him just with you.

For a moment, he thought maybe he could smile and mean it truly. Before he could, suddenly, your eyes widened and Dex felt like he was going to be sick. Did you recognize him from all the times he had snooped around? This was it. This was his worst fear realized: he was going to lose you before even knowing you.

“You have a ton of tickets! I didn’t even know that ‘Shoot ‘Em Up’ could grant that many! Do you want to exchange them?” Dex traced your gaze and saw the mass of tiny, connected slips of paper spilling out of the machine. How long had he been playing?

“I-sure. Yeah, I’ll exchange them.”

You were smiling at him again and Dex felt his chest tighten. Wordlessly, he followed you to the counter where he had seen you working before. The stuffed animals along the wall were largely picked over save for a large giraffe and a few colorful creatures Dex didn’t dare claim to know. The display case too was sparse aside from an array of tacky rings. As you moved behind the case, Dex piled his tickets on the counter.

“Can you find the end of your tickets for me? I can put them in the machine to count them then.” You were cleaning up as you spoke and Dex couldn’t take his eyes off you. So close, so terribly close. When you turned around, Dex forced himself to look away.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Dex began to fumble with the tickets. After a moment, you stepped closer to him, hands reaching out near his.

“Here, let me help you.”

You began skimming the edges of the tickets with your fingers, searching, as Dex was, for the stub-end. At one point, your hand brushed against his and he swore that a jolt of electricity jumped between your bodies. Eventually, you found the end of the tickets and fed it into the counting machine. The silence was filled by the sound of the tickets being eaten up with a horribly robotic crunching sound emanating from a nearby speaker.

“I’ve seen you around here a lot.” You did recognize him. Dex tried to keep himself steady; something that came easier, somehow, with you so close.

“Yeah, I, my friend told me about this place.” It was a lie that he had practiced. He thought of Nadeem. A friend. “His kid had a birthday here.”

“You have kids?”

“No,” Dex couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up his throat. It was a bitter one but he muscled through it. “I don’t. Probably shouldn’t.”

“After working here,” you sighed heavily, “I think you might have the right idea. They’re a handful. I mean, that kid you stopped from bullying the other one, earlier. Kids can be mean.”

“You saw that?” So, you had noticed him, watched him even. A spark of hope set Dex’s veins aflame. The feeling only intensified when he noticed a wave of shyness hit you. You were curling in on yourself slightly now and all he wanted to do was reach out to you.

“Yeah, they were causing a bit of scene. If it wasn’t for you, I would have had to go over and separate them. So, uh, thanks for doing my job. It was sweet of you too, defending that boy.”

You met his gaze for a long moment, only breaking the contact when the ticket counter read off a total that Dex would be embarrassed to admit. He had gotten himself into a zone, honed focus. ‘Shoot ‘Em Up Hoops’ had officially proven itself to be a dangerous game.

“How did you get that many?” You asked in disbelief.

“Would you believe me if I said I played sports as a kid?” Dex bit the inside of his cheek. It was really a lie. A partial truth. He couldn’t remember the last time he had played any sport.

“I mean yeah,” you shook your head, “you might want to consider going pro.” Dex put on a smile, though it was easier with you to wear it. “If the arcade plans on hosting a tournament, let me know. I’ll be the first to sign up.”

“I could add you quicker if I know your name,” you pointed out. Dex couldn’t help but pick up on how soft your voice had sounded. Your lips formed the words so carefully, almost as if you too had to practice what you were going to say.

“Dex,” he replied. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

Your eyes widened. “How did you…”

Shit. Dex could feel the ground beneath his feet begin to crumble. His eyes danced along your face, your neck, your chest, and then he saw it. His way out.

“It’s on your uh, name tag.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I’m just-long day and all.” Dex smiled at your new nervousness, a smile that, for once, felt almost natural.

“It’s alright, you’ve got good reason to be paranoid.” You met his gaze then, an eyebrow raised in question. “Kids can be mean, and all.”

“Yeah,” you let out a breathy laugh, one that made Dex’s insides feel light as air. “So, you have a around a two thousand tickets. You can get just about everything, except for the giraffe.”

“Damn,” Dex leaned against the counter, trying to be more comfortable. “That was what I wanted. Just a few tickets short...anything you recommend?”

“Well, there’s these,” you pointed at the rings in the display case. “Perfect for a engagement, if you ask me, and then there’s these.” You stretched your arms up to the stuffed animals fastened to the wall behind the counter. “You could get a few of those.”

“Hmm…”

Dex felt a twinge in his stomach. There was pulling, a coaxing, in his chest. He knew most people called it bravery but Dex knew it best as adrenaline. It was just a chemical reaction in his body taking place as it should; but with you, he could almost believe is was something more.

“How many tickets for having coffee with you sometime?” The question fell from his lips without a second thought, something Dex started to regret as you fell silent. “That was...I was too forward. I’m-”

“A hundred tickets,” you murmured. Dex’s heart began to race.

“Just a hundred?”

“As long as you buy the drinks.”

“Coffee, tea, you name it,” Dex replied. A half smile pulled at his lips. There was no faking here, no mask in sight. Right then, it was just you and him.

“Well then,” you held out your hand, “hundred tickets please.”

“Gladly,” Dex said, handing you what looked like a hundred or so odd tickets. It was finally paying off. The weeks of waiting, watching, and studying was all finally gathering into one moment. One agreement, one minute of Dex’s life that he would treasure forever.

You ripped off one of the tickets and grabbed a pen. Dex watched as you scribbled something on the tiny slip of blue paper. When you were finished, you handed it back to him.

“Here’s my number. Let me know when you’re free.” Dex took the slip from you, his finger tips brushing slightly against yours.

“Thanks,” Dex said, gripping tightly to the paper. He looked up and met yours eyes. You were staring at him but not in the way he was used to people staring at him. Normally, when people looked at Dex, it was because he wasn’t normal. People could sense it and Dex knew that you could too; but you smiled, stared at him softly anyway.

“I’m glad you didn’t get bored.” Dex’s brows furrowed. “Bored with ‘Shoot ‘Em Up Hoops’ that is. You stuck around.”

“Yeah, I am too.”

Yes, Dex thought, he couldn’t have planned it better than this. He was willing to take this slow for you. Coffee first, stability later. He could never get bored with you.

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ldpwriter · 3 years

Text

~*~Pirate Roleplay Character~*~

Name: Katarina “Kat” (She really only responds to Kat) Bloodrose

Nickname: Katy, Katia, Rina (which she hates), Fire-Kat or Wild-Kat, or Red (which she also hates)

Age: If you wanna live don't ask. But she's really about 25, but appears younger.

Gender: The fairer sex; female

Race: Caucasian - British decent

Rank: Pirate also known as an assassin

Family: Father - Jonathon Bloodrose (Pirate Captain)

Mother - Rosemary Bloodrose/Darling (High Class Lady)

Has other family members still alive on her mother's side but doesn't know who they are just that they're family name is, Darling.

Appearance: Lean, curvaceous figure. Appears fragile, but is stronger than most think. Deep green eyes that often show her emotions, with deep red fiery hair, down to the small of her back. Her skin is always tanned because she's on the open ocean and in the sun so much. Both Kat's ears are pierced with small silver hoops. And her right ear has several other piercings which also have either small hoops or jeweled studs. Several scars litter her body, mostly her back and arms. She has a lovely scar from naval to collar bone that almost took her life when she was 21. Her usual dress is anything black. Normally, however, she wears skin tight pants, a low cut shirt that comes to just above her naval, a black waistcoat, and boots that rise to mid calf. Occasionally though, she'll be found wearing a loose tunic with a corset around her waist. However, when she's hiding her femininity, Kat wears slightly baggier black pants, a loose V cut shirt, with her breasts securely tied, and her black waistcoat and boots. Also, to hide her long fire-red hair, she ties her hair up and wraps it in a bandanna and tops it off with a tri tip black hat. A black belt is almost always secured around her waist to hold her "effects".

The waistcoat, Kat wears mostly.

Face Claim: Katherine McNamara.

Weapons: Her father's cutlass, a pistol, and several knives in her belt, boots, and several other hidden places on her body. She can dual wield swords, or have a cutlass in one hand and a knife in the other.

Captain Bloodrose's cutlass, that Kat now owns and holds dear as one of the last things she has from her father.

Skills: Kat learned how to wield a sword when she was but a child barely learning to walk. She is adept with a cutlass in one hand or both hands. When she has a weapon in both hands she can be a whirlwind, able to defend herself against even the most skillful foe. She can throw knives with deadly accuracy and can shoot a gun, but prefers it as a last resort. It's too loud in her opinion. Adept at subterfuge, Kat can sneak into many a locked room. Her lockpicking skills are masterful. She is also a skilled assassin, killing foes before anyone knows she's even there.

Talents/Hobbies: Kat can actually sing quite well, but never will do so in public. The attention embarrasses her. She enjoys dancing as well having learned a bit from the old couple, but never has a reason to dance. Kat can read and write to most people's surprise, but her father had made sure she had the knowledge. Kat also collects knives. It was started with her father buying (or stealing) some of the prettiest knives she's ever seen and ever since, she's had a fascination with the quaint bladed weapons.

Weakness: Her temper and sharp tongue often get her into more trouble than what is good. She also has a well placed fear of enclosed spaces. She hates them with a passion and always tries to get out of being sent into small tunnels or entries because she often freezes while in them. Cages, wether behind bars in a prison or in the brig make her panicky. Oddly enough, wearing a dress terrifies her as well. It's like its own bondage and she hates being bound in any form. She fears love as well as dying alone. She is a wild card and hard to handle.

Likes: Pretty things, even though she doesn't really wear much jewelry. Even prettier knives. Children, dogs, singing, dancing, searching for treasure, killing evil people or those she feels deserves it, sailing on the ocean, sweets.

Dislikes: Men, women... okay most men and women. She doesn't get along with people well. Black Jack, the mutinous crew that killed her father, enclosed spaces, dresses, fancy things like balls and people.

Personality: Kat has a fiery temper, a sarcastic tongue, and a suspicious nature, which many would say matches her hair. The woman does not trust people easily. She has a particular hatred for the men who killed her father. She toys with men's hearts every now and then if it helps her get what she wants, but she never lets it go 'too' far. In truth, she really doesn't trust men, since most she had ever run into were liars, deceivers, and backstabbers. She is a loyal friend, however, and a good confidant. Kat also is not one to lay out her problems and when she is hurt or wounded she will not ask for help. She does not want people to find her weak. Which normally means she'll be dying before anyone finds out she's injured, which attests to her very stubborn attitude.

History: The only parent Kat ever knew was her father, who was a pirate. Her mother died giving birth to her in London. Kat's father raised her, on his ship the 'Grim Reaper'. As Kat grew older, her father taught her how to fight in hand to hand combat, sword play, and also fight with daggers/knives. She lived on her fathers ship becoming a pirate herself and grew to know the crew, although she didn't like most of them. The few she did befriend were like family to her and they treated her like a pirate unlike the others who belittled, teased, or flirted with her for being a woman.

One day when Kat was in her mid teens her father docked his ship in a seedy town. Her father figured that his crew as well as himself could use a rest after the pillaging they had just done. Kat and her father frequented the tavern to enjoy some ale and rum, while the crew came up with an evil plan. The evening after they docked, there was a mutiny. The crew killed her father, as well as any loyal to the former captain and took over the ship. The next thing she knew the crew tried to grab her, but fortunately she managed to escape with the help of her father's first mate, the only one left alive from the slaughter. Managing to sneak on land, though the mutinous crew was looking for her, she hid until there was a ship leaving port. Once she managed to stow passage on the ship, dressed like a man, Kat swore revenge on the mutinous crew.

Marcus, her father's former first mate and oldest friend took her away from the crazed, mutinous pirate crew. However, he was gravely wounded. The man took her to a pair of old friends and left her with them. The brother and sister duo were an odd pair. The woman considered herself a witch and knew many odd concoctions. The brother was a former assassin for the French empire. Both taught her how to fight in all new ways, to poison a blade, to blend into the shadows, and murder without being caught. Kat stayed with them for years until the nearby townsfolk got word of the witch in their midst and set forth to burn her. Francois, the brother took her to the nearby port afraid they would think she too was a witch. They disguised her by cutting her hair short and getting her baggy clothes. The Frenchman talked an old pirate captain friend of his to take her under his wing and that she would serve him well as an assassin. With that, the man left and Kat never saw him or his sister again. She never did learn if the two had made it.

For years, Kat kept her identity concealed until the old pirate captain grew sick and died. It was then time for the young woman to find her own way in the world. She let her hair start to grow once more and came across another brother and sister duo. They invited her to be a part of their crew, wishing to utilize Kat's skills for their gain. It wasn't until the brother, in a drunk stupor, tried to take advantage of her. Kat killed him in defense. The sister became enraged and attacked Kat. To the fiery haired woman's surprise, the ebony haired sister was far deadlier. The other woman managed to cut Kat from naval to collar bone. With such a dire wound, Kat threw herself off the ship grateful they had been near a French owned island. Somehow she managed to make it to shore, but passed out after. A kind elderly couple and their children found her washed up on shore and took her in. They nurtured her back to health.

When she was better, in the dead of the night, Kat snuck out. Leaving only a note and a few gold coins for their kindness, the fiery haired woman disappeared into the night. After that, Kat kept to the shadows mostly. Joining few crews and disappearing after a heist. Many referred to her as the Ghost of Shadows. Occasionally she would seek out higher paid quarries, using her assassin's skills to kill. It paid remarkably better than plundering as a pirate. As time slid by, Kat wandered from town to town, port to port listening for word of Black Jack and the Grim Reaper. But the ship had all but vanished, few going as far to say the vessel had sunk beneath the ocean's waves. It was disappointing and damn near heartbreaking for her.

One evening, Kat sat in a tavern in Tortuga. Alone in the back when someone approached her. The man said he would pay her in gold and information on the Grim Reaper's whereabouts if she did a job for him. It was the first news of her father's ship she had heard about in quite some time. Katarina readily agreed, not even caring who she was to assassinate. With that, Kat gathered her things and found the first passage she could and headed straight for her prey.

Her father's ship, the Grim Reaper

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 5 years

Text

The Switching Hour

A/N: it’s been just over a week since halloween but i finally got this piece done and i’m quite happy with it! :D i hope you guys enjoy and feedback is always welcome and cherished!! ilyyyy

masterlist | ask

word count: 8.4k

content: dramatic perfectionist demon!h, fluff, and a lil bit of smutty sexual tension

preview:

Her voice chimes up, prickly with annoyance and just the slightest bit of awe. “Are you always this picky when it comes to your Halloween costume?”

Harry rubs the material of a Jack Skellington pantsuit between his thumbs and forefingers, humming in absentminded disapproval at the flimsiness of the fabric. “Always.”

“Why?”

He drops the article of clothing, watching it sway back and forth on its hanger for a second before glancing up to meet her irritated expression, answering with a prideful undertone. “Because Halloween is the best holiday of the year and I’ve built quite the reputation for myself amongst my group. I always outshine and I tend to keep it that way, darling.”

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. “Right, I forgot how competitive you are.”

“Actually, I like the praise,” Harry gives her a slow, sultry once-over, lips buckling with a sly smirk, “but you already knew that.”

Her arms tighten instinctively across her body.

Harry goes back to filtering through hangers, scrunching his nose in distaste at yet another Dracula ensemble. Drac never even wore a cape, he preferred tapered vests. He was the one who taught Harry how to style flared pants centuries before they came into fashion. With the way humans stained his cherished outfit designs, he’d be rolling around in his grave right now if he had one. He wasn’t even a vampire— just a crossroads demon with a very peculiar taste in beverages.

Y/N toys with the visor of an astronaut helmet, staring at her warbled reflection in the grey plastic and sighing with defeated boredom. “Why don’t we just get the Purge masks and go?”

Harry gives her a look of incredulous disdain. “And cover up one of my most prized assets? I’d rather let a hellhound disembowel me again.”

///

Harry was aiming to be an angel.

Well, not literally. Hell forbid it, in his opinion. Most of them are wound so tight, they wouldn’t be able to fly if they tried.

Plus, he actually quite enjoys being a demon. Immortality, flexible work hours, free range of the human world, and not to mention a pretty sick gig with the sorcery. It’s a sweet deal, once you get past the decades of excruciating torture and training, of course.

So no, he’s not aiming to be a literal celestial being. Rather, he’s planning to be one for Halloween on behalf of Y/N’s approach to switch identities as a couple’s costume.

The idea had stemmed from when they had been walking around Party City a few days prior, trying to gain inspiration for the annual costume party a friend of Harry’s is hosting.

Y/N hadn’t really been keen on going, despite the invitation being extended to her through Harry. She felt like she never really fit right with her boyfriend’s inner circle and it was for an obvious factor: they were all demons.

She’d only ever gotten along with one demon before (granted, she’d only ever put effort into befriending this single one) and she was perfectly fine with that number. It isn’t that Harry’s friends treat her coldly in any way (they were pretty welcoming, much to her surprise), but she could practically drown in the awkward tension that milled whenever they had to interact. She stuck out of place in a painfully obvious manner and she refuses to force herself into bonding with them; it would just make the situation a whole lot worse.

The connection remained as a polite acquaintanceship, and from what Y/N could tell, both parties are more than happy for it remain as so.

Either way, Harry had managed to sway her into accompanying him. She wanted to give out candy to the children from the complex and he wanted her to be his plus-one, so a compromise was settled. They would hand out candy from six in the evening until eight, then get ready and leave for the party at nine.

After agreeing upon the terms, they’d spent well over forty minutes in pursuit for their costumes at the store.

The choices they had weren’t very compelling, according to Harry.

He outright refused to be a vampire, warlock, or werewolf— the overuse of the genres made them tacky. He’d rather be caught dead (a second time) than have to wear a cowboy hat, so that was a bust on Y/N’s part. No aliens, no zombies, no Frankenstein (which he filed under zombie and it was an entire five minute bicker session between them before Y/N finally let it go with an exasperated sigh).

No superheroes. He’d cycled through all of them already, including Black Widow. He looked great in a bodysuit, if he does say so himself.

Historic figures were a bore considering there isn’t anything truly scary about King Tut, other than his crippled foot and untimely demise. Animal costumes are for children, as well as ghosts and ghouls. Mummies were too messy.

Due to his selectiveness, they ended up circling the store five times, coming up empty-handed. Y/N had stopped giving him suggestions after he’d used a release spell to make her drop the Elvis wig she’d been inspecting.

Her voice chimes up, prickly with annoyance and just the slightest bit of awe. “Are you always this picky when it comes to your Halloween costume?”

Harry rubs the material of a Jack Skellington pantsuit between his thumbs and forefingers, humming in absentminded disapproval at the flimsiness of the fabric. “Always.”

“Why?”

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. “Right, I forgot how competitive you are.”

“Actually, I like the praise,” Harry gives her a slow, sultry once-over, lips buckling with a sly smirk, “but you already knew that.”

Her arms tighten instinctively across her body.

Y/N toys with the visor of an astronaut helmet, staring at her warbled reflection in the grey plastic and sighing with defeated boredom. “Why don’t we just get the Purge masks and go?”

Harry gives her a look of incredulous disdain. “And cover up one of my most prized assets? I’d rather let a hellhound disembowel me again.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

He pulls a pirate costume out from the metal rack, eyeing it judgingly. “You don’t get crowned best costume every year without being dramatic.”

The outfit holds a decent aesthetic with the passable material and colorful gems. The embroidery on the cosmetically tattered vest holds up and there’s no stingy parrot accessory in sight, though the cheap plastic sword is a bust. He’ll have to rummage through his storage and find a real one (probably the one he used during the American Revolution). If he’s lucky, maybe it’ll still have some dried blood on it.

With a bit of smudged black eyeliner and a pair of silver hoop earrings, he just might strike gold at the party.

Best of all, the costume gives him an excuse to show off his broad chest (not that he needs one, but the fact that it adds to the genuinity of the look is a win).

“Harry, look.”

The giddy hilarity in Y/N’s voice draws his attention upwards from examining the purple buttons on the potential candidate.

She’d clad herself in a bright red glittering cape that goes down to her knees, the button of the collar a large pentagram and perched atop her head is a pair of bedazzled devil horns about five inches in height each. In her hand she holds the rest of the costume— an attachable pointed tail and a three foot tall blood red pitchfork.

“What do you think? Kinda reminds me of someone, but I can’t quite place my finger on it.” She looks up in faux thoughtfulness, tapping her chin for effect.

Harry’s cheeks twitch with a grin of endeared amusement, dimples blinking. “I think you look absolutely adorable. Although...”

He trails off as he drift towards her, tugging lightly at hem of the cape, looking past his girlfriend towards the array of other devil costumes. He reaches for another, pulling it out and holding it up for consideration, shrugging his brows suggestively. “I think I’d rather see you in this skimpy little red dress and fishnet stockings.”

Y/N’s eyelids droop into a stern scowl. “And I’d rather not have my ass hanging out in front of all your friends.”

“That’s the whole point, minx.” Harry holds the hanger up in front of her, humming admirably as an image swipes over the front of his eyes of her prancing around in a pair of glossy red-bottom heels, a pentagram choker, and some bold cherry-colored lipstick. “Just wanna show off my girl.”

Y/N shoves the garment back towards him, tone cocky and pointed. “If you like it so much, why don’t you wear it, then?”

He lowers his arm, slinking his head slightly to the side and tugging his bottom lip between his teeth, the edges of his mouth twitching cheekily. “I don’t think all my bits and pieces would fit inside these stockings properly.”

She unclasps the pin that holds the cape closed, pushing it off her shoulders as she sing-songs her words teasingly. “Won’t know until you try it.”

Harry puts the articles of clothing back into their designated spot. “You’re no fun.”

His focus dances to a few hangers down, a random twinkling nabbing his curiosity. He moves the surrounding pieces away with the back of his hands to get a better look, a smile creeping across his face at the fit.

“Hey, babe. What d’you think of this one?”

Y/N glimpses up from fiddling with the bendy devil tail, scoffing in entertained delight at the sight before her.

Harry stands with his elbow propped on the top of the metal clothing rack, his legs crossed at the ankles with the tip of his worn tan boot tapping at the sleek black floor beneath it. He’s decked himself out in full angel attire, a light-up, wire-supported halo flashing brightly above his head, alternating patterns between quick bursts of yellow light and longer, drawn-out fading. The wings across his back span about four feet in total, strewn with white and gold holographic feathers, some covered in glitter.

“I think you look dashing.”

Harry pushes off the metal rail, the whole set-up quaking a bit under his strength. He ambles over until he’s right in front of his girlfriend, holding his arms out to his sides grandly. “I think I look dashing, too.”

He then turns his torso to the side, propping his chin on his shoulder and batting his lashes, going for a faux effect of adorable pureness. “Personally, I feel like I’d blend right in.”

His eyes suddenly ink black, dark veins protruding under his waterline and snaking their way down his cheekbones. “I’m as innocent as they come.”

Y/N glances up at the ceiling with pretend mild annoyance, irises focusing back on Harry with the left corner of her lips curved, her sentence deadpan. “I beg to differ.”

Harry drops the act, a look of insulted shock painting over his features as he carefully removes the halo headband from his quiffed curls. “You don’t think I’d play off being a good angel?!”

Y/N reaches over his shoulder and gives the tip of one of the fluffy wings a signifying tug. “Frankly, I don’t think you’d get past the gates. You’d get smited on sight.”

He gently grabs the hand that was playing with a gold polyester feathers, sifting his fingers between her’s and thumbing over the back of her knuckles temptingly. He cocks his head sideways a tad, stepping forward until his chest is ghosting over Y/N’s, the air of his sultry words just barely caressing her lips. “Maybe you could sneak me in, then?”

Y/N squeezes his digits playfully, snorting softly. “And why would I do that? So you can wreak havoc in the dining hall?”

Harry releases a boyish giggle, the edges of his eyes crinkling as his nose scrunches. The childish grin slowly melts into a brazen smirk, teeth gnawing at the inside of his lower lip as some very explicit scenes bounce around the inside of his skull. He shakes his head lightly, making a low mm-mm sound to hint that he has other plans in mind.

“Want you to sneak me in so you can take me up to your room. Show me around a bit— beginning of the universe memorabilia sounds interesting.”

“Yet something tells me prehistoric rocks aren’t why you’d want me to sneak you up to my room.” She gives him a knowing stare, the pad of her thumb toying with the glossy black surface of his painted index nail.

“Well aren’t you a clever little thing?” Harry leans in closer, his lip piercing grazing the skin along her jaw, settling nice and snug right against her earlobe. Her blood feels like it’s boiling.

His whisper send tendrils of electricity revving across her temples and down her neck.

“You’re right, though. Honestly, I just wanna fuck you on your bed instead of mine, for once. Make you whine and whimper for me to let you cum, all right under your dad’s nose. Make you stain your sheets and leave a few nail notches on your headboard.”

“Harry, we’re in public...” Y/N’s urgent murmur is warm against his neck, causing him to whine deeply in the back of his throat as the heat washes down his jugular, leaving his ears tingling.

His voice is thick and full of gravel as he answers. “I know, makes it so much hotter.”

He pauses his breathing for a heartbeat and Y/N gets the sensation that he’s analyzing her. She then feels him press a conceited grin across the back of her jaw, his two front teeth nipping at her earlobe tauntingly. His tone is heavy with arrogant certainty. “You’re wet.”

She digs her nails into his knuckles, looking down at her feet out of embarrassed instinct. “Shut up.”

He ignores her request. “I’d have to muffle those pretty sounds you make— we both know how loud you are. Would cover your mouth with the palm of my hand while I spread your thighs with my hips and fill you up with my cock until you feel it at the pit of your tummy. I’d run my lips across your stinging nose and hot cheeks, hushing you and mumbling dirty things against your skin. Telling you what a good girl you are for me and how tight and warm you feel. How good you’re taking me and how cute you look all sweaty and needy, trying to keep quiet so no one finds out you snuck a demon back home, all because you wanted to get your brains fucked out with everyone right outside the door.”

A sudden prickling slithers up the back of Y/N’s neck, her muscles tightening in heightened anticipation. “Someone’s watching us.”

Harry’s arm wraps around her waist, the hand holding the halo sliding over Y/N’s hip and maneuvering her out of sight of the prying eyes he can feel burning into his broad back, piercing right through the material of his leather jacket. He glimpses over his shoulder, catching a snapshot of the culprit peeping into their exchange: an elderly woman, partially hidden behind the black and orange tensile decorations, staring at them with disgust.

Harry mumbles a quick basic spell under his breath. “Dis.”

Push.

The aged woman spontaneously jars forward, stumbling out of sight down the aisle she’d been loitering.

Harry cranes his neck back towards his girlfriend, a happily satisfied smile staining his lips. “Took care of it.”

Y/N’s wide, astonished gaze leaves the empty space where the target had been, zoning in on her boyfriend with alarmed outrage. “You just shoved an old lady!”

His giddy grin immediately drops into a confused frown. “And?”

Harry didn’t think it was possible for her eyes to go wider, but she puts rest to his doubt.

“And?! She could be hurt!” She immediately slaps his hand off her hip, releasing their conjoined fingers and smacking her palm across his chest as a repercussion for his actions (though he barely feels it).

He rolls his eyes at her theatrics. “She’s fine! It was a light graze.”

“It was a satanic spell!”

“She was intruding!”

“Oh, and that warrants you pushing her down the aisle?”

There’s a halt in the argument, followed by Harry’s eyes darting across different points of Y/N’s face— her tinted lips, her creased brows, her slightly flaring nose, and her faintly glowing eyes. The look in them is intense and begrudging.

He hadn’t even realized his lips were parted in aroused surprise at her vehement outburst— she always looks so hot when she’s mad. He licks over them lightly, willing them closed and exhaling loudly through his nose. His eyebrows jolt upwards with salacious intent, the corners of his pursed mouth following suit. “Are y’gonna spank me for it, then?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.” Harry pecks the tip of Y/N’s nose and steps sideways, purposefully leaving just enough space for Y/N to squeeze between his chest and the clothing rack.

A swift peek at the designated aisle confirms that the woman is indeed fine (just a little bewildered) and Y/N is finally able to move past it, though still grumbling condemnation.

She pulls at the thick clear straps of Harry’s fake wings thoughtfully. “We still haven’t found any costumes.”

“Speak for yourself. I think I’m gonna go as Captain Jack Sparrow over there.” He hooks his thumb towards where he’d hung the pirate costume while he tried on the angel props.

Y/N squeezes the cushioned bedazzled devil horns, an idea dawning. “What if we go as each other?”

Harry raises a single brow, intrigued. “Well, that’s an idea.”

“It’d be a cute couple’s costume!”

He removes the wings from his back. “I dunno. I quite like my pirate costume. I look great in black liner.”

Y/N pouts, though he doesn’t think she notices, which makes it all the cuter. “Pleaseee?”

He lightly tugs at the collar of Y/N’s striped t-shirt. “I could be persuaded...”

She huffs. “Why are you such a handful?”

He taps the pad of his index finger against the faint hollow at the center of her throat. “I’m more than a handful and you’re well aware of that.”

She forces herself to keep a tab on the electricity threatening to brim into her irises. “Please?”

“Say it again. Love the way your voice sounds when you’re begging.”

She narrows her eyes at him, irked (and slightly aroused, though she’d never admit it) at the way he’s being so crude. “Pretty please?”

The sensual touches at her neck halt, the atmosphere suspended for an elongated second. “Pretty please...?”

His tone suggests he’s waiting for her to utter something more, eyes waltzing with pompous appeal at the way she’s stroking his ego.

Y/N grinds her teeth, jaw muscle visibly ticking. When she speaks, her voice is low and timid. “Pretty please, Daddy?”

The amusement swimming in the amber specks around his pupils translate across the ends of his mouth. “Sounds like a plan. Cliché, but I’ll bite.”

She clears her throat to break the puncturing sexual tension. “We just have to figure out the outfits to wear with the accessories. It can’t be that hard, right?”

Harry smiles confidently, dozens of combinations of clothing already buzzing around his mind. “You leave that to me, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t disappoint. He brings the rest of their costumes home the next day after three grueling hours at the shopping mall, carrying two frosted plastic covers over his shoulders (as well as an exhausted yet triumphant expression) when he saunters into the living room.

Y/N falls in love with her fit before it’s even fully out of the bag.

It’s a two-part velvet design and it’s absolutely dazzling. The main statement piece of the garment is the actual pantsuit: flared cuffs that cut perfectly just below her ankles, the soft fabric a pigment mix between a bright red and deep maroon. As the eyes draw upward, the suit ombrés into a murky black; by the time one’s sight gets to the bando-style top, the color is solid. The accompanying second half of the outfit is a blazer, tinted the same shade of maroon and covered with carefully embroidered crystal clear gems, resulting in material that both absorbs and reflects any light that hits the jacket, giving it bewitching juxtaposition. The cuffs and grand folded collar are lined with elegant glittered lace— a small detail that makes a world of a difference.

The beauty of it draws attention, clutching it effortlessly and Harry knew it would match her ideally the moment he laid eyes on it at the store.

He even managed to work an aspect of his little skimpy dress fantasy into the mix: the red-bottom heels. They compliment the look down to the detail with the chic, dark glossy surface on top and the flashy red lining along the underside. The model of the pumps is sleek and tapered, made to give an air of sensual confidence to anyone who dons them.

He doesn’t regret a single cent of the thousands he’d spent— the way his girlfriend’s eyes are twinkling with enamored awe makes it more than worth it.

Y/N had been rendered speechless as she passes the pads of her fingers gingerly over the plush velvet, almost as if she’s scared it will disintegrate if it wrinkles. Her voice is a stunned murmur. “Jesus, Harry...”

“You like it?” He sets his own protective carrier down along the arm of the couch, the blurred plastic keeping its contents hidden.

She holds the top portion of the pantsuit up to her chest, trying to imagine how it’ll look with her hair and makeup done. “Like’ doesn’t even come close.”

Harry smiles shyly as he takes the spot beside her, chest fluttering at the notion of making her so happy, fingers rising up to mess with the hoop piercing hooked along his eyebrow— a bashful mannerism. “Good. Always love making your eyes glow like that. Metaphorically speaking.”

Y/N laughs lightly at his joke, face shimmering with a certain loving warmth that makes his insides stir.

Harry drops his hands into his lap, leaning a bit to bump her shoulder jestingly with his. “Where’s my thank you?”

Y/N returns his gesture, hugging his gift to her stomach gratefully. “Thank you. You spoil me rotten, honestly.”

He ducks his head down to press a lingering kiss to her temple, inhaling her scent of lavender and cherry blossoms and baby powder and another odor he can’t quite place but it reminds him of a time in his life long ago when he was happy and fulfilled and loved. “I’d do anything for you.”

“You better stop before my eyes start glowing non-metaphorically.”

Harry’s full-hearted chuckle chimes the air like a thousand bells. It dies down slowly, his forehead pressing against her cheekbone, the tip of his nose brushing across her skin in a caring manner. When he speaks, his voice is gentle and raw. “Can I have a kiss?”

Y/N bobs her head, craning her face towards him, their noses bumping. She flushes her forehead to his, gazing deeply into his irises as they twinkle with delicate admiration.

Contrary to the usual, there’s no lascivious teasing or suggestiveness in Harry’s behavior; just simple, subtle affection. And the fact that he’d asked permission makes it sweeter. It’s intimate moments like these that make her cherish giving love a chance.

She buttons her lips to Harry’s tenderly, feeling him sigh dreamily through his nose. It’s not a messy kiss, there’s no desperate sexual drive behind it. It’s homey and mellow, like a hug from someone long lost.

It lasts a solid ten seconds before Y/N draws back, dwindling the singular kiss into a dozen tiny pecks across Harry’s cheeks, nose, and eyelids until his face is puckering up at the feathery sensation, lashes fluttering open sleepily.

Y/N sponges her lips between her boyfriend’s brows with finality. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

She attentively eases the cover back over her expensive present, zipping it closed and making sure the metal bit doesn’t catch on the cloth. She lays is out across her lap, already glancing over Harry’s shoulder investigatively, trying to make out what he had bought for himself.

“So what’s yours look like?” Her hand stretches out towards the costume with the intent of undoing the zipper.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Harry’s fingers come town over the top of her own, smacking them away humorously.

Y/N’s head reels back quizzically, insulted.

He shrugs his brows ominously, one of his large, ring-clad hands streaming across the bag protectively. “It’s a surprise.”

“That’s not fair!” She exclaims adamantly, though the giggles escaping her are doing a horrible job at backing her claim. “You got to pick mine and I can’t even take a peek at yours?”

Harry defends his secret with another playful slap at her insistent hand as it attempts to reach below his arm. “You know how much I love edging.”

Y/N slumps her shoulders dramatically, the weight of the mystery already itching the back of her brain. She doesn’t know how she’ll be able to put up with it for the next couple of days. “Can I at least see the shoes?”

Harry shakes his head, an evilly delighted simper coiling onto his face. “Nope.”

“Unbelievable.” She snips, crossing her arms over her stomach.

“‘Good things come to those who wait’ and all that.”

He’s having way too much fun with this.

Y/N narrows her eyes at him challengingly. “I’ll have my way when you’re asleep.”

He belts out a laugh. “Over my undead body.”

With that, Harry springs up from the couch, jetting towards the stairs that head up to the top floor of the condo, the forbidden costume in tow.

“Hey!” Y/N vaults up to chase him, well aware of all the possible hiding places scattered upstairs. It’ll take her ages to find it; by the time she does, it would already be past the date.

Harry has a decent amount of time ahead of her, his lanky legs taking the steps two and even three at a time, easily leaving her in the dust. How he keeps from slipping on his jack o’lantern socks is beyond him.

Y/N scurries up the spiral staircase after him, both of their airy giggling bouncing off the intricate metal railings and dark hardwood panels.

Harry stumbles into their room and slams the door shut behind him with a simple spell, the lock magically flicking shut. He’s laughing so hard his stomach aches, whipping around on his heels to keep alert as he backs into the room, picking his brain for a proper enchantment. He mumbles the invisibility incantation out of breath and half-snickering, but gets it out nonetheless.

“Fallax flamma, ignis de potentia, et in abscondito, ego ignire te evanescit.”

Cloaking flame, fire of power and concealment, I ignite you to vanish.

A blinding red and blue flame engulfs the entirety of the plastic cover, extinguishing almost immediately, leaving behind no trace evidence of the object he had under his arm moments ago.

And without a second to spare, the door flies open, Y/N rushing in with a victory elating her features. “Gotcha—!”

Her head swivels from side to side, confusion furrowing her brows as she takes in the image of her boyfriend’s empty arms, alongside his smug, self-satisfied expression. “Where’d it go?!”

Harry creases his brows to mimic her own baffled appearance, mocking. “Where’d what go?”

She ignores the dig. “You can’t possibly have hid it that fast! Not unless you used…”

Realization floods her face. “Cheater!”

“It’s not cheating, it’s called using my resources.”

“Cheater!” Y/N reiterates, lunging forward and koalaing her arms and legs around Harry, sending him stilting back and crashing into the mattress, the duvet rising up in a puff of fluffy black cloth.

His back bounces three times against the bed yet she manages to stay latched on, her knees digging into his hips as her hands fumble to pin down his wrists.

He fights back, wriggling from side to side to try and shake her loose, kicking up his legs wildly in hopes of teetering her off. “This is wrongful punishment, I didn’t even get a fair trial!”

Y/N ducks down, running her soft lips over the spot where his neck meets his jaw, knowing full well it’s one of his most ticklish places. She whispers her words warningly. “Let me see it.”

Harry can’t help the high-pitched, half-suppressed laugh that escape him, jitters coursing through his bones, stemming from the area where her mouth rubs along his heated skin. He wills the bubbly shrieks to die down, teething at the ring that adorns his bottom lip, eyes alight with pure ecstatic energy. “No.”

Y/N shrugs off his refusal, her supernatural strength proving valuable as she manages to keep her boyfriend stretched to the sheets. “Fine, then. Guess I’ll just have to torture it out of you.”

Harry sticks his tongue out at her mockingly, the ruby gem piercing glinting in the faint, grey evening light streaming in freely through the large glass wall that overlooks the city skyline. “Guess you will.”

Her method backfires almost immediately.

Harry’s sneaky ways and matching inhuman strength accomplish to outmaneuver her. After a fair share of complaining grunts, palms slamming against cheeks, carefully coordinated pinches to side, and a somewhat harsh tug to her hair, she ends up splayed over the mattress beneath him, heaving shallowly as he traps her forearms against his chest, nimble fingers wrapped around her wrists.

Harry kinks his brows up boastingly. “How’s that, then? Taste of your own medicine.”

Y/N squirms excessively, but slipping free seems unlikely. “I could totally kick you in a really sensitive place right now, but I won’t.”

He calls her bluff, words sticky and warm against her chin. “It’s in your best interest not to considering you’ve taken a liking to bouncing on it.”

She yanks at her arms almost savagely, snapping her head sideways to avoid him taking a piss at her as her irises flare up a pale neon blue.

Harry ends up getting his way. The costume remains unseen until the night of the Halloween party, hidden in some tear in the universe where he knows she won’t be able to find it.

It remains in its magical alcove until Harry summons it out after his shower, hanging it on an unused towel hook on the marble wall.

He gives it a calculating once-over, chin propped on his loose fist, elbow supported by the wrist of the arm he has swung across his torso. He sways ever so slightly, the towel clinging to his hips dangling dangerously low on his structured pelvis. His wet curls caress the back of his neck, mopping over his small ears and itching his brows, resulting in Harry combing them out of his face with his fingers and sighing lightly.

He taps absentmindedly at the center of his plump lips, running the pad of his index digit along the ridges of his bottom one, feeling the smallest bit off since his piercing is lacking in its rightful spot. The things he does for the authenticity of the look.

The hand across his stomach clenches and unclenches thoughtfully as he chalks up the details of the full costume in his head, cracking each of his knuckles one at a time with his thumb as he dwells on his ideas. He can never seem to stay still when he’s plotting.

He glances down at his nails, smiling fondly at the white lacquer Y/N had painted on them to go with his theme. He knows the suspense has been killing her and it amuses him to no end.

Harry rummages through the bathroom cabinets, retrieving his hair drier along with his favorite mousse. Y/N’s makeup bag also makes it onto the counter, as well as his Dove Fresh Cucumber deodorant, cologne, and a pair of dangley pearl earrings he’d acquired as a gift centuries ago from a French noblewoman more than willing to give him what he wanted (in more than one sense).

He knows exactly what his costume is going to look like now and he doesn’t waste a second in beginning preparations.

On the opposite side of the door, Y/N thinks quite the contrary— he’s taking forever to get ready, the minutes wasting away just like her patience.

The plan had gone as intended, to an extent. They’d handed out candy to all the children that had come and she’d even weaned Harry into buying a cute jack o’ lantern bowl to set the mood. She enjoyed seeing all of the creative costumes the kids had conjured up; she thinks her favorite was probably the ten year old girl dressed like Thanos from the Avengers movies. Y/N’s favorite part had been the gauntlet, which had carried different colored Jolly Ranchers in place of the Infinity Stones. Quite clever, if you asked her.

There was an incident with a twelve year old who gave them attitude for their choice in the candy they gave out, but Harry handled it before Y/N could even react. He’d crouched down to her level, mumbled something unintelligible, and then from what Y/N could see in the split second that it occurred, flashed her his demon face. The preteen fled without a single word.

He had pushed himself back up with his palms to his knees, brushing past Y/N into the apartment, grumbling under his breath. “Entitled miscreants.”

No more kids ventured towards their door after that.

She had been the first to get ready, well aware of how long Harry tended to take when preparing himself to go out.

He casually suggested that it would go by faster if they showered together, not to mention it’d “help the environment and what not,” though she knew his intentions would likely set them on a detour. He was playfully insistent, however, and she ended up having to shove him out of the bathroom with his underwear already half off.

After she had cleaned up and blow dried her hair accordingly, she left the bathroom to him, deciding to finish getting ready in the bedroom to avoid being late (and also because she knew he wasn’t going to let her see him putting on the costume).

“I know we have an eternity to live but try not to fill it all up with your showertime.” She’d quipped as she drifted past him on her way out of the foggy, humid washroom.

A sudden tug at her towel had sent her hands fumbling, just barely managing to keep her chest covered. Harry’s snickering had bounced off the shell of her ears. “I make no promises.”

Now Y/N sat on the large bed, distractedly rocking her heels back and forth against the thick-carpeted ground, running her fingers over the silky velvet fabric of her flared pantsuit as it bunches around her thighs.

She isn’t one to brag or boast because she had been wired to be humble, but she doesn’t think she’s ever looked better. The suit fit her perfectly, all of the seams and cinches falling exactly where they should. The jacket was loose enough to be comfortable but snug enough that it hugged her shoulders properly, not to mention the inside was made of velvet, as well. The wide-legged portion of the fit stopped just below her ankles, giving away to the shiny, midnight-tinted glassy shoes. She’d practiced her walk for about ten minutes.

Her hair is parted to the side, the front section pinned back from her face to showcase the makeup she’d applied. She’d tightlined her eyes with black kohl eyeliner and a red lip pencil she’d had to make due with (which she’d ducked into the bathroom to get, disappointed when she didn’t see the familiar plastic covering hanging anywhere along the walls) and applied the bright red lipstain Harry had gotten for her.

Around her neck lays a delicate gold chain, Harry’s large ruby ring glittering at its center. He always loved seeing something of his on her and he always joked about how this specific act was a vintage antic that dated back to the nineteen twenties; girlfriends would wear their boyfriend’s rings around their necks as a symbol of love. The first time he’d mentioned it, she had fallen head over wings for the idea— fallen for its simple yet deep meaning. And it just confirmed to her that under the layers of the hard exterior he donned, Harry was a hopeless romantic at heart (despite the fact that his no longer beat).

Y/N thumbs over the big stone encapsulated in the aged gold band, sighing restlessly through her nose as the pattering of the water echoes through the walls of the bedroom. He’s probably taking this long on purpose and she has half a mind to stalk in there and drag him out by his wet curls, but she refrains. His surprise better be worth it.

The water spout creaks to a stop, the only sound resonating in the bathroom being Harry’s faint humming to Thriller as the door to the shower cracks open loudly. Fucking finally.

Y/N scampers onto her feet, nearly breaking an ankle as she forgets her choice in shoes. She heads towards the washroom door with an attentive stride, rapping her knuckles on the wooden door lightly, voice tinged with irritation. “Are you done?”

Harry chimes back, tone full of airy, cocky humor. “Not quite. Still balls-naked, but I suppose I could go like that, if you want me to. Don’t mind it.”

“Just get dressed already, would you? You’re taking forever.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of being ‘fashionably late?’”

Y/N growls in exasperation, crossing her arms and pacing back and forth in front of their bed, trying to reign in her nerves. Going to a party where she barely knows anyone is bad enough, but Harry isn’t easing her woes any by being a little shit.

On the other side of the wooden door, Harry is finger-combing mousse through his hair as he harmonizes to Monster Mash, twirling strands here and there around his index finger to accentuate the ringlets just the way he likes. He flips his head over, mussing up the roots to ensure the soft volume and fullness he’s so known for. He always takes his hair seriously— a residual mannerism from when he had it shoulder-length for almost a decade.

Blow drying doesn’t take long and he’s buttoning up his top before he knows it, leaving the last three buttons undone to expose his swallow tattoos and upside down cross necklace, the antennas of his butterfly inking peeking out from the edge of the open shirt, along with the curved tips of its wings.

He fishes out a couple of products from Y/N’s cosmetics pouch as he wiggles his toes into his new shoes, zipping them up with finality and leaning in closer to the mirror for the makeup application.

Once he’s finished and everything has been returned to its rightful spot, he spritzes a few pumps of his Tom Ford cologne across his flexing necking and down his jaw, capping it and giving himself a thoughtful once-over in the mirror. He’s proud of what he’d achieved.

He murmurs a spell, retrieving the halo and wings from the magical storage facility he’d placed them in, fitting them onto his costume and humming in approval.

The door to the bathroom swings open, startling Y/N enough to trip up her angry loitering.

Harry steps through the frame of the door, completely decked out in his attire for her to witness in its fully glory. “Let the switching hour begin.”

Y/N can’t stop her jaw from dropping in astonishment.

Harry looks incredible— breath-takingly ethereal, to say the least. She scans the look from bottom to top, taking in every detail slowly, feeling almost as if time had slowed down around her.

It starts with the footwear. They’re a pair of glossy, bright white heeled boots, silver metal tips adorning the front of the shoes. She’s never seen anything like it and knowing how dramatic Harry can be, she wouldn’t be surprised if they’re custom.

The boots disappear under the flared cuffs of the off-white, wide-legged pants he is sporting, the fabric ironed and crisp, complimenting his height. They’re high-waisted, ending just above Harry’s navel, the front embellished with two parallel rows of gold buttons, each engraved with a capital, Roman-font letter G that glints under the soft, buttery low light of a single lamp.

His top is probably the statement piece of the layout. It’s a baby blue long-sleeved button-up blouse with a frilled collar and cuffs, the buttons decently-sized opal crystals that shimmer holographically with every movement. The fabric of the cloth presents a similar effect, the material frosty and see-through with reflective, multi-colored sparkling fibers sewn in. The shirt is tucked into the high waist of Harry’s pants, fitting loose and flouncy around his torso, the twinkling faintness of the thread juxtaposing the darkness of his tattoos in an unexpected yet flattering manner. It hugs his shoulders and back tightly, muscles rippling the cloth in a way similar to how a stone wrinkles the surface of a still lake.

The layers of the collar ornament Harry’s sharp jaw and grace the intricate pearl earring dangling from his right ear. She takes notice of the inversed cross necklace resting at the center of the valley that is his chest, glinting with a type of poetic irony. His fingers are garnished with his usual plethora of rings, his two blocky initials hugging his second middle finger and pinky amidst an array of gems and carvings.

Though the dazzling clothes and expensive jewelry are eye-catching, Y/N can confidently say Harry’s makeup is the real caviar of the entire look.

White liner runs across his waterline and over the crevices of his top lashes, opening up his eyes and making the olive tone of his irises pop more than usual. Glitter has been strewn across the curve of his cheekbones and faded up onto his temples, the holographic flecks of pastel blue, baby pink, and snow white glued down securely and glimmering under the flickering light-up halo. The lustery specks have also been combed into his fluffy, soft curls with a dash of gel, twinkling like a billion little stars. Evenly-spaced rhinestones decorate along the curve of Harry’s thick eyebrows— a final touch of grandeur that pairs adequately with the rest of the accessories.

Harry lifts the palms of his hands upward expectantly, giving a slow twirl and showing off the glitzy wings (which mold into the look effortlessly). “So, what d’you think?”

Y/N puts all of the pieces of the costume together in her brain, attempting to process it all at once and being rendered utterly speechless. The broadness of his body— the thickness of his chest, how his biceps and back muscles strain the dainty material of the top, his towering height with the heels, his sharp, defined features— contrast the delicateness of the fit, but it somehow it works. It somehow makes heat pool at the pit of her stomach and makes her ears crackle with spurts of electricity.

All she manages to croak out is a quiet, tender, “You look pretty.”

This sends Harry into a round of light-hearted giggling, his smile more blinding than any of the flashy props he carries. He glances down, zoning in on the metal tips of his boots to avoid her noticing the blush invading his cheeks. He pushes it down, scolding himself for being so mushy.

He clears his throat lightly, giving a quick glimpse over her own costume. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Y/N instinctively looks down at her outfit, grabbing the excess fabric around her thighs and curtsying jokingly. “Thanks, my boyfriend picked it out.”

Harry tilts his head to the side, his two front teeth digging into his bottom lip, eyebrows jolting knowingly. “He has great taste.”

Y/N steps closer to her boyfriend, draping her arms over his strong shoulders, the corners of her lips twitching. “Yeah, but he takes centuries to get ready. That’s kindof a trade-off.”

Harry’s hands coast onto his girlfriend’s hips, squeezing jestingly as he draws her body flushed against his, the golden buttons of his pants cold against the ombréd cloth of her pantsuit. “He sounds like an ass.”

She wobbles her head from side to side as if mulling over his comment, eventually nodding in agreement. “He is.”

His jaw falls open into a shocked smirk, raising his eyebrows in silent objection. “Is that so? Why do you stay with him, then?”

Y/N’s palms glide down the taut muscles of Harry’s arms, the pads of her fingers pressing into his skin suggestively. “He’s got a few redeeming qualities.”

Harry’s heavy lashes dust over the tops of his cheeks, catching a few stray particles of glitter that shimmer alluringly in the dim lighting. His forearms suddenly tighten harder around her waist, pulling her so close she can feel his groin pressing into her thigh. His tone is slathered with arrogant self-assurance, the ghosts of the words dancing across her stinging lips and her eyes nearly roll back as whiffs of his intoxicatingly delicious scent numbs her sinuses.

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

Y/N has a hard time swallowing, feeling her voice lodge in her throat as he begins brushing his lips up and down her jaw. “I’ll keep that to myself.”

Harry chuckles deeply and she can feel the vibrations down to her bones. “S’okay, I’ve got an idea of what you meant.”

“You sound awfully confident.”

“I speak from experience.”

Y/N moves her face back a tad, noticing that her fingers had somehow ended up tangled in the chain of his necklace, tugging at it so hard it's bruising Harry’s throat. He doesn’t mind it— he liked the burn.

He ducks down further, wisping his mouth over her’s, groaning lowly in the back of his throat when he sees her lips are stained with the tempting red color he’d picked out. “Your mouth looks so pretty like that. Bet it’d look even better skimming down my chest and over my thighs.”

His hold has her leaning back so far she’s now balancing on the tips of her toes, her chest heaving slightly against his. “Bet it would.”

Harry reaches one hand up, cupping her jaw with his fingers, his thumb rubbing slowly over her bottom lip, watching the color transfer faintly. “Wouldn’t mind some of the glitter on my face ending up across your inner thighs, either.”

A small whine strains the back of Y/N’s throat at the image of Harry’s head ducking between her legs over and over, the white liner smudging under his eyes due to sweat while her damp skin rubs the glitter off his cheekbones, his ringed fingers clamping over her plush thighs as the light from the moon bounces off the glossy surface of the white nail polish.

Harry presses a warm, sloppy kiss to the center of her jugular, her knees quaking as heat surges through her veins. “Some of it on your fingers, too, from pulling at my hair.”

He slowly dips his thumb past her lips, it’s weight heavy on her tongue. She acts on impulse, closing her mouth around it and sucking drunkenly.

Harry’s teeth skim along the side of her neck, a breathy purr of, “That’s my good girl” simmering her nerves.

Her words are muffled and weak, but she manages to get them out into the open. “We’re gonna be late.”

It’s not that Y/N doesn’t want to because, fuck, she wants to, but she knows that Harry would leave her a disoriented mess for the rest of the night, and it’d be pretty obvious. The last thing she wants is his friends teasing her about it— the mortification would be eternal.

He sighs grandly against her throat— which nearly sends her crumpling to the floor— and reluctantly pulls away.

Harry knocks his forehead against her’s, his sparkly lashes dusting her eyelids as they barely conceal the puncturing sexual hunger glinting in the amber flecks around his pupils. “You’re lucky the pantsuit is a one-piece or I’d have you riding my face right about now.”

With that, he refixes her crooked demon horns atop her head, retrieving the cape, clip-on tail, and pitchfork from where she’d placed them on the bed. He tangles their fingers together and yanks a very hazy, unbalanced Y/N towards the door.

She stumbles after him in her heels, gaining enough footing to avoid rolling as they descended down the stairs, the sounds from both of their shoes pounding hard inside her temples. Harry hands her the rest of her costume, grabbing his favorite navy blue trench coat from it’s hook next to the entryway and shrugging it on, carefully working his hands through the sleeves to keep the frill detailing from bunching up. He pats down his pockets to make sure he has his keys, fishing them out with his index finger as he unlocks the front door.

He steps off to the side for Y/N to go through first, kissing her cheek chastely as she brushes past him with a tiny, soft, “Thank you.”

“Of course, darling.” Harry follows her lead, turning back to lock the door to their apartment, checking the knob the same way he’s done his entire life.

Y/N loops her arm around his as they walk towards his car, the chilly air rustling her velvet jacket and drying the light sheen of sweat that had accumulated across her hairline. The moon hangs calmly amongst the stars, illuminating the high points of Harry’s face in a very fitting heavenly manner, the soft sounds of chirping insects and hooting owls setting a comfortably spooky tone for the rest of the night. A few straggling trick-or-treaters are turning in for the night, exchanging happy halloween’s and heading towards their complexes.

The beeping of the car rings across the still air along with the quick flash of the headlights. Harry opens the door for Y/N, just as he’s always done, helping her get settled into the passenger’s seat. He then leans down a tad through the frame of the door, fingers tapping at the hood of the car, eyes half-lidded in a sly simper.

“Just thought I’d tell you in advance, you might wanna get the situation between your thighs settled before we get to the party. I’d be able to smell how wet you are from a mile away.”

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famousjewelrytrends · 3 years

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Also Read: Try These Nature Inspired Pendant Pieces for an Elegant Look

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askaphjamaica1962 · 3 years

Text

Hello, I've had this character for awhile but just got around to it.

Quote:

"Ha take that you fucking Russian loser commie. It must be so embarrassing, losing a winter game against a tropical country."

-Jamaica 1994 Winter Olympics after the team beat Russia.

HUMAN NAME:

Gabrielle Amancia Sharpe-Gordon

Gabrielle is the most popular name in Jamaica, the middle name, Amancia is a name of Jamaican origin and the two last names are after two of our national heroes, Samuel Sharpe and George William Gordon.

Born: Discovery Bay/Bahia del descubrimiento (it was the first place the Tainos settled and the first place Christopher Colombus docked.)

GOVERNMENT:

Unitary Parliamentary and Constitutional Monarchy.

FOUNDING DATE:

The island was ‘discoverd’ by Christopher Colombus on the 5th of May, 1494.

INDEPENDENCE DATE:

Was granted independence from England on the 6th of August, 1962.

MOST SPOKEN LANGUAGES:

NATIONAL: Jamaican Patois

OFFICIAL: Jamaican Standard English

She can also speak Spanish (since you know first colonizer), French and Dutch (from the Caribbean), Portuguese (Brazil), Russian (because of the close relations) and the language of her native people, the Arawaks.

Age: Appears to be 20 (did this because I saw a suggestion that countries that were colonised earlier, would be older), in term of Independence 58 and in terms of colonisation, 526 years old or between 1121 and 1111 since to me she was born soon after the Tainos settled which was sometime between 800 and 900 AD.

BIRTHDAY: August 6

HOROSCOPE: Leo

GENDER: Female (I did this because in modern and historical times, women have always had an important role in Jamaica)

ASSOCIATIONS:

CARICOM (Caribbean Community, was one of the four founding members, along with Guyana, Barbados and Trinidad and Tobago, in 1973.)

The United Nations (since 1962)

The Commonwealth (since 1962)

G-15

G-33

G-77

UN Security Council (temporarily in 1992 and 2001 was president in July 2000 and November 2001)

The organisation of African, Caribbean and Pacific States (OACPS)

Food and Agricultural Organisation

International Atomic Energy Agency

Non-Aligned Movement

Agency for the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons in Latin America and the Caribbean (OPANAL)

The organisation of American States

World Health Organisation

World Trade Organisation, etc.

APPEARANCE

Mixed. Quite a lot of her features are reminiscent of the Africans with some European and a small amount of Asian features.

HEIGHT: 5’5 or 165.09cm which is the average height for women in the country.

WEIGHT: 110lbs, or 49kg.

HAIR LENGTH: Mid-back

HAIR COLOUR: Medium brown

HAIR TYPE: Very curly hair, messy and frizzy. She always spends at least two hours, fixing it.

EYEBROWS: Quiet thick eyebrows.

EYE COLOUR: Medium brown

SKIN COLOUR: Medium brown

EYE TYPE: Wide almond-shaped eyes, averagely spaced.

FACIAL FEATURES: A very round face, high cheekbones, medium-sized pink lips and a wide, short nose. She also has a very flat forehead, reminiscent of the Tainos who used to flatten the foreheads of babies as they thought it would make them more beautiful, mouth corner dimples.

BODY TYPE: Lithe, bottom hourglass shape, C cup breasts, and a large bottom..

OTHER FEATURES:

Has an aheago on the right side of her head, shaped like what was left of Port Royal after the 1692 earthquake.

Has many scars all over her body from natural disasters and battles over the years.

Has very scarred hands, from slavery, one of the reasons why she always wears gloves.

Has small freckles on her knuckles from being in the sun a lot.

Has a long burn mark on her entire thigh, from the 1907 earthquake that destroyed the entire capital, Kingston City

Has a long scar from her right hip to her left shoulder, from the 1692 Port Royal earthquake

CLOTHES:

GLASSES: Wears half-framed black glasses representing Kingston Parish and the tendency of Jamaicans to only look at the short-term effects and not focus on the long term effects.

ACCESSORIES: Wears a small braided bracelet with the colours of her flag.

Tattoos: Has a large tattoo on her back of a map of Port Royal as a memorial.

PIERCINGS: Her left ear has full piercings (but she hardly wears them and they are the most recent ones. She was experimenting which is being done more in the country with piercings and tattoos.) and her right ear has two earlobe piercings and one in the inside of her ear. Also has a navel piercing. (It is one of the most common piercings in the country.) A nose piercing which is also quite common.

MILITARY OUTFIT:

FOR COMBAT: Full camouflage pants and long or short sleeves, steel-tipped, black combat boots, black wrist length gloves small, gold knob earrings, and either a beret (black or white), or a green sunhat or various other military caps.

FOR CEREMONIES: Black military cover, no earrings, red jacket with gold piping and gold buttons and a white belt with a leather and gold belt buckle, white wrist-length gloves, black skirt with one red stripe on the sides and black dress shoes.

THE WORLD WARS: As a colony of Britain during the time of the wars, she would have worn the same uniform. During both, she served in the Royal Air Force (RAF)

MILITARY RANK: Enlisted in the Air Wing, she is a Warrant Officer Class 1, which is the highest in the enlisted ranks.

In all of these outfits, her hair is in a tight bun.

CASUAL CLOTHING: Green spaghetti-strapped blouse, black short shorts, black sponge slippers, brown gloves, small cross earrings in her earlobes and a small stud in her upper ear. Hair is in a low, loose ponytail. Most of the piercings are in. She wears a gold nose ring

NORMAL CLOTHING: A green off the shoulder blouse, yellow knee-length flowy skirt, black flats, black gloves, small gold hoops and a small stud in her upper ear and two rings in her upper left ear. Her hair will normally be in a loose side ponytail, tied with a black ribbon.

MEETING CLOTHING: A green, knee-length tunic, with a yellow dress shirt underneath, black sandals with a small heel, drop earrings with a circular wooden piece. Her hair will normally be either down and loose or pushed back with a bandeau.

Or for more formal meetings:

A black pants suit with gold accents with a yellow dress shirt underneath and a pale green vest. Normally wears black wedge heeled shoes. Only small gold earrings are in of her earlobes, a gold watch and her hair is normally in a low ponytail with a black ribbon.

FORMAL CLOTHING: A dress, one inch above the knee, large, octagonal gold hoops and a small gold star in her upper ear, black wedge heeled shoes and black, wrist length gloves. Her hair will normally be braided with black and yellow beads.

PERSONALITY:

She is normally a very loud, kind and helpful person. Though, as a former pirate, she has quite a short temper and when angered, she will normally refrain from using violence unless you're Trinidad or got her really pissed. Unless it is something very important, she'll be angry for the most, a week, doesn't easily keep grudges. She is normally someone who prefers to stay out of international conflicts but will stick her nose into peoples’ business and involves herself in everything (stereotype). She is very good at lying, which is a stereotype, very athletic, competitive (will do anything to win, once it’s not illegal), a tardy person when it comes on to social gatherings, but will be at least two hours early to anything important, independent and very extroverted, confident, go getter, ambitious, Always wakes up at the latest 8 o’clock and spends at least one-hour jogging or walking, curses like a sailor, very petty.

HOBBIES:

Gardening/Farming

Swimming

Running

Writing Poems

Pottery or just arts and crafts in general

Playing music (her favourites are the drums and the guitar)

Practicing magic

Playing sports

FLAWS:

Stubborn and won’t listen to anyone. (this is from how Jamaicans refuse to ask for help, especially directions.)

Blunt

Judgemental, especially with sexuality and class

Nosy

Can be quite hypocritical

RELATIONSHIPS/FAMILY:

MOTHER: Arawak, the original settlers of the Greater Antilles

FATHER: She sees England as her father figure

SIBLINGS:

Cuba

The Dominican Republic

Haiti

Puerto Rico

I made these four countries siblings because they were settled by the same people

Ex-Husband: Belize. When she was a colony, Belize was joined together from 1749 to 1884.

The Cayman Islands and Turks and Caicos (kind of like adopted brothers since now they are considered a part of the Greater Antilles)

Friends:

Russia

Germany

Italy

The Caribbean

Canada

America

Italy

The Netherlands

Brazil

Spain

(those are the main ones. Is friends with the world.)

CHILDREN: Kingston City and Montego Bay City

LOVE INTEREST: Brazil (in recent years, they've grown much closer and she eventually developed a crush.)

RIVALS: Trinidad and Tobago (they are rivals in basically everything.)

OTHER: Has had a strained relationship with Grenada ever since the 1983 invasion.

In recent years, her relationship with America has faced a downturn because of disagreements regarding trade and climate change.

The relationship with China has also not been the best in terms of jobs and trade.

STATS:

INTELLIGENCE: 7/10

WISDOM: 7/10

STRENGTH: 6/10

WEAKNESSES: 5/10

CONFIDENCE: 6/10

WEAPONS:

A handgun

Sub-machine gun

A cutlass/machete

NATION INFO:

FULL NATIONAL NAME: The Commonwealth of Jamaica

NATIONALITY: Jamaican

CAPITAL CITY: Kingston City

WORLD LEADER/PRIME MINISTER: The Most Honourable Andrew Holness

HUMAN POPULATION: 2,969,736

LAND AREA: 10,991km2

FLAG COLOURS: Black, meaning the strength and creativity of the people which has allowed them to overcome hardships, gold represents the wealth of the country and the golden sunshine and green represents the lush vegetation of the island, as well as hope.

ALSO CALLED: The Isle of the West Indies

The isle of the Caribbean

NATIONAL ANTHEM:

Jamaica’s national anthem is a prayer, calling on God to bless and guard our country, and bless our leaders with divine wisdom. The playing or singing of the anthem always fills us with pride, whether it is at a school devotion, a national event or on a global stage, such as the Olympics, when we celebrate the excellence of our athletes.

There are also two other, not national, Jamaica Land of Beauty and I Pledge My Heart/ the School Song.

NATIONAL PLEDGE:

Before God and All mankind.

I pledge the love and loyalty of my heart

The wisdom and courage of my mind,

The strength and vigour of my body

in the service of my fellow citizens.

I promise to stand up for justice,

Brotherhood and Peace, to work diligently and creatively,

To think generously and honestly, so that,

Jamaica may, under God, increase in beauty, fellowship

and prosperity, and play her part in advancing the welfare

of the whole human race.

RELIGION:

68.9% Christianity

64.8% Protestantism

4.1% Other Christian

21.3% No religion

1.1% Rastafarianism

6.5% Others

2.3% Not stated

ETHNIC GROUPS:

92.1% Afro-Jamaicans

(incl. 25% mixed Irish Jamaican)

6.1% Mixed

0.8% Indian

0.4% Other

0.7% Unspecified

LIKES:

Sports (is freakishly good at them and is a fast learner)

Being with friends and family

Drinking alcohol

Food with flavour

Pottery

Brazil

DISLIKES:

France (because of what he did to Haiti, nothing perverted)

People making weed jokes at her.

Being bossed around

Dry and tasteless food

Line skippers (even though she’s one)

Anywhere colder than 13 degrees Celius

QUIRKS:

She is the only one who can hear the narrator

She also has the ghost of her former boss and famous pirate, Henry Morgan following her around.

Also has magical creatures around her that she talks to, mostly ghosts tbh.

FEARS:

Natural disasters. Even though they are quite common, she still fears the damage, loss of lives and pain that it will bring.

She fears getting to such a state where she has to be dependent on another nation too much as she is a very independent nation.

Most creepy crawlies

Green lizards

SHE IS A HEAVY DRINKER.

STRENGTHS:

She is a very creative person in both the arts and in general

Integrity

Persistence

WEAKNESSES:

Is legally blind without her glasses

Has no patience

Nosey

TALENTS:

Very good potter

Good at playing the Guitar and Drums

Good poet

Occupation:

#hetalia aph #jamaica #original art #original character

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