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thethreebroomsticksficfest · 1 year

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during the darkest of nights (shine the brightest lights)

@diana-bookfairchild takes us for an angsty visit to the Potter family at the height of the first war! You can also read it on ao3 here.

Pairings: James/Lily

Prompts: The night before Christmas, Last-minute shopping, and All I want for Christmas.

Sirius Black apparated only to fall face first into the snow.

Ugh. Prongs would never have let him live it down had he been there.

He shook snow out of his hair as he walked out of the back alley – at least it was somewhat adding to the holiday spirit. He could hear the music swelling from the nearby church and the entire city was something of an eyesore with all the decorations.

Two girls giggled at him as they were passing by. He winked at them. One of them grinned back, the other ducked her head bashfully. Muggles. Always a delight.

Sirius wished he’d brought his bike. It would’ve certainly fit in in the atmosphere. The snow and lights hung up did little to hide the general griminess and hardness of the place. Cars honked impatiently. The darkness of the night before Christmas was only exacerbated by the walls. The smell of iced sludge carried through the wind.

Evans sure knew how to pick a place.

He made his way to the apartment building. The wind picked up suddenly and he felt a shiver run down his spine. He’d barely gotten rid of Rosier and Lestrange and their cronies a couple of hours ago. Had he been followed? Were they behind him, hoping he would lead them to James and Lily and Harry?

Swallowing his nerves and sudden bout of paranoia, Sirius ducked into a phone booth, pressing himself against the wall, breathing heavily. He cast a disillusionment charm on himself, and then just to be safe, a couple of repelling and invisibility charms that the marauders or Lily’d modified or made themselves.

They’re going to be fine, Sirius told himself firmly. The hot flame of panic clawing up his throat subsided back into its embers.

Nevertheless, he felt lightheaded with relief when he got to the building and felt all the wards perfectly intact.

He got to James and Lily’s flat and pressed his ear against the door. As someone tied to the protective charms, the eavesdropping preventing ones didn’t work on him.

“James, I swear, if another Celestina Warbeck song comes on, I’m going to Bombarda the bloody radio,” Lily was saying, cheerful as ever.

“C’mon, Lils, lighten up!” Sirius closed his eyes at hearing his best friend’s voice. “Tomorrow’s Christmas! Leave the poor radio alone and come dance!”

Harry’s high shriek of laughter and Lily’s startled gasp matching perfectly with the pitch of Drops of Amortentia: The Yule Romance clearly indicated what had happened. Sirius laughed hard enough that his hand fell against the door.

“Someone’s out there,” James said sharply.

“It’s me, Sirius Black,” Sirius said rapidly before Lily got it into her head to hex before asking questions. Ever since spending a week in fourth year with tentacles he’d had a very healthy respect for her wand.

“Which movie did you write your Muggle Studies essay on in sixth year?” Lily’s voice demanded, sounding wary. The radio had stopped playing.

“Trick question,” Sirius said. “I wanted to pick a really badass movie but you raved and raved about the Wizard of Oz musical and forced me to write about it. I’m also sixty per cent sure you hid all the books about Hitchcock from the library just to annoy me.”

The door swung open, and both of them beamed at him. “Padfoot!” Lily called. “Come on in!”

“Hey, mate,” James said, grasping his shoulder in a half hug. “Good to see you.”

“You too,” Sirius said. “But it’s much, much better seeing you,” he cooed, heading to the crib where Harry was standing up on wobbly feet, one hand reached out towards him.

At five months, he’d nearly grown out of the pudgy state newborns seemed to perpetually exist in. Lily despaired over the fact that the Potter hair had already grown in. James beamed over the fact that Harry’s eyes had settled to an emerald green identical to his mother’s.

Harry made several excited noises as Sirius picked him up and bounced him. “Look at him,” Sirius said. “His first word is absolutely going to be Padfoot.”

“If that happens, I’m never forgiving you,” James said solemnly.

“What does that mean, half an hour of ignoring him and sulking instead of the typical five minutes?” Lily asked, sounding amused.

James made an offended noise. “I am perfectly capable of remaining angry at Sirius.”

“Whatever you say, Prongs.”

“Oh, fu—”

“Anyway,” Lily interrupted the swear word loudly. “Harry’s just five months. He’s barely eating banana pulp now. He’s nowhere close to talking.” She paused. “Also, a first word is typically one or two syllables and his is definitely going to be ma or mama.”

“There’s no need to be jealous about Harry liking me better than you, Evans,” James placated condescendingly.

“You really want to get into this, Potter?”

“Why not?”

“You’re on!”

“I’m the one who got him Furry!”

Furry was an absolute monstrosity of a stuffed toy that Harry adored to pieces. It gave Sirius the chills; he really didn’t understand how a five-month-old cuddled it while sleeping.

“I got him his practice snitch!”

Lily had claimed that this would help Harry’s locomotion and reflexes a lot. Sirius wasn’t particularly sure about that – if childhood practice really translated into adulthood, he ought to be completely unable to feel pain, thanks to his beloved mother.

“He always smiles and stands up in his crib when he sees me—”

“I carried him for nine months and feed him, thank you, James—”

They’d gotten very close to one another. Sirius could almost literally see sparks flying.

“Ahem,” he said, clearing his throat. Both of them blinked. “We really don’t need to see the flirting. Do we, Harry?” He asked his godson.

Harry clapped happily and wiggled in his arms. James rolled his eyes. Lily laughed and came to take her son from Sirius.

“Like you aren’t just as bad,” James grumbled. “Don’t be a hypocrite, Padfoot. Anna, Teresa, Fabian, Mary, Cara… Every single one of them you shoved into our bloody faces–”

“We are planning on going out today, right, dear?” Lily asked, interrupting what was shaping up to be an impressive rant.

“Of course,” James said, blinking in surprise.

“Wonderful. Just confirming, because once the two of you get started, you never stop and everything gets derailed.”

“You know, I never understood where that word came from.” Sirius commented. “Derailed. How does that mean diverted?”

“It’s from French,” Lily said. “Because trains run on rail tracks and when a train goes off them—” She sighed when the men looked completely blank. “I give up. The two of you need to learn something about muggles other than bikes and music.”

“Speaking of muggles,” Sirius said. “Are you sure you want to go to Diagon Alley and not some muggle place? It’s much more dangerous.”

“We’ve talked about this,” James said. “Yes… It’s dangerous, but we really need to get our last-minute shopping done. Stuff from the wizarding world. And the Alley is pretty much deserted anyway.”

“Yeah, but Death Eaters—”

“Padfoot,” Lily said softly. “We need to do this.”

Sirius suppressed a sigh. He probably should have figured. James and Lily were two of the stubbornest people on the goddamn planet. He sent a prayer to the heavens for patience for when Harry decided displaying their combined obstinacy would be a good idea. “It’s risky,” he gave a final, half-hearted protest.

“Mate, living in times like this is risky.” James snorted. Left unspoken was that they specifically were in danger because of Harry. Not that Sirius would ever wish his beautiful, beloved godson away.

That reminded him. “I think you should go for the Fidelius,” he said abruptly.

“What?” James sounded completely bewildered.

“You really think so?” Lily asked with narrowed eyes. “Why so suddenly?”

Sirius thought about the sudden surge of panic and terror and the goosebumps that had risen right before he’d come into the Potters’ flat. He thought about trying to explain his panic attack, and winced mentally.

“I just think,” he swallowed. “It’ll be safer. For you both. And for Harry.”

Cheap shot, but Harry’s safety would be what convinced them. Their own safety mattered a lot less.

Lily still looked unconvinced, but James bit his lip in thought. “Maybe you’re right,” he conceded. “I’m getting tired of moving around, at any rate. I want Harry to have a home.”

“James are you sure?” Lily asked.

“I don’t know – we’ll have to talk to Dumbledore again,” he said. “Think about it a bit more. But Padfoot – you’re right. After Dorcas and Victor…”

Sirius flinched. James looked apologetic. Lily passed Harry to James and came to Sirius to put her arms around him. He leaned into them.

He and Victor Vance had had a bit of on-and-off thing. They’d been off when Victor had been murdered with his sister-in-law Dorcas Meadowes, but that hadn’t reduced the pain of it much. Or at all.

“But the Fidelius is risky,” Lily said frowning, leaning her head on Sirius’ shoulder. The weight was comforting. “You know – no other wards can be put up, single point of failure, can’t go out through Apparition or Floo or Portkey—”

“Less risky than this,” Sirius muttered. He thought about the feeling of being followed and had a full body shudder. Lily frowned, likely feeling that. He hurried on, “If we pick someone we definitely trust, like Dumbledore—”

“I don’t want Dumbledore as Secret Keeper,” Lily interrupted. Both the men stared at her.

“What? Why?” James asked incredulously. Of the three of them, having grown up in a liberal pureblood house, he was the most faithful in the aged headmaster. Which wasn’t to say the other two didn’t trust him. Which was probably why Lily looked uncomfortable.

“I just—I don’t—” She let out a frustrated breath, obviously unable to articulate it.

“What is it, Lil?” Sirius asked, frowning.

“Dumbledore’s a general,” she said finally. “Our general. And… His priority is winning the war. And that was ours too, when we joined. But now…”

“Harry,” both Sirius and James said at the same time.

“You think he’ll – what, betray you guys because it’d be the better option?” Sirius frowned.

Lily hesitated. “I don’t think he’d betray us.” There was an uncomfortable pause. “But I’d still prefer the Secret Keeper be – if we’re actually, truly doing this – someone who loves us. Someone whose topmost priority is Harry too.”

“You have a point,” James said. He sighed. “On both counts, honestly.”

Sirius didn’t say anything for a moment. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Maybe the Fidelius is a stupid idea. Maybe we can get you some sort of a permanent safe house or something.”

Lily kissed his cheek. “We’ll think of something,” she promised. “For now, though…” She strode to the chest on the table, pulling it open and taking out two vials. “We have some last-minute shopping to do!”

Sirius had to grin at the sudden mood switch and the eagerness in Lily’s voice.

James stared mournfully at the potion. “Do we have to use Polyjuice?” He complained. “I hate the stuff.”

“You’re taking enough of a risk even without it, Prongs,” Sirius scolded.

“The point we’ve reached where Sirius is the cautious one,” Lily sighed, shaking her head. “This is pathetically sad.”

“I can be cautious,” James said in a mock offended voice at the same time as when Sirius said: “Fuck off, Evans.”

James made a face as he downed the Polyjuice. He became shorter and thinner, his hair turned blond and his face grew plumper. Lily grew taller, her hair shooting upwards towards her chin and turning black.

“Wow,” she said. “That never gets old.”

“I disagree,” James shuddered. “That shit got old the first time.”

“James!” Lily scolded. “Don’t swear in front of Harry!” When Sirius snickered, she rounded on him. “And you, Sirius, if you manage to get a swear word as his first one, I will kill you.”

Sirius held his hands up in defeat, grinning brazenly. “Hey, no plans on that, Lily.” She rolled her eyes fondly at him, while James leaned in to kiss her to pacify her the way he did whenever Sirius managed to annoy her – which was ridiculously often.

“It’s so weird kissing you like this, James,” Lily laughed as they broke apart. “You’re so – different.”

“I’m sure I’m as handsome as ever,” James said arrogantly, running a hand through his hair, which looked much weirder when it was straight and actually lay flat.

“And there’s the arrogant prat I love,” Lily said, leaning up to kiss him again. Despite their completely changed outward appearances, they kissed exactly the same – Lily tilting her chin, James holding the back of her head. And they just: fit. Like always.

Before they forgot his existence – the way they used to all the time in seventh year once they started dating – Sirius made loud gagging noises. They broke apart, looking half amused, half annoyed.

“Thank you Padfoot.” Lily drawled.

“Yeah, we’re going now, alright.” James rolled his eyes.

“You’re welcome, see you later rather than sooner, leave me some time with my godson!” Sirius said back cheerfully. Lily stuck her tongue out at him as she headed out, and James flipped him off before wrapping his arm around Lily’s waist.

As soon as the door closed behind the couple, Sirius bounced Harry. “Now what should we do Harry?” He wondered aloud.

Harry gurgled.

He nodded seriously. “I see. Do you want to do something that’ll piss your parents off just a bit, or something that’ll make them really, really mad?”

Harry made a ga-ga-goo sound, and Sirius nearly had a heart attack thinking he was about to speak. He really didn’t want James and Lily to miss that. Also, at the same time, he remembered being there when Harry first stood in his crib with shaky legs, and crying from joy. Then Harry silenced at himself, and gave a toothless smile.

“Bad boy,” he scolded. “Scaring me like that.” He bopped his nose gently.

Harry grabbed Sirius’ finger.

“We’re like that, hmm? See what you’ve done now,” he tutted. “No fun for you. We’re going to have a nice, boring night like your parents want.”

Was it Sirius’ imagination or was the baby pouting?

No way. Harry was only five months. It was a miracle he could even stand, even just only with support. He definitely couldn’t understand what Sirius was saying.

“Alright, alright,” he sighed exaggeratedly. “We’ll do what you want. I swear, kiddo, you’re going to be a total nightmare when you grow up.”

Harry giggled. It reminded him of Lily’s – which Sirius hadn’t heard since before they’d gotten to know about the prophecy.

He thought about Voldemort wanting this beautiful, adorable, incredible, the bundle-of-joy, the light in all their lives dead. His head ran through the Fidelius, all the protective charms he knew, ways to get the Potters out of the country and all the safehouses he knew about. Panic began to coil in his chest again.

Sirius breathed, held him close and kissed his head, smoothing the black hair down.

“You’re going to be fine, Harry.” He whispered to his godson, “I swear.”

“It’s so odd seeing the Alley like this,” Lily said, frowning.

“Yeah, I know,” James looked troubled. “I really, really hope this gets resolved soon.” Without Harry’s involvement, went unsaid.

“You reckon Harry will like this?” Lily asked, trying to get off the topic. But that was ridiculously hard to do, these days. Everywhere, every time, this was the subject everyone wanted to discuss. Even James’ once happy-go-lucky best friend was now perturbed and traumatized. She sighed, thinking of Sirius, remembering the way he’d shuddered against her and clung to her when they’d discussed the Fidelius. She’d have to find a way to cheer him up.

Maybe invite some of the Order once she and James and Harry shifted to a bigger place next time? Harry was due a playdate with Neville anyway.

“—hope he has better taste than this,” James was saying. He paused, considering her with soft eyes. “What’re you thinking about with such focus, love?” He batted his eyelashes at her. “Really hope it’s me and not some other bloke.”

Lily laughed. “No, I was just thinking about Caradoc,” she said mock seriously. “Have you seen those muscles – and his eyes are absolutely dreamy—”

James swung her up to kiss her again. She thought she’d never tire of this. Some pleasures, no matter how oft experienced, felt like the first time every time, and this was one of those.

“Yeah?” He asked breathily. “Well, by the time I’m done with you, Lily Evans Potter, you’re not going to be thinking of another man in that context ever again.”

She shivered despite herself. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Potter,” she said teasingly.

“Never do,” his eyes twinkled. “And even if I did, I assure you this one I have every intention to keep.”

“Ah, young love,” The shopkeeper said. “We’re having a discount for the Christmas-Yule-Hanukkah-New Year season,” He elaborated. Probably because of lack of business, due to the atmosphere of the war. “What are you looking for?”

“Just gifts in general for friends,” Lily replied. She passed the few things she and James had collected from the shop. “Ring these for us, please.”

“And something for our son. He’s only a few months old,” James added. “But he can already stand with support and make comprehensible noises,” he said with the dad-pride air he had about him every time he talked about Harry and which made Lily want to snog the breath out of him.

“Congratulations! He sounds wonderful,” the shopkeeper grinned.

“Also, where’s Madam Dunning?” James asked. “She’s usually around here whenever I come to shop.”

The shopkeeper grimaced. “She… hasn’t come to work in two weeks.” The implication was obvious. James’s eyes darkened.

“I’m so sorry,” Lily gave her condolences softly. “We’ll just take a moment.”

“Of course.”

“James,” she said, putting her hand on his cheek as she stood against the wall right outside. It was dark enough that she felt confident nobody would see them. Last minute shoppers were still around, though much less than what she thought would have been the number if it weren’t for the war. No one lingered. “James. Love. Can you hear me?”

James shook his head, sighing. “Yeah. ‘Course, Lil.” He grabbed her hand. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” she said. “And that’s okay.”

James let out his breath shakily, leaning in to press his forehead against hers. “I think I want to get those packages from Wiseacre’s and go home.”

Lily nodded, despite this being their only night out for the foreseeable future. “Alright. I haven’t got you a present though,” she added with realization.

“All I want for Christmas, I already have,” James whispered, eyes soft. “You and Harry. And Sirius and Peter and Remus.”

“I think we needed a reminder of that,” Lily said quietly.

“Yeah.” James agreed. “I love you, Lily. Every day more than the day before. You, Harry, our family is worth everything.”

“You’re what I’m fighting for. You’re the meaning to it all, for me. I love you too. Happy Christmas, James.”

“Happy Christmas, Lily.”

And as midnight rang out, they kissed.

#submission

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sleepyowlwrites · 2 years

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Hey! I saw you're taking words for tiny scene Sunday! I pass along: scorn, blaze, and fury.

It's unsurprising, since Irina seems to exist in a perpetual state of fury, but her ire at everyday inconveniences is still annoying.

R tries not to be terribly offended since he's well aware of his own track record with making trivial problems into dramatic affairs, but now that he's marginally more mature than he was, like, a month ago, it feels beneath him to tell Irina to calm down about whatever bland insult Evie has graced her with now.

"She just says what comes into her head. Forget it. Evie won't even remember it tomorrow." She will but she'll act like she doesn't, which is really the same thing.

Irina bristles. She pulls her hair out of its tie and begins braiding it with vehemence, a rather endearing habit, actually. R sticks his tongue out at Evie behind Irina's head and then does some of his own glaring when sharp blue eyes gaze back at him unaffected.

Go get a drink, he mouths at her.

Evie rolls her shoulders instead of her eyes, but goes.

"I say whatever I want but then I'm the bad guy," Irina snaps when he refocuses on her, palpable scorn dripping off her tone.

R nods, because that's true. Irina is new to the friend group and they all have double standards. It's not fair, and they're working on it. Irina isn't, is the difference. Probably. More likely they're all just very childish and he has no right to be taking a superiority stance in this or any instance, ever.

"You didn't have to come," he says, then stops because he can't be sure if that came out sounding like he wished she didn't or a gesture of comfort. And out.

Irina flings her braid back behind her head, folding her arms. No matter what she does, what temper she's in, Irina is always such a blaze of emotions, a direct contrast to how Evie is always such a void of them. It's no wonder they don't get along.

"Nyks said I had to."

"Nyks always says that, but he's not trying to bully you." R frowns, then pauses when Irina looks at him impatiently.

Ah. R has to suppress a smile. Maybe she's still at odd with everyone and they're all full of double standards, but Irina understands one thing: Nyks is where they make concessions.

Well, if she's at that point already, everything else is small potatoes. "It's good. That you came," R says, trying to convey his approval.

Irina scoffs, but very lightly, and her shoulders relax somewhat.

It's a start.

(the context is they're at one of Daniel's sleepovers)

youth story taglist: @akindofmagictoo @spacetimewraithwrites @wildswrites @mary-is-writing @vellichor-virgo @ashen-crest @selene-stories @writingonesdreams @houndmouthed

#sleepy answers #tiny scene sunday #wip: youth story

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clarissaolsen-archive · 1 year

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PSD by Lupus Australis, Graphic made by Cat

{ BRYANA HOLLY | TWENTY-EIGHT | CIS WOMAN﹜ welcome to san francisco, CLARISSA OLSEN! just to make sure, you go by SHE/HERS, right? okay, great. i just have a few questions for you before i can let you go.. how long have you been here for? TWO YEARS. where are you currently living? SOMA. what’s your current occupation? SURGICAL RESIDENT of THE UCSF GENERAL SURGERY RESIDENCY PROGRAM. what’s your dream occupation? PEDIATRIC SURGEON. wow! interesting. is there a secret that we can keep between you and i? HER DAUGHTER ISN’T ACTUALLY HER BIOLOGICAL CHILD. lastly, this is a bit of a random question but … what’s your favorite song? EVERYTHING MATTERS by AURORA & that’s all they wrote, friend! we can’t wait to see you around the golden city!

Trigger Warnings (I warn in front of the bio too I just like having these upfront. If you notice any potential ones I may have forgotten, even if they're not on the trigger list, please let me know and I will add them asap!):

General: Possibly drug addiction tw in her stats, depending on your opinion of caffeine.

Biography: Child Abandonment, Drug Addiction (npc's, not Clarissa's), Accidental Pregnancy (not Clarissa's and only very mentioned briefly in passing)

Full Name: Clarissa Rose Olsen Preferred Name: Clarissa Olsen Age: 28 Birthday: February 14th Height: 5’7” Gender & Pronouns: Woman (She/Hers) Sexuality: Bisexual Occupation: Surgery Resident in the UCSF General Surgery Residency Program Relationship Status: Engaged to Logan Elswood

Place of Birth: Honolulu, Hawai’i Hometown: Waimanalo, Hawai’i Languages Spoken: English, some 'Ōlelo Hawai’i Country of Citizenship: United States Ethnicity: Kānaka Maoli, Japanese, Russian and Slovenian

Conditions: N/A Allergies: N/A Addictions: Caffeine (gotta have that coffee to function. How else do you get through med school and residencies?)

MBTI: ENFJ Enneagram: 1w2 (The Reformer with The Helper Wing) Alignment: Neutral Good Zodiac: Aquarius Percy Jackson Parent: Persephone Pokémon Type: Ice

Ices are regal, polite, glamorous, and impossibly hard to know. Many of them seem ageless, in a bit of a pinched, tense-seeming way. With them, every pause, smile, and gesture is appropriate, yet strained. They know a lot about proper etiquette, and always have the right answer for how to gracefully solve a social problem. They have many friends, and host wonderful parties, yet you never feel at ease in their presence. Ices are as perfectionistic as Grounds, without the impatience and frustrating goal-mindedness. They are graceful and slow, meticulous and proud. Even something as simple as selecting an outfit can be elevated by an Ice into an art. Every step is considered and measured, every accessory perfectly placed. They don’t like being rushed or criticized; they don’t need your criticism, they’ll find the flaws on their own.

Pokémon Type: Dragon

Dragon Types seem to operate on their own plane of existence, with its own system of morals and values. Stubborn yet perpetually happy, Dragons refuse to grapple with your criticisms of them. Dragons live their lives without any care about whether other people notice. They tend to be reclusive and self-contained. Because they are so resolute about doing things their own way, and feel no need to explain it, they don’t make good long-term partners for most people. However, if you can give them the space they need to forge their own quiet, maybe sometimes even a bit odd, lives, you can learn a great deal of wisdom from them.

Winx: Nature

Father: Rei Olsen Mother: Clarissa doesn’t actually know this info. She left right after Clarissa was born and her father has never talked about her, and she’s never wanted to know. Children: Isabelle “Belle” Elswood (4 years old)

TWs: Child Abandonment, Drug Addiction (specifically cocaine, regarding her fiance), Accidental Pregnancy (not Clarissa's and mentioned briefly in passing)

You can skip both the addiction and pregnancy tw by not reading the 6th paragraph if you'd like. The paragraph starts with "The answer came in less than a year..." so just stop reading and go straight to "And despite the fact..."

For as long as Clarissa could remember, it's always been her and her father. Her mother left, not long after she was born, leaving simply a note that expressed she couldn’t do this. The whole being a wife thing, a mother, it was too much for her. But, despite everything - she’d never really felt a gap missing or anything. She had her father, who loved her very much, grandparents who she spent lots of time with, and she lived in probably the most beautiful place in the world. Her father was a linguistic anthropologist with John Hopkins, working alongside the anthropology unit at University of Hawaii—Mānoa. A position he’d always held with great pride, but he’d always say the greatest joy was being her father. And he was a great father. Clarissa didn’t even notice the absence of a mother until she started interacting with children her own age. And in all honesty, she's never really felt that void people expect her to feel whenever she mentions it was just her and her dad growing up. He was always there for her, every step of the way. Which only made the decision to attend college on the mainland even harder for her. Sure, she’d gotten into Cornell - something her father was excitedly telling everyone who’d stop long enough to listen to him. His Clarissa had gotten into an ivy league school, on a scholarship, but despite how ecstatic the man was - that didn’t make leaving any easier. It was in New York City she’d met Logan Elswood, it’d been a casual bump in. It’d been her second year of medical school when they’d bumped into each other and the girl he’d been walking with started laughing and trying to apologize for her dad between giggles. At first she thought it was a weird couple thing. He looked about Clarissa’s age, there was no way he was the father of a college freshman. But then he apologized for his sister and offered to buy Clarissa a coffee to make up for the error and from there, it felt like everything was falling into place. After that day, they’d talk constantly - he’d call her while she studied, she’d sit at his kitchen counter and work on anatomy as he tried to keep all nine of the siblings he’d dropped out of high school to raise out of trouble and try to ignore how uncomfortable the spacious upper east side apartment felt.

He’d grown up in an entirely different world than her. While Clarissa never really noticed her father struggling - the Elswood family were something else entirely. Too rich, uncomfortably so, the type of family where one of them would casually mention loaning their best friend the money for MIT because he couldn’t get a loan from the school at the dinner table and people didn’t act like it was the most outrageous thing they’d ever heard. Sometimes she wondered if this was what she actually wanted - sure she liked Logan, and his siblings accepted her with open arms and genuine enthusiasm. But, did she actually want to stay with him for the rest of her life, knowing that his world was so much different than hers? The answer came in less than a year of dating him in the form of a bundle left on the doorstep one July morning, with a note that echoed the one her mother had left. And despite Logan’s absolute, and genuine confusion, he took the situation at face value and accepted the fact he now had a daughter. Maybe storks didn’t exist, but exes that he’d broken up with long before they’d met and consensual hookup under the influence of cocaine he’d never thought much about certainly did. And maybe most people would have left after being hit in the face that not only was their boyfriend suddenly had an infant on top of the fact he’d never mentioned his cocaine addiction before, but she really liked Logan. And despite the fact all of her friends were telling her to leave before the situation got wilder - she stayed. She’d argue that decision was one of the best ones in her life. It was hard, balancing med school and a daughter she hadn’t been planning on having anytime soon, but it felt worth it every single time she came in the front door and Isabelle’s face lit up. Maybe welcoming your first child in less than a year of dating someone wasn’t the most ideal situation, but the longer Clarissa spent with the two, the more she realized that she wanted this. A life with Logan, being Belle’s mom. When she was given chance to legally adopt the girl finally she signed the papers without hesitation. Clarissa was here for the long haul, even if it meant smiling through her future-father-in-law’s obnoxiously large parties and Logan’s siblings constant shenanigans. It was worth it.

And when Logan suggested moving to San Francisco after she finished up her medical program at Columbia (it was “close enough to Emmett to keep him out of trouble,” and yet “far enough away from LA they wouldn’t have to babysit him unless something went drastically wrong” - a proposition she could understand the appeal of). She applied to residency at UCSF and got into the program, found a nice four bedroom apartment and settled into her life in San Francisco. As far as anyone needs to be concerned, Clarissa Olsen moved into the neighborhood with her fiance, their daughter, and the two youngest Elswood children who Edward sent to live with them the second he found out they were leaving New York. (Much to Logan's relief, if we're going to be honest). And if the neighbors make comments about how Belle got her nose and how the girl looks just like her, well... Clarissa’s never going to say anything to the contrary.

#goldencity : intro #child abandonment tw #drug addiction tw #drugs tw #pregnancy tw #accidental pregnancy tw #(not Clarissa's but it's mentioned in passing - you can skip the 6th paragraph of the bio section miss it and probably be fine tbh)#(also can we discuss how anxiety inducing hitting post on your first intro is. If I forgot anything I AM SO SORRY)#(ALSO! If you need larger text - Clarissa's blog has 15px font and a day/night mode for your convenience!)#(sorry about how long this is and for the lengthy of any/all future intros in advance)

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auburniivenus · 26 days

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❛ what's not to love about you? you're beautiful and kind and you're overall the most amazing person i have ever met. ❜ - Uryu (familiarache)

In the pulsating heart of a metropolis, ablaze with the perpetual momentum of urban existence, there resides an idyllic retreat of epicurean delight and visual splendor. To cross its threshold is to be encapsulated in an aesthetic where light and darkness perform a stylish ballet, crafting an experience where old-world panache coalesces with contemporaneous elegance in a sublime fusion. Ambiance pulses with the melody of conversation, a stimulating sequence of exchanges punctuated by eruptions of laughter that spill from a lively gathering at the bar, a fellowship of enthusiasts bound by their collective joy. Guests, their visages illuminated by impatient anticipation, repose upon benches immersed in the stories of myriad diners before them, all drawn here by the promise of an experience that surpasses the average. “This is really congested.” Comments, desperately attempting to maneuver through the crowd to the welcoming desk.

For the younger voyagers among them, crayons and paper emerge as tools of creativity, providing relief from the wait and the confines of formal behavior. The interior, a meticulously curated blend of lighting and décor, where each element—from the exquisitely manufactured bottles of oils to the perfectly positioned strands of pasta, from delicate silk fans to treasures of the deep—adds its voice to the narrative that enhances the gourmet excursion. Fine artwork graces the walls, its silent watch a tribute to persistent cultural customs and the memoirs of civilizations, overseeing the masses below with an unalterable gaze.

Upon their approach to the establishment’s entrance, Inoue queries about the reservation she had assuredly made. However, they find themselves in a predicament as it is acknowledged that their expected seating has dissipated, putting them into a state of limbo until either the dilemma is rectified or a table becomes available. “People are so incompetent sometimes.” Voices in a sigh, laden with vexation. Yet, the topic that follows, infused with unrepentant truth, sets Orihime’s cheeks ablaze with a flush of embarrassment. An onlooker, caught in the moment, smiles at the honesty. “I-Ishida-kun…” Whispers, her plea for discretion palpable. His forthright admission, though spontaneous, struck a chord of undeniable truth. “A-Arigatou. I also think the same about you. You're incredible, diligent, and extraordinary. Also, I admire your fortitude in coming with me here. I know you were aware this could be chaotic here.”

@familiarache - Ishida

#( — .:｡✿*┆ answers ❀ ❞ )#ooc; they are so adorable i just want to squeeze them omg #ooc; she got shy but that is cute i guess and he was brave in saying that

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areapermostcapricious · 2 years

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Send 🔮 plus a question, and Kuja will give you a tarot reading | Accepting!

@dealingwithdemonsrp sent: 🔮 + Alex should know better than this. He should know better than to ask an outsider to read his fortune, with Xael lurking just around the corner, waiting for another opportunity to further torment him. But, still . . . something otherworldly seemed to follow the ostentatiously-dressed man. And as gaudy and gauzy as he seemed, Alex couldn't resist the draw of asking him: "What do you see in me?"

On a whim, Kuja had chosen to set up a momentary spot upon this boardwalk, and sure enough, it had attracted all the sufferers and stragglers he had expected. This one, he could already sense upon him a dreadful aura---but he would allow the cards to draw out just what the individual is asking for.

“With the use of my eyes, I see someone whose fear consumes him, and when I close them,” and he does so, lips pouting in concentration, “---I can sense it, a presence that causes such a fear, surrounding you---invading every facet of your existence.”

Thus, he opens his eyes, gazing hard for a moment, “But we shall see what lies even further within, beneath all of that---into the depths of the caverns of your mind, your body, and your soul.”

And then, he begins his reading:

Death, reverse.

“Stagnation, lethargy. Within your mind is an empty cavern, the echoes which haunt and terrify you. Thus, you remain still. You allow the moss and lichen to grow upon your brain, and it threatens to consume you lest you act in retaliation to whatever it is that has caused this devastation upon your consciousness.”

Four of Cups, upright.

“Your impatient, bored body is demanding that you take action---and demanding that you take it now, before it is too late---before the stagnation fully settles in, and you become naught but a statue, tethered to the land for all eternity. But some form of hesitation, yet again, draws you to this stillness.”

Ace of Swords, upright.

“However, despite the mind and body in this perpetual state of malaise, your spirit is one of a triumphant force. But bear in mind, this force could stem from either the power of love or the power of hatred---so be certain to tread cautiously during your travails, lest you fall into the pit of your own folly. Use what powers you have at your disposal wisely---and you shall rise from your pit, shake away the mess, and overcome your obstacles.”

#dealingwithdemonsrp #rp #ask #tarot meme #au: rosen rotten #[[ setting this in his necromancer au because uuuuh REASONS ]]

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bubblegumbeech · 3 years

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The Losing Move

Day two Ectoberhaunt: Scream vs Laugh

AO3

It started with a scream. That’s how Clockwork knew it was finally time.

He hesitated, of course. There was so much to lose, so much still uncertain, paths branching in different directions, moments shrouded imperfectly from his view, strings of fate tangled and misused. But he was the Master of Time. He could hesitate and no one would ever know.

Not even them.

Clockwork made a portal, leaving his Clocktower and walking towards a tall grey rock almost as old as time itself, weathered by age and nothing like the statue it had once been standing proud in a garden of overgrown thorns and long dead leaves. Nocturn appeared next to him, a swirl of inky black void scattered with stars and nebulae.

“Did you hesitate?” he asked.

It was a valid question. An important one too, if they were to succeed. Clockwork’s hesitation could lead to an uncertain future, to a failure in their plot. And then they would be lost, set back hundreds of thousands of years again.

“No.”

Nocturn accepted his answer. Perhaps he knew that Clockwork was lying, perhaps he did not. Either way, they both turned to the stone.

It wasn’t long before the others appeared.

Misery Vex was the first, then Sojourn, on and on until they all stood, surrounding the stone.

Misery turned to Clockwork. “Did it take?” she asked, and he flew forward, taking off one of his gloves to run his hand along the smoothed side of the rock. It hummed, an energy unlike any else, unique to here yet everywhere and nowhere at all. Very chaotic indeed.

“It has.”

She hummed an affirmative, linking her hand in his before reaching out to take Sojourn’s. Clockwork reached for Nocturn and as they all linked together they formed a shield, thick and impenetrable between their varied talents, around the stone.

“How long will this take,” Vortex said, ever the impatient one. He was jittery, yellow cords of lightning constantly jumping all over him in a nervous jumble, branching in and out of each other like writhing snakes.

Clockwork sighed. “Not long.”

“You musn’t get too close,” Misery warned.

“I know.”

“You musn’t go too far,” Nocturn reminded him.

He knew that too.

“You’ve failed before,” Misery said, her voice steady and calm. She was not wrong, nor accusatory. He had faltered, it had led to a less than ideal outcome. He would not admit this.

Clockwork didn’t allow any emotion on his face. “The threat is contained. My faults did not lead to the failure of our mission.”

She scoffed. “No, only to ‘inconvenience’. Right?”

As far as she knew. As far as any of them did. They relied on him, to determine if their future would be a success. He was the only one who could see which path to take, what choices would lead to their victory. He was the only one who knew just how thin the chance was, how precarious the choice. It would not benefit them to know. He did not need their doubt.

“Who was it?” Sojourn asked, referring to the scream that had summoned them here. The scream that had echoed hauntingly throughout the entirety of the Infinite Realms.

Clockwork hadn’t looked. He looked now.

“A boy, fourteen years old, between child and adult, between living and dead, between here and there.”

Nocturn smiled, “How fitting.”

The stone shattered. Power and chaos, magic and will swirled around in a tornado, beating against the solid weight of their shield and making what was once so obviously strong seem weak and pitiful in comparison.

Vortex’s eyes glowed in excitement. It was a sign, they all knew, that things were getting close.

Eventually the storm faded and all that was left was a weathered pile of ash and rubble where there had once been a stone, where there had once been a statue, where there had once been nothing at all.

It would come to nothing once more.

Soon.

The Infinite Realms had been lifeless for so long. Nothing more than ambient ectoplasm and void. A place. Nothing more and nothing less than it had to be. Many of the denizens had never seen them alive, existing as they once had. The panic was only natural. The frenzy, exciting and new. The heart of it all beating again.

There was one ghost in particular, of course, who had only known the realms as they existed now. Sure there might also be others, newly made and newly dead, but this one was the important one. He’d been the one to give his life for the life around them now.

Or at least, he’d given half of it.

The Observants, of course, were furious.

They had attempted to hunt down the Ancients, knowing it was they who had done this, who had planned this and then hidden it from the view of those who watch. Vortex had been taken first, as expected, and Undergrowth had fled to the mortal realm. The others also split, the time for them to come together was over; the time to prepare for the end was nearing.

Clockwork, of course, their ever loyal subservient pet that could not leave his tower without their knowledge, that could not use his power without their permission, he’d never been looked at twice.

“You told us the threat was neutralized.” Nocturn said, sliding up next to one of Clockwork’s monitors. He watched a scene, where Daniel and Pariah fought. It was not a real fight, of course. Pariah had long shed the haze of bloodlust that had driven him mad, and was now attempting to be endearing, to rebuild a trust Clockwork had never actually had in him.

Clockwork took a sip of his tea. It was made from some of Pariah’s newly grown coraleander leaves and made a thick, murky green tea that Clockwork quite enjoyed the taste and texture of. Unfortunately that was exactly why Pariah had grown them, and while Clockwork had snuck them away like a petty thief, he doubted that the missing leaves had gone even a moment unnoticed.

It was infuriating and Clockwork sipped at it slowly, savoring it’s warmth.

“He is no longer the King. In fact, there is no King at all, just as I said it would be.”

Nocturn turned to meet his eyes, tilting his head just slightly in suspicion. “Yes, you did. Though I suppose the others thought you meant he would not escape his sleep. Or at least, that he would not escape his sleep until after .”

Clockwork looked away, towards the monitor. Pariah had soundly defeated Daniel and was laughing. Likely at the way the poor boy looked, his hair a mess and covered in the very coraleander leaves Clockwork was drinking. He’d need to wash them off before he transformed back into a human. While they wouldn’t be immediately deadly to a Half-Ghost, they would form a large, hard to explain, rash.

“That wasn’t what I said though, was it?” Clockwork met Nocturn’s eyes once more.

The other ghost just snorted and shook his head. “No, no I guess it wasn’t. Clockwork, the tightrope you’re walking, that future you see that you haven’t told us about? I really hope you get it. I do. Because the brightest lights cast the darkest shadows and I can’t imagine what would happen if you missed.”

Clockwork’s tea had gone cold. He continued to sip it. He ignored Nocturn’s words and he watched the screen as Pariah helped Daniel stand, only for Daniel to tackle him when he wasn’t expecting it.

“I’ll take that under consideration.”

It was becoming habit, he found, to lie to Nocturn.

Daniel was at the Clocktower, eating a plate of cookies and complaining about some of the varied ghosts he had to deal with and fight on a regular basis in his mortal realm. It was a side effect, of course, of Phantom’s new role as the Heart of The Infinite Realms. The smaller, weaker ghosts, especially younger and newly dead ones, had attempted to flee the Realms when they noticed the sudden changes.

When the Observants had become so busy trying to find the cause of the change, so busy trying to hunt down what was left of Chaos’ children, that they could no longer micro-manage the state of the Realms. Could no longer constantly overstep their authority and keep their tasteless ‘Order’.

The Realms had become more and more lively and Clockwork had found himself in a perpetual good mood. He took a cookie for himself. Nocturn caught him baking the other day; his expression had been dry as he congratulated Clockwork on his adoption. It was a pointed accusation.

He had shoved it to the back of his mind and decided to make some forgoent tea to go with the cookies. He hadn’t offered any to Nocturn.

Daniel paused in his musings for a moment before speaking again, his voice careful. “I’ve been visiting Pariah.”

Clockwork hummed, not looking away from his screens. “I am aware.”

“Of course you are.” Daniel rolled his eyes. Then he sighed like he didn't know how to bring up what he was going to say next. “Did you… Did you know he was going to get free if you sent me after that key?”

Ah, so he’d figured it out then. “It was a possibility. Each and every choice you make creates an entirely new future with entirely new consequences.”

“He doesn’t seem all that bad…” Daniel argued, as if Clockwork was going to disagree with him. Clockwork raised an eyebrow, the one with the scar Pariah had given him, and looked over to him. “I mean, he just. When he first woke up he was really mad right? But like, I’d also be really mad if I finally woke up from a forced coma only to have Vlad there.”

Anyone would really.

“And even though he sucked Amity Park into the Ghost Zone, no one actually ended up getting hurt. At least, no more than usual in a ghost attack. And I’ve been talking with the other ghosts that have been ‘Challenging’ him and they all say he's a pretty cool teacher… Like, he knows how to fight and he’s good at showing them how they can use their unique powers-”

Clockwork didn’t interrupt Daniel as he rambled. It was rare, at least since he’d been deposed, to hear lists of Pariah’s more positive aspects. It wasn’t uncomfortable so much as mildly frustrating. Was this part of Pariah’s ploy? Get Daniel to fall all over himself to recite poetics about Pariah to Clockwork. He should have learned by now that whatever affection he might hold for him, it would not be enough. Not to stop his plans, and certainly not to stop the others.

“So uh, you know, he seems… chiller. Without the crown and ring and stuff.”

“Yes, it was the Ring of Rage Daniel, what did you think it was used for?”

There was a small imperceptible shift in Daniel’s expression, as if he’d realized something and made the choice to file the knowledge away for later. He must have learned that from Pariah as well. “So, if there’s things that can change even powerful ghosts like Pariah, are there things that could change, say… one of the Ancients?”

Was Daniel befriending another Ancient? Clockwork smiled, that was good then. He could hold that against them, the weight of his failure to keep an emotional distance wouldn’t be as stark, if another Ancient or two fell just as easily to Daniel’s pleasant company. He could use that, he simply had to find out which of them it was. Perhaps Sojourn? He was always soft for children, but Clockwork hadn’t been aware of him returning to the Barrens lately, and Daniel rarely went any further than the Time Locked Lands or the Far Frozen.

“It is good to befriend others Daniel,” he says halfheartedly, searching through his mirrors to locate Sojourn, “but remember not to trust too easily. You never know the goals of those around you, if they might be using you towards their own ends.”

“Of course,” Daniel replied, his voice hard.

Clockwork looked over to him, he was staring at the dregs of his tea, expression dark.

“Would you like more tea?” Clockwork offered, wondering what had plummeted the boy’s attitude so suddenly.

Daniel looked up, a small smile on his lips, “Yes Please.”

Clockwork left to make more, his mind still trying to find which Ancient Daniel had befriended.

“The Observants are completely ignorant of your machinations,” Pariah said as Clockwork entered his study. “Of course, they don’t know you as well as they think.”

Clockwork should stop visiting him. Should never have started, a fact that Nocturn was only too happy to remind him of. Sometimes Clockwork wondered if Nocturn got his taste of Chaos from Clockwork's mistakes, he seemed so dedicated to reveling in them.

“I didn’t come here to talk about the Observants. I have my fill without the need to remark upon them when absent from their presence.” Clockwork was scowling. He could hide his irritation, but despite his lies and trickery he was hardly an accomplished actor.

Pariah chuckled, flipping another page in the thick book he’d been reading. The title was faded, but Clockwork recognized it easily enough. It was a detailed history of the Infinite Realms after King Dark had been sealed away. It was a long history, though not as long as the history that came before his reign entirely.

It was also the exact kind of thing Pariah would read cover to cover, like the obsessive monster he was.

“I suppose you came to warn me away from your ward then?” Pariah asked, his voice casual. Clockwork scoffed, allowing a roll of his eyes before floating over to Pariah’s shelves and grabbing one of the books that looked recently used. It was about old soul binding rituals, much like what had happened to Fright Knight. It was amusing, the thought that Pariah’s oldest friend might still be whining about his little curse.

“Hardly,” Clockwork said, idly flipping through the pages, “if I could control Daniel I never would have let him near you to begin with.”

Pariah smiled, placing his own book down. “Yes, I imagine you wouldn’t have. It would be a mistake to let me get close to him and realize he is the reason the Infinite Realms have started to sing.”

He’d figured it out then. Of course that wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. Unlike the Observants, Pariah was wickedly intelligent and fully capable of coming to the appropriate conclusions. “Sing? An interesting way to describe it.”

Arms encircled his waist and Clockwork was pulled back into a warm chest. Pariah’s chin rested on Clockwork’s shoulder as he spoke softly into his ear. “Is it enough? The realms feel alive, weaker ghosts are fleeing or banding together once more. It resembles the time we once had, between Chaos and Order. Will you stop here?”

“There’s nothing more I can do,” he lied.

Pariah hummed an agreement and reached out to flip a few pages through the book Clockwork had been holding. There was a beautifully illustrated drawing of a necklace, bewitched and layered in curses. Pariah must have memorized the pages, of course. “Would you wear jewelry if I made it for you? I would see you decked in gold and finery if I could.”

Clockwork slammed the book closed, just missing Pariah’s fingers. He didn’t think about the earrings Pariah had once gifted him, or how he wore them even now, dangling hidden beneath his hood. “You should know better than to ask that.”

He felt a smile against his neck. “Then I won’t ask.”

He held the Thermos in his hand.

The other Daniel was a menace, truly. But he would not be so desperate to ruin Daniel’s life anymore. It had been long enough for him to realize that his existence was no longer predicated on Daniel’s decisions, or on the loss of his family.

It would change him, of course. The knowledge that he exists in the same time as his once family will either soften his grief, or sharpen its edges. There were so many paths he could take, and Clockwork could not see them all, did not bother to look much further than the distance he needed him for.

There was something more important than his grief that he and Clockwork had in common. Something Daniel and Pariah likely had in common with them as well: the detestation of the Observants.

Clockwork opened the thermos, releasing Daniel’s worst nightmare and not thinking about how the young half-ghost had given it to him so easily, had trusted him so quickly when all Clockwork had done was protect his human family one time.

The other, once possible, Daniel appeared in an explosion of light and matter and immediately attacked, using his claws to scratch at Clockwork’s face. He was prepared for that though, years trapped in a thermos had eroded much of Dan’s more refined aspects. It would work in Clockworks favor of course, he had made sure of that.

For now, Clockwork froze time and moved behind him. That way his wild attack would meet nothing but ambient ectoplasm and Clockwork could speak his piece. Provided his piece took less than a second to speak.

He allowed time to flow and watched as the other Daniel floundered, confused, only to instantly realize just what Clockwork had done and turn around, ready to attack once more. Clockwork smiled as their eyes met and asked, “Would you like to End the Observants and their Order?”

the other Daniel attacked him, but Clockwork could see the consideration in his eyes. The thought had been implanted, now all he had to do was sit back and watch. the other Daniel had always been rather good at ruining things after all.

“CLOCKWORK!” Daniel yelled, flying frantically into the Clocktower. “Clockwork Dan escaped somehow! He attacked Amity Park!”

His desperate flight slowed when he saw Clockwork floating casually at his screens as he always had. He was watching a specific screen now, and pulled the image onto the largest one to share with Daniel. “Yes, I know.”

Daniel looked between him and the screen, his expression growing more and more confused. “But, he was here though. Locked up. How did he escape?”

Clockwork didn’t turn to look at him. “I’m sorry Daniel,” he lied. “Your trust in me was misplaced. He escaped while I was distracted with another matter and I was unable to stop him. It’s my fault.”

Daniel’s eyes widened, searching for something in Clockwork’s expression, and then in Clockwork’s screens. The only thing he saw though, was the other Daniel causing havoc and destruction. After visiting Amity Park and re-traumatising Daniel’s sister, the other Daniel had been driven away by Daniel, whose power had become far superior in the time since they had last met. It was only natural of course, Daniel’s existence was unique and far beyond that of Dan’s mangled pieced together form of conflicting obsessions and damaged cores.

It was possible, Clockwork knew, for the other Daniel to stabilize properly. Perhaps he could become a proper ghost, perhaps he could stop attempting to restrict what humanity he had left. Either way, it did not matter in the end. If anything, his existence was a fun riddle that would play itself out long after Clockwork’s plans came to fruition.

Clockwork looked over at Daniel, his expression hidden behind the shadows of his hood. The boy was staring emptily at the corner of the Clocktower that led to the inner dungeons where the other Daniel had been hidden away. After a moment he turned away, hiding his own expression, and began to walk. As if his legs had become too heavy to fly.

“It’s fine. I’ll get him back. It won’t happen again.” There was a promise in his voice and it softened to be almost inaudible entirely. “I won’t let it.”

After he left, Clockwork turned back to the screen with the other Daniel on it. He was finished terrorizing the ghost from before, and was now floating listlessly in the void of the Infinite Realms. Likely, he was warring with his obsessions- or his emotions- it was hard to tell which. Eventually though, he shook his head, looked up as if to catch Clockwork’s eye, and flew off.

In the direction of the Observants.

It’s eyeball was glaring at him, the normally dull yellow of it’s sclera bright with fury. “You were given responsibility over him! You were entrusted to keep him from destroying the Realms!”

Clockwork’s own eye twitched as he fought back an eyeroll. Those who Watch were as predictable as ever, not showing up at the moment of Dan’s release but instead at the moment he began to take his rage out on the Observants. Their responsibilities had always been superfluous though, a vague excuse to do as they pleased in the name of Order.

“I failed. He escaped. Woe is me.” He floated over to one of his more intricate gadgets and began to tinker with it, pretending to be busy. “Surely an Order such as yours, full of powerful ghosts that command the Realms, did not come to me in fear though? He attacked you directly, does that not make your vow of inaction void?”

“ You-! ”

“Of course, it would be different if you simply couldn’t defeat him. But… he’s only a decade dead. That would be an embarrassment.”

The other Observant that had come to scold (and demand his servitude) floated in front of its companion so as to cut off a likely incensed reaction. “He’s an abomination, and an amalgamation. Surely you can understand why we wanted him dealt with before it came to this.”

Clockwork inclined his head, playing at civility. “Perhaps then, you should seek to work alongside Phantom. I have it on relatively good authority he’s also trying to deal with your resident menace.”

Both of the Observants took his suggestion as an insult, one even growing red with it. “That Abomination? He should be destroyed along with it!”

“Pity,” Clockwork said, turning back to the screens and watching as the other Daniel tore the core out of another Observant’s chest and crushed it in his palm. He wasn’t even absorbing them for their power. It was a waste, but Clockwork was certain it was a waste born of trauma. Dan’s creation had, after all, been due to a botched absorption with a powerful ghost core. “You can leave now.”

“You must deal with this.”

“I will deal with it when the time is right,” he said in lieu of an answer.

The Observants, disgruntled and unwilling to leave, as if hiding in Clockwork’s lair would somehow protect them, made comment after comment demanding his action and threatening punishment should he fail. He replied with sarcasm and an aloof attitude that soon had them leaving out the door if only to try and do what they could to tighten his bonds.

He sighed, there was time still. He should make cookies, that always seemed to calm him, help him to exist in the present and not become impatient for what is yet to be. He headed to the kitchen, only to see an unexpected visitor at his table.

“Nocturn, you’re early.”

The other Ancient nodded. “Yes, your plan seems to have worked flawlessly. The Authority of the Observants has been shaken. Much of the power they had gained through fear and reputation has dwindled, but…”

Clockwork raised an eyebrow as he opened his cabinets. There was egyptian sand flour left over, it would be dryer than using something more modern, but the age would add a good aftertaste. He just needed to add extra Honey-Wasp bits from the outskirts of The Undergrowth and that should balance it. Maybe some purified ectoplasm. Pariah gifted him a jar after he had somehow managed to create a device to filter it from the Infinite Realms.

He had also made an absolutely unsubtle offer to join him in his new ‘sauna’ that Clockwork had pointedly refused.

“But?” he prompted, there was little information he could glean from silence.

Nocturn watched him prepare the batter. He sighed and stood, grabbing a knife and helping to mince the Honey-Wasps before speaking again. “But they still have their numbers, and much of their actual power. And Clockwork, Pariah has made his move.”

“I know,” Clockwork admitted, “but is that not in our favor as well?”

“Not if he takes more power from them, Pariah on his own is not a fight we can accept lightly. Anything more being beholden to him is hardly something I wish to see.”

Clockwork cracked a Kraken’s egg into the mixture and moved the bowl closer to Nocturn so he could scoop the Honey-Wasp bits into it as well, without losing any of the juice. Mixing it would be troublesome, some of the more experimental batters attempted to gain sentience and would try to escape the bowl. “It will work in our favor either way. the other Daniel caused havoc, their power was broken across the realms. Pariah is merely salting the ground we have burned.”

He used a dull knife to cut into the batter and stirred, stopping any attempts at formation. Nocturn grabbed the bowl from him, forcing eye contact. “What if he seeks something else?”

“Haven’t I already escaped the chains he bound me in before?” Clockwork laughed. “Do I not have allies that would find short work of cutting chains that I did not allow to bind me?”

The bowl was set back down and Clockwork and Nocturn both made short work of dividing the dough and setting it into the oven. “We could not break the bindings of the Observants,” Nocturn said as Clockwork closed the oven door.

“That is different, that was part of our plans. They needed to never suspect me, if we were to get this far.” Clockwork waved him off. “Would you like a cookie?”

“We have to wait for them to cook, Clockwork.” Nocturn said, exasperated.

Clockwork simply rolled his eyes and increased the time surrounding the oven. “I don’t wait.”

Daniel hadn’t visited again since Clockwork allowed the other Daniel to escape. It was possible, he admitted in the back of his mind, that Daniel blamed him for what happened. As well he should. Yet, the thought left a sour taste in his mouth.

He was watching the screens again. Aiming them in every direction he could to see everything as it played out. Most were occupied by the remnants of the Order he had set about decimating. A few were dedicated to their interconnected Lair, the place where they held their play courts and kept their prisoners. It was where they kept Vortex before he was freed. One screen though, was aimed at Pariah’s Keep.

It had been a simple thing that Clockwork had neither encouraged nor discouraged, Daniel’s visits with Pariah. But now that Clockwork’s own visits had come to an end, it had become something distinctly bitter, a feeling that was building in his chest, where his core hummed, that Clockwork was ignoring with all the practice of a man dead set on his goals.

Daniel would visit again, of course. Clockwork could even tell the exact date and time, or at least the most likely ones. He didn’t look at the futures where Daniel never came back, there was no point in uselessly fretting about it. He’d be fine, there were more important things to deal with now.

He could feel the pressure of his binds loosening as more and more of the Observants were hunted down. Not all of them were ended by Dan, of course. They had made many enemies. Both Vortex and Undergrowth had gone out of their way to visit quite a number themselves, along with a few of the other Ancients. Clockwork was certainly tempted to do so, alas, the restrictions upon him prevented it still. And the only way for those restrictions to end was for those wielding the reins to End. And well, then there wouldn’t be anyone left to take his ire out upon would there?

Instead he allowed his own part in their demise to be enough for his bruised ego and the millennia of torment he’d undergone beneath them. Then he ate a cookie and kept watch of his screens.

Pariah was teaching Daniel how to use a sword. Pandora had attempted to teach him swordsmanship but Daniel had been disinclined to it. He wasn’t particularly elegant to be fair, and the finesse and practiced movement of Pandora’s sword was more akin to an art than anything else. Her limbs risked entanglement if she wasn’t careful and had developed a style suited to such.

Daniel was much more inclined to blunt, ferocious movements. He often thought with his fist before anything else, even as a ghost with a multitude of powers to command. He used speed and strength to win and outmaneuver his opponents and despite his lack of polish, he often won due to those two traits alone. Pariah was a talented teacher, in that he was clearly taking what Daniel had already in ample supply, and taught him how to wield it appropriately to its maximum use.

He was still only beginning of course, but Daniel was a fast learner and had grown significantly in a short period of time.

Clockwork had toyed with the idea of taking Daniel on as an official apprentice once or twice before. Teaching him how to exist beyond the means which he had become accustomed to as a human. While he would not have Clockwork’s inclination for time specifically, Daniel’s connection to the Realms would allow him a level of control over his surroundings and the beings that exist in them that simply does not exist in anyone outside of the Ancients. And even then, Clockwork’s Time was different enough from the others’ domains to be unique in and of itself in a similar vein to Daniel’s powers. Even if they’d only just barely begun to show.

But it was a risk to do so before everything else came to fruition. If Daniel realized his plans, it would be troublesome. He likely would not agree to the lengths Clockwork is willing to reach, and more than that, there is no guarantee that his existence as half human would not have him attempting to side with Order over Chaos. No, it was better to wait and see how it all played out first. There wasn’t much left to do before the end.

Yes it would lead to anger. Perhaps even to hatred. It would be fitting for Clockwork. He had never known a love that had yet to turn. That had truly been any kind of unconditional.

But he would be free.

Finally, finally free.

Free from this horrid linear existence, free from his servitude, free from his bonds. The root of him, the core, had been born from Chaos, from the mess of all things and no things, and like any child wishing to cradle in the arms of its mother, Clockwork longed once more for it.

He had been patient, as had the others. There was little left to do.

When Daniel finally visited again Clockwork had made cookies.

They resembled human chocolate chips, if one squinted, and Clockwork had made sure to take them out of the oven just as Daniel arrived so they would be warm.

“There you are Daniel,” he greeted. The cookies were still moving and he had to give the tray he was holding a bit of a shake to get them to stop. He doubted Daniel would eat them if he thought they were alive.

The boy didn’t look well. He had deep bags under his eyes, and a skittish, weary look about him.

Clockwork clicked his tongue. “You need to sleep,” he said, not waiting for Daniel to speak.

“What?” The boy lifted his head, confused.

“I said, you should sleep.” Clockwork grabbed one of the amulets from the wall and placed it around Daniel’s neck. “I’ll stop time for a few hours, you can sleep here if you want.”

Daniel just blinked. “Oh.”

Nodding, Clockwork turned back to his screens so he could keep watch. Nocturn had warned that Pariah was making his move and Clockwork was determined to keep an eye on him now, when the timing was most crucial.

He felt a tug on his sleeve.

“Clockwork…”

He looked down to catch Daniel’s eyes. “Yes?”

“Nothing,” he sighed, “thanks.” He grabbed the amulet in one hand, a torn expression on his face. Then he floated off to the room Clockwork had given him to sleep.

Watching as his ward wandered off, Clockwork waited until he was out of sight to grab hold of time and let it rest for a moment. It was the least he could do.

It wasn’t long after their fall that the final thread snapped and Clockwork opened his eyes in triumph. Everything was available to him now. There were no hidden futures, no shrouded pasts. His screens multiplied around him as even his Lair was freed from its limits. Like a beast stretching from a long hibernation, Clockwork lost himself to his Obsession, revelled in the freedom he had long gambled away.

The Infinite Realms felt it as he left the Clocktower for no reason other than because he wanted to and he didn’t have to ask. He didn’t have to come up with some convoluted reason as to why this was perfectly acceptable before his own body allowed him to leave the doors of his own Lair. It felt wonderful, he almost took down his hood to see everything around him with the eyes of a free spirit.

He didn’t though, it would be too much of a hassle to wrangle his hair back and he didn’t really want someone to see him so freely bared. It was enough in every way, that he was finally free.

“I almost forgot how powerful you were, Clockwork.” He turned to see Misery Vex, lounging comfortably just outside his lair. “The Eyes Around Us are gone then?”

Clockwork nodded, looking to the future, looking to the past. She had been waiting here for him, but not for long. And she wouldn’t have waited much longer. “Are you ready for what happens next?” he asked.

“Are you?”

He nodded again. There weren’t any more preparations to make, how could he be anything but ready?

They didn’t meet at the Clocktower this time.

It was no longer necessary after all. This time they met in the night. The soft evening of eternal sleep and dreams, Nocturn’s lair. It was spacious if nothing else, and creative with its decoration. Should one of them wish to sit, they merely needed to chance sitting and see if the space around them would accommodate. It suited him immensely.

“Have you found her yet?” Misery asked.

Sojourn nodded, a small enthusiastic smile hidden under his beard. “Yes, Clockwork and I were able to locate her shattered core amongst Pandora’s boxes.”

“ It will not be easy to receive her, and it will only be more difficult to revive her,” Nocturn warned, “especially if we wish to keep this to ourselves. Rather than risk the entirety of the realms turning on us as they did the Observants.”

Clockwork nodded, “we shouldn’t do much in more than pairs. Sojourn and Misery should seek Pandora. Nocturn and I can set the ritual once the pieces are complete.”

“And the rest of us?” Undergrowth scowled, he hated Nocturn’s lair. It was cold and empty, barren of any more physical matters and there was nowhere for him to take root. Clockwork suspected half of the reason it was that way was intended to irritate Undergrowth specifically.

Sojourn clapped his hands together and smiled, his eagerness truly knew no bounds and his obvious delight was nearly infectious. “You’re our escape plan of course! We’ll need help once we locate the right box, Pandora’s obsession is hardly a good one to be on the wrong side of.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Vortex grinned.

Clockwork couldn’t help but agree, what are they waiting for indeed?

“What is Chaos, Clockwork?” Daniel asked. But Clockwork was distracted.

He hadn’t expected Daniel to show up today, he hadn’t paid attention to it. There was so much to do, so much to get ready for. The time was now after all.

He took care to answer anyways, the changes that were to come would affect the boy. At least a little. He was strong enough that he would thrive in Chaos, and it would help to nurture his Obsession, if the weaker denizens of the Realms needed help. And they would

“Chaos was the first, how it all began. Everything started with Chaos or nothing could have been at all.”

Daniel frowned, a small furrow in his brow. “That… didn’t really-“

Clockwork paused for a moment. “Is something wrong Daniel?”

He sighed. “So if you were made from Chaos, is she like, your mother?”

“No. Chaos is not sentient so much as conceptual.” Clockwork frowned, “though I suppose she predated concepts as well if she was the first. Chaos was neither one thing nor many things. It’s safe to say Chaos was everything and everything came from her. But that did not make her nurturing”

Clockwork looked back at Daniel, letting time flow smoothly once more. It wouldn’t do to delay.

There was a hint of something in Daniel’s eyes, a wariness that Clockwork had never seen before. It must have been due to their conversation, but Clockwork couldn’t place what about it would have Daniel on edge. Chaos would not be any more a threat to him than it would be the other Ancients.

“Clockwork, if Chaos came back…” he paused, as if the words had been stuck in his throat, “what would happen to the humans? The mortals?”

What a strange question. “Life would not exist as it does now, utter chaos would not permit it.”

It had been something of a sport, to watch Sojourn and Misery in their attempts to find and excavate the remnants of the Core of Chaos. Clockwork and Nocturn had watched it from the safety and comfort of Clockwork’s lair, on the largest of his screens.

“They’re having fun aren’t they?” Nocturn mused, taking a sip of his tea. He’d made it himself in Clockwork’s kitchen, had been insistent about it when he’d seen Clockwork start to make his own.

“Pandora is a valiant warrior and a good fighter. Misery has been on the sidelines for some time since the end of Pariah’s court.” Clockwork’s tea was cold. He frowned and set it aside.

“Yes, it’s good to see her stretching her limbs. I hadn’t seen all of them since her last fight.”

Clockwork thought back, the fight Nocturn was referring to played on one of the smaller screens. It was a gladiator based competition, where Pariah had sent her as a member of his court to show his power. She had challenged the Lord of Little Crawlers to a duel and shredded him to pieces before even five minutes had passed. Then she had collected herself, reset her veil, and gone right back to Pariah’s Keep.

Now she was using every extra limb she could against Pandora, swords clashing with long knitting needles and strings of silk. Watching the fight was mesmerizing to be sure, almost akin to a dance, if not for the frustrated vulgarities being thrown around and Sojourn’s overly eager cheering from the back.

“Do you think they’ll make it?”

“Sojourn will remember what they’re supposed to be doing when he almost drops one of the boxes held in his arms. Upon that realization he will sneak away while Pandora is distracted and meet with the others. From there they will come here with their spoils and it will be our turn to prove our worth.” Clockwork answered, easily detailing the future ahead of them.

Nocturn nodded and took a sip of his tea.

It didn’t happen exactly like Clockwork had predicted. But it was close enough. Sojourn had bypassed Vortex and Undergrowth completely and simply flown straight to Clockwork‘s lair on his own. Nocturn spared Clockwork a glance, but he remained unaffected. It was still on track to be an ideal future.

Once Sojourn entered his lair Clockwork grabbed hold of time with his hand and twisted , forcing it to bend and still under his palm. The trip to the Cave was only a step after that and once there, he let loose and released time to settle amicably around them.

“Amazing,” Sonourn said, “I do think I’d like to travel this way more often. It’s quite convenient.”

Nocturn patted him on the shoulder and grabbed one of the delicately detailed boxes he’d been balancing precariously in his arms. “You’d need to be very careful if you did, there’s no telling what might get caught up in all that twisting and turning.”

“It won’t matter much longer after this,” Clockwork said, taking his own box.

The entirety of Chaos was not here, her core long since mostly destroyed, but there was enough to recreate something should they use the ritual they had devised.

It needed to be hidden, so they had found a cave. It was ancient, and once thought to be a reliable doorway into the spiritual and mortal realms, every wall was covered in ancient arts and writings. No rhyme or reason between them, a bit of a mess conceptually, but perfect for their purposes. Once Vortex had destroyed it in the mortal realm, it had been simple enough to recreate, especially using Undergrowth and Misery Vex’s powers.

Most ghosts dared not travel here, where they placed it. It was a deeper part of the Infinite Realms, where the pressures of the ambient ectoplasm was strong enough to kill even some of the more stable spirits, certainly more than any Watcher could have ever handled.

Clockwork gathered the ashes in the center of their chosen chamber. Three rights from the first left. Nocturn moved around the edges, the walls solid and firm under his hands as he tested them. And Sojourn, setting his own box aside, lit the flames.

It began.

They had known the work would be hard, tedious even. Most mortals, when they picture rituals like this, imagine chanting and holding hands, perhaps some use of indomitable will. But this was far more personal, more hands on.

Clockwork took the broken edge of a shattered piece of core, and began to mold it, shaping and soothing it into a puzzle-like shape. He had spent time looking into human carpentry practices, and had come across the traditional Chinese techniques of Lu Ban.

It had taken more than a human lifetime to learn it properly and then suit it to his own needs, but he put it into practice now, shaping the shattered pieces anew and slotting them together so that they might fit and stay snug.

Sojourn had weaved together layer after layer of treated ectoplasm into a fine cloth and was now sewing it into a fitted dress, each stitch small and tidy, seamless against the weave.

The one who stoked the flame, who kept its energy strong and the newly forming core well fed, was Nocturn. He kept a measured gaze upon it, not once turning away or getting distracted.

This continued for an eternity, the creation, or recreation, of something both ancient and now new was exhaustive work. But eventually, Clockwork felt a hum. A small, weak thing that would have left him breathless had he needed to breathe.

Chaos was born again, though faint, though weak. Not anything close to what she once was, but still, she was there, feeding on the flames of her own ashes, pieces of her own core held together and finally finding life.

They needed to keep going. This was delicate work, if they got distracted, if there was even one misstep, it would be over. Chaos would be what she is now, what they made of her, and not what she needed to be.

The fire went out.

“ Damn ,” Nocturn hissed, quickly turning to look around. He did not bother to relight the flame, it was too late. Clockwork felt hollow, had they truly failed? But how?

He acted quickly, bundling the newly formed and still fragile core into Sojourn’s half sewn garment and thrusting it fully into the other Ancient’s hands.

“You are the fastest of us, run, hide her away before we lose her entirely.” Sojourn nodded solemnly, flying quickly through the winding tunnels that led out of the cave.

Nocturn scowled, “whoever is there should be glad I am merciful. Come out now and I shall forgo eternal torment for a quick End.”

There was only silence.

Clockwork was growing irritated himself and looked to the future, only to see Nocturn tackled into a wall by a familiar black and white blur.

“Daniel?!” He said, his thoughts screeching to a halt. But, there was no way. He couldn’t have followed them. He would have had to know about the cave and been lying in wait for the exact moment to-

There was a soft sound, like the clinking of a delicate chain, as Clockwork felt a weight upon his neck. All at once he felt the universe stand still, as if he had been trapped in the moment, the singular moment no longer able to spread himself beyond. It was cloying, claustrophobic. Something he never thought he’d experience again.

And he knew who was behind it.

“You’ve always been impatient my dear.” Pariah spoke softly, his lips far too close.

Clockwork fled, slipping between moments to force space between them almost on instinct alone. Pariah simply let him go, a smug smile on his face. No, he wasn’t supposed to be here. How did he know about this place?

What had he placed on Clockwork’s neck?

He lifted a hand, not taking his eyes off of Pariah in case he decided to get any closer, and felt around his neck. It was a chain, delicate and just long enough to have slid over his head and dangle its pendant at a point on his chest, just above the glass. The shape of it was vaguely familiar, but Clockwork couldn’t place it.

“What have you done to me?” he asked, using anger to hide the tremble in his voice.

Pariah’s expression softened and he took a step forward. “Did I not say I would see you decked in gold?”

No…

The necklace…

It had been a cursed necklace, layered in charms meant for protection that slowly twisted into possession and control. It shouldn’t have been strong enough to cause any trouble at all to Clockwork, if something this simple had worked, Pariah would have used it long ago in the peak of his madness.

Clockwork grabbed the chain, intending to rip it off, but Pariah spoke, startling him. “I wouldn’t, you’ll only hurt yourself.”

“Then why did you put it on me?” he tugged at the chain in emphasis, without his strength. Pariah never warned for no reason.

The bastard smiled, like Clockwork had asked a stupid question, one he should know the answer to. Clockwork scowled, and moved further away from him. His back hit a wall. The cave, while earlier it had been comforting, a sign that eternal chaos was close at hand, that all Clockwork had done was paying off in the end, it was now more reminiscent of a stone cage.

A trap.

He’d walked straight into a trap, one Pariah had been laying since he awoke. And Clockwork had never paid it any heed, had not bothered with his machinations because he assumed Pariah would be too slow, had thought whatever he did would be too weak. He had underestimated him, and now Pariah Dark was walking towards him, a lion stalking its prey.

Clockwork froze time.

He was still moving. Clockwork had frozen time and Pariah was still moving .

It shouldn’t have been possible, there was nothing restricting Clockwork’s power in that way. He felt the threads of all existence tangled around him, grabbed the ones moving forward and tugged, sharp, desperate, to keep them still. He felt them still.

Pariah kept moving though.

“How-?” Everything else had frozen, all around them was silence and the only things that moved were the two of them. It was a strange kind of dance, one stepping closer and the other floating away.

“I made it myself, the charm. It ties you to me, obviously.” Pariah caught him, gently because he didn’t need to use force, didn’t need to use any of the almost limitless strength behind him. “It’s based off the contract you signed with the Observants, I hadn’t honestly expected it to be so blatantly one sided when I read it. Though I suppose it was on purpose, a miscalculation on your part, in the end.”

Clockwork pulled his hand away, but Pariah simply moved with the action and stepped closer, crowding against him. “It doesn’t work like that,” Clockwork said through clenched teeth. A one-sided contract that gave away so much of himself was necessary. It was also only possible because Clockwork had signed it. Pariah couldn’t mimic that without Clockwork’s consent, that wasn’t how it worked. That wasn’t how any of this was supposed to work.

Pariah hummed in agreement. “It wouldn’t be, if that was all I did.” He brushed a lock of hair from Clockwork’s eyes. “The Order of the Observants was in chaos. They were desperate. They wanted someone powerful to protect them. They were willing to give anything for the possibility they might find safety.”

Then he pulled out a medallion of his own, a horribly familiar one.

Oh.

So that was all it took…

Pariah was right, it had been a miscalculation indeed.

“Even if they gave me to you, the contract dissolved with the Order. I felt it break.”

“It did,” Pariah took hold of one of Clockwork’s hands and held it to his lips in a kiss, “But I had you for long enough. Long enough to bind you to myself instead. All it took was some craftswork.”

He let go of Clockwork’s hand to touch the pendant hanging from his neck instead. It was a gentle, reverent touch, as if thanking the damned thing for its work in keeping Clockwork trapped for him. “Luckily I was up to date on all the most prominent binding curses. I have a friend who suffers from such an affliction after all.”

“Fuck you.”

Pariah laughed, a genuine surprised chuckle that truly lit him up from the inside. His eyes were so warm, his hands burned like brands, and Clockwork wanted nothing more than to tear out his other eye with his teeth. “Come Clockwork, you’ve failed. Let’s go home.”

Pariah led him back to the Clocktower, his lair. His home and prison. Clockwork stormed past him once they were inside. “And what is your plan now? I can’t imagine I’d be much use in subjecuting the Realms, as you can see I’m quite traitorous by nature. All of my previous masters can attest.”

“Then it’s good I’m keeping you for your sense of humor,” Pariah said as he closed the door behind him.

It was the first time Pariah Dark had ever been inside Clockwork’s lair. Pariah had always been a cautious ghost, it made sense that he wouldn’t allow himself the vulnerability of being inside another powerful ghost’s lair, a place where they quite literally held all of the power and had all of the control.

The irony of course, was that the moment Pariah had stepped inside, it was Clockwork that felt vulnerable. Exposed like a raw nerve, every part of him standing on end, tightly coiled and ready to flee.

“How is this exactly how I have always envisioned it?” Pariah says dryly, his eyes roaming freely, invasively over every nook and cranny. Every randomly placed cog and haphazard ticking machine. It was a chaotic mess, naturally, it was Clockwork.

Clockwork picked up a twentieth century alarm clock and weighed it in his hands before chucking it as hard as he could towards Pariah. The bastard caught it, of course. And Clockwork scowled.

“Did you often picture yourself waltzing into my Lair?”

Pariah set the clock down carefully, as if it would break. As if it were truly a piece of Clockwork himself. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t have. You were certainly at home in mine.”

“Oh please, half the Realms has access to your Lair. We are not the same.” Clockwork scoffed, crossing his arms and floating awkwardly in the middle of the room. He didn’t want to be any closer to Pariah, but neither did he want to risk being backed into a wall again . It seemed a recurring treat for Pariah, to cage him in that way.

There was a touch of mischief in Pariah’s smile when he replied. “Perhaps we can change that, would you like more visitors?”

“No.”

“Pity.”

Clockwork grabbed another trinket to throw, this one he had pried from the walls. Pariah handled that just as easily, an uncomfortable expression aimed at the destroyed part of Clockwork’s wall. He was truly the most obnoxious perfectionist. If Clockwork’s mangled mess of a lair was going to bother him he shouldn’t have bothered to come inside.

In fact, if he was going to be disappointed so easily he shouldn’t have chained him in the first place. It wasn’t as if the bindings guaranteed something like loyalty. They couldn’t even force him to act should he not wish to. Clockwork wasn’t going to change from how he had been for eons under the damn Eyes.

“Why did you do this?” Clockwork asked, “And don’t dare say it’s only because you said you would. You may be meticulous but you are not beholden to simple words.”

Pariah had fixed his wall. And was now attempting to reinstate the very same decoration Clockwork had used as ammunition. It was strangely domestic to see and Clockwork felt rage simmer and build. Would he simply make himself at home then? Perhaps he would seek to combine their lairs in a twisted amalgamation so that he might seek order where it damn well did not belong.

“You were going to leave.”

What a useless excuse. “Did you lose your ability to reason permanently to that crown?”

This time it was Pariah that rolled his eyes. “Obviously not, if I was able to out-fox Clockwork of all ghosts.”

“You had help.” Clockwork said through grit teeth. He wouldn’t ask who, he didn’t think he could handle having it confirmed.

Pariah’s eyes sparkled. “So you knew?”

“I figured it out.”

“Feeling very betrayed, Clockwork?” This time Pariah’s smile was sharp, a vicious little thing that certainly made him more recognizable as the fallen tyrant he actually was.

Clockwork refused to rise to the bait. He did not regret, it was impossible to feel regret when every single decision he’d ever made had been so thoroughly calculated. “I wasn’t going to leave. Where would I even go, Pariah?”

“You were leaving me.” Pariah walked towards him, quicker than his usual slow prowl. Clockwork had chanced a step back himself but it only served to darken Pariah’s expression further so he stilled instead and allowed himself to be caught and held. Pariah’s hands were heavy, one landing on his hip and the other reaching for his wrist. “You were disappearing to the flows of Time, one minute here and the next somewhere no one could follow you. You speak of chaos and the freedom it would give you, but you lie to yourself when you say that is all that you desire. The freedom you had so desperately sought, how lonely would it have been.”

Pariah had not been able to talk after that, too busy weathering Clockwork’s sudden violent outrage.

Nocturn was the first to visit him, to see Clockwork’s anger, his desperate lashing out. He had the same expression he’d always had when the topic of Pariah or Daniel had come up. The look of undisguised pity, as if he had known from the start that Clockwork would fail, that he would be chained in this way, the moment his freedom was closer than at any other time.

“We do not hate you for your failure, Clockwork,” Nocturn said, and Clockwork bared his teeth. It had been sometime since he’d carved out an eye in petty vengeance but he was not above making it a hobby.

Nocturn simply kept his distance, just one step away with one of those damned medallions around his neck, stopping Clockwork from freezing him in place in his own lair. “You’ve always been easily twisted by affection, too willing to be tied down with familiarity.”

His words hurt, like an arrow piercing through Clockwork’s chest. He hadn’t thought it would be so literal, hadn’t taken Pariah’s threats seriously. Had believed, genuinely, that he would be able to escape whatever bonds Pariah had fashioned for him. Had not thought to protect himself thoroughly enough and now all was for naught. Nocturn said he harbored no ill will, but he should .

And Clockwork was distraught that he did not.

He deflated and Nocturn floated closer, just within range. But Clockwork’s arms hung heavy, and he was exhausted now, the weight of it all too much. “You should. Chaos is lost to us.” he spoke, his voice barely audible.

“Yes,” Nocturn acquiesced, “but Chaos was lost to us long ago. It was a child’s hope, that we could get it back.”

“You are content then? To rot in containment in an infinite realm of order and stability?”

A laugh escaped Nocturn, perplexing Clockwork and only flaring his temper worse. The other Ancient didn’t even try to hide as he fell into a laughing fit. “I would not be, no. But my oldest friend, I am not the one in containment. I have always known you look too much towards the forest and its tallest trees, very rarely have you ever noticed the grass or the leaves.”

“Speak sense,” Clockwork snapped. It was his job to speak in riddles, he had little patience to hear them now.

Nocturn did not call him on his hypocrisy though, instead he shook his head and floated closer, relaxing next to Clockwork as if they were two friends taking tea. “It was not, as you believed, an all or nothing gamble.”

“Was it not?”

“No, the realms are back to Anarchy as they should be. The Observants were the last hold in their attempts to tame them, and they have been destroyed. There is no King, not even a sleeping one, and Chaos exists.”

Clockwork listened, the cold weight of failure that had settled in his chest chipped and cracked as Nocturn spoke on. “She does not exist as she had.”

“But perhaps this is a better way,” Nocturn pondered, “last time, Chaos reigned so supreme it seemed all were insistent to seek order. Then order reigned supreme and we sought Chaos. Perhaps now, with the Realms alive once more, and order and Chaos in balance, it will last instead.”

Nocturn placed a hand on the top of Clockwork’s head, petting his hair. “The other Ancients and I shall seek our fun, and find ways to exist in this new existence. It is only you, I am afraid, that will remain trapped.”

Clockwork slapped his hand away, “How comforting, Nocturn. Do you also go to the newly dead and tell them not to weep, at least they were the ones that died and not others?”

Nocturn’s hand returned to pull his hood down over his face and Clockwork had to slap it away again. “It is not in my perogative to comfort the newly dead. I thought only to inform my dearest friend that he had not earned my animosity. A fear he might have had, failing the plan we had painstakingly worked towards for eons.”

“I don’t want to be chained any longer.” Clockwork admitted. It had been so long since he’d had any semblance of freedom. Did he even know what it would feel like anymore?

“We know. Though some, like Misery Vex, believe it karmic, that your attachments, which had led so thoroughly to our defeat, came back in the forms of chains for you alone. But know that if one day it comes to pass that I can free you, unlikely as it may be, I shall make the attempt.” Nocturn stood, leaving Clockwork alone in his tower.

“Clockwork?” It was Daniel’s voice. It was the first time his young ward had come to visit since the binding. It was not a comfort to hear his voice, to see that he was okay. It was not .

He didn’t acknowledge Daniel when he entered, wouldn’t have let him in the door if he still had complete control of his Lair… But he’d bargained that away long ago in a gamble that had failed him entirely.

Instead he floated to his screens. Ever since the fall of the Observants, he could see properly at least. Pariah had no interest in obscuring his vision, had even less in controlling what it was he could see. Pariah’s only interest had been binding Clockwork to him so that he might not escape, so that he might not regress, so that he might not lose himself to the chaos of infinity and escape his limited existence.

Clockwork scowled, still ignoring Daniel’s presence, his attempts at conversation. Pariah’s interests should not have mattered. Because Pariah should not have won . Because Pariah had lost before and Clockwork had been so certain that he would again. Because-

Because Clockwork had made a mistake when he sealed him away. Because Clockwork knew he could not bring himself to end him. Because Clockwork had seen an opportunity to see Pariah again and had known it would be a mistake but had wanted so desperately just to see him again. Wanted to see him free of the haze of anger the ring and crown had obscured him in, but a ghost’s natural state was obsessive. And Pariah had never hid his desire to keep Clockwork as he was, Clockwork had simply brushed it off as words of affection. He should have known better really, Pariah was hardly the type to speak lightly, and had never claimed what he did not mean with his entire core.

The screen he was watching was boring, most things were now that he had no reason to keep track of the threads, no overarching plan to work towards. It was so simple. A young ghost was trick-or-treating with a watermelon instead of a pumpkin and was turning into a large candy-based monster whenever someone turned them away.

It was the middle of summer where the ghost was, and Clockwork allowed himself to appreciate the tiny bit of chaos that the ghost was bringing to the small mortal town. Nocturn had told him that not all had been lost, Clockwork may be trapped, but Chaos had been released.

Just enough.

He sighed.

“Why are you here Daniel?” he finally asked.

Daniel straightened up, he’d been rambling, no doubt in an attempt to cajole Clockwork into joining conversation or listening subconsciously. He hadn't been.

He was also carrying a plate of cookies that Clockwork had not seen, because Clockwork had not looked. When would he learn his lesson about that? Why was he always looking too late?

“I wanted to check on you,” Daniel said, setting the plate of cookies down now that he was sure Clockwork had seen them. “Pariah said you were… having a hard time.”

Clockwork scowled, too many things tearing at his chest at once. Damn Pariah, damn him .

“Having a hard time?” he said with a false calm. “The plans that I made eons ago, plans that had been in work before your mortal realm even knew what time was, were ruined by someone I trusted. Someone I did not think would step so easily between me and my goals. Exactly what kind of time should I be having, chained to my own lair without even the authority to deny entrance to whom I wish?”

There had been a small flinch, Clockwork noticed, when he had mentioned betrayal. But if Daniel felt any guilt he didn’t look it. He raised his head, eyes full of determination. The very same expression Clockwork had seen through his screens so many times, in the fights against the other Ancients. The plans they’d made to make him stronger, to keep him stable, so that when the Chaos had been released he and the Realms with him would survive.

He had certainly survived.

“Pariah said this was the only way to save you.” Because of course that was what Pariah had told him. Because Daniel was intelligent, but Daniel was also a child and all too willing to trust any competent adult. A flaw that Clockwork himself had been so quick to take advantage of. A flaw that cursed him now.

“Do you really believe that Pariah Dark has my best interest at heart?” he would have sneered, if it had been anyone else. If it hadn’t been Daniel, who was practically his own child. Instead, he asked softly, his frustration drowned entirely by exhaustion.

Daniel still answered him though. “You were changing Clockwork,” What? “The same way you told me Pariah had once changed.”

He hadn’t, there was no way it had been so obvious. He hadn’t, it wasn’t as if he had lost himself to his obsession, nor had he gained power that grew out of his control, what was he talking about?

“You were distant, as if you were struggling to stay in any given moment. Sometimes you’d forget everything going on around you, and others you seemed to be somewhere or some-when else entirely. I mean,” Daniel took a breath, “you’ve always been a bit cryptic, but you were losing yourself entirely . Halfway through a conversation you would start talking completely randomly, in languages long dead or unrecognizable. Or you’d start talking about things that had never happened or had happened forever ago.”

He was almost shouting now, his eyes shining with more than just energy and Clockwork felt a sting in his core. He had known that Daniel would disapprove, that he would get angry. But it had not occurred to him that his anger would be pointed towards this rather than his blatant manipulation of Daniel and his friends.

“And your actions! They were reckless, Clockwork!! Releasing Dan? What the hell?! ”

It was Clockwork’s turn to flinch. “Your future self’s release had always been part of the plan. It was why I had you leave him with me to start with. I was not losing myself Daniel, I was revealing who I actually am.”

Daniel made a desperately frustrated noise. “Do you think saying something like that is going to convince me we were wrong, Clockwork? I- I trusted you! I care about you! You’re-”

“So you’d cage me and try to force compliance so that the more unsightly aspects of myself can be filed away? So you can teach me to be better, like some kind of petty human criminal, Daniel?” He let his anger take over instead. It was easier, so much easier. It was what he had always done with Pariah.

Daniel rolled his eyes. “How dramatic,” he said dryly, “Didn’t you do the same thing to Pariah, wasn’t what you did like way worse? You’re throwing a fit just like he said you would.”

“If you trust Pariah Dark so much, why are you even here? Have him make cookies for you. I'm sure he’s fully capable.” Clockwork wasn’t throwing a fit, he was angry.

Daniel sighed, grabbing one of the cookies he’d brought. They had long gone cold, but it hardly mattered to Clockwork, he wouldn’t be eating them. “Pariah has a lot of faults, and there’s a bunch of things I don’t really like about him. He’s manipulative, methodical. He never lets me half ass anything and he’s really picky. He doesn’t actually care if a person dies or a ghost gets Ended, and we fight about that kind of stuff a lot. But…” he met Clockwork’s eyes, his expression looked hurt, heartbroken. Clockwork didn’t want to see it. Had never wanted to see Daniel like this.

“He’s never outright lied to me. I’ve been checking, ever since… Well. I don’t just trust anyone at their word anymore. So yeah okay, I know he’s manipulating me just like he was manipulating you, but he never lied to either of us about his intentions. He didn’t do what you did.”

Clockwork couldn’t look at him any more. He’d made so many mistakes. If he was truly destined to fail… He should never have revealed his true nature or intentions to the boy. His disappointment burned almost as much as the chain Pariah had placed around Clockwork’s neck.

It didn’t matter though, that Clockwork could not stand to see him, because Daniel flew towards him and grabbed his face gently, hands on either side of his cheeks.

“I don’t trust you anymore, Clockwork, but I still love you. So does Pariah. We can fix this, okay?” Daniel said and Clockwork’s eyes widened at the threat.

He had truly lost, hadn’t he?

#Danny Phantom #ectoberhaunt 2021 #Dark ages #Pariah Dark #clockwork dp #Pariah/Clockwork #Bee's writing #fanfiction #Clockwork having not great morals sorry yall but its been a long time coming and I HAVE been hinting at this exact ending :3c

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12tardis · 4 years

Text

A Million Little Battles That I’m Never Gonna Win (Newt Scamander x Reader)

Warnings: minor violence, mentions of bullying, mentions of anxiety, and a pretty trash toxic masculine antagonist Requested: YES! My first ever request. Lovely anon asked: ‘could you write a fic set in hogwarts where newt and the reader has some sort of a huge argument from a misunderstanding, leading to him ignoring or snapping the reader while she (desperately) tries to explain? just a little angst with a happy ending “ Here ya go anon! I hope you like it. Pairing: Newt Scamander x Reader Summary: Newt overhears another student ask you to the Yule Ball after you’ve already agreed to go with him. ANGST and lots of fluff to make up for it. Featuring angsty/hurt!Newt , protective!reader , mild mentions of anxiety and includes little Scamander babies! I’ll try and link my angsty song inspo too if anyone cares. A/N: Thank you so much for the request anon! I wasn’t expecting to have this done so fast but I really enjoyed writing it. Sorry if I went a little overboard with the angst. Please send me more requests. Hope you enjoy x

Words: 6,131

It was a slow and sunny morning in the Scamander household. Y/N was preparing breakfast while Newt was attempting to help, occasionally flipping the pancakes or stirring the odd pot. Though for the most part he was just taking the opportunity to cuddle his wife from behind.

She moved away from him to lay the food on the dining table, but Newt was close behind her, finally noticing the presence of his children at the table. How long had you two been sitting there?

“Mum, did you go to the Yule ball?”, your daughter called out when she saw the two of you had finally remembered that you weren’t alone in the kitchen. Her older brother was sat across from her at the table, turning to look at both of his parents expectantly. Usually he would make a fuss of being disgusted by his parents’ public displays of affection but even he was curious when he saw the way your eyes lit up in response.

“Oh yes! I think I know where the photos are stashed away”, you said excitedly, disappearing into the next room for a few moments and reappearing with a small pile of photos that you handed to your daughter. You smiled and ruffled your sons curls when he moved closer to look at the photos too.

“Wait, you went together?”

“You two were already together back then?”

“Mum, you look so beautiful!”

“WHAT happened to your hand?”

Your kids asked in rapid succession and you could only blink in response as Newt chuckled “she punched someone that’s what happened”, he said, only laughing harder at the incredulous looks your kids both shot you then.

“He DESERVED it!”, you huffed, folding your arms when your children continued to stare at you wanting answers. “It’s a miracle that dance ever happened. Your father can be incredibly stubborn, did you know that?”, you nodded at the photo of Newt spinning you around the great hall, standing behind where your now husband was sat at the table and looping your arms around his shoulders.

“I can’t believe you actually had the gall to ask Mum to go with you, Dad”, your son jested teasingly to which Newt rolled his eyes, laying his hands over the top of yours.

“I didn’t. She asked me first.”

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

Newt had a smile plastered on his face as he wandered through the corridors of Hogwarts in search of you since you’d left your textbooks behind at lunch again. He couldn’t help but smile fondly as he set out to make sure you got them back in time for your next class. He’d had a perpetual smile plastered on his face all week really since he’d finally garnered the courage to ask you to go to the Yule Ball with him and you’d said yes without a moment’s hesitation.

In truth the ball hadn’t even crossed his mind until you’d asked him to go with you the week prior and Newt had laughed in response, stating it really wasn’t his scene and that he’d rather let one of his mother’s Hippogriffs peck his eyes out. You had nodded in response and tried to laugh it off, but Newt had known immediately that he’d hurt your feelings and he instantly regretted his words. He knew he had to make it up to you.

So he set about, gathering you all of your favourite sweets from Hogsmead and your favourite flowers before he’d asked you to the ball himself, making a show of wooing you like he felt you deserved and he was relieved beyond measure when you agreed.

So yeah, he hadn’t stopped smiling since. That was until he heard the unmistakable voice of one Derick Drysdale, the tall and buff Gryffindor beater in the year above that had made it his life mission to torture Newt at any chance he got. Newt spun around on his heel to head the other way, freezing when he heard your voice.

“Oh h-hi Derick,”, you stuttered slightly when the boy in question stalked over to you, standing over you with his huge frame completely overshadowing you.

You despised Derick and you’d made the mistake of standing up to him once before which had only resulted in Newt copping a particularly nasty beating from him, so you’d resolved to keep your mouth shut rather than provoke him in future.

“Hi there, little lady”, Derick murmured lowly, in what was meant to be a seductive tone but came across as more threatening in your ears “I was wondering if you would go to the ball with me?” Though the way he said it barely sounded like a question, more a demand.

Newt’s interest was suddenly spiked, and he peeked around the corner curiously at the chance to see his high school bully rejected in some sort of poetic justice, expecting to see you turn Derick down. But Newt only frowned when all he could see was the boys hulking frame, with you backed against the wall of the corridor.

Newt waited to hear you tell Derick no, but you were frozen in place, imagining the torrent of abuse Derick would hurl at Newt if you told him the truth.

Derick raised his eyebrows at you and tutted his tongue impatiently when you were just gaping at him stupidly “what, did somebody already ask you?”, he asked, his voice rising slightly with a clear edge to it. Most of the other girls would be swooning over him right now.

“No!”, you barked out quickly with wide eyes, panicking as you recalled every taunt and every shoulder barge Newt had been on the receiving end of. “Nobody’s asked me yet. Nobody at all.”

And just like that Newt felt his heart shatter, hearing you deny his existence with such ease. You were clearly ashamed to be seen with him and Newt felt bile rise in the back of his throat as he watched Derick lift his hand to your face to brush a strand of your hair back.

You were the one person he trusted and allowed himself to open up to. Y/N, his best friend since first year and the very same girl he’d been head over heels for since second year. You were the one person he’d trusted with his heart and now it seemed you’d shattered it beyond repair with one statement.

Newt didn’t see the way you dodged Derick’s touch with a flinch. He only saw the blush you had on your cheeks when Derick pulled away from you, hearing one of his friends call for him and Newt took that as evidence enough that you were charmed by Derick’s looks just like everyone else.

“We’ll continue this later, little lady”, Derick winked at you before he left in the other direction and Newt was so stunned that he didn’t even notice you had turned the corner towards him until you had crashed right into him, sending all of the books in his arms crashing to the ground.

“Oh Newt!”, you gasped, pausing as you took in the foreign expression he wore on his face which you recognised to be sheer anger and betrayal within a split second.

“Newt, I can explain!”, you breathed, reaching for his shoulders and sucking in a breath when he stepped back from you quickly, shaking his head.

“No, you’ve made yourself perfectly clear, Y/N”, Newt spat out, his eyes glassy yet somehow full of rage.

You almost recoiled at the look of disgust he shot you, but you tried to reach for him again “No Newt, it wasn’t what it looked like. Please you’ve got to understand!”

Newt turned away from you, violently snatching up your textbooks once more, “Oh I understand completely Y/N. I’m freak,” he snapped, turning back to face you, his knuckles white from how hard he was gripping the books in his hands.

In his distressed state he could only conjure up every memory where you had dragged him off to hang out in your usual hide away and every time you would hide your face in shame whenever someone would tease you for being glued to Newt’s side. It didn’t occur to him that you were hiding your blush every time.

He was so hurt that he couldn’t even recall that you’d been the first one to ask him to the ball or that you’d already knocked back a handful of boys who had asked you to go with them. You stood there feeling helpless as you could practically feel the walls Newt was throwing back up, his face setting into a steely expression you had never seen before, but you absolutely hated already.

“You’re so ashamed to be seen with me that you couldn’t even tell him the truth. Well I can be nobody to you that’s fine”, he spat your own words back in your face as he thrust your textbooks at you, barely waiting for you to grab them before he pulled away from you once again “enjoy the ball with Drysdale, Y/N,” he said coldly, walking away from you swiftly and ignoring you when you called out after him.

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

You tried desperately to speak to Newt and explain why you’d said what you’d said several times over the course of the following three days but he just kept scurrying away from you, without so much as a single look in your direction.

You’d written him numerous letters trying to explain yourself, but your heart sunk when you only found them all scrunched up and discarded in the common room trash bin.

You had no idea Newt could be so completely stubborn and cold, it was shocking. The boy who used to make you blush and fill with warmth from a single crooked smile now had you feeling cold and invisible. You were gutted because you knew he was clearly hurting and all over a misunderstanding. And you couldn’t even fix it because he wouldn’t let you!

You were running late for potions class because you had once again misplaced your textbooks having gotten so used to Newt carrying them for you everywhere you went. You ran into the classroom, panting heavily and blushing darkly when everyone turned around to stare at you.

“Ah Miss L/N, how lovely of you to join us. You will see me after class,” the professor said sternly as you looked over at the desk you usually shared with Newt, letting out a sigh when you saw him sitting at one of the group cauldrons instead, leaving you to sit with another boy you barely knew.

Newt had seen your books that you’d left behind at the library and he’d rolled his eyes as he ignored them and made his way to the classroom. He now felt slightly guilty for the briefest moment when he saw you stumble into the classroom late, fiddling with your robes like you always did when you were feeling anxious, but when your eyes met his all he could picture was you and Derick.

You sat down with a slump when Newt looked away from you, hardly focusing in the class because your falling out with Newt was now also starting to impact your sleep.

Newt avoided you again for the rest of the day, growing increasingly more frustrated when you kept appearing everywhere he went, trying to talk to him. He tensed when you had finally corned him in one of the corridors later that day, reaching out for him again but pausing when you heard Derick and his friends in the distance.

You’d been avoiding Derick ever since your run in the other day and you’d been doing a pretty good job of it. But now froze when you heard him in the background just as you finally had Newt in front of you with nowhere to run because of course Derick would appear now.

Newt scoffed in response, with nothing but pure anger in his veins as he stared at you. How dare you stand there and look upset! He looked at you with that same steely gaze before he nodded in the direction of Derick “I think you’ll be perfect together.”, he said flatly and you reeled back in response like he’d slapped you.

“Newt wha-“ but he cut you off, crossing his arms with the same disinterested expression “a bully and a selfish liar. A match made in heaven”, he said letting his emotions get the better of him before he could stop the words leaving his mouth.

He regretted what he’d said immediately, his hands twitching by his sides when he saw your face crumple in response before you turned away from him and ran off, determined not to let him see you cry.

He felt guilty again as he watched you run away from him, every instinct in his body fighting to chase after you and apologise but when Derick shouldered him a moment later it was like being doused with a bucket of icy cold water and reminded him of why he was angry with you in the first place.

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

A few more days wore on and now the ball was only a day away and you had no intentions of leaving your dorm that night. You were both now avoiding each other and the other Hufflepuffs could feel the tension in the air. It was bizarre to see the power-not-quite-couple avoiding each other like the plague when it was obvious they were still drawn towards each other like opposite magnets.

Newt was mostly just bitter now and still set on being stubborn but now you were hurt and feeling lost. You didn’t think you could handle seeing him stare at you with that blank and steely expression again so you avoided looking at him all together, sticking with your girlfriends from your dorm who were growing exasperated with the whole situation.

You were sitting at your shared desk in Defense Against the Dark Arts together, the both of you sitting as far away from each other as you could physically manage, staring down at your notes in silence while all the other students spoke amongst themselves.

You were supposed to be working on your partnered group project together, but you’d been wringing your hands in your lap anxiously for 20 minutes now while Newt had been doodling in his notebook, completely oblivious to your rising anxiety.

Usually he would take your hand when you were like this, making sure you knew you were cared for and safe but now he was so focused on ignoring your presence completely that he hadn’t even noticed your fidgeting or the way your chest was starting to heave with your increased breathing.

That was until Professor Dumbledore was crouching in front of your shared desk, looking up at you “Miss Y/N, go and wait for me in my office please.” he said gently, and Newt whipped his head to the right to look at you, his mouth dropping open slightly when he took you in , seeing the tears welling in your eyes and watching as you scrambled to gather your things.

The Professor lightly touched your hand, shaking his head “Leave your things. I‘ll be with you shortly.” He said calmly, glad the rest of the students were too preoccupied with their discussions to take notice of you and the state you were in.

Newt opened his mouth to talk to you, but you’d already left the room and he was left to stare at his notes in confusion, wondering what the hell had just happened. Sure, he might have been upset with you but that didn’t stop him from caring about you and worrying the entire rest of the lesson when you never came back, even after Professor Dumbledore had returned to the classroom.

Newt frowned when you still hadn’t returned at the end of the lesson and gathered up your things from the desk as the rest of the students piled out of the classroom.

“Newt, would you care to tell me why you’re ignoring Miss L/N?”, Professor Dumbledore asked, sitting on the desk in front of where Newt was, raising his eyebrows at the young man.

Newt looked back at the Professor, feeling suddenly flustered when all he wanted to do was ask where you were and if you were okay but when the Professor gave him that look he held up his hands.

“Well she’s ignoring me too! I am merely...ignoring her because- because she doesn’t care about my feelings so why should I care about hers?” He said quickly in defense, folding his arms across his chest stubbornly.

“Yes, she doesn’t care about you at all.” Dumbledore said sarcastically, shooting Newt a withering look “that is exactly why she just spent 20 minutes balling her eyes out to me over you. Because she thinks she’s lost her best friend for good.”

Newt shrunk back in his chair at the Professors words, feeling a flood of remorse as he looked away from the older man and down at your belongings piled neatly in front of him.

Dumbledore sighed when Newt didn’t speak so he pulled a chair around to the other side of him, sitting down to be eye level with him.

“Newt. You know Y/N. You know what she is really like and you know she would never say anything, or rather not say something with the intention of hurting you. You’re acting from a place of fear and hurt, and I think it’s time for you to be brave and put it behind you. You need to talk to her and let her explain herself.”

Newt cringed because he knew the Professor was right, but he still shook his head anyway. “No there’s no way she’ll talk to me now! After the things I’ve said, the way I’ve treated her,” he said sadly.

“Nonsense. Stop making excuses. Take it from me when I tell you it is not often that you meet someone who matches and compliments you on a such a level. You know I generally like to stay out of my students’ relations but I would hate to see you throw away this friendship. A once in a lifetime relationship, Newt.” Dumbledore said honestly, pausing a moment to look at Newt before he continued.

“The ball is tomorrow, Newt. You need to go and make up with Y/N and treat that young lady to the dance of her life.” Dumbledore smiled, getting to his feet and pushing your things into Newt’s arms for him to return to you.

“But I don’t even have any dress robes!”, Newt panicked, looking back at the Professor when he was in the doorway.

Dumbledore snorted in response, moving to his desk to start grading the papers he had sat there “I will organise something, now go.” He said, waving his hand dismissively at the young man.

Newt wandered around the grounds in search of you, growing increasingly worried and impatient when he couldn’t find you anywhere.

Eventually he spotted you across the courtyard and he wanted to scream when Derick was there yet again, standing over you and basically demanding to know why you wouldn’t go to the ball with him.

“I would rather go with my boggart, Drysdale! No! I would rather go with a dementor!”, you finally snapped at the older boy, stepping into his space as the students gathered around you started to laugh.

You turned to leave when Derick grabbed your arm, causing one of your close friends and dorm mates Sarah to push him away “Oh shove off Derick! She’s going with Newt, would you just leave her alone?!” she said as you kept walking away from the boy who was now laughing cruelly.

“Oh! OH! It all makes sense now. You’re going with that freak Salamander. Even you know he’s such a loser, you didn’t even have the guts to tell me.” He sneered and you froze, already halfway across the courtyard away from him.

Newt pressed himself into the corner, hiding out of sight and ignoring the stab of hurt he felt in his stomach as Derick continued to make fun of him for all the other students to hear.

“I can’t really blame you though Y/N I would be embarrassed to go with him too”, Derick said, opening his mouth to continue his tirade and crying out when you flew back towards him and socked him in the mouth before he could continue.

He looked back at you in shock, gripping his face in pain as the other students gasped and Sarah tried to drag you away before a teacher came but you were having none of it as you shrugged the girl off and stood over Derick menacingly, your chest heaving as you glared down at him.

“You’re a scum bag and a bully, Drysdale and I’m sick of you tearing people down and getting away with it just because you’re good at Quidditch!” you shouted angrily, jabbing your finger into his chest, causing the boy to back up. Meanwhile Newt was gaping at you with his eyes about to bug out of his head.

“Even if I wasn’t going with Newt I still wouldn’t go with someone as foul as YOU! The only reason I didn’t tell you about Newt was because I knew you would bully him at any chance you got because you’re a pathetic and horrible cruel person!” you were screaming and livid now as more students gathered around to watch the commotion.

“He is ten times the man you will ever be, and you should be ASHAMED of yourself for ever laying a finger on him or anyone else for that matter. Why are you so insecure in yourself that you feel the need to torture others? Do you have any idea how many people despise you? How many people fear you? Do you WANT to be the reason that some students can’t sleep at night?”

Derick had curled in on himself by now, his face fallen in realisation as he took in your words, hearing the whispers and laughter from the other students. He raised his hand towards you and Newt nearly bolted for you thinking he was going to hurt you but he realised Derick was only trying to offer a signal of peace.

You stared back at Derick’s outstretched hand and gave him one last incredulous look “oh PISS OFF!” you shouted and you stormed off before anyone else could talk to you and Newt scrambled once again to chase after you.

Newt found you sitting outside, looking over the lake while you tore at the grass beneath you like it had personally affronted you. He walked over to you slowly, like he would a wounded creature seeing how everything about you was screaming tension. He sat down next to you silently and set your things from class down in front of him.

“If you’re here about the project I’ve already finished it.” you said flatly, not bothering to look up at him.

Newt winced slightly at your cold greeting, sitting beside you in silence for about a minute, just wanting to flee and avoid the tense interaction but he knew he owed it to you to persevere and fix the situation. He reached over and lay his hand on your knee “Y/N, I’m sorry”, he murmured gently, looking over at you and wishing you’d look back at him.

He bit his lip when you showed absolutely no response, still ripping at the grass below you. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. I didn’t give you a chance to explain. But I’m here now and I’d still love to go to the ball with you tomorrow”, he said timidly, his voice growing quieter with each word when you still refused to look at him.

“I’m not going to the stupid ball,” you muttered grumpily, shoving his hand off your knee and turning your back to him, hugging your knees to your chest and shivering involuntarily when the wind picked up.

Newt sighed quietly to himself as he stared at your back, but he heard the slightest change in your tone that told him you were calming down. Slightly.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I was...I was reacting from a place of hurt and I never should have reacted the way I did without giving you a chance to explain yourself. I still want to take you to the ball. I don’t even mind if you still want to be mad at me after it. I’ll even let you jinx me if you want. I’m just asking you to not hate me for one day.”

He spoke slowly and calmly, at some point shrugging off his robes and setting them on your shoulders, smiling slightly when he saw you tighten them around yourself and snuggle into the warmth. “I still don’t wanna go”, you mumbled, your voice muffled from you pressing your face into his robes.

Newt smiled even more when he saw you discreetly breathe in his scent on the still warm material and he noticed how your body gradually relaxed. He took that as his cue to move in next to you, gently tipping your chin upwards until he could look into your eyes “and why’s that?”, he hummed, the amusement dancing in his eyes because he knew full well that you had been dreaming of the ball for months.

You didn’t even realise you were pouting now when you saw the teasing look on Newt’s face. You huffed in annoyance, pushing his hand from your face, “you didn’t even want to go! I don’t want to go with someone who doesn’t want to be there.” You huffed, a light blush slowly starting to work its way up your neck from his simple touch and proximity.

Newt softened again at your response because he could tell you were feeling genuinely insecure about the whole thing. He caught your hand in his own before you could pull away again, taking your other hand in his and holding them both firmly. “I didn’t THINK I wanted to go at first. But then you mentioned it and now I can’t think of anything better than getting dressed up and dancing with my amazing best friend all night. I mean it,” he said, smiling adoringly at you when he saw your own lips pulling up into a small smile.

“I know you must hate me right now and I deserve it, but I promise to make sure you have the best night of your life tomorrow.” Newt murmured, letting out a small ‘oomph’ sound when you suddenly flung yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him and tucking your face into his shoulder.

“Oh, Newt I could never hate you! I was never going to go with him, I just didn’t want to tell him I was going with you yet because I didn’t want him to hurt you” you murmured, your voice muffled this time into the fabric of his jumper.

Newt nodded in response and chuckled lightly when he could feel your voice against his shoulder. And he wrapped his arms around you in return, gently rubbing your back and hoping you couldn’t hear how his heart was wildly thumping in his chest.

“I saw you earlier with Derick. I’m so sorry I lashed out at you. I can’t believe I ever thought you would do such a thing” Newt said after a while, when you’d both settled back down on the grass, you with your legs sprawled over his lap “I’m sorry I’ve been such a rotten friend to you this week.” He murmured, looking down at his knees in shame.

You shook your head quickly, this time taking his hands in your own “it’s okay Newt, it was just a misunderstanding. You were hurting and you felt betrayed. I probably would have been the same in your place.” You said understandingly, squeezing his hands in your own.

Newt smiled thankfully at you, the swelling bruises on your hand catching his eye and he gently brushed his thumb over your knuckles “does that hurt?”, he murmured, watching you as you flinched slightly and nodded.

“Just a bit”, you whispered back, the blush returning to your cheeks as you watched him lift your hand to his mouth, pressing gentle kisses to each bruise as he held your gaze.

Merlin, he was going to be the death of you.

He paused with his lips against your skin, his face cracking into a wide grin as he laughed, “God I can’t believe you punched Derick Drysdale. In the face.” He smiled, recognising the slight look of guilt in your expression until you recalled what he’d said about Newt and your face darkened again.

“He deserved it.” you grumbled and Newt laughed again, gently helping you to your feet after casting a quick healing charm on your hand. He kept his hold of your hand with your textbooks hoisted up in his other arm as he lead you both back to the Hufflepuff common room, noticing the relieved sighs that came from your dorm friends when they saw that you two had clearly made up.

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

The next evening Newt was waiting nervously at the bottom of the grand staircase, watching all the other students arrive and wander into the decked-out hall arm in arm.

He fidgeted with the collar of the dress robes Dumbledore had managed to get him. He had looked at his reflection and decided he looked surprisingly okay, his unruly hair was slightly more tamed a top his head and the robes fit him well. He just hoped you’d like the corsage he’d painstakingly crafted for you.

He’d spent the day out foraging for the perfect combination of your favourite flowers, even pinning a small matching one to his lapel. His eyes widened when you appeared on the staircase, carefully making your way down to him.

“Merlin’s beard”, he whispered to himself, taking in the way the silky fabric of your dress draped over your body and trailed behind you. He blinked a few times, seriously wondering if he’d died and gone to heaven because you simply had to be an angel.

The way the light fell upon you and the way your hair was pinned back with pieces falling around you face had him flushing warm as he kicked himself out of his stupor and rushed to meet you at the bottom of the stair case, offering you his arm.

You gripped his arm as you moved from the last step, turning to him with a bright smile, both of you reaching for the other at the same time “Newt, you look so handsome!”, you said, gripping his hands in your own as you vaguely noticed the flash of a camera in the distance.

Newt was staring at you stupidly again as he took in the way your eyes shimmered, highlighted by the elegant make up you wore and how kissable your lips looked painted like that. He was shaken from his thoughts again when you squeezed his hands and he grinned back at you, his cheeks pleasantly flushed.

“Y/N, you look so ridiculously incredible”, he said honestly.

It was your turn to blush now as you ducked your head slightly with a bashful giggle and Newt took the chance to take the corsage out from his jacket pocket, gently working it over your hand and onto your wrist. You stared down at the small floral arrangement, your own stomach flipping as you could tell he’d obviously put it together himself as it was all of your favourite flowers. “Oh, Newt thank you, it’s perfect! You could have just bought one like everyone else, I wouldn’t have been upset”, you murmured and pecked a quick kiss to his cheek.

Newt bit his lip and felt his skin tingle where your lips had just been, shaking his head at you as he wrapped his arm around yours and lead you into the hall “only the best for you” he murmured into your ear, feeling slightly intimidated by the way the students from your year were staring at you both.

But as the night wore on his worries washed away and he focused on enjoying the night with you, spinning you around the dance floor and making sure you knew how beautiful you were. He sat down by one of the ice sculptures later that night to rest his feet for a moment, tensing when Derick Drysdale suddenly appeared in front of him.

You leapt to your feet quickly, immediately taking a defensive stance in front of Newt and Newt grabbed your arm, trying to soothe you “Y/N it’s okay”, he murmured quietly for only you to hear, squeezing your hand in his own.

Derick held his hands up quickly in surrender “no I just came to apologise please don’t hit me again” he murmured, his nose swollen and purple in the middle of his face. You only raised an eyebrow at the boy in response, narrowing your eyes at him as he turned to face Newt.

“Newt, I came to apologise. I...I realise Y/N was right and I’ve been a bully when you’ve done nothing at all to deserve it. I know it’s not my right to ask for forgiveness and I can’t expect you to ever grant me that, but I just wanted you to know I am truly sorry for anything I’ve ever said or done to you. I don’t have any excuses for myself I’m sorry.” he said, looking down at his shoes in shame and Newt looked at him in surprise, seeing the genuine remorse on his features.

“And Y/N I’m sorry for harassing you and making you uncomfortable this last week. You’re uh...you’re a really strong and admirable person.” He said awkwardly as you continued to stare at him. “But yeah, I’m really sorry for everything, Newt. I won’t bother you again.”

But you were still not convinced and Newt squeezed your hand again when he saw you about to give Derick a peace of your mind again “thank you Derick”, Newt cut in smoothly, brushing his thumb over your knuckles again and mentally willing you to calm down. “I appreciate the apology, it takes a lot of courage to admit your wrong doings. We can put this behind us.” He nodded, waiting until Derick eventually left before he tugged on your hand, which landed you in his lap rather clumsily.

He chuckled softly and caught you in his arms, smiling fondly up at you “you are so feisty sometimes I swear you’re really a Gryffindor”, he said as you looped your arms around his shoulders and smiled back down at him sheepishly.

“Only when it comes to you”, you murmured, lightly sweeping his hair from his eyes as you relaxed on his lap, not caring in the slightest about the people that were beginning to stare at you.

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

Newt smiled softly at the memories, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand as your children continued looking through the photos.

“And no, we weren’t together. We were just friends then.” you said eventually and your son barked out a laugh, motioning to the photo of you and Newt seeing each other at the staircase for the first time that evening, your hands intertwined and matching smiles on your faces “just friends my ass! You two look like this right now!”, he exclaimed.

His sister nodded furiously in agreement, looking at the next photo that showed you sat in Newt’s lap by a huge ice sculpture with a smile of awe “you look so in love” she cooed, watching the way young Newt tugged on your hand, sending you falling into his lap as you both laughed. The photo had captured Newt catching you in his arms, his arm coming to wrap around your waist as you slung your arms around his shoulders, the two of you lost in each other’s eyes.

“Well yes. I was in love”, Newt hummed, peering over his youngest’ shoulder to see the photograph before he tugged on your hand, pulling you into his lap just like in the photograph, the both of you giggling before you pecked him on the lips softly.

“That right there, was when I vowed to one day marry your mother.” Newt hummed, squeezing your hip when you blushed in response. “And I was just thinking about how your father had the most incredible eyes I’d ever seen.” you countered, and Newt reached out to flick your son across the head when he made dramatic gagging sounds in response.

“You’re the one that asked!” you both exclaimed together.

PLEASE SEND ME REQUESTS!

***TITLE: I Am Easy To Find - The National makes me fall apart EVERY. TIME. I MEAN MATT’S VOICE IN THE FINAL CHORUS I’m still standing in the same place Where you left me standing …. There’s a million little battles that I’m never gonna win, anyway I’m still waiting for you every night with ticker tape *** -MASTERLIST HERE-

#newt x reader #newt scamander x reader #newt x y/n #newt scamander #newt scamander x y/n #Newton Artemis Fido Scamander #fantastic beasts and where to find them

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hoidn · 3 years

Text

master post of disturbingly accurate miscellany.

sagittarius moons constantly put on a cheerful facade to cover their sadness. this often leads to internal bitterness and frustration which gets translated into violent urges and a certain amount of hostility towards others. they may often try to hide it and to keep being in-your-face happy but one can definitely feel an aura of suppressed anger around them. like a feeling of hair-triggered temperament lurking beneath the surface. [source]

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venus in the 4th house: you feel like home. living in a comfortable, safe and beautiful house is very important to you, just like establishing a family. your relationship with your family, friends and significant other is of utmost importance to you and you feel the need to create a loving atmosphere for them. although being nurturing is an amazing quality, your attachment to your partner can be so overwhelming that it can lead to break-ups. you’re terrified of stressful situations, scandals and chaos, and you absolutely need to focus on being in a peaceful environment and one where you can pursue your happiness. very nostalgic and overprotective of loved ones. you need your partner to constantly reassure you of their love to you or you’ll go crazy with feelings of jealousy and insecurity. you love helping others, and you inspire love and trust in those around you. [source]

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saturn in the 5th: (I fear)…I’ll never feel true happiness. That I’ll always be holding myself back. That I’ll never achieve my true potential, that my light will always feel dimmed. That happiness will be taken away from me at any moment. That my anxieties will always be eating away at me, even when I’m surrounded by the ones I love. That my inner child will always feel neglected, and that, because of that, my creativity feels blocked. [source]

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the most noticeable difference between the negative (earth and water) and the positive (air and fire) venus signs for me is that the first really see love as a state of total reception, they connect it more to a passive state in which you can fully grasp and empathize with the other. and the second see love more as a pull towards the object of desire, an inspiration for movement. it’s like earth & water venus is the being towards which the fire & air venus gravitate. [source]

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i’m yet to meet a cancer venus that really enjoys cooking. i know a lot of people with this placement and they all really appreciate it when someone cooks for them and often comment on people’s cooking and know the best places where to eat…also they’re often on some type of special diet, be it out of their own will or due to health issues. but i’ve never see one that loves to cook. [source]

-----

So what is Virgo Vision? It’s a penetrating style of seeing the world, people and situations. People with V.V. will auto-scan for nuance and connections that are missed by most people. And then they cram the data into a complex details matrix that assesses it at Warp Speed.

Within microseconds, the Virgo or Virgo Rising formulates a multi-level analysis. They’re witty, informed and lauded for their ability to wisely parse complex circumstances. They streamline convoluted thought and design processes. They save people and organizations significant time and money via their V.V.

[...]

It’s an asset but also a liability. How could something so clearly a mercurial super-power be in any way the latter? Well, they can’t turn it off. Ever.

People with V.V. don’t have the comfort of overlooking something, to ease their passage through a stressful work week. Their mind is perpetually analyzing and making pertinent connections; if they are in an environment where people don’t care about those connections, the Virgo Vision doesn’t power down and go into ‘rest mode.’ It up-regulates into even faster operation.

If the person with V.V. can’t share or be understood, they gaze inward, running over every error, wrong step, miscalculation and poorly worded comment ever.

Details and data swarm their consciousness. They either freeze or default into a Saint Virgo stance. Without an appropriate outlet, the Virgo Rising or Virgo Sun person makes themselves the project. Every glance in the mirror is a call for a fix. Each meal a breakdown of the macros. They don’t view the scenery; they map it.

These people can lose the plot and replace it with a list of continuity errors and anachronisms. They’re well beyond that old cliche about not seeing “the forest for the trees.” People with Virgo Vision know the topography, soil components, leaf blight, mythology associated with that style of tree and the article they read on forestry four years ago. [source]

-----

Mercury Retrograde

When Mercury is retrograde at birth, the thinking processes are generally more acute, and the sense of humor rather quirky. People with Mercury retrograde take in information differently than those with Mercury direct in their natal charts. How many people are born with a retrograde Mercury? Roughly 18%.

Some people with this position struggle with doubts about their perceptions or their ability to learn, and there can be a lot of thinking, double-checking, and reviewing of thoughts and ideas before communicating them.

Neptune Retrograde

Those born with Neptune retrograde in their chart might tend to hide their vulnerabilities, their spiritual side, or their compassion, as they feel somewhat uncomfortable expressing them. These things can very well exist, and they run deep, but Neptune retrograde natives prefer to keep these things private. Deep faith can be missing, so that these people might be naturally mistrustful. When they are left to fill in the blanks, they might expect the worst. There can be a big fear of dreaming too big dreams, as they are afraid of being let down. [source]

. . . . .

Mercury is the planet of communication and how you express yourself and learn, and so those of you born with Mercury retrograde tend to feel very misunderstood. The energy of Mercury retrograde in the natal chart is actually very similar to that of Mercury in the 12th house (and how misunderstood you must be if you have natal Mercury retrograde in your 12th house!). You have difficulty communicating clearly with others, with being heard, with understanding others as well, and with using your mental energy properly.

[...]

There’s a tremendous amount of mental energy and power that can be unlocked with Mercury retrograde in the natal chart. It just usually takes a while to let go of the fear, isolation, or insecurity that accompanies this position. The insecurity can really kill the Mercury retrograde native. You need to work on developing confidence in your mental abilities, your ideas, your opinions, your words. Growing up feeling misunderstood no doubt caused that insecurity, but it’s a skin you must shed in adulthood, or you get stuck in that insecurity forever. You can be a quiet person, one who stumbles over their words publicly, or who is unfailingly truthful. You can have a wicked sense of humor because you interpret what you see in the world differently and point out the things that are so ridiculously absurd.

[...]

When transit (moving) Mercury is retrograde, this is when you thrive. The rest of us are completely hopeless, and you’re speeding along. This is because the retrograde energy is natural to you, so when Mercury is in his normal forward motion, you’re uncomfortable, but when he’s retrograde, you’re at home. This is a time when you can make great progress and really get your point across. You should make the most of the times when Mercury is retrograde. You can also work on better understanding the proper ways for you to communicate, express yourself, and learn during Mercury retrograde, so pay close attention to that. [source]

-----

However, when Mercury is in retrograde, this planet is way more introspective, thoughtful, and skeptical than usual. When moving direct, Mercury is fast-paced and eager to connect the dots, and while it might make you seem like a slow thinker when you have Mercury retrograde in your birth chart, it's only because you're doing a lot more thinking than anyone else would even think to do.

The truth is, being born during Mercury retrograde gives you an advantage when it comes to contemplative and all-encompassing thinking. You see every angle of an idea because you naturally have a tendency to look backwards and sideways, which is something Mercury is not naturally aiming to do. You have a tendency to review your choices and re-do things over and over again until you get it right. [source]

-----

With North Node in Libra, our South Node is in Aries. With North Node in the seventh house, our South Node is in the first house.

A tendency to rely on the self so much as to alienate important others in our lives, to be excessively competitive to the point of a me-first attitude, to take things personally, and to be impatient, rash, and impulsive at the expense of personal happiness are some of the issues this position suggests. With this position, we need to work on sensitizing ourselves to the needs of others, to learn tact and cooperation, to put ourselves in another’s shoes, and to let go of an overwhelming self-consciousness that is blocking our desire to win. We are often afraid of the demands that a partner might put on us, and we don’t naturally look for feedback, preferring to act on the moment—on our own hunches and impulses. But for however hard we push ourselves, our plans will be blocked until we stop to consider the other side. We tend to go it alone, often passing up opportunities for growth because we are too focused on our own personal survival. Our impulses and instincts are overloaded, lacking in perspective, and acting upon them will often bring us strife—that is, until we learn to look at the other side, perhaps through the eyes of another. Through partnership, and through cooperation with others, we will attain the inner balance necessary for us to achieve our goals. [source]

#tree is a virgo #having a sag moon and venus in cancer is the worst let me tell you #SPEAKING OF MY SAGITTARIUS MOON

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 4 years

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It's Valentine's day, sam has gone out with eileen, dean and cas are stuck in the bunker without dates or anything to do ...... The air conditioning stops working, it gets real hot and sweaty and they both decide they are wearing too many layers .... and whatever ensues I'll leave it up to you.

here you go, anon: (I had to retype this, and reedit this, with the help of the amazing @3dg310rdsupreme so like. just remember to curse tumblr before you start reading, cause that’s why it took ridiculously long:)

***

“So?” Dean raises his eyebrows at Cas, starting to walk down the stairs with an angel by his side. They’ve just finished waving Sam and Eileen off to their date - which is exactly what it sounds like; he stood in the doorway, and Cas smiled from the doorway, until Sam’s car disappeared down the road. “Dinner?”

“Of course.” Cas nods.

He’s not going to eat, but there’s a little something called company. Dean doesn’t want to eat alone. And what’s more, Dean’s even going to set up a plate for him. He started doing so a while back, cause otherwise it’s just like Cas is there to watch him.

And be it eating or sleeping - that’s always weird.

Walking all the way to the kitchen feels like trekking towards the centre of the Earth. Dean scrubs his face in annoyance, exhaling impatiently. He’s supposed to get used to it.

It’s really hot. And they’re underground, in a windowless bunker. A bunker with a broken air-conditioner - it’s ancient; so that’s justifiable, was the general consensus, but Dean’s willing to bet it all boils down to their exceptional Chuck-induced bad luck, and Fortuna just wasn’t a good enough godly mechanic.

Or maybe she never anticipated that heroes could get hot, too. Sweating is for the weak and the transient - or some shit. Dean can practically picture her sneer.

Jesus, he hates her.

“Do you need help?” Cas says, once they’re in the kitchen. Dean turns around to blink at him, while he returns to the present. Cas manages to make it sound like were Dean to say yes, Cas would actually help him prepare food.

Now, Cas is good for a lot of stuff. Strong, strategic, trustable instincts. Brave. But he isn’t worth shit in the kitchen. Dean isn’t really sure if Cas knows that but he hopes, for his sake, that he does.

Yet, it’s an earnest question, ridiculous or not, so Dean earnestly shakes his head in response. “I made dinner while the rest of you were busy helping Sam choose a corset.”

It’s the kind of hot where Dean’s automatically surly. Sure, he generally is too - but right now, he doesn’t even have to try.

“It was his shirt.” Cas corrects, simply, and Dean rolls his eyes at the walls as he turns around to get plates. “My advice was to go with the pecan.”

“Was he wearing a pie?” Dean throws back, dryly. He’s got the plates. Now he puts them on the table, and turns to fetch spoons. Cas is still standing, because of course he is. “Guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Pecan’s a shade of brown.” Cas states for the record, and Dean’s getting tired of Cas not going along with his lines.

And he’s really getting tired of the goddamn heat.

“Too bad. Now I want dessert. Way to ruin burgers, Cas.” Dean snaps, and Cas looks a little startled - and would you look at that. Even Cas is sweating. There’s beads of sweat on his forehead, and his coat seems even more uncomfortable than usual.

Suck it, Fortuna. Real heroes sweat.

“You know what?” Dean mutters, mostly to himself. He really is trying to be less of a jerk - but he can’t seem to help it. It’s Valentine’s day, and it’s hot. So he decides to stop talking, and takes off his jacket, a deep blue leather utility, and shucks it away on a counter.

Cas seems to find this interesting, his eyes following Dean around the room; so then Dean does the first thing that comes to mind.

He walks over to Cas, and holds his hand out.

Cas stares at it, like he’s trying to figure out the purpose of its existence. Dean helps him, because he’s awesome like that.

“Your coat.”

Because why the fuck not?

“Oh.” Cas unstiffs - Dean isn’t kidding, that’s an actual thing he can do, okay - and almost rewards Dean with a smile. Just like that, he’s wriggling out of his trenchcoat, the sleeves not clinging to his jacket because apparently that only happens to him. Or probably because the coat classifies as oversized, even after all these years.

Once he’s removed it, Cas folds it from the middle like he’s never folded a coat before, and hands it to Dean.

“Great. Let’s sit down.” Dean tells him, putting his coat away on the same slab where he’s deposited his own. When he turns around, Cas is sitting, and has folded his arms on the table. The bunker lights, like his eyes, linger on Cas’s jacket.

To be fair, he doesn’t usually get to do this - because Cas doesn’t usually take off his trench. Guy’s emotionally attached to it or something.

But he looks - well, so much better without it. Obviously, Dean’s not referring to the way the black makes him look broader, or the buttons draw attention to the suit’s tapered waist. He just looks a lot more comfortable, compared to before.

Speaking of.

It’s still so fucking hot.

“Dean,” Cas begins randomly, once they’re both sitting. Dean’s about to start eating but he stops at Cas’s voice, soft and unsure. “I need to ask you something.”

For some reason, Dean swallows. “Yeah?”

“It is Valentine’s day, after all.” Cas justifies preemptively, and Dean looks up at him.

“So?”

“Is this a date?” Cas finally asks, blue eyes boring into Dean’s, something profound in his words.

Dean pretty much stops thinking, as if on cue. “What? No.” He gets up. He shouldn’t have gotten up. He’s already up. “Is this about dinner? Jesus, Cas,” He hopes he sounds exasperated, he’s trying to. “Hell, is this about me taking your coat before you sit? It’s burning up, man, what do you expect me to do?”

Cas stands up too, wordlessly.

He looks like he’d still like an answer. He looks like he might even repeat the question.

Before something else - something worse can happen, Dean’s picked up his plate. “I’m going to have dinner in my room. Feel free to…do whatever you want. Apparently, It’s Valentine’s day.” He adds, halfways to a scoff, as he marches out of the room.

(Remember how Dean’s stopped thinking? Yeah.)

Cas picks up both of their coats before walking away, a few minutes later. There’s something heavy in the air, left behind.

Dean’s done eating.

And because this is his life - his sad, pathetic life- his entire room has somehow grown even more annoyingly hot.

Burdened with misery all the way down to his sweaty socks, he wonders what Cas is up to.

Dude could be in the library, or his bedroom, or hell, even in the kitchen. He could be reading. Or training. (Or, Dean’s mind drifted, waiting.) What could Cas be doing, aside from stewing in this heat, which seems to be all Dean’s doing at the moment?

Except of course, thinking about Cas. But he doesn’t really count that as a separate activity, anymore. In more ways than one, it’s perpetual.

Well, he convinces himself, as he picks up his plate and walks out of his bedroom, arguably hoping to find Cas - he’s got to put the plates in the sink, at some point.

Dean finds Cas in the hallway, walking towards him - or like, in his general direction, and the first thing Dean notices is that he’s not wearing a fucking jacket anymore.

“Hey.” He stops, shuffling his weight on his feet. He takes up a second to imagine what it would be like if Cas didn’t stop, but then he does - so at least Dean’s got that going on for him.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?” Cas remarks, matter-of-factly.

His expression’s perfectly serious, but Dean can swear there’s something else there. He can’t put his finger on it- but there’s something off. It’s the way Cas emphasizes the question tag. Or in the way he says the entire damn sentence.

Or maybe, Dean’s just overthinking words to avoid letting himself think about Cas in his white shirt.

His tie’s still in place, but the suit jacket’s gone, and its left the sleeves all crumpled. That’s a possible reason for Cas to have folded the sleeves up to his elbow, putting on display his forearms. And wrists.

When Dean forces himself to look up from Cas’s hands, he decides that the shirt fits the best of anything else yet, stretched wide over his shoulders and essentially hugging his chest snugly, on the way down.

And it’s so white, that paired with Cas’s tan and the striped blue of his tie, it looks-

“So hot, yeah.” Dean answers, right before the pause that’d begun after Cas spoke, crossed the line to weird. Dean looks at the plate in his hands. “I’m going to put these away.”

“Good idea.” Is all Cas says, coolly - and on a different note, starts to tug at the knot of his tie this way and that, to loosen it. He’s successful almost immediately too, the collar beginning to widen, and -

Dean really doesn’t need to be here for that, so he hurries along his way, walking with his eyes glued to the floor as if that somehow detaches him from existence.

This, a hundred percent, has nothing to do with Cas.

It’s hot, is all it is.

Dean peels off his overshirt, leaving just a black t-shirt on - which is not even one of his best ones; it’s probably the one which got exchanged with Sam back in 2014, judging from the way it goes down past his waistline. Dean doesn’t bother folding it as he drops it on the bed. He’s got more important things on his mind.

Such as scoping out a valid reason to go out of his room again.

Almost an hour later, Dean feels like it’d be okay to venture out. Before leaving, for good measure, Dean removes his belt, too. Unbuckling it instantly eases some of the pressure on his stomach, which has kept on building, ever since this evening started.

Ever since Sam and Eileen left for their date, leaving him and Cas alone in the bunker with a broken AC.

On Valentine’s day.

Which, Dean frowns to himself, is a rather inconsequential piece of information to add to that pile.

He warns himself against thinking on those lines again, and strides out of his room. He can sense there’s someone in the War room, so in order to sound like he really needs the thing, he starts speaking from the hallway. “Heya, Cas, have you see the -”

There’s no good explanation for why he stops talking.

Except, maybe there is.

Maybe there’s the best explanation ever, right in front of him, perched on the corner of a table. Maybe it’s got an unbuttoned shirt, and majorly fucked-up hair. Maybe it’s got abs, and chest hair, and hipbones; and maybe it’s all the reason that Dean Winchester’s ever required, for anything in his life.

He’d lay down his life for it. Hell, he could probably live for that very reason.

“Have I seen the…?” Cas repeats, his left eyebrow hooked. Has that ever happened before? Just that one, arched perfectly, as if demanding all the finished sentences in the entire world.

Dean clears his throat.

He isn’t sure what he’s thinking about, but he can still tell it’s a mistake.

“Nevermind.” He lets out, in a voice which sounds wrong, even to him.

“Alright.” Cas nods in acknowledgement, and with that, turns back to his book. It’s a giant, musty book- but then, all their books are giant and musty, and Dean cannot decipher what’s written on it, because he’d really rather stare at Cas’s hands holding it.

“Don’t you think,” Dean licks his lips. Even his throat is dry. “Wouldn’t you say it’s getting a little too hot in here?”

“I’m doing what I can.” Cas replies, managing to stuff in a little bit of distressed in there, with the general flatness. “Clearly, so are you.”

In a couple of beats, Dean realizes he’s run out of words to say, and Cas doesn’t look too eager to supply his own to keep this conversation alive, so then Dean chuckles - to say the least, awkwardly, and retires to his room again.

He’s going to show Cas how much better he can do.

“It’s, so, hot.” Dean grits his teeth, pulling the shirt over his head. Now he’s naked from up the waist, and it feels a lot better.

This isn’t a typically humid area, so it’s not like being shirtless is gonna get him sticky. Or any more sweaty, than he already is. In fact, it feels so much better, that Dean almost manages to convince himself that that’s why he’s doing it.

Almost.

There’s no ignoring anymore, that it’s Valentine’s day. And he and Cas are alone in the bunker, and it’s really hot, but that’s not just it.

It kind of never was.

Dean falls back on the bed, sinking slightly into the mattress. An image of Cas floats through his head, and though he really shouldn’t be thinking about Cas right now - half-naked, and on a bed - he doesn’t want to stop.

It’s evident Cas knows what’s going on here.

(It’s evident Cas knows what he’s doing to Dean.)

And Dean feels a pang of something, when he realizes he’s losing this - whatever this is. He may have started it off by being a dick, but he’s lagging behind now.

It’s really more about how much Cas gets to Dean, than about the number of layers he took off. And who’s Dean kidding? He isn’t getting to Cas at all.

(At least, it hasn’t ever felt like it.)

Dean sighs.

He’s too far gone.

And Cas is leaning on a table and holding a book, with an unbuttoned shirt and his fucking smolder, waiting to tell Dean it’s really hot.

He unbuttons his jeans.

Screw this, it’s over a hundred degrees.

Still thinking about Cas, he undoes his zipper, and pushes them down his legs. It’s only when they’re pooled around his ankles, that it strikes him how fucking gone he is, on Cas.

The realization doesn’t help at all.

He steps out of his jeans, and clenches his jaw.

This isn’t the time to think about feelings, and it’s not the time to ponder his relationship with Cas. It’s time to get out there.

So he does.

He walks fast enough, that it’s ironically not hot anymore. Exposure to air makes his legs feel a lot cooler, and though his boxer briefs cling to his thighs, it all feels somewhat freeing.

When he reaches the War Room, Cas isn’t there.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean swears under his breath, starting to walk down the hallway, but there’s no sign of Cas there either, and not even in the kitchen, and then -

“Dean?”

Dean jerks his neck around to face Cas. For the first time, Cas’s eyes seem to have deviated from their lifelong mission to stare Dean down - instead they’re focussed, oddly, on the only part of Dean which is still covered; and his lips are parted a little bit, but -

But he’s also completely fucking naked.

“Cas.” Dean growls, not wasting more than a second to take in all of Cas - eyes glancing over the parts he’d already gotten acquainted to, and hurrying to ogle his thighs, his ass, his fucking dick - and then, letting out a breath he had no idea he was holding, he’s pushing Cas against a wall, and crashing his lips on his.

He’s kissing Cas.

Cas gives back as he gets, grabbing hold of Dean, and pulling him closer with hands around his neck, as his tongue shoves into Dean’s mouth. Dean groans, but it gets lost in Cas’s mouth - eyes rolling back in his head, as his hip thrusts wilder, shoving Cas against the wall harder and pinning him there.

“Fuck, Cas, I - hnghhh -” He pants, in a raised voice, wanting to explain, apologize, proposition - everything at fucking once, but he breaks off with a whimper when he feels Cas’s dick against the fabric of his boxers, exciting his own dick even more.

Cas seems to be more interested in kissing him than his dick lets off - moving in perfect tandem with Dean, eyes completely shut and eyebrows furrowed like he’s concentrating on this; and he really is. He’s kissing Dean like nothing else matters - he’s kissing Dean like this is it, and he’s right, he’s so fucking right.

This is it.

Sparks fly when they kiss, and there’s current in his veins when Cas holds him. It thunders in his ears when Cas pulls Dean close, and all his walls collapse when he cries out Dean’s name.

This, right here, pushing and tugging, and desperate and breathless - this is them. This is everything their lives have been leading up to. This is truly and utterly it.

When Cas’s arms go around his waist, bringing him in tighter, Dean just has to pull away for breath.

Pupils blown, he grunts, accusing because he doesn’t know what he’d be, if not mad. “You ruined the game - or fucking whatever that was, Cas, you fucking ruined it -”

“I think I won the game, Dean.” Cas declares, jaw squared, and lips returning to that thin frown - but Dean does not want to be subjected to it anymore, so he dives in to tug it straight, but Cas cups his face, and kisses him instead, all the way there but just so soft - and Dean’s never been kissed like this before. He’s never known anything like it.

“Yeah, okay, fuck.” Dean gasps, when Cas’s hand slides under the elastic of his boxers, and takes his dick in hand. “Yeah, you win.” He adds, and they’re the last coherent words he gets out in a long while, as his head falls on Cas’s shoulder, hand on the wall propping him up, and he loses what little had remained of his senses.

Their chests still heave and Dean’s still lying half on Cas’s arm, absolutely boneless in the way sex makes people.

Cas turns his head to look at Dean, and there’s something twinkling - so beautiful, in his eyes. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m just asking to confirm, but was this because of the heat too?” This time, he sounds playful. He’s just egging Dean on.

So of course, Dean refuses to accept anything out loud.

He just turns to his side, and burrows himself around Cas. He knows it’s probably too hot to cuddle, but when he gently puts his head on Cas’s shoulder, Cas just hooks his chin on it like they’re in a frigging chick-flick. And that’s okay, just because.

“Fine. Happy Valentine’s day to you, okay?”

Cas doesn’t say anything to that, but when his arm comes around Dean, there’s something smug about it.

And Dean loves it.

#destiel #supernatural s15 #dean winchester/castiel #dean winchester #castiel #domestic destiel #valentine's day #saileen #destiel fluff #destiel first kiss #destiel crack #but like...taken seriously #supernatural fanfiction #fanfiction fluff destiel #spnpetra #sheya shall deliver #ooh finally

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casmoments · 3 years

Text

Marriage of Convenience; part 4

Prompt: “Arranged Marriage” - Certain factions of heaven are on your tail, the consequence of your death a trigger to greater destruction. In order to protect your life and others, you agree to an old custom that prevents any heavenly agent from harming you. The basic ritual? You have to marry an angel. Fourth part in a series.

Reader Gender: female Word Count: 4800 Warnings: not very rough sex, but if you’re sensitive to it, then warning. also some forward action in an empty but public place

part one ; part two ; part three

You awoke to Castiel kissing your temple. He was dressed and seemingly rushing. You blinked your eyes open, looked at him confusedly.

“Cas?” you murmured. “What’s—” Your question was interrupted by a yawn but he seemed to understand, brushing some of your hair back.

“You should sleep,” he said, inclining his head. “One of my allies is summoning my presence to heaven. I should see what’s disturbing them.” You groaned, shifting beneath the covers. You realized you wore a large t-shirt though you had not fallen asleep in that—you had not fallen asleep in anything. You looked down at yourself and he followed your gaze, smiling gently. “It was difficult to pry myself from your side,” he said, “I hope you don’t mind.”

“’s fine,” you grumbled, lifting a hand to touch the side of his face. “Will you be back soon?” He turned his head and kissed your palm, looking down at you with sincere affection.

“I will try,” he said.

He was gone shortly after that, kissing you again before he departed. You rolled over and fell into sleep, hoping he would return by dawn. It did not happen. You awoke to an empty bed and sighed to yourself, nonetheless rising and dressing for the day. You met the Winchesters in the kitchen. They appeared to be packing some provisions for the road.

“Got another case?” you asked, making for the fridge. Sam looked at you a bit funny and Dean had a moment of amusement, but you were still a bit groggy and didn’t heed it.

“Yup,” Dean eventually answered, tossing Sam an apple. Sam caught it, his eyes on a newspaper. He bit down while determinedly skimming an article. “Sounds like there might be a vamp nest couple states over. We’ll be gone a few days. You gonna be okay?” Dean asked that every time, though his question held gravity because this was their first expedition after your marriage. You could venture outside now and they all knew you would. Though you admitted that despite knowing you were now protected, it was a daunting idea, especially with everyone so far away from you.

“I’ll be fine,” you said. You decided to do some research before committing to any journey. For now you just smiled, grabbing some food out of the fridge and returning to the table. “You guys be safe, though, you hear?” You always replied with such a comment and that eased Dean. He ruffled your hair.

Not long after that, the Winchesters were gone and you sat alone in the library. Sam had provided you with a text outlining your marriage. You skimmed through it and verified your thoughts. You mostly wondered what force actually prevented heavenly agents from harming you because it surely wasn’t an honour system. But it seemed to involve the celestial consummation on your wedding night. You had some of his grace inside of you, all but melded into your soul, and it served as some kind of shield. It protected you as well as him. If something happened to him, his grace somehow taken, angels attempting to break the accord by rendering him human, it would still be partially locked inside you. Your contract would always stand; he would always be an angel and you would always be part of him.

Bound for eternity, you thought. Once the prophet and angel had joined, it was everlasting. Not even heaven could undo it. Some of Castiel’s stronger abilities had waned but he was irrefutably angelic. Thanks to this, he would perpetually remain so, regardless of his enemy’s attempts to dismantle him.

You waited in the bunker for a while, uncertain of when to expect Castiel’s return. His visits were once rare but you supposed that would change. Your stomach knotted in anticipation.

Otherwise idle, you daydreamed for a moment, one of your oldest fantasies playing in your mind. The first time it occurred, you could not meet his eye for weeks. You were always careful to never utter his name aloud lest you be heard by someone. Even when you were alone, you kept it all inside your head. He could suddenly materialize and hear you and that would have horrified poor, infatuated you.

But you had no such worry anymore, wanting nothing more than for him to appear while you murmured his name. You slouched in your seat and closed your eyes. His name fell from your lips with a gentle sigh, reflective, wistful, gentle. Your daydream floated absently though your mind, dream-Castiel sitting across from you, his eyes wandering your form. You innocently skipped around him, dressed in a skirt which lifted suggestively when you stretched or bent over. He would admire each swivel of your hips and dip of your body, watching and watching until it was too much. He would stand and approach you, eyes blazing with predatory intent. A wildly confused question would fall from your lips—“Castiel, what are you doing?”—but he would just press you against the table, his front aligned to your backside, hard ridge of his cock straining through his pants. His arms would cage you, his hands beside yours on the table.

“You know what I’m doing,” is all the reply he would offer, and your oh-so scandalized self would gasp as he hoisted your skirt, flipping it above your waist.

“Oh, Castiel,” dream-you always murmured, an utterance in actuality this time. But you were still alone, even as your thoughts played themselves out. Castiel would yank your underwear down, desperate and impatient, and he would part your legs, grip your hips, undo his pants and fill you with one solid thrust. He would be unrelenting and you would gasp, groan, writhe in pleasure. And when he had finished, he would lower your skirt, pocket your panties, and straighten you. He would hold you tight against him, your back to his front, and his hand would curve around your throat and hold just tight enough to lock you in place. He would turn your head and kiss you, nip at your bottom lip.

“You know whose you are,” he would say, and his mouth would find that spot between neck and shoulder to brand.

You touched that mark now, recalling it still existed. You blushed when you remembered the looks Sam and Dean had thrown you that morning. They made a little more sense now. Still, you didn’t have it in you to be embarrassed, not while thoughts of your husband danced around your head, his mark on display, his touch like a phantom presence across your skin and—

—and waiting for him was going to drive you mad, you realized. You had only been married a couple days but you supposed heavenly wars did not care about interrupting your honeymoon period. At any rate, you couldn’t just sit around in the bunker waiting for him. Making use of your newfound freedom, you pulled on shoes and a coat and took a walk. You were a bit jumpy but your greatest adversary proved to be a squirrel. After your walk, you decided to eat out. By the time you finally returned to the bunker, it was getting late, and still no sign of Castiel. You couldn’t hold it against him; the things he did were important. You idled around the bunker for a bit, watched some television, then fell asleep listening to music.

You hoped to wake the following morning to Castiel in your bed, but no such luck. You spent another day out, chatting on the phone with Sam for a bit. The day was not very exciting but you enjoyed yourself, hopping a bus into the city and spending some time just experiencing the things you had missed for the past several months. You returned home with some dinner, ate while listening to the radio, then turned in shortly after that.

This regime continued for three more days. You wondered how you could ever go weeks without seeing Castiel, then supposed the answer was obvious; there was never a promise of intimacy until now. All the same, you had your independence, but damnit if you weren’t already going through withdrawal.

Though you tried to wait, you couldn’t help but fall onto your bed with your hand between your legs, attempting to recreate every glorious sensation he had shared with you. It was a pale comparison but satisfied some tension.

“Castiel,” you murmured, picturing his return. He would be absolutely mad with desire, taking you right up against the door. He would utter stories of the past few days, how he had thought of you, wanted you, needed you like you needed him. You gasped, moaned, whimpered, throwing your head back and bucking your hips as you came. Then you just lay there, panting, staring up at the ceiling and bracing yourself for another day. You dressed then stood in front of your sparse closet, frowning.

Because you had been in the bunker for so long, and because your move had been quite spontaneous, you didn’t actually own many clothes. You would lounge in the same grungy ensembles for days at a time, your few appropriate outfits saved for when the boys accompanied you somewhere. Now that you could come and go as you pleased, you realized you would need a bit more clothing. Grabbing the emergency credit card Dean had given you, you left the bunker and made for the city, hitting up a department store.

You hummed to yourself, content, ever anticipating Castiel’s return. You refused to call the knots in your stomach anything but anticipation. Nerves implied he was in danger. You knew he could be but you tried not to think of it, attempted to be optimistic.

A kind employee helped you with your shopping, taking some outfits to the dressing room for you to try on. You browsed for a few more ensembles when something caught the corner of your eye. Hmm.

You wandered over to the lingerie section. You owned a few nice articles, purchased for yourself and your own sense of sexiness. But lingerie was expensive and you never really went out of your way to obtain it. But you looked over a few pieces now, pictured yourself wearing them, pictured Castiel if he returned to find you lazing in some of the more provocative numbers.

“Can I try some of these on?” you asked the employee, not wanting to purchase something that turned out to be unflattering.

“Some of them, yes,” the lady said. “Some you can’t. Hygiene reasons, of course.”

“Of course,” you said, fiddling with the silky material of a push-up bra. “Could you, um, show me which are okay to… I’d like to try…” Apparently marriage had not totally cured your blushes. The lady took pity, smiled kindly.

“Of course,” she said. “I’ll help you. This way.”

You picked a few pieces and she took them to the dressing room, adding them to your other articles. You returned to the clothing section, browsing one last time before your dressing room retreat. The store was quite empty. It was a decent establishment but you supposed this wasn’t a popular hour for shopping. You were halfway to the dressing room, mind wandering absently when a hand landed on your arm. You thought it was the lady and politely turned around.

“Castiel!” You all but launched yourself at him, arms thrown around his shoulders and face plastered to his chest. He chuckled, smoothing a hand down your hair, the other wrapping around you. “Ugh, you’ve been gone for days…” You pouted, tipping your head back to look at him.

“I apologize,” he said, blue eyes swimming with promise and sincerity. Your heart beat faster but you swore something rippled deeper, right in the core of your being, and you wondered if it was the reunion of his grace inside you. The culmination of everything just increased your heart rate, your smile bright, his glance affectionate. He leaned down and kissed you, not half so desperately as you would have liked but you supposed this was a public place. He pulled back and looked around, squinting a bit. “Why are you here?” he asked.

“I wanted to do some shopping,” you said. “I needed some new clothes.”

“I see.” He looked down at you again, a certain look flashing in his gaze. “Are you finished?”

You bit your bottom lip, unable to refuse the action, smiling a little bit. His eyes dropped to your mouth and you freed your lip, locking your hands behind his neck.

“Why?” you asked, boldly teasing. He looked at you dryly, humouring your feigned innocence.

“I have been securing some levels of heaven for days,” he said, hands on your hips, drawing you close, “though I seemed to endure weeks because of distracting prayers.” You looked at him with legitimate confusion, tipping your head. He leaned down towards you, chastely kissing your cheek. It looked like an innocent action, and no one else knew that he leaned towards your ear to whisper lowly, “When you utter my name with such yearning, wife, you open your thoughts to a channel of communication.”

Your fantasies from the past few days all flittered through your head. You couldn’t help but blush, thinking of the images you had unwittingly sent Castiel. You had heaped your own sexual frustration on top of his, not to mention accidentally sharing ideas you could not openly admit. He lifted a hand to your face, thumb stroking your pink cheek. You were two seconds away from forgetting about the clothes, allowing him to zap you back to the bunker and just have his damn way with you… when you remembered a couple of the pieces hanging up in that cubicle.

“I’m almost done here,” you said, sliding your hands down his chest, fidgeting with the lapels of his coat. “I just want to try a few things on. Will you stay while I do that or do you have somewhere to be?” He placed a hand over yours, held it to his chest and looked at you fondly.

“I’d like to keep your company,” he said, then seemed to surrender a thought. “Will this take very long?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. He smiled.

“No,” you said, “I don’t think so. Come on.” You pulled out of his embrace, took his hand in yours. You smiled up at him while weaving through racks of clothes, eventually turning your gaze ahead. Your cheeks were still warm, alight with a faint blush, and you doubted it would recede—not with what you were planning. The employee was leaving the dressing room area just as you entered. She offered her assistance should it be necessary and then retreated.

“She was very kind,” Castiel said absently, looking around. The dressing rooms were tucked inside a nook, a row of cubicles with floor-lengths doors, white and wooden and slatted closed. There was a rack of clothes to be returned outside and three full-length mirrors, framed around each other to pose and admire your own form. There were two armchairs and a bench, though the room was empty of all people.

“Just sit there,” you said, gesturing to an armchair in front of your cubicle. “I just have a couple things I want to try on.” He nodded, seating himself in a chair, sitting rather stiff before awkwardly leaning back, not succeeding in finding much comfort. You just giggled, stepping into the cubicle and closing the door. You looked at yourself in the mirror inside, pulled a face before shaking your head. Right, you said. Gotta do this properly.

You changed into pants and a shirt first, stepped out to look at yourself in the mirrors. You had a decent idea of the ensemble with the one cubicle mirror, but there was a science to your presentation and you would not screw it up.

“Nice, huh?” you asked, looking at Castiel. He nodded. He seemed to have found a comfortable position, leaning slightly to one side. He propped his head against his fist, his other arm draped over the back of the chair. You swallowed, looking away from him. You still weren’t too sure why that position was so attractive but damn, was it ever. Get it together, you told yourself, returning to the cubicle. This is your sexy parade, not his, damnit.

You changed into a summer dress, loose and flowy, cutting off just above the knee. You had picked it up in recollection of your library fantasy, and now that he knew about it you wondered if it would affect him. You stepped out of the cubicle, smoothing the material over your hips, and you felt his eyes follow you as you approached the mirror.

“This is pretty, I think,” you said, turning a bit, giving him a decent view of your backside, the dip of the dress. You looked at him over your shoulder. “What do you think?”

His eyes were a bit low, sweeping up your legs before meeting your gaze. Despite the inherent flirtation, his words were spoken kindly.

“You look… very beautiful,” he said, head lifting off his fist for a moment. You smiled, looked at yourself in the mirrors before retreating. “Are there many more?” he asked. You looked back at him, slowly closing your cubicle door.

“Almost there,” you said, watching as he pressed his temple to his fist again. How he could be adorable and sexy at once, you weren’t sure. You closed the cubicle door and locked it, turning to look at your next piece. You carefully undressed, taking your time to don each article. You kept an ear on the space outside make sure no one else wandered into the dressing room. It sounded pretty empty out there, though.

You looked at yourself in the mirror once dressed. It wasn’t too brazen, lacy black panties that slung low at your hips, a black bra which pushed up your breasts, full cups but lacy like the underwear. You snapped one of the straps against your skin, smiling as you looked at yourself. You weren’t going to lie, the lingerie thing really worked wonders.

You opened and the door stepped out, fighting a blush as you went over to the mirror. You did not look at him directly but you saw Castiel was immediately affected. His arm dropped from its perch, his head following you very deliberately. You looked at him, expression innocent as ever.

“What do you think?” you asked. He didn’t seem to know where to look, gaze flicking over your body before he looked up at you. He said nothing but tipped his head, looking at you with a sort of scrutiny—he totally knew what you were doing and that heated glance set a fire in your core. “Not this one, then?” you asked, snapping the waistband of the underwear against your hip. His eyes fell to the motion before he met your gaze again. His pupils had dilated noticeably, blue pierced with black. “Right. Better try again then,” you said, returning to your cubicle without further ado.

The really skimpy bits couldn’t be tried on in-store, only purchased, so you couldn’t torment him beyond any brink. But your second ensemble pushed a decent boundary. The underwear was thin, almost see-through, the bra strapless and cups small, just covering you enough to stay on. A sheer material draped over your middle, leaving little to the imagination. You turned in front of the mirror, smiled to yourself, and stepped out again.

He was sitting straight this time, arms on the armrests, staring at your door. He watched as you passed him, stepping up to the mirrors once more.

“So?” you asked, looking at him. You gathered your hair and lifted it onto your head, arms stretching, exposing a little more skin. You turned your hips this way and that, faced him with your eyebrows lifted. He was breathing very evenly, like it required effort to keep that rhythm, and his gaze was fixated low on your body. You watched him wet his lips as his eyes moved up. Then he looked at you as one solitary word tumbled from his lips, gravelly and hot and dark.

“Fuck.”

That sound hit you right between the legs, fires melting to wet heat and you figured you would have to buy this underwear pretty soon if you didn’t get them off…

He stood when you reached the cubicle, though, and suddenly you were rushed inside. You stumbled backward, hitting the mirror, and he closed the door behind himself. Your heart raced, breath catching, the look in his eyes hungry and determined. You lowered your gaze, not missing that hard bulge in his trousers. Looking up again, you pressed yourself against the mirror and gasped as he approached.

“We can’t do this here,” you said quickly, swallowing. He stopped inches from your face, leaning over you, his wild eyes not straying anywhere else. “And I can’t bring this with me. I haven’t paid for it.”

“Then you should take it off,” he said. His hands were on you before you could blink, unhooking the clasp at the front of the bra. It gave way, floating to the floor around you. His hands were rough and quick, exactly how you fantasized, and you were pretty sure prayer was not intended for such usage but blessed be accidental prayers. He shoved at the material on your hips, crouching as he pulled it down your thighs and past your knees. You stepped out of it and he stood again, leaving you completely naked under his roving stare.

“Castiel…” you murmured, his gaze lifting to meet yours. A hand lifted towards your face, thumb running over your lips.

“You do enjoy my name, don’t you, wife?” he asked.

“And you enjoy calling me wife, don’t you, husband?” you returned, lips moving over his thumb as you spoke. His other hand slid over your shoulder, moving into your hair and gripping the back of your head. You made a low noise as he tugged lightly, tipping your head back, exposing the line of your throat. Your chest thrust forward as your back curved. You breathed hard, murmuring nonsensical sounds as he dragged his thumb over your lips, down your chin, fingers splaying over your collarbone and freezing there while his gaze wandered lower.

“You are irresistibly beautiful,” he said. “This might be why heaven first outlawed our engagement to your kind.” You shuddered as his fingers wandered lower, slipping between your breasts, down your stomach, his grip on your hair tightening. “You’re a welcome distraction,” he said, hand moving aside, down your thigh. “Though lesser beings would struggle to let you leave their beds.” You made a wanting noise, his hand sliding to your inner thigh, running upwards but pulling away at the last second.

“So I haven’t beaten down your resolve yet?” you asked. His wandering gaze lifted again, dark, focussed. You licked your lips, fingers curling against the mirror behind you.

“We’ll see,” he said. “For now, I want my wife.”

You yelped as he flipped you around, the moment whirling to dizzying heights as the scene shifted around you. A wooden door was suddenly in front of you. It took a moment to realize, but you were back in your bedroom at the bunker. Your hands were flattened to the door, one of his hands on your hip and the other undoing his pants. You moaned, a helpless, shaking, desperate sound, realizing this was a combination of two fantasies you sent him.

You were bent over, hands braced on the door, hair falling over your bare shoulders. His hand moved between your legs, one of his feet nudging yours. You groaned, head dropping forward as you spread your legs as per his silent request. You bit your lip as his hand teased at your wet heat, fingers deftly pressing upward.

“Take me, please,” you murmured, pressing back against his hand. A week ago, you could never imagine yourself in such a position, so open and unabashed, but you were completely undone and wanting of one thing. You tried to press back against him again but he removed his hand, both of them sliding over your backside, moving onto your hips.

“Take you,” he repeated. “That is very different from making love, isn’t it?”

Your response was a vague grunting noise, then you felt the head of his cock between your thighs. You thrust back, only pausing when his hand moved between you, guiding him to your entrance.

“You’ll have what you want,” he said, easing inside of you. You moaned, the feel of him inside you again perfect. “If I had ever known you were so eager,” he said with a grunt, pulling back a bit to thrust forward again, “I would have taken you much sooner… thrown you against the nearest space and fucked you until you trembled to think of me.” You moaned, thudding your hands against the door as he started guiding your hips, sliding them over his cock with each intense thrust. “But I would not rewrite our story.” After a few more thrusts, he pulled out and straightened you, hand lightly circling your throat as in your fantasy. He held you against him and you realized he had zapped his clothes away at some point—some very recent point, because you could feel the brush of material before this. You all but melted against him, head landing on his shoulder, his fingers soft on your neck. He kissed the side of your face, slow, warm. “I take far too much pleasure in being your husband.”

“I love being your wife,” you said, words scarcely spoken before he sat on the bed. He kept your back pressed to his chest but helped you onto him, your legs spread over him, straddling his thighs as he entered you. You sunk onto his cock, tipping your head back so his temple pressed to yours.

“Then I would say I have succeeding in taking you,” he said, all but bouncing you in his lap. You panted, reaching back to touch a hand to his face. His breath hit your neck in short, hot bursts, his hands sliding down to your thighs, moving you over him. His thrusts only slowed when his hand moved towards you, fingers prying, circling your clit as he moved inside you. Your sounds turned frantic, delving to one moan as you came apart, clenching around him. He pounded up into you, low noises rolling past his lips as you squeezed his cock inside you. Your faint convulsions finally ceased, just as he finished. You slumped against him, a small, weak noise still threaded into every pant.

“Y/N,” he said, kissing your cheek, brushing your hair back. “Are you all right?”

“All right,” you repeated, “I’m more than all right.” He laughed at that, a short but pleased sound, his arms wrapping around your waist. You reached back for him, groaning as he lifted you up and onto your feet. You stumbled for a second, then found yourself back in his arms. He laid back on the bed, not high enough to reach the pillows, but centred quite surely. He held you against him, your head tucked under his chin, fingers on his shoulders. “I missed you,” you said after a moment. He kissed the top of your head.

“I did as well,” he said. “I find it very difficult to be apart from you, even more than before.” He looked down at you then and you looked up, curious. He smiled gently. “Have you enjoyed your freedom?” he asked. You smiled back.

“Yeah,” you said. “But it’s nice when I get to share it with you.”

“I look forward to sharing days with you,” he said, brushing his fingers over your cheek, leaning down and kissing you. You remained there for a while, languidly kissing, unwinding from the passion before. After a while you leaned back, arching your back a bit as you stretched.

“Come on,” you said, slowly sitting up. He followed, looking at you curiously. “I do want to buy some more clothes eventually,” you said, “though I think you shouldn’t accompany me.” He sort of grinned at that, his fingers idly stroking over your thigh. “But that’s not where I’m headed. After all this, I think,” you smiled to yourself, batting your eyelashes, “that I need a shower.”

He looked like he had a comment but then paused, considering it. He looked at you again and you lifted your eyebrows, tipping your head.

“Are you coming?” you asked, offering your hand. He looked at it and then met your gaze, smiling.

He placed his hand in yours.

part five

castiel x reader masterpost

#castiel x reader #castiel x y/n #castiel imagine #casreader #castiel

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