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helen-with-an-a · 1 month

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Badger

Hi. So this is a little thought I've had in my head for a while based on the fact that none of the English commentators can pronounce Ona's name properly.

Ona Batlle x reader

Description: You're convinced Ona doesn't like your nickname for her

Word Count: 4.2k

It had been a gruelling game, the ball rolling end to end creating little respite for any player. Goals were flying in left and right from both sides. It was a draw in the final minute of overtime and both teams were desperate not to share points. A spectacular tackle from Ona had prevented Hemp from scoring, allowing the ball to be collected and fed all the way back up the pitch. It had ricocheted around the City box before falling to your feet. It was instinctual, not thought or planning behind it, yet as the ball sailed pasted Roebuck’s fingers – it was like it was destiny. It was by no means your first goal for United, nor your first goal of the game. But it felt like it. The crowd erupted, the music drowned out by the noise and the rush of blood in your head.

The Blues had no time to score an equaliser. You watched as the seconds ticked down – City trying to press again, although the fight had clearly been lost in them. Finally, finally, the Ref blew the whistle. Old Trafford erupted. It had been an exciting game for the fans – lots of goals, tough tackles, harsh words, decent referring. As a player it had been exhausting but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ona was the first one to you, somehow making the distance in record time despite being further down the pitch.

“Mi hermosa superestrella!” She shouted as she threw herself onto your back. You stumbled slightly, your legs feeling like jelly as the adrenaline disappeared from your veins. “Mi maravillosa, hermosa, fantástica, increíble, magnífica, bella goleadora.” She littered each word with an array of kisses to your head, her arms wrapping around your neck as she made herself comfortable – clearly showing you she wasn’t getting down any time soon.

“Stop,” you whined, getting shy under her compliments.

“Nope, never.” She laughed again, squeezing her legs tighter around your waist in a hug. You discretely pinched the underneath of her thigh, close to the hem of her shorts. “Aye,” she squealed. “Can’t a girl compliment her amor de su vida after she had an incredible game?” She pressed a sneaky kiss to your jaw as you made your way towards the fans.

You knew the fans would be going crazy over your behaviour; you had never made your relationship a secret. Ona often featured in your monthly photo dumps, your Instagram stories showing carefully selected insights into your life. Her Instagram was the same, filled with private moments that neither of you minded sharing with fans. Videos of you after matches were all over the internet – hugs that lasted too long to be just friendly, kisses pressed into sweaty hairlines and shiny foreheads, your body being wrapped around her smaller frame as the final whistle went, neither of you leaving each other sides until you were sure they were fine after a tackle gone wrong.

You were walking you way around the stadium, laughing along to Mary and Tooney’s jokes as you fell into step with them. It was as you were passing Alex and Fara that you heard your name be called out. Instinctively, you turned – naturally bringing Ona with you as she was still securely wrapped around you. Alex was beckoning you over – a microphone outstretched and an expectant smile. You tilted your head back to look at Ona, expecting her to have loosened her legs by now. Yet her grip held firm, nodding in the direction of the TV cameras. You shrugged, readjusted her on your hips and came to join the women.

“And here we have Y/F/N Y/S/N and Ona Badger,” Alex said, laughing at the way you stood. Had she really just said that?

“Hi, sorry about this one,” you gestured with your head. “She always says her legs don’t work after matches.” You teased, the three of you laughing at Ona’s indignant squawk, yet she made no move to get down. Fara offered you a microphone, watching on as you looked around a little – struggling to figure out how you were going to do the interview with Ona on your back. Ona solved that solution easily enough, taking the mic and holding it where you need it. You squeezed her calf appreciatively.

“What a match, hey? How are you feeling?”

“Yeh, it’s insane. Derby’s are always hard, and we knew it was going be a fight today, but that was something else.” You chuckled, blowing a stray piece of hair from your face – thanking Ona absentmindedly as she delicately moved it away for you. “We all knew we had jobs to do out there and we just went ahead and did it. Not much more I can say really. I have absolute faith in these girls, and I think it showed today.” You hoped it was a reasonable response. You weren’t the biggest fan of the media side of football. Pre-recorded videos and challenges you could do no issue, but the live stuff - you hated it.

“And what about you, Ona? You were up and down that pitch today like a Yo-Yo.” Fara asked. You moved your head to the side, allowing Ona the space to talk.

“Sí. Again, I just did my job. It was this one that was putting them into the back of the net.” You blushed ferociously, thanking the lucky stars that you were already quite red from the match.

You continued the interview as quickly as possible – conscious that this was being streamed live to the BBC. You skin becoming redder with every passing compliment Ona threw you way. Of course, you gave them back just as often, but she wasn’t as embarrassed by stuff like that. Eventually, the interview came to a natural end.

“Thank you so much, girls, I’ll let you get back. Ladies and Gentlemen, Y/F/N Y/S/N and Ona Badger,” you heard Alex say as you turned away. You heard Ona groan in your ear as you carried on walking.

“Come on then, Señorita Badger.” You couldn’t contain your cackle as you helped her down to sit in your cubby.

“Detener,” she whined – her arms coming to cross over her chest. “They can never say it properly. It’s so annoying.” She moaned, burying her face in your clothed stomach as you moved to untie her braid.

“My love, they are atrocious at pronouncing non-English names, you know this.” You soothed her, allowing your fingers to card through her now-loose hair. “It doesn’t make it right, but it’s not personal.”

“It’s every game though. Every interview and time someone says my name its always ‘Battle’ or ‘Badger’. I can’t decide which is worse.” She complained, moving away from your body to look at you, pouting. You matched her pout; one had coming to cup her jaw and the other to lightly trace over the crease in between her eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, my lovely. I don’t know what to say,” you admitted. “But if it makes you feel any better, they’re always saying good things.” You tried a weak smile. “You’re our best defender.” You said honestly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. This time, she really did blush.

“Deja de mentir,” she sighed.

“I’m not lying. You are an incredibly, wonderfully, amazingly talented defender.” You laughed as her cheeks darkened yet again. “And all mine.” You finished off, placing a gentle kiss to her soft lips. “I love you.” You basked in the silence between you to a little longer before adding, “my little Badger.” Her eyes snapped open, scoffing as her mouth dropping open as you laughed loudly, scurrying away to the showers before she could retaliate.

You had been calling her Badger for so long now, that you had never considered what it might look like to others, or to her. After that day in the locker room, it had slowly become more and more integrated into your daily vocabulary. It started as a nickname you used to tease her, loving how riled up she became. But then you started using it in training, shouting it out when she did something particularly impressive. Eventually, it became like any other loving nickname. You were her mi amor, and she was your Badger.

It was something you hadn’t considered when you both made the move over to Spain. It was so normal at this point. Surely, she would have said something if she didn’t like the name? You used it all the time. You wanted her to pass you the salt and pepper? You felt sad and needed a hug? She was injured and needed comfort? You were pressed up against her in the Club dancing the night away? She had done something great in training? She was irritating the crap out of you? You were annoying her and being an all-round brat? She was always Badger.

It had never crossed you mind until Alexia brought it up after training one day.

You were walking out to the car, Ona tugging on your hand to hurry you up.

“Vamos, mi amor. Apresúrate,” she pulled you harder, taking your hand in both of hers.

“Badger, you go ahead.” You laughed as she pouted. “You’re the one going on a ‘La Masia day’. In case you’ve forgotten, I wasn’t raised here.” You teased, using your strength to pulled her back to your side. “I was told in no uncertain terms by Aita that this was a Catalan only event And that she loved me, but I needed to get lost for the afternoon. You need time with your people, and I am totally ok with that, Badger.” You smiled softly at her, melting as her arms wove around your waist.

“Ona, deixa d'estar tan enamorat i afanya't.” Aitana’s loud voice drifted from across the car park.

“A la merda, Aita. Que no tinguis núvia no vol dir que hagis de ser dolent.” Ona responded. You had no idea what she was saying but even with your limited Catalan, you recognised ‘núvia’ and guessed it was something to do with you.

“Go on, Badger. Go enjoy yourself, I’ll see you at home.” You cupped her cheek with your hand, giving her a gentle goodbye kiss. She squeezed you once more before running off after Aitana– shoving her as she climbed into the backseat.

“Do you want to come for a quick coffee with us?” A voice next to you made you jump.

“Fucking hell.” You turned to see Alexia, Mapi and Ingrid standing behind you. “Jesus, warn a girl next time.” You placed a hand over your heart and took calming breaths, glaring at Mapi as she chuckled at your reaction.

“We said your name like 10 times, chica.” Alexia smiled, taking your arm, and pulling you towards her car.

“Sorry, I was just … sorry.” You stared at the pavement, a bright blush rushing to your cheeks.

“Ella está enamorada” Mapi cheered, coming up to pinch your cheeks.

“You two are way worse,” you said, gesturing between Ingrid and Mapi. “Oh, mi vida, jugaste muy bien hoy.” You dramatically threw yourself at Ingrid, laughing with her at Mapi’s incensed expression.

“No sueno asi”

“Yes, you do.” You said at the same time as Ingrid. Mapi’s shocked face made you laugh even harder as Alexia unlocked the car.

“Maps, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call her Ingrid. Even when you aren’t talking to her it’s always ‘mi vida’ or ‘mi princessa’ or ‘mi Tesoro’. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call her Ingrid. It can be quite nauseating.” You goaded her as you took your seat in the passenger side. She gasped, jokingly offended.

“Al menos no llamo a mi novia por un animalito raro.” She clicked her teeth at you.

You eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Animal? You didn’t call Ona an animal, did you? Sometimes you joked she was a koala after the matches as she clambered her way into a customary piggyback – you often made teasing remarks that you didn’t need to see one during your time in Australia because you had one at home with you. But nothing repeatedly.

“Yeh, where did Badger come from?” Alexia asked. Ohhhhh. It clicked for you - sometimes, you could be quite oblivious.

“It’s not after the animal. English commentators and interviewers can never say her name. You must’ve realised that.” The Spanish girls nodded solemnly – often being a victim themselves of mispronounced names. “Well, it started off as a joke really, Alex Scott called her Ona Badger once and it kinda went from there really.” You explained, your attention drifting to looking outside the window

“Ona’s a better woman than me.” Alexia shook her head slightly. You turned back around, looking at her side profile as she drove you towards the coffee shop.

“How-What do you mean?” You asked, confused as to what she was getting at.

“If Olga called me Patella instead of Putellas, I’d go crazy.” Alexia laughed.

“Oh. She doesn’t seem to mind it. I … don’t think?” Did she mind it? She had never said anything to you about it.

“I never said anything when Olga called me Lex for a while. But it really got on my nerves.” She added, making you feel even worse about the situation. Does she really feel like that? Do you irritate her? It must do. What you had thought was just a joke and then an eventual nickname was based on the fact that someone couldn’t pronounce her name right. That would annoy anyone, right?

The rest of the afternoon passed in a daze, the coffee trip and drive back to the training ground carpark was all a blur. Your drive home and daily routine done on autopilot as your actions and behaviours played on repeat in your head. Did Ona hate being called Badger? She must do, right? Not many people in England had struggled to pronounce your name, and you had yet to encounter someone in Spain that couldn’t do it. Your thoughts rattled in your head – leading you to the conclusion that yes, Ona must not like being called Badger. You vowed to stop making her uncomfortable.

“Hola, mi amor.” Ona called as she walked through the door. You could hear the tiredness in her voice.

“Hey, Badg-baby.” You cleared your throat, hoping to cover up your mistake. “Hey, baby.” You kicked yourself mentally for your slip up. With all your internal worry, you missed Ona’s eyebrows scrunching in confusion. You seemed ok in yourself, a little distracted maybe, but nothing noticeable. You were standing at the open fridge, trying to figure out what to make for dinner – so it must be that, Ona decided. You must be distracted by what to make. She came up behind you, wrapping her arms around you and kissing your shoulder. You melted against her, like you always did. This helped calm Ona’s worries a little, beyond not calling her Badger, you were acting normal.

“What do you fancy for tea?” You asked, looking back at her.

“No m'importa, el que sigui més fàcil per a tu,” she said in Catalan. Her voice muffled by the fabric of your jumper.

“What was that, Bad-babe?” You asked her gently, recognising how tired she must be. You twisted around in her grip, closing the fridge door behind you. She looked up at you, a look of displeasure on her face. You chalked it up to her being tired from her afternoon out with the girls; she was actually annoyed that you had, once again, not called her badger.

“El que sigui més fàcil.” She repeated, still speaking in Catalan.

“The only word I recognised was fàcil, so I’m going to assume that mean quick and easy?” She smiled, as you let a finger trace over her freckles on her cheeks, something you always did when she was tired.

“Podríem fer la comanda?” She was still speaking in Catalan. Her tiredness often led to you trying to decipher Catalan – a language you were still trying to get to grips with. But you understood where she was coming from. If you were tired and then forced to speak your third language in your own home, it would not go very well. You really wracked your brains, trying to work out what she was saying.

“I’m sorry, B-honey. What was that?” You asked her, scanning your eyes cross her face.

“Order.” She said grumpily. You sighed, misunderstanding her mood again.

“Ok, my love,” mentally cheering as you didn’t slip up this time. “Let’s go to the sofa and we’ll order something.” You unwound her arms from your waist and pulled them over your shoulders, lifting her up as her legs wrapped securely around your hips. “My koala,” you teased, pressing a kiss to her cheek before she buried her head in your neck.

You hoped that Ona’s uncharacteristic mood was purely down to her tiredness. But after a full night’s sleep where she had refused to leave your arms – something that usually made her sleep like a baby – she still had an attitude with you. She had been fine when you woke up, a soft, sleep-filled smile gracing her beautiful face.

“Bon dia, mi amor.” She had croaked out, a gentle hum coming from her as you scratched at her head.

“Good morning, bad-baby.” Fuck, you had done it again. She pulled back from her beloved location (her face pressed against your neck, you giving her gentle scratches to gradually wake her up). With sleep still in her eyes, her hair a mess and that adorable pout, you couldn’t help but smile – you had, yet again, misattributed her pout for tiredness rather than the anger, and slight hurt, that she felt when you failed to call her Badger. She tried to think back to yesterday. You had very willingly let her go out with the girls yesterday after training, so that couldn’t have been it. Training had gone really well – you always had worked brilliantly as a pair. You had mentioned that you went out to coffee with Alexia, Ingrid and Mapi, maybe something had happened then? But you would have said something though, right? You were the one that was more open and in-touch with your feelings. You always communicated well with everyone around you, especially Ona. Yet, you were refusing to call her Badger. That name had originally been a joke, but eventually it had come to mean so much to her – it was something so unique to your relationship. Other couples could call each other baby, or love, or honey, or babe, or any of the Spanish equivalents. But only she got to be your Badger.

You were still behaving normally which is what threw her off the most. You made her the perfect cup of coffee – like every morning – giving it to her with a kiss to the top of her head as she sat at the table, trying to wake herself up. You held your hand out to her as you walked into the training centre, allowing her warm hand to intertwine with yours. You insisted she tie your hair back, humming quietly as she raked her delicate fingers across your scalp. You made her a plate of all her favourite foods at lunch. You let her rest her body into yours as you sat down, your arm coming around her shoulder as you talked to Lucy and Keira. You drove home with you hand on her thigh and the music blasting loudly. Yet you still hadn’t called her Badger. It was adding considerably to her strange mood – she wasn’t quite angry, but she wasn’t her usual bubbly self … grumpy … that was the only way to describe Ona today. Even Alexia and Patri had picked up on it, asking you if Ona was alright. You tried your best to assure them, telling them that she just hadn’t slept very well (a total lie – it was you that had lied awake staring at the ceiling as Ona’s breath puffed steadily onto your collarbone).

She led you into your house, scowling at you as you tried to make your way into the kitchen.

“Sentarse,” she growled at you, pointing at the sofa. You did as you were told – still very confused as to her behaviour today.

You looked at her, deeply puzzled, as she climbed onto your lap, her legs straddling your thighs. Her behaviour was not what you expected of someone that was angry with you. You pulled out every stop you could think of to help her relax; one hand on her waist, dipping under her shirt to rub at the smooth skin; the other came to cup her jaw, you thumb running repetitive strokes across her cheekbones. It worked, for the most part. She leaned into your hand, her breathing was less harsh, the crinkle in her brow disappeared.

“Oni, my darling girl, mi corazón, mi hermosa, el amor de mi vida. What is up with you today?”

“What is up with me? What is up with you?” She almost shouted, incredulous at the accusation that she had done something wrong.

“You’ve had a scowl on your face the whole day.” You explained, a finger coming to flick at her protruding bottom lip as exhibit A.

“Because of you!” You threw her arms up in exacerbation.

“Me? What have I done?” You tried to think of what you could have done to annoy her. You had stopped calling her Badger, you had let her choose what to eat for tea last night – not even complaining when she chose the place with the not-as-nice-but-just-as-expensive-Sushi – you had done everything as normal today, going so far to drag her away for a steamy makeout session in the bathrooms before practice. Was that what she was upset over?

“No m'has trucat, Badger” she whispered so quietly you could barely hear her.

“Oni, I’m sorry, but I didn’t hear you.” You explained “What did you say?”

“You haven’t called me Badger all day. And last night. Did I do something? Have I annoyed you? You always call me Badger unless you’re angry at me. So ... What. Did. I. Do?” She exploded at you, a lone tear streaking down her cheeks. She rushed to wipe it away, but you got there first, kissing her cheek at the same time.

“No, mi vida. You did nothing wrong.” You looked down at her hands in her lap, fingers fiddling nervously together.

“Then what is it? Cos you haven’t called me Badger in over 24 hours now. Something is wrong.” She implored at you.

“I know you don’t like it, so I thought it would just be easier if you didn’t have to tell me and it be all awkward.” She waited a moment, hoping you would meet her eyes. When that was apparently not going to happen, she lifted your chin up with a finger.

“Who told you I don’t like being called Badger?” She asked sternly. Just like the rest of the day, you misunderstood her emotions – thinking she was angry at you for figuring out her secret.

“N-no one.” You croaked out, trying desperately not to cry.

“Mi amor, who told you I don’t like being called Badger?” She asked again, this time her voice a lot calmer.

“It was something that Alexia had said yesterday. She said that Olga called her Lex a few times and it really got on her nerves, but it took her a while for her to say something. And she also said that if someone called her Patella as a nickname, she’d go insane. And it just got me thinking that what if you don’t like being called Badger, ‘cos it’s a nickname based on someone saying your name wrong, but you didn’t want to say anything and I-” you were cut off by soft lips pressing against yours. You hummed throatily as Ona’s hands twisted into your hair, you grip on her waist tightening, pulling her closer to you.

“Don’t think ever again.” She said as you parted, her breath fanning across your face, drowning you in her scent. You must have looked confused, even with your eyes shut. “You said all of this was because you starting thinking. So, don’t ever think again.” You chuckled, pulling her back to you, your lips moulding together perfectly. “You are mi amor. And I am your Badger,” she mumbled between kisses.

“My Badger.” You agreed, shifting yourself underneath her.

“Recuérdame mañana que mate a Alexia por plantar esa estúpida idea en tu cabeza.” She grumbled as you pulled on top of you again.

“Whatever you say,” you started to suck a hicky into her neck. You pulled back slightly so you could see her face. “Badger.” Her kilowatt smile was all the confirmation you needed that Ona really did like being called Badger.

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3<3

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evergone · 4 months

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Lonely

Theodore Nott x Legilimens! reader

Warnings: Swearing.

Description: The reader has no friends until destiny (in the form of a boy named Theodore Nott) does everything to make her feel like she belongs.

In your first year, you were put in a dorm by yourself. You heard so many times that this was a gift — a sign of your good fortune, Professor Trelawney said — as everyone else in your year group had to share with someone else, but you, the introvert you were, were left to your own devices. Despite these assumptions, you quickly discovered that sharing a dorm was central to establishing friendships, and you spent the vast majority of your high school life friendless and alone.

At times, your boredom and your loneliness were so all-encompassing that you would read the minds of the first years who you knew wouldn’t be capable of sensing the imposition upon their thoughts. None of them thought of much. The boys were preoccupied with daydreams of girls and music (most of them were very into hip-hop as was the popular culture of the nineties), and the girls were nearly all stressing about parties and school work.

You were as much at ease with your situation as one could possibly be. You were of the mindset that if there was nothing you could do about it, why bother? Everyone had their cliques, their friends, and you were just the one to be left out. Your only goal was to get through the remaining year, then you would leave school, rent a house somewhere obscure, become a writer or an archaeologist or something else fun, and start your life over again. But it appeared that destiny had other plans.

Destiny, that supreme, omniscient, omnipotent concept that dwindled above and twisted within the interactions of all peoples, came to you in a free period you were spending in the library. The period before had been Charms, but that was of no consequence, neither was the fact that you had no more classes until later that night when you would make the journey to the Astronomy tower. You were sitting at a desk in the far left corner of the library, tucked between the pages of a number of books written by Z-named authors of some incredibly niche portion of history when Madam Pince’s high-pitched and troubled voice disturbed your rather unproductive attempts to finish your homework.

Ever bored, and hardly ever entertained, you leant to the side to see around the long bookcase. To your surprise, your eyes immediately met with a pair of blue ones. The irises were mere spots lost in the oceans of colour and they darted between you and Madam Pince, desperate for assistance. Behind those eyes, you could hear his mind asking for your help. If you was slightly smarter, you would’ve avoided this person’s gaze altogether and returned to your work.

“Madam Pince,” you said before allowing yourself a moment to think, and the frustrated librarian’s head turned to you in owl-like frustration, “Is everything okay?”

“Not at all,” she said, her voice an angry whisper, “Mr Nott should be in class, instead, he’s here violating my books!”

You glanced at the owner of the eyes. The green lining of his robe told you he was from your house, so you knew him even if only from afar. He hung out with the big group of your housemates most of the time, but you’d observed that he often sat by himself in the common room and the others intruded on his personal time. He was tall — probably six feet or so — and thin, with hair that was darker than blond, but most definitely not as dark as some of his friends’ hair. In the traditional sense, he was handsome, but you’d heard him speak in class before, and his voice bore an awkward intonation as if to speak was to curse which made him seem almost as nerdy as yourself. Despite this, every movement he made seemed elegant no matter his emotion, this was so inherent of a feature that even in that moment — when he was so clearly itching to turn and run — he was like a swan. His name was Theodore Nott, and you’d never spoken to him before.

“He’s supposed to be helping me with my homework,” you blurted out and Madam Pince quirked a pencilled-on eyebrow, “You know I’m terrible with, uh, Ancient Runes.” You both had that class together.

“Yeah,” nodded Theo as he stepped around her and stood by your side, “The professor said it was okay, I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”

“As am I,” she frowned, “Tell her not to let this happen again.”

“Yes, Madam.”

With an irritated hum, she left the two of you alone. Theo turned to face you once she was out of earshot, and let out a sigh of relief before sitting down on the edge of the desk you were at.

“You’re in Slytherin,” he said obviously, “What year?”

You sucked in a breath of air, “Sixth. Yours.”

“Oh.”

His brain exploded with a million thoughts at once, his conscious and subconscious fighting for dominance. You could hear the embarrassment as he reprimanded himself for not knowing, and the confusion as he searched his memories for some sign that he had, in fact, seen you before.

“We have Potions together, and Astronomy, and Divination, and Ancient Runes, and… most of our classes, actually.” You shrugged without a care.

Theo cringed, “Sorry. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed you before.”

“I don’t really make my presence known,” you said, “So don’t worry about it.”

“I’m Theodore Nott,” he introduced himself, hand outstretched towards you, “What’s your name? I don’t want to make the same mistake next time.”

“Y/n L/n,” you said and shook his hand. It was soft and had no callouses at all.

“I best be off, I’m missing Arithmancy.”

“Boring.”

“You’re telling me,” he chuckled and left the library.

Over the course of that afternoon, you were unable to tear your mind away from Theo, and none of your homework was completed as a result. You didn’t go to dinner in the Great Hall. Your mind was much too preoccupied to eat.

At eleven-thirty, your alarm sounded, and you washed your face in preparation for Astronomy. Professor Sinistra demanded that all her students wore their uniforms for her classes, even if said classes were at midnight, but there wasn’t a single person who ever did that other than Hermione Granger. Everyone else tended to pull their robes overtop their pyjamas and call it a day, yourself included.

The lesson wasn’t all that interesting as Sinistra had the class chart some stars for the whole hour. However, you barely managed to get anything done because you were so distracted by Theo who was sitting peacefully at the opposite side of the tower amongst his friends. Including Theo, there were five of them (you didn’t include Crabbe and Goyle, who you always thought were less friends than goons, or Millicent Bulstrode or Tracey Davis, both of whom you knew were periodically hated by the others). Two girls, three boys.

Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy, and finally, Theo. At seventeen, his hair was a mostly consistent length of woody brown curls that sat fluffily on his head — if anything it was maybe a bit shorter on the sides. His eyebrows were thick as they always were, and in that particular Astronomy lesson, they were hard pressed against the tips of his long eyelashes that seemed almost too feminine to belong to him. By far the most intriguing and attractive aspect of Theo was, of course, the prominent mole on his left cheek that stole your attention away from a tight-lipped smile he had thrown your way.

Your immediate reaction was to blush and avert your eyes, but upon glancing back and noticing he was still staring, you offered him a short wave. He nodded in response before turning to Draco and saying something too far away for you to hear.

The next morning, or, perhaps, later that morning is the right expression, you went to breakfast in the Great Hall. Not having eaten dinner the night prior had left you so completely starving. You could’ve eaten a pegasus. You sat down on the edge of the Slytherin table by yourself, and loaded a plate with two eggs, about five slices of bacon (it very well could have been more, your memory isn’t perfect), a piece of toast, and a spoonful of baked beans.

“Where are all your friends?”

You looked up to see Theo standing over you chewing on the end of a breadstick.

“Why do you ask?” you questioned.

“Because you’re sitting here by yourself and it looks a bit pathetic, L/n,” laughed Theo teasingly.

“I don’t really have any friends.”

“Oh,” said Theo, “Sorry I asked.”

You shrugged, and as he glanced to the middle of the table you shoved as much of the baked beans into your mouth as possible, and quickly swallowed them. Merlin’s beard, you were so embarrassed.

“Give me a sec,” he said absentmindedly and you almost thought to use your Legilimency on him, “I’ll be right back.”

He placed his breadstick in front of you as if it were a deposit meant to reassure you that he’d be back, but you weren’t fazed either way. You watched as he jogged over to his group of friends and started chatting with them, but never sat down. With his right hand, he motioned back at you, and you glanced away as the rest of them turned to get a good look at you. Suddenly, you were concerned about how well your makeup was applied, and if your uniform looked good, and if there was still too much food on your plate. And then, all of them stood up with their plates, and followed Theo over to sit around you.

Most of them sat on the other side of the table, but Theo sat next to you, and Blaise by his other side. He introduced you to everyone: Goyle, Crabbe, Draco, Pansy, Daphne, Blaise, himself (“but you know me already,” he’d joked).

“It’s crazy to think we don’t know you despite being in the same house as you for the past six years,” said Daphne and Pansy elbowed her in the waist, sending her a death glare.

“Excuse her,” Pansy smiled awkwardly, “She’s a bitch.”

Your ears tickled at the word. You weren’t used to people calling those they were friends with such vulgar names… You weren’t used to the idea of friends at all.

Draco started rattling off about half-bloods and “that darn Potter,” spurring his friends into a rather heated conversation. They laughed and cackled loudly at each other, entirely easy around you as if it didn’t matter at all that they didn’t know you.

“Is this okay?” Theo asked you in a whisper once the group had moved on to another topic of conversation.

“Yes, this is nice,” you responded with a blush over your cheeks as you tried not to smile, “I don’t remember the last time I spoke to so many people.”

Theo’s eyes softened, glazed with a thin layer of water that informed you of his empathy. He felt your loneliness as if it was his own. The image of a young version of himself locked in his bedroom, wailing for his long deceased mother, flashed in his memories and seeped into your brain. An involuntary consequence of your extraordinary Legilimency talent.

When Saturday finally arrived, you slept in the whole morning. You only awoke at the sound of a knock on your door followed by a series of laughter at ten o’clock. You rolled out of bed, and for a moment stopped in horror of your hair in front of the mirror to quickly tie it up, and then opened the door.

You were surprised to see Pansy and Daphne there, but even more so when Daphne asked, “It’s Hogsmeade day, why aren’t you ready?”

“Huh?” You said, squinting at the light of the hallway.

“Theo sent us up to grab you, get some clothes on and let’s go,” said Pansy as she pushed past you and slipped into your room, Daphne hot on her heel, “Merlin’s beard, there’s absolutely nothing in here.”

“Yeah, uh, I’ve got it all to myself,” you muttered.

“Oh, that’s got to be terribly boring,” said Pansy.

Both of the girls made themselves at home as they rummaged through your drawers looking for something nice to wear. They were both dressed very well themselves, and it made you a little self-conscious to think they were going to see all your cheap clothes.

Pansy threw a sheer white shirt you didn’t know you had and a pair of bootleg jeans onto your bed while Daphne kicked over some matching joggers and a big white handbag you’d stolen from your mother.

“It is terribly boring,” you said.

As the three of you descended the stairs (after you got dressed, of course), you could already hear the sounds of masculine voices teetering on yelling at one another. One of them you knew to be Theo’s, and while you weren’t particularly familiar with them, you were inclined to assume the other two voices were Draco and Blaise. At the bottom step out of the girls’ dormitory hallway, you were proven correct when you saw them bickering like old men at a weekend golf tournament.

Draco was the first to notice the three of you, and his grey eyes lit up at the sight, “L/n, come settle an argument for us.”

You walked to join the small group and stood beside Theo, your handbag held meekly between your fingers, the nails of which had magenta paint flaking off them.

“Your mate Theo here—” Draco gestured to him with an uninterested hand, and you nearly laughed at the idea that Theo was your mate more than he was any of the others’— “Thinks that we ought to have a Legilimens registry like we have for Animagi. Frankly, I think it’s absolutely blasphemous that we even have one for Animagi; let them run wild, I say! What are your thoughts? Don’t mind the coincidental pun.”

“I’m afraid I’m a bit biased in this conversation,” you spoke quietly.

“How do you mean?”

The faces of the group stared at you with raised brows, and eyes that glistened with interest, and you were red from the attention.

“Well, I’m a Legilimens,” you admitted, “So, I’d have to disagree with you, Theo, for my own sake.”

“Are you really?” Theo asked to break the silence, and you nodded shyly.

“That’s so cool!” Daphne all but squealed, “What number am I thinking of?”

“Seven.”

She brightened with delight, and slapped Pansy’s arm, encouraging her to try your magic out like a little game. Pansy did just that, and you ended up going around the whole group, describing what they were thinking of. Eight. Twelve. Bakery. Seven. And Theo was questioning why you weren’t already on the way to Hogsmeade.

With that final thought, they grew disillusioned by the game, and you began the walk to Hogsmeade.

You’d never been into town with other people before, not that you went much at all. You usually stayed in your room, or wandered the halls, towering over the first and second years who weren’t allowed to go on weekend Hogsmeade trips yet. But there you were, forming one kink in a string of knots engaging in stimulating conversation about the current condition of the world, and even boring conversation about the homework for Defense Against the Dark Arts which, to you, seemed so thrilling even if only for the fact that it was verbal discourse in some form. You’d forgotten what it was to converse with others.

“Is there anywhere you need to go once we get there?” said Theo once you were nearing the end of the path and closing in on the town.

“I would have been awake before Daphne and Pansy got to my room if I planned to go anywhere today,” you joked and he smiled, “If you don’t mind, I might just go wherever you go.”

All he offered in response was a hum, and it left you thinking that you’d somehow made the air around you awkward. You’d later come to learn that he was just like that, never much of a talker if he thought the situation didn’t call for it.

Almost instantly after you passed sign that read ‘Welcome to Hogsmeade,’ the group dispersed, and Theo and yourself were left to do as you pleased.

Your companion, it seemed, didn’t have much he wanted to do either, so he led you to the Three Broomsticks. Kindly, he offered to pay for a butterbeer or two, but you didn’t think you were close enough for that, so you humbly told him it was alright. You sat in relative silence until our drinks arrived when Theo struck up some conversation.

“What have you been doing all these years by yourself, L/n?” He asked.

“I don’t know… Stuff…”

Theo laughed, and you laughed along with him. Your mind was frazzled by the alcohol, which kept refilling itself as you chatted on, and every so often you found thoughts that didn’t belong to you creeping into your mind, but you couldn’t place who they belonged to. It was just the odd word — sad, or pretty, or damned, or Y/n.

“Nott, are you and Malfoy good friends?” You asked.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?”

“You seem to argue quite a bit.”

“He’s just like that,” said Theo, “Likes to start shit for no reason, that one.”

You giggled, and he grinned happily. Another person’s thoughts seeped into yours once again, that time a full sentence: ‘I love her laugh.’

The bell that hung over the entrance to the Three Broomsticks jingled, and though you couldn’t see it behind you, you watched as Theo’s expression morphed into one of guilt. You turned over your shoulder, and made out the figures of the four people who had come with you. Each of them were wearing a disappointed look on their faces.

“What in the name of Merlin are you two doing?” asked Pansy, her tone equal parts concerned and amused.

“Nothing,” said Theo.

“Yeah, if ‘nothing’ is code for drinking all day,” said Blaise, “Snape’s gonna have your asses for this.”

The others guided yourself and Theo back to the castle. Your hand was attached to Pansy’s forearm, Theo’s arm was slung over Draco’s shoulder. By the time you reached the Slytherin common room, You were sober enough to move on your own, and thus, started your way up to your dorm.

“Where are you going?” Theo asked curiously. He was far away enough that you couldn’t smell his breath which stunk like the vomit he’d expelled from his body halfway through the walk back.

“My room,” you said.

“No, no, no.” He shook his head and then closed his eyes from the dizziness. “It’s sleepover night. You have to come to our dorm, I made room for you on my bed.”

“I used to sleep there because he’s got the best mattress out of the three of them, but we figured you might prefer to sleep beside him than Blaise,” Daphne explained.

“Oh,” you breathed, “Do I need to contribute anything?”

You hadn’t had a sleepover before. You didn’t know the proper protocol. You assumed one would need to bring at least their pyjamas and a pillow, maybe some sweets of some kind to share. But Theo shook his head, and you were in the boys’ room before you knew what was happening.

The boys’ dorm room was the opposite of yours. So exquisitely full, and intricately messy. The three beds were all the same size as yours with dark green bed hangings, and each about a metre apart.

Closest to the door and to their small shared bathroom was Theo’s bed. On the right, beside the door to the bathroom, he had a tower of books that acted as a wall. His sheets were black, but his pillows and blanket cover were a dark oceanic blue-green. There wasn’t much room, but you spied a large mess under his bed which you assumed was what he’d removed from the bed to make space. On his bedside table sat a small lamp that provided the only light in the room before Daphne declared it was far too ‘dark and gloomy’ and turned on the central light.

On the floor, directly under the light, there was a large medieval-style rug that bore our house crest, and the others sat on it lazily, ushering you over.

“I need a smoke,” said Draco, and he walked over to the window where the ashtray was.

“Me too,” said Theo as he also moved to the window, “You want one, L/n?”

“I’ve never smoked before.”

“Then I shouldn’t get you in the habit,” he smiled, “It is such a terrible habit to have. Costs more than it’s worth.”

He pulled a box of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to Draco, and they both lit them with their wands.

“Does it taste nice?” You asked.

“Not particularly,” said Theo.

“Why do you do it then?”

“You’re so curious, L/n,” Draco teased.

Theo playfully slapped him on the chest, “Leave her alone,” he said, and then turned to you, “I’m an addict.”

“That’s got to be bad for your lungs, Nott,” you frowned, suddenly concerned.

“Don’t you worry about him,” said Pansy, a knowing smirk on her lips that told you she was well aware you’d continue worrying.

The night went on much shorter than you wished for it to. You’d hoped, perhaps too eagerly, that none of you would ever sleep. Far too much did you enjoy being awake with those people who you’d met too late in yout life. You were truly happy to have met them because for all the simple joys you’d managed to discover in your time alone, none were half as happy as those grand joys you found with them

You all took turns getting changed in the small bathroom (Theo lent you a shirt to wear), then you all slid into our respective beds. You were nervous about sleeping beside Theo because, in truth, you didn’t really know him. But he placed a pillow between you, and only faced you for a moment — a moment in which there was a look in his eyes that you couldn’t decipher, a moment in which you attempted to read his mind all too late — and then he kissed his fingers, and he touched them to your head, and he turned the other way.

“Did you sleep well?” Theo said once he noticed you were awake the next morning.

“I’ve never slept beside someone before,” you explained nervously, “I think it was a decent experience. I hope I didn’t move around too much.”

“Not at all, L/n,” he said.

A hum escaped your mouth, and you were acutely aware that Theo was watching you as you stared up at the roof of his room. Painted on it, Sistine Chapel-style, was a beautiful lush green forest.

“L/n. It’s so formal to call you by your surname.” Theo let out a disapproving tut.

“I call you by yours?” You said as you looked at him from the corner of your eye.

“You’re the only one who does.”

“It’s your name!” You raised your voice slightly before lowering it again so as to not wake any of the others up. “What else am I supposed to call you?”

“Theo,” he said, “That’s what everyone calls me.”

“And what false-name shall I bear, then?”

He chuckled quietly as he finally sat up. He raised his long arms in a stretch that exposed the bottom of his stomach and his V-line, and you glanced away until he returned his arms down to a cross in front of his chest. You took notice of his hair, which was awfully messy in the morning, and you thought he should get his hands on a bonnet to take care of it, but then you thought he probably shouldn’t. A silk pillow would’ve done him wonders, though.

“A nickname for Y/n,” said Theo, “How about Y/n/n?”

“I suppose that will do,” you said as nonchalantly as possible, but inside you were screaming with excitement. A nickname! You’d never had a nickname before.

“Oh, you suppose, do you?” he teased.

Your amused smile betrayed your insincere attempt at a pout, “Don’t make fun of me.”

“Don’t let anyone else call you Y/n/n, alright?” said Theo, and you crossed your brows in question, “I want it to be just an us-thing. They can call you your full name at most.”

He was extraordinarily bossy. But it was sweet. Heartwarming, even.

“Wait, but if everyone calls you Theo, I want something just for us, too!” You blushed at how overly familiar that sounded, but Theo’s rosy cheeks filled you with conviction. “How about Teddy?”

Giddily, he smiled at you, “Say it to me in a sentence.”

You frowned, but obeyed, “I like being your friend, Teddy. — How was that?” He nodded happily, “You say one for mine, now.”

He thought for a moment, trying to decide on a sentence to say.

“Read my mind, Y/n/n.”

Always, he had to boss you around. But, again, you really didn’t care. It was just nice to have someone to boss you around. To think that only at the beginning of that week, you had no friends at all… Now you had so many, and all thanks to destiny. All thanks to your Teddy.

A breath, and then you forced your way into his mind. There was a picture there waiting for you, a memory from Monday. A memory of you, except, you seemed to glow. You’d seen yourself in a million mirrors and memories over the course of your life, but never had you looked so beautiful. And then, there were words.

“I’d like to go on a date with you, Y/n/n.”

Your eyes snapped open as you left his thoughts to belong to him alone.

“What?” You asked, your ears red.

“I think you’re absolutely brilliant, Y/n/n. Please, go on a date with me?” Theo smiled.

He inched closer until your noses touched and you could barely tell each others’ features apart. Each of you were just blurs of colour.

“I’d love to go on a date with you, Teddy.”

1K notes · View notes

heartsandhischier · 2 months

Text

Rinkside Romance

nico hischier x reader

summary - 3.2k words. Y/N, an author has an unexpectant meeting with the captain of the New Jersey Devils, Nico Hischier

note - this is my first writing ever, so I hope you all like it :)

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, a rich symphony of scents mingling with the soft murmur of conversation that enveloped the quaint little coffee shop. The sound of the coffee machines whirred in harmony with the gentle hum of patrons bustling about, seeking respite from the chilly evening.

Amidst the comforting ambience, Y/N found herself engrossed in the world of her latest novel, her fingers dancing across the keyboard as she wove her characters through the last paragraph of the chapter. Her hands moved swiftly, navigating the keys with practiced ease, each click punctuated by the rhythmic beat of the nearby espresso machines.

As she reached for her steaming cappuccino, her heart skipped a beat, realizing the cup was empty. With a sense of urgency to maintain her creative momentum, she hurried to the counter, her mind already lost in the world of her story. “Another one?” the barista questioned, his voice rising above the din of orders being shouted out and the hiss of steam from the machines. Y/N nodded, a smile playing on her lips as she slid him the empty cup across the counter.

Her gaze wandered across the bustling cafe, taking in the familiar faces and comforting atmosphere that had made it her sanctuary since moving to New Jersey. But then, her attention was captured by a figure across the room – a man whose rugged charm and quiet confidence seemed to draw her in.

His hand swept his dark hair away from his face, revealing warm brown eyes that met hers with a sparkle. Their eyes met briefly, and in that fleeting instant, the moment felt like a page ripped from one of her books. Amidst the hustle and bustle of the coffee shop, he held her gaze, momentarily suspending time itself. It felt as though the world had quieted, leaving only the two of them in a shared moment of serenity amidst the chaos.

“Cappuccino for Y/N!” snapping back to reality as her name was called, Y/N collected her fresh cappuccino, thanking the barista with a nod of gratitude. As she grabbed the cup, she turned back to look for the stranger with the big brown eyes. To her surprise, he was still there, seemingly frozen in time, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on her as she smiled. With a last shy smile, Y/N returned to her booth, unaware that destiny was about to intertwine.

Puck Drop and Bar Hops

A few weeks later, Y/N found herself amidst a lively crowd at a local sports bar, her friend had begged her to come as she wanted to show her the life, the energy, and the love the city had for their sports team. Tonight it was a hockey match, the new jersey devils against the dallas stars. Y/N didn't know too much about the sports, but kept her eyes glued to the screen as she struggled to keep up with where the puck was. No matter the extent of her knowledge or lack thereof, her friend was right, the energy was impeccable as the whole bar rustled and shaked as the team scored goal after goal. Cheers and glasses of beer clinking together as the New Jersey Devils won 5-2. “See! It wasn't too bad getting out of your apartment to experience this right?” Jessica chimed, she had in fact struggled to get Y/N out of the apartment as she went on about wanting to finish the chapter she was currently engrossed in. Y/N stuck her tongue out mockingly as they both laughed, “Come on! You need to come out more, explore the city, not just your apartment and the coffee shop! It might even give you some inspiration for your books,”

A few weeks later, Y/N found herself amidst a lively local sports bar, her friend Jessica having begged her to come out and experience the vibrant energy and passion the city has for their sports team. Tonight, it was a hockey match–the New Jersey Devils against the Dallas Stars. Y/N didn’t know too much about the sport, nevertheless kept her eyes glued to the screen as she struggled to keep up with the whereabouts of the puck. No matter the extent of knowledge or rather lack thereof. Jessica’s enthusiasm was contagious, and Y/N couldn’t help but get swept up in the excitement as the whole bar erupted in cheers with each goal scored by the Devils. The atmosphere was electric, with glasses clinking together and jubilant chants filling the air as the Devils secured a decisive 5-2 victory.

“See! It wasn’t too bad getting out of your apartment to experience this right?” Jessica chimed, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. Y/N playfully stuck her tongue out in response, joining in the laughter that bubbled between them.

“Come on! You need to go out more, explore the city, not just your apartment and the coffee shop! It might even give you some inspiration for your books,” Jessica continued, nudging Y/N with a playful elbow.

As they chatted and celebrated, Jessica leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, this bar is where the team usually comes to unwind after games,” she revealed, excitement dancing in her eyes. “Who knows, maybe we’ll get to meet some of the players.”

Before Y/N could respond, the door swung open, causing a wave of cheers to erupt from the fans in the bar as all heads turned to face the entrance. The atmosphere crackled with excitement as a group of familiar faces made their grand entrance–the New Jersey Devils themselves.

They were greeted with enthusiastic pats on the backs and a flurry of “Go Devils!” from the triumphant fans as they navigated through the bar, basking in the adoration of their supporters. Among them, Y/N’s gaze was immediately drawn to a pair of unmistakable brown eyes, their warmth and familiarity sparking a sudden surge of recognition within her.

Her heart raced as she watched the players move through the crowd, their presence commanding attention and admiration from everyone present. Could it truly be him? The realization sent a thrill through her, igniting a spark of home and curiosity that she couldn't ignore.

“They’re cute right!” Jessica giggled next to her, her eyes glued to the players now standing by the bar. Y/N turned around in confusion, as her friend pried her eyes away from the players ordering drinks and beers. “Y/N you were quite literally drooling,” Jessica laughed, as a heath rushed to Y/N cheeks.

Caught off guard, Y/N blushed hard as she attempted to regain her composure. “I, uh, I guess so,” she stammered, her gaze flitting nervously between Jessica and the group of athletes at the bar.

Jessica leaned in closed, her continuing to eye the players. “I think Timo Meier is pretty cute,” she admitted with a playful grin. “But, oh my god, have you seen the captain? He’s also Swiss, like Timo, and he was a first-round draft pick. And those big brown eyes? Endearing as hell!”

As the evening wore on, Jessica couldn’t help but gush about the players pointing them out amidst the crowd. Y/N listened intently, her eyes skipping a beat as Jessica rambled on about their captain, Nico, pointing to a tall familiar figure. With a jolt of recognition she realized that Nico, the captain Jessica has been raving about, was the same guy from the coffee shop. Her cheeks flushed with warmth as she stole a glance in Nico’s direction, her mind racing with newfound understanding.

Suddenly, a bartender approached their table, a tray of drinks in hand. “These are from one of the players,” he announced with a wink. “Lucky you!”

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise as she glanced over to the bar, spotting the hockey player with the familiar brown eyes. A rush of excitement coursed through her veins as she quietly thanked herself for agreeing to go out today.

Emboldened by the gesture, Y/N found herself drawn to the bar, her heart pounding in her chest as she took a big swig of her drink and approached the handsome stranger. With a warm smile, she thanked Nico for the drinks, her voice steady and sure. Nico’s laughter filled the air, a melodic sound that wrapped around her like a comforting blanket. “You’re welcome,” he replied, his tone warm and inviting.

Before she could say anything else, he extended his hand with a charming grin. “I’m Nico,” he introduced himself, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Y/N felt a rush of nerves as she struggled to respond, the weight of Nico’s presence catching her off guard, and in the heat of the moment without thought she blurted out an awkward “I know,” immediately cringing at her own words. Nico’s laughter only grew louder, genuine amusement dancing in his eyes. “Well, it’s nice to meet you again, ‘I know’,” he teased gently, his easy going demeanor putting her at ease.

Blushing furiously, Y/N couldn’t help but laugh along with him, the tension of the moment melting away in the warmth of their shared laughter. “Sorry, that probably sounded weird,” she chuckled nervously. “My friend just told me about the team and their captain, and then I realized it was you and…” you rambled on as you tried to explain yourself as the awkwardness you felt lingered. Nico shook his head, his smile widening as he interrupted your panic. “Not at all. It’s kind of cute actually,” he reassured her, his gaze warm and reassuring.

Relieved by his response, Y/N felt her nerves begin to ease. “Thanks,” she replied, a genuine smile lighting up her face. “So, uh, what brings you to the bar tonight?” she asked, eager to keep the conversation flowing.

As the evening progressed, the conversation between Y/N and Nico flowed effortlessly, punctuated by shared laughter and easy banter. Y/N occasionally glanced over at her friend Jessica, ensuring she was enjoying herself, only to find her deeply engaged in conversation with Timo Meier, the player she has pointed out earlier.

Feeling a surge of happiness for her friend’s newfound connection, Y/N turned her attention back to Nico. With each passing minute, she found herself drawn further into Nico’s magnetic presence. Her initial nervousness gave way to a growing sense of comfort and excitement. And as the night wore on, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this unexpected encounter was just the beginning of something truly special.

Jersey lights and Italian Delights

The clicking of Y/N’s heels echoed across the lobby of her apartment building as she nervously adjusted her dress, the sleek black fabric hugging her curves in all the right places. She had opted for a longer dress at Jessica’s suggestion, feeling a bit out of her comfort zone in such formal attire, especially for a date. Taking a deep breath, she gathered her courage before stepping out into the cool evening air.

As she descended the steps, her heart raced with anticipation. There he was, leaning against the sleek black car, his brown hair swept back, revealing those familiar and warm brown eyes. When he spotted her, his face lit up with a smile that sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

“Hey there, ‘I know’,” he greeted her, his voice filled with warmth and affection. “You look stunning!”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush at his compliment as she approached him, his arms wrapping around her waist in a comforting embrace. Meeting his gaze, she couldn’t help but smile back. “Thank you,” she replied softly, her heart racing with excitement. “Ready for our date?”

Their first date was nothing short of magical – a candlelit dinner at a cozy Italian restaurant, where time seemed to stand still as they delved into deep conversations and shared intimate stories. Amidst the flickering candlelight, Nico and Y/N’s connection only grew stronger as the night went on.

As their relationship progressed, Y/N and Nico found themselves drawn to familiar places that held special memories for them. None more so than the cozy quaint coffee shop where they had first locked eyes.

“One cappuccino for my favorite author!” Nico’s voice rang out cheerfully as he approached their table, bearing two steaming cups of coffee. Y/N glanced up at the brown haired man, a smile tugging at her lips at his playful remark. Accepting the coffee, she savored the rich aroma before taking a sip, feeling the warmth spread through her. “Well, thank you, my favorite hockey player in the NHL,” she quipped in return as he settled into the booth opposite her. Nico chuckled, a playful glint in his eyes. “Yeah, I’d better be,” he teased, reaching across the table to gently brush his fingers against hers.

Their playful banter was interrupted by the familiar sound of Y/N’s phone buzzing with a notification. It was an email about her book release event, scheduled for the following week. Excitement bubbled up inside her as she shared the news with Nico. “I’d love for you to come,” she said, her voice tinged with anticipation. “It would mean the world to me to have you there.” Nico’s response was immediate and unwavering. “Of course I’ll be there,” he said, his brown eyes filled with sincerity.

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

As the day of the book release event arrived, Y/N felt a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through her veins. Sitting at the table where she signed copies of her book for eager fans, her heart was fluttering with each interaction. Amidst the bustling atmosphere, she couldn’t help but notice a familiar figure in the line. It was Nico, patiently waiting with a copy of her newly released book clutched to his chest.

When Nico finally approached her table, his eyes lit up with excitement as he handed her his copy of her book. “Hey there ‘I know’,” he greeted warmly, a grin spreading across his face, “I’ve been looking forward to getting my hands on a signed copy of this book. I’ve heard the author is amazing!”

Y/N chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through her. She signed his copy, adding a little extra flourish with a heart next to her signature.

“Well, a little special signature for my favorite fan then!”

As the event came to a close, Y/N stood up from her seat, approaching Nico who had been engaging with her fans and colleagues throughout the evening. She smiled at him, her heart swelling with gratitude. “Thank you for being here,” she spoke softly. “Having you by my side means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

Nico pulled her into a warm embrace, his arms wrapping around her protectively. “I’ll always be here for you,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

“No matter what.”

From Ice to Ink

Amidst the whirlwind of her book release and hectic schedule, Y/N found herself attending her first hockey game at the Prudential Center in New Jersey. Adorned in Nico’s jersey, proudly displaying the number 13 on her back, she felt a sense of pride and excitement as she entered the arena to support Nico and the New Jersey Devils as they faced off against the Nashville Predators.

Welcomed by a friendly security guard, Y/N was guided to the room reserved for the players’ wives and girlfriends, where she was warmly greeted by the other women. Engaging in conversation and camaraderie, she felt a sense of belonging among them, despite it being her first time attending a game. As the game started, Y/N found her seat alongside the other wives and girlfriends, excitement filled the air. And Y/N couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride as she watched Nico and the Devils take to the ice.

As the game unfolded, the tension in the area was palpable. The Predators put up a strong fight, but the Devils matched them stride for stride. The score remained close throughout the game, with both teams trading goals in a back-and-forth battle. Y/N watched with bated breaths as Nico and his teammates fought tirelessly on the ice. The energy in the arena was electric, with fans on the edge of their seats as the team vied for control of the game.

Finally, in the third period, with the score tied, Nico seized a golden opportunity. As the puck soared into the back of the net, the arena exploded with cheers and applause. Amidst the jubilant roar of the crowd, Nico’s celebration was a sight to behold. With a leap of sheer exhilaration, he raised his arms triumphantly, his face radiant with joy.

Turning towards the stands, his gaze found Y/N amidst the sea of cheering fans. A wide smile spread across his face as he blew her a kiss, a gesture filled with love and appreciation. In that moment, amidst the deafening roar of the crowd, it was as if time stood still, and their connection shone brightly for all to see.

As the final buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the game, the scoreboard read: New Jersey Devils 4, Nashville Predators 3. The Devils had emerged victorious in a hard-fought battle, much to the delight of fans in attendance.

After the game Y/N waited patiently with the other women in the lounge as the players headed to the locker room. Y/N couldn’t resist checking social media for highlights of the game. To her surprise, she stumbled upon a clip of Nico’s post-game interview, “The celly you did after your goal was terrific,” the interviewer remarked. “That kiss into the crowd was that planned? Perhaps directed at someone?”

Nico’s smile widened as he responded, “Well, it was a special moment for me. It’s actually my girlfriend’s first game here, so I just wanted to show her a little extra love.”

Watching the interview, Y/N felt a rush of emotion as Nico publicly referred to her as his girlfriend for the first time. When Nico finally emerged from the locker rooms, she couldn’t contain her excitement, rushing to greet him with a big hug and congratulations on the win and his goal.

“So, I’ve been upgraded from ‘I know’ to girlfriend now, huh?” she teased playfully.

Nico chuckled, his eyes filled with affection. With a gentle smile, he pulled away and reached into his suit pocket, retrieving something special from the night - a puck. It was inscribed with the words “Y/N’s first game” in white marker.

“Well, it would be my pleasure if you’d want that promotion,” he replied, his gaze locked onto hers with those captivating brown eyes as he presented her the puck.

Y/N was feeling ecstatic, with a surge of happiness she chuckled with excitement and nodded eagerly. As their eyes met, he grinned and leaned in to give her a tender kiss, sealing the moment with a promise of more to come.

#nico hischier #nico hischer x reader #nico hischier x y/n #nico hischier x you #nico hischier x reader #hockey fanfic #nhl fanfic #nico hischier fanfic #new jersey devils #new jersey devils fic #new jersey devils x reader #new jersey devils imagine #njd #nj devils

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eternalsa2z · 1 month

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Her Name Is Mandi

She received the necklace as a gift. 'MANDI' it said in bold, flashy, gaudy jewelry. At first it didn't make sense...that wasn't quite her name? But as she started to wear it, she began to understand how well it fit her.

M - MADEUP

She started wearing the necklace while applying her makeup. She couldn't miss the name flashing in the mirror as she applied elegant makeup every day. It made sense - she was a high-end aesthetician after all! For some reason she recalled working towards a different goal, like medicine or something. But a little glimpse of her glam necklace and the thought would be covered up like how her makeup painted her face.

A - ALLURING

After a while, her aesthetic changed. She needed something refined and showy to match her necklace at all times. So altered gowns with low necklines and slits up the side filled her wardrobe as her head filled with thoughts of wearing feminine finery. It fit in well with her side-hustle as a hostess at a high-end club. A perfect match to how her necklace nestled between her buxom bosom, which felt bigger and better squeezed by her splendid attire.

N - NEEDY

By now the necklace never left her. Neither did the increasing sense of lust, arousal, and desire. Her head felt emptier with the necklace or a glitzy choker squeezing her neck; instead it was increasingly filled with an obsession with physical beauty, sexy wardrobes, and self-indulgent pleasure. She looked hot; so she felt hot.

Her urges grew until she gave in. She dressed in a scandalous, searing-hot red lingerie set. Constantly licked her plump, inflated, pleasurable lips. Desperately dreaming of satisfying her desires.

D - DOLL-LIKE

Her old sense was hanging by a thread, the opposite of how securely the necklace fit around her plastic form. Desperately she tried to recall who she was, her true self, until an important decision came into her empty head. It didn't matter who she used to be...now she was just a plastic trophy. Built for pleasure, designed to be paraded about, meant to be played with.

The thought broke her brain and cemented her new personality. She was a buxom Barbie. A bratty Bratz. A dumb bimbo doll. Mindlessly she stood frozen, mouth agape, posing in a sexy manner. It was her destiny all along.

I - ICON

The necklace had overwritten her identity completely. She embraced her new self, strutting down red carpets and showing off her enhanced assets. Heads would turn, faces flush, and cameras snap in an attempt to capture her perfect image in their minds forever. She was an bimbo icon yet she kept working to become even feminine, amazingly lovely, and worry-free. In other words - her own ideal!

It turns out the necklace really was a match for her all along. She was a madeup, alluring, needy, doll-like icon. Her name was Mandi. It fit her perfectly.

#bimboification #mental transformation #f2f transformation #bitchification #trophy wives #magical transformation

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youthofpandas · 3 months

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Call Her Ishmael (or: a trans reading of one of my favorite Limbus characters)

Hi, I have been thinking about writing something like this since Canto V first released and today I finally felt inspired to actually make this... A compilation of the parts of Ishmael's story that lead me to reading her as trans <3 and why I think that understanding her character though that lens works so well

We begin with a woman stuck in the mundane. No plans for the future, no dreams of a life beyond the one she is currently living in, and that life is one she has long grown tired of. And she decides she would rather quit living that life, even if it would kill her. Everyone told her not to do this, but she wanted (needed) to do something new with her life.

She finds Ahab here, when she is at this low where she is unsure of where to go from here now that she has cast her old life away. She looks at Ahab and sees a woman with goals, determination, serious plans for the future she is willing to commit to. And she wants to be just like that woman. She wants to be a woman who will choose what her destiny is, choose what life she has.

"I hoped to be like her one day. To be someone who will face the destiny of her own choosing. To have something I could give it my all with conviction and without a moment of hesitation."

And when she gets on that boat and starts this new chapter in her life, well. There she meets Queequeg, and is asked for her name...

Queequeg asking her name, something that surprises Ishmael, and complimenting her hair is a defining moment in Ishmael's life and in their relationship. And not only is it the first conversation they have, it is the also last thing Queequeg asks of her. To hear Ishmael's name one more time is something that will bring not only herself comfort, but she knows will stabilize Ishmael as well in this moment. That it will bring her back to when they had first met, to the fond memories of a good friend who had asked for her name. Ishmael's name, her identity, the one she forged on that boat even through great difficulty is what shaped her into being herself... That is how their relationship begins and ends...

There is also a recurring theme of being reborn, of happiness being found in another life that is kinder to them both. Ishmael dreams of a life where they can break out of their cocoons. She wants to bury her past and had no dreams of the future before joining the Pequod, before meeting Queequeg and finding someone she wants a future with. Through Queequeg, through the woman who thinks her hair is the brilliant color of sunset and asked for her name, Ishmael is capable of imagining a destiny of her own choosing just like she had wanted when she met Ahab. (She isn't able to chase after it, not yet, because of Ahab's influence over the Pequod, but she for the first time can at least dream of a future where she is happy)

When tragedy strikes, she is left as, in her mind, the sole survivor of the crew, she has lost Queequeg, lost Ahab, lost her chance at finding happiness and purpose. It's then that she takes Queequeg's rope (the thing that kept her alive! Queequeg throughout their time knowing each other is always there to save her and help her keep on living) and makes it into a headband, attaches cute bows to it, a bit of femininity that is intrinsically attached to the woman who helped save her. She grows out her hair, her beautiful sunset colored hair, and it is so heart warming. For a long time I assumed that her not cutting her hair was done out of mourning, out of an unwillingness to move on from the life she had on that ship, but instead it was because Queequeg had loved her and she had loved her friend in kind.

In conclusion I love Ishmael very much and I like to rotate her around. Everything from her metaphors of being stuck in a cocoon and wanting to break free, her envy of Ahab's ability to find purpose so easily, her relationship with Queequeg that helped inspire her to dream for more to dream of a future where she is happy,, it is all very good and to me reading her as trans strengthens the themes of her story. I've watched the final part of the Canto V dungeon several times over when my friends arrive at that part of the story, and the Call Me Ishmael line always makes me start tearing up.

Ishmael starts as an unhappy office worker with no future and it is a life she cannot continue living, she meets an older woman who has the drive and passion to chase after her goals and wants to be like her when she is older, she has a life defining moment where another woman asks for her name and wants to be good friends with her, that woman will save her in so many ways and she will love that woman so deeply for how she helped influence her life, she sees herself trapped in a cocoon and wants to break free, she dreams of her and that woman will persevere, how they will live out the rest of their days, countless mirror worlds of happiness spent at each other's side. She starts the game proper with her hair grown long, ribbons attached to a rope that helped save her that represents the woman who had saved her before. She ends her chapter finding a new adventure to go on, one will she get to explore the world she lives in, she has found a compass in Dante who will help her chart her path forward.

Also I know we all make jokes about how inconsistent the art is when it comes to her chest but like... Come on look at the difference here.... I'm correct about this. But I mostly wanted to make this post to point out that her narrative arc is also trans and it goes so much deeper than just art inconsistencies.

Okay that's all I can think of now, thank you for reading, I hope you all also love her <3

#limbus company #ishmael lcb #not quite sure what to tag this as but I hope you all enjoy...?#i just sort of wrote whatever came to mind so i hope this is like... understandable

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rachetmath · 3 months

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Jaune More MC Ruby?

Ruby: That’s why I’m the MC and you're the side character.

Jaune: So because you have silver eyes you’re special?

Ruby: Yep.

Jaune: Even though I cheated Beacon.

Ruby: Yep.

Jaune: I was bullied.

Ruby: Yep.

Jaune: My partner is dead. And because I let my guard down, Ozpin died, and Oscar had no choice but to come on this journey. You know, because of me.

Ruby: Yep.

Jaune: And because Cinder, who works under Salem killed my partner, I have beef with the main villain and her whole crew.

Ruby: Yeah.

Jaune: Salem, who I have way more in common with than most people, the deemed goddess I’m defying her, just like she did with the brothers over a loved one's death. Are you following me so far?

Ruby: … Yeah…

Jaune: Hazel, who mind you, lost his sister. He lost his sister because of the world Ozpin had created, like I did, with Pyrrha.

Qrow: She had a choice.

Jaune: A few days' choice which turned into minutes when Beacon was attacked. Then discovering how bad the situation is, you know with Salem being immortal, I almost hurt if not killed Oscar, making me at the spur of the moment, just as bad as Hazel. And mind you I was willing to fight you on that.

Ruby: Uh… yeah…

Jaune: Tyrian, has the opposite to my semblance. Wasn’t he more interested in me than you? And you were his target.

Ruby: Mmhmm.

Jaune: Let’s talk about Cinder again. Cinder had two stray kids who followed her. I have Ren and Nora. Neither have parents. Also, we both want power but for different reasons. We even have different views on destiny.

Ruby: Oh damn.

Jaune: Atlas. Oscar did Ironwood not act like how I did in Argus but worse?

Oscar: Yeah he did. Jaune even saw Salem in person before you did.

Yang: So did we. You saw her face to face.

Oscar: I’m Ozpin. What is that supposed to mean?

Ruby: Oscar, not helping.

Jaune: Neo. We both lost our partners. The difference is that I have friends while she has none. The cat, him, and I almost have the same ability except he manipulates your soul or takes it. He might as well have been a devil version of me.

Weiss: O. Dear lord.

Jaune: Watts. … … … You know what no. He-he was no. Like he could have done better, he’s an example of being smart yet making the dumbest choices.

Weiss: True.

In the Twilight

Watts: What?! My decision was understandable.

Ironwood: No. No, they were not.

Penny: Like you could have logically put your two weeks in and left for another kingdom. Or country. Like Vale. Mistral. Anywhere. You could have helped where you could've been needed. Which would have made you better than my father.

Watts: I wasted my life.

Back to Remnant

Ruby: Um….

Jaune: You know what I have to ask this question. What is the moral of the story and how does your character fit into this?

Ruby: Well my-

Jaune: Let me retort. I lied. I was bullied. I had no idea about anything in the hunting world. I needed a teacher. I lost someone important to me. I have beef with the main villains. I train to get stronger to be of use to others.

Ruby: So?

Jaune: Okay. No one believed in me. But I still went to chase my goal. I lost the best thing in my life. I still moved forward. I had to kill someone. Still moved forward. I’m an old man trapped in a boy's body. Still moving forward. Fighting the odds that are stacked against me. I have seven who no one knows about. Yet your family is more interesting.

Ruby: Your point?

Jaune: The moral of the story is that no matter your circumstance you can always be better. Never allow destiny or grief to influence your entire life. No matter what odds that stand before you, you can ultimately change your fate. And no matter the darkness a simple soul can light up the night and unite everyone against a greater evil. Even when the whole world is against you, you are never alone to endure it. If we stand united and look past our differences only then the wor;d would be a better place.

Ruby: Well my mom died at Salem’s hands.

Jaune: And?

Ruby: It's still relevant.

Jaune: You're right. But how many times has your mother been mentioned and you bothered to get information about her?

Yang: I-

Jaune: Bitch shut the fuck up. You were looking for the deadbeat mom more than the mom who stepped up.

Ruby: Well um… um…. Damn. Oh, but I-

Jaune: You weren’t the sword. I may not have known Penny as long as you, but the fact, that I could've saved her proved her death hit harder than Pyrrha's. I’m close to walking in Raven’s path.

Ruby: Shit.

Jaune: And back to your mother. She was a silver-eyed warrior. But Salem is still here. Do silver eyes work on her?

Ruby: Um.

Jaune: Because Salem is still both the brothers' creation. The old humanity. She can't be phased by the black liquid even though everything they touch decays.

Ruby: She's immortal.

Jaune: Yeah but again when Maria told you her story didn't she try using her silver eyes on humans and it didn't work?

Ruby: Cinder.

Jaune: Grimm arm.

Ruby: The hound.

Blake: Silver-eyed person too but only stunned them.

Ruby: Blake.

Blake: What a minute he had animalistic ears. Should I be concerned for my people?

Jaune: Yeah… we’re not getting into that. The point is if you go see Salem and your silver eyes don't work then your mom died for nothing.

Ruby: Oo. Um…

Jaune: And let's get back to the other villains. Besides Emerald, Mercury, and Tyrian, some of them have valid reasons to join Salem.

Ren: Jaune!

Jaune: Ren, your village got destroyed.

Ren: Nevermind.

Me: Hold up. Let me start. With Cinder, a huntsman saw what she was going through and didn't bother to help her. She was alone. The world abandoned her.

Jaune: So Hazel was right. In fact, Raven had a point.

Oscar(Ozpin): Mr. Arc I-

Jaune: Motherfucker Hazel had every right to be angry. Dude shadow missions involve us going with experienced hunters. Yet his sister died and Ruby could’ve died. Shadowing them. Following their lead. Does that not show how bad the hunting system is? Not just that we got hunters who died in the line of duty. Not to mention how some were sexually harassing the girls. And some of them are just plain crazy or assholes. Not to mention Blake, Qrow, and Raven. You let them in. And to make matters worse you chose Pyrrha, a first-year student, to be your maiden.

Oscar(Ozpin): She was my best option.

Jaune: So Glynda wasn't on the table? A high-ranked fourth-year student wasn't on the table? Man, at least you could have chosen Ruby considering she has silver eyes and is a young upcoming prodigy. That would have made her more important. Like Ozpin Ruby off the bat was better than Pyrrha.

Qrow: Hey, I would have stopped that.

Jaune: O, so… it was okay with Pyrrha… but not your niece. I see. Hypocrite.

Qrow: Damn. Set myself up for that.

Jaune: Watts, despite his stupidity, had a point. James would abuse any source of technology just to have some level of control over something. Why did you think he wanted your sister instead of Penny? Why do you think he wanted Amity up as quickly as possible? Why do you think he hacked into Penny? Everything was always about control.

Weiss: Well our lives weren't easy.

Jaune: That I won't deny. Yet we are all still bad people.

Yang: Jaune my mother -

Jaune: Raven and Summer left you. Summer no one cared enough to talk about. Raven doesn't matter at all. Willow waited until her children were teenagers or young adults to start dealing with an abusive father. And Kali… yeah she should have slapped some sense into her daughter.

Weiss: Well your mom doesn't love you.

Jaune: Don't care. Back to Jacque though how does he and James know each other? Why do they have beef with one another? Unless… o. Oh no. Don't tell me. Did James set Jacque up with Willow? And in return, he helps James rise to power. Or did James love Willow but because of his career he couldn't marry her? Could Winter be-

Weiss: Please stop. I do not need those theories in my head.

Jaune: Fine. The point I'm trying to make is… … well how about you explain.

Me: It's crazy how Jaune fits the main character role better than Ruby.

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french-unknown · 10 months

Text

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: luffy, zoro, nami, usopp, sanji, robin 𝐂/𝐖: hurt/comfort 𝐖/𝐂: 950 +

| m a s t e r l i s t | - | p t . 2 |

𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐘

You're insecure because, unlike him who's passionate about his dream of becoming the King of Pirates, you don't have a big dream to fulfill.

You joined the crew because you wanted to leave a family in which you were unhappy and where your destiny was already mapped out until your death. Once you found a new family thanks to the Straw Hat crew, you decided to set sail on their ship to stay with them. You were happy with your daily routine as well as the adventures you were having, and that was enough for you. During the trip, you took the opportunity to start a book on life at sea as well as on the lifestyles of the inhabitants of the islands you had visited. However, it was more of a hobby than a real passion or a dream. So when you see Luffy giving all he got for his dream, you're afraid he'll think you're less interesting for not having a goal you care about so much.

𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎

Zoro is a calm and silent man, especially since your reunion on the Sabaody Archipelago, so you're sometimes afraid that he'll get tired of your bubbly and very talkative personality. You were worried that he would wake up one day from one of his many naps and leave you because you required too much attention and time.

You have always been an outgoing person who liked to chat with people and be aware of the latest gossip. It had always been an advantage when you were alone in a new place or in new social groups. Yet when you were with Zoro, you sometimes found yourself wishing you could shut up. Indeed, where you spent hours telling the swordsman whatever goes through your mind under his attentive - though rather neutral - gaze, you found yourself regretting having talked so much afterward. You wondered if you had annoyed him and if he wouldn't prefer a less noisy person.

| he comforts you about your insecurity |

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

After spending so much time with her on your adventures, if there's one thing you've learned about her, it's that she's very popular. She is beautiful, intelligent and you have no doubt that if she left you, she would have no trouble finding someone new given the list of suitors.

You've never been an extremely rich or extremely important person with rock-solid self-confidence so you didn't really see what made Nami choose you over all the people at her feet. It was a stroke of luck. She is also not very expressive about the reasons for her choice because she never clearly expressed what she liked about you. The dynamic of your relationship is mostly a teasing game on her part to which you gladly answer as long as she continues. But it sometimes makes you wonder when she'll let you down to find a better partner.

𝐔𝐒𝐎𝐏𝐏

With Usopp, what scares you the most is your fear of rejection because since he's also someone who is insecure, you are afraid that you will both leave the relationship if something goes wrong because of your insecurities on both sides.

Usopp is a fearful person, and while he's willing to overcome some of his fears for his friends, his inferiority complex has caused him to quit the Strawhat Pirates once. On your side, you are also terrified of being rejected in general, so you often prefer to stay in your comfort zone. The fact that you have that in common means that you often understand each other and it is also what brought you closer to each other in the first place. However, you can't help but tell yourself that, if there is the slightest problem, he will prefer to abandon your relationship because of the fear of not being enough. And you might not be strong enough to get him back either.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈

The man is a womanizer who, unfortunately, can't help but rave about every woman who crosses his path. It's stronger than him, he becomes unrecognizable in the presence of a woman.

So even though you know he loves you dearly, you can't help but feel insecure about women. Maybe if, in your own way, you were as beautiful as Nami or as smart as Robin, he wouldn't leave your side to court them. Yet, even though you realize that's not the right way to think about it and that he mostly admires them for their gender qualities as a "gentleman", you still feel that empty feeling when you see him going to swoon over every woman he sees. Each time, the only thought that crosses your mind is that, if you were attractive enough, he wouldn't let you down for strangers.

𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍

Robin is very intelligent: she reads a lot, she can decrypts the poneglyphs, she is interested in many fields etc... However, you are very far from being the most intelligent person in Grand Line and you often wonder if you don't make her bored.

You love to listen to her speak about what she reads and you could drink her words for hours when she talks to you about subjects that fascinate her like archeology or the mysteries of history. You are captivated every time she says something to you, even if you don't always understand everything she tells you. You also follow her with great happiness each time she asks you to accompany her to discover the city - and its bookstore - as soon as you arrive on a new island. Sadly, the fact that you're not as smart as her often makes you ask yourself if she's bored with you or just missing out on being able to argue with someone rather than just relate.

𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐔𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄

#one piece #one piece x reader #imagine #luffy #luffy x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #nami #nami x reader #usopp #usopp x reader #sanji #sanji x reader #nico robin #nico robin x reader

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zapreportsblog · 10 months

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Hi, so, I'd like to request a one shot with Billy and Stu x Reader who looks cute and innocent, she can even trick them into thinking she's a sweet lamb, they are kinda friends? Like, the boys like to hang around her house, since she's almost always alone, and they watch horror movies together and all, Billy being creepy as always and Stu weirdly cute. Anyways, she looks so sweet and innocent, but, in reality, she has some dark thoughts and when a guy from school treats her bad or something like that (I'm think of her bing like a hidden Pearl) she kills him, but no one knows, after that she starts to go into a killing spree and the boys get worried she'll be a victim of this new killer, until they catch her killing, being stained with blood. I'd love if you could write it, so thanks ❤️ (English is not my first language, so sorry for any grammar error)

Oh no this was perfect so even if English isn’t your first language I got what you had in mind

↳ devil in disguise ↲

✭ pairing : billy loomis x reader x stu macher

✭ fandom : scream

✭ summary : billy loomis and stu macher befriend the new girl, there something about the innocence in her that has them wanting to keep her close, but what they don’t know is that underneath all that innocence is a psycho killer watching and building up.

✭ authors note : this will be pretty fucking long let’s be honest but I hope you enjoy :)

Appearances can be deceiving, a truth that resonates throughout the intricate tapestry of human nature. In the complex dance of life, the most innocent of individuals often harbor the potential for both light and darkness, a duality that echoes the very essence of existence.

Beneath the gentle facade of a kind smile, the spark of laughter, or the softness of a touch, lies a spectrum of emotions and desires that can lead down paths both virtuous and treacherous. Each person is a canvas painted with shades of morality, their choices a brushstroke that can create beauty or chaos, depending on the journey they choose to undertake.

The predator lurking within, the shadow of primal instincts, is a reminder that human beings are products of evolution, shaped by eons of survival instincts and genetic predispositions. In the heart of every individual, there exists a part that craves power, control, or fulfillment, a yearning that can manifest as ambition, passion, or even obsession.

Yet, it is important to recognize that the coexistence of light and darkness within us is not inherently sinister. It is a reflection of the human experience, a reminder that every choice is a crossroads, offering the potential for change, growth, and transformation. The predator within can propel us forward, driving us to achieve our goals, protect our loved ones, and forge our destinies.

In a world where appearances often mask the intricacies of the human soul, it becomes crucial to acknowledge the duality that resides within each of us. By embracing both our capacity for kindness and our susceptibility to darker urges, we gain a deeper understanding of ourselves and those around us. The predator lurking within can serve as a cautionary tale, a reminder of the importance of self-awareness, empathy, and the conscious choice to channel our instincts toward the betterment of ourselves and society.

Ultimately, the dichotomy of light and darkness within us mirrors the complexity of the world we inhabit. It is a testament to the richness of the human experience, the endless potential for growth, and the ever-present opportunity to shape our narratives, whether we tread the path of the predator or harness the power of our inner light.

The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting its golden rays over the idyllic small town of Woodsboro. In the heart of the town, the high school's courtyard was a hub of activity, a place where friendships were forged and teenage dramas played out against the backdrop of lockers and laughter.

Stu Macher and Billy Loomis, the quintessential charismatic duo, leaned casually against the fountain. Their respective girlfriends, Tatum Riley and Sidney Prescott, stood nearby, laughter and conversations weaving a tapestry of youthful energy.

"Hey, ladies," Stu greeted with a grin, his bleached-blond hair catching the sunlight.

Billy's dark eyes sparkled as he echoed the sentiment, "Looking good as always."

As the quartet exchanged banter and shared glances, a figure caught their attention. Randy Meeks, known for his encyclopedic knowledge of horror movies and his perpetual enthusiasm, approached with a wide grin that stretched from ear to ear. At his side was a girl who looked almost ethereal—a new face in a town where everyone knew everyone else.

"(Y/N), meet the gang," Randy said with exuberance, presenting the girl to the group.

(Y/N) stood shyly, her presence an aura of innocence and warmth. Her eyes were like open books, wide and filled with curiosity as she took in her surroundings. A white dress, loose yet gracefully hugging her figure, accentuated her delicate beauty. The boys, Billy and Stu, exchanged glances that spoke volumes—here was someone who radiated innocence and gentleness.

"Hey, (Y/N)," Tatum greeted with a friendly smile, extending a welcoming hand.

Sidney's eyes held a soft kindness as she added, "Nice to meet you."

"(Y/N)," Stu's voice was friendly, his grin never faltering.

But it was Billy who couldn't tear his gaze away. In his eyes, (Y/N) appeared as if she could do no wrong—a portrait of purity in a world where darkness often lurked. Her eyes reminded him of Bambi's, wide and open, untouched by the harsh realities of life.

"Hi," (Y/N) responded, her voice soft and sweet, as if her words were a whisper carried by the wind.

As the introductions and pleasantries continued, a sense of intrigue filled the air. The new girl was like a breath of fresh air, and the boys found themselves captivated by her presence. Billy's heart stirred, his curiosity piqued by the enigma that was (Y/N).

As the days stretched into a week, the dynamic between Billy, Stu, and (Y/N) began to evolve. To the casual observer, it seemed like the boys were constantly bothering her, popping up unexpectedly and causing her to jump with exaggerated "scares." (Y/N)'s jumpy nature only seemed to fuel their amusement, and they reveled in the opportunity to tease her.

"(Y/N), you really need to work on your reflexes," Stu teased, a wide grin playing on his lips.

Billy joined in, smirking, "Yeah, seriously, what are you so jumpy about?"

Inside, however, their thoughts took on a darker undertone. Each little expression that flickered across (Y/N)'s face was dissected in their minds, and they toyed with the idea of involving her in their sinister games. But deep down, they couldn't shake the notion that she was different, that her innocence was genuine, and that she deserved more than the fate they had planned for their victims.

One night, as they lounged around in Stu's living room, the topic of their potential victims came up, their voices hushed as they spoke of Ghostface's next target.

"You know, man, I've been thinking," Stu mused, his tone contemplative.

Billy's eyes met Stu's, curiosity gleaming within them. "About what?"

"(Y/N)," Stu replied, his voice surprisingly serious. "I mean, yeah, we've joked about her being our next victim, but... I don't know, there's something different about her."

Billy's brows furrowed in thought, his expression mirroring Stu's. "Yeah, I've been thinking the same thing. Her innocence... it's real, isn't it? I mean, it can't be faked."

Stu nodded, a somberness settling over them. "She's the only one in this school who doesn't put on a facade. I mean, just look at her. She's not trying to impress anyone or play games. She's just... herself."

As the two friends contemplated (Y/N)'s genuine nature, a decision began to crystallize within them. The idea of involving her in their deadly plans felt wrong, as if they were tainting something pure. The darkness within them seemed to clash with the light that (Y/N) exuded.

"Maybe she's the exception," Billy mused. "Maybe she deserves something better than what we had planned."

Stu's gaze was resolute. "I agree. We can't touch her. She's... untouchable."

And so, in the midst of their twisted games and hidden motives, (Y/N) emerged as a beacon of authenticity, a figure they couldn't bring themselves to tarnish. Their dark thoughts and desires were held at bay, overruled by the recognition that some innocence was too pure to be tainted.

As the days continued to unfold, the bond between Billy, Stu, and (Y/N) deepened, shaped by unspoken understanding and the realization that appearances could indeed be deceiving. In the shadows of their minds, they grappled with their own darkness while protecting the fragile light that (Y/N) represented—an innocence they couldn't bring themselves to shatter, even in the midst of their sinister games.

The bond between Billy, Stu, and (Y/N) deepened with every passing day, an unspoken connection that drew them together. As the days grew longer, they found themselves gravitating toward her house, seeking her company whenever they could. They had adopted a role of self-proclaimed bodyguards, protecting her from a danger she didn't even know was real.

"(Y/N), you seriously need to upgrade your horror movie tolerance," Stu laughed one evening, sprawled on the couch as a horror movie played on the TV screen.

"Yeah, seriously," Billy chimed in from the armchair, his eyes fixed on (Y/N) with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

Despite her jumping at some of the movie's more intense scenes, (Y/N) laughed, trying to play it off. "Hey, don't judge me. I'm just not used to all this scary stuff."

Stu grinned, an idea forming in his mind. "You know what would be fun? A horror movie marathon. We'll toughen you up."

Billy's eyes gleamed with a sinister amusement, his gaze lingering on (Y/N) as he added, "Yeah, that's a good idea. Get you ready for the real thing."

Unbeknownst to (Y/N), their intentions were far from innocent. In their twisted minds, they envisioned her as the ultimate victim—the damsel in distress they could play out their darkest fantasies with. Billy's creepy stares and Stu's vivid imagination blended seamlessly with their supposed role as protectors.

As the marathon continued, (Y/N) did her best to keep her composure, laughing off her jumps and enjoying the company of her friends. She glanced at Billy and Stu, both absorbed in the movie, their expressions revealing something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Hey, you guys aren't actually planning to scare me for real, are you?" (Y/N) quipped, a playful glint in her eye.

Billy's lips curled into a charming smile, masking his true thoughts. "Of course not, (Y/N). We're your protectors, remember?"

Stu's grin was genuine, his gaze softening as he added, "Yeah, we're not gonna let anything happen to you."

Despite the odd tension in the room, (Y/N) felt a genuine warmth emanating from them. The camaraderie they shared was precious to her, and their presence was a comfort amidst the backdrop of uncertainty.

As the days turned into weeks, (Y/N)'s interactions with Billy and Stu continued to deepen, their friendship a blend of innocence and darkness that seemed to mirror her own conflicted thoughts. Beneath her sweet exterior, a hidden pearl of darkness lay dormant, waiting for the right catalyst to awaken it.

One day, after school, (Y/N) found herself crossing paths with a guy from school who had treated her with disdain. His words had been sharp, his actions cruel, leaving a lingering bitterness within her. As she walked away, her fists clenched and her thoughts turned dark. Anger simmered beneath her surface, and a newfound resolve began to take hold.

That night, the moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the town. (Y/N) moved with a determination that belied her innocent appearance. Her actions were swift, her thoughts cold and calculated as she carried out a plan that would forever change the course of events.

The next day, news of the guy's death spread like wildfire. Whispers of foul play and shock resonated through the school corridors. Nobody suspected the innocent new girl, the one with wide eyes and a demeanor that seemed incapable of harm.

As the days turned into weeks, the incident faded into the background, but (Y/N)'s newfound darkness lingered within her. She grappled with the conflicting emotions that surged within, a duality that remained hidden from the world.

Billy and Stu watched from the shadows, unaware of (Y/N)'s secret but sensing a shift in her. They continued their roles as her protectors, the twisted bond between them growing stronger. Little did they know, they were not the only ones harboring darkness.

The trio continued to spend time together, their connection both genuine and unsettling. (Y/N)'s thoughts were a storm of conflicting desires, her actions a reflection of the hidden Pearl within her—a darkness that had tasted blood and now hungered for more.

In a town where appearances were often deceiving, (Y/N) navigated the delicate balance between innocence and darkness. The lines between right and wrong blurred as her hidden thoughts and actions remained shrouded in secrecy, while the world continued to see only the sweet, innocent new girl who could do no harm.

As (Y/N)'s dark inclinations grew, so did the trail of bodies left in her wake. The once-hidden pearl of darkness had been fully awoken, and her actions took on a chilling rhythm. Each victim was carefully chosen, their lives extinguished with a methodical precision that sent shivers down her own spine.

Billy and Stu, the twisted duo who had unknowingly played a role in (Y/N)'s descent into darkness, began to notice the change in her demeanor. Their concern grew as they realized that the one they had deemed untouchable was now capable of unspeakable acts. The irony was not lost on them—the protectors were now the ones who feared for her safety.

"(Y/N), are you okay?" Billy's voice held a note of unease as he approached her one afternoon.

She smiled sweetly, her eyes glinting with a hidden intensity. "Of course, Billy. I'm fine."

Stu's eyes were sharp as he added, "You seem... different lately."

(Y/N)'s laughter was almost melodic, a stark contrast to the darkness that seemed to dance within her eyes. "Oh, just exploring new aspects of myself."

As the bodies continued to pile up, news of the new killer on the loose spread throughout the town. Fear and paranoia took hold, and Billy and Stu's concern for (Y/N) grew exponentially. They watched her closely, trying to discern the truth behind her smiles and the shifting shades within her gaze.

One evening, as they gathered at Stu's house, the topic of the killer came up once again. "(Y/N), have you heard about this new killer?" Stu asked, his tone casual.

She feigned innocence, her voice dripping with sweetness. "Oh, I've heard. It's terrible what's happening."

Billy's voice was strained as he pressed, "You haven't seen anything suspicious, have you?"

She met their gaze, her eyes a storm of hidden secrets. "Oh, nothing suspicious. Just a town gripped by fear."

The tension in the room was palpable, a silent recognition passing between them that (Y/N)'s dark thoughts were far more than they could have imagined. In their quest for power and control, they had inadvertently unleashed a force they couldn't fully comprehend.

As the days turned into nights, the town continued to reel from the new killer's actions. While the trail of bodies grew, (Y/N) remained a step ahead, her innocence a perfect mask for her true nature.

Billy and Stu's worry for her safety intensified, their twisted roles as protectors becoming a desperate attempt to shield her from a danger they were unaware she posed herself. In a chilling dance of fate, the lines between predator and prey blurred as (Y/N) navigated her dark path, leaving those around her to grapple with the realization that appearances could indeed be deceiving.

The tension in the air was thick as the night sky hung like a heavy curtain over the town. Billy and Stu's concern for (Y/N) had reached a fever pitch, each body that dropped heightening their anxiety. Their roles as protectors had been twisted beyond recognition, their concern evolving into a fear they dared not admit.

In the midst of their own murderous pursuits, the two boys stumbled upon a sight that shattered their perceptions. Moonlight cast an eerie glow on the scene before them—their sweet, innocent friend standing amidst the remnants of a fresh kill, her hands stained with blood.

Frozen in their tracks, Billy and Stu stared at (Y/N), their breath catching in their throats. A palpable tension hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the darkness that now bound them all together.

Stu was the first to break the silence, his voice a mixture of confusion and desperation. "What... What the hell, (Y/N)?"

(Y/N)'s gaze remained steady, her eyes holding a mix of defiance and something deeper, something that Billy and Stu struggled to grasp.

"Billy, Stu," she said softly, her voice carrying a weight that belied her innocent exterior. "I know you've been worried about me. But you don't need to be. I've always known what I am."

Billy's voice trembled as he managed to speak, but it wasn’t from fear. No, it was something else he was feeling his heart pounding in his chest. "What are you talking about, (Y/N)?"

A knowing smile tugged at the corners of (Y/N)'s lips, her eyes glinting with a chilling clarity. "Predators and prey, Billy. It's the natural order of things. Carnivores feed on herbivores. But there are also omnivores—predators that feed on both."

Stu's confusion was etched across his face as he demanded, "What does that have to do with anything?"

(Y/N)'s gaze turned piercing as she took a step forward, her presence exuding an aura of both danger and inevitability. "I'm an omnivore, Stu. A predator that feeds on everyone and everything. It's just the way I am."

The stand-off continued, a twisted tableau of secrets, revelations, and darkness. The boundaries between their roles as predators and protectors had blurred, leaving them all to confront a reality they had never anticipated.

Stu's hand trembled as he reached up and pulled off his Ghostface mask, his expression a mix of vulnerability and confusion. "Why, (Y/N)? Why are you doing this?"

(Y/N)'s smile was haunting, her words carrying the weight of centuries of history. "Because, Stu, it's survival of the fittest. The world is full of predators and prey, and I've chosen to be a predator."

Billy's fingers gently grazed (Y/N)'s cheek, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. His eyes were filled with mischief as he moved her hair to the side, tucking it behind her ear. With a smirk playing on his lips, he leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You enjoy that, don't you?" he said, his words dripping with anticipation. "The thrill of killing."

(Y/N) stared up at him, her Bambi-like eyes wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. She nodded slowly, her heart pounding in her chest. It was a dark secret she had kept hidden from the world, a part of herself she had never fully embraced until now.

Stu, having observed the exchange, stepped forward after a moment of contemplation. He moved silently, his presence sending shivers down (Y/N)'s spine. As he stood behind her, his body pressed against hers, an unexpected warmth spread through her veins.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. The embrace was both comforting and electrifying, a mix of tenderness and danger. (Y/N) found herself leaning into him, her breath catching as she surrendered to the darkness within.

Together, the trio began to explore the depths of their twisted desires. A newfound bond formed, fueled by their shared secrets and the thrill of the unknown. They reveled in the chaos they created, leaving a trail of darkness in their wake.

As the nights grew longer and their actions more audacious, (Y/N) realized she had found her true family. In Billy and Stu, she had discovered kindred spirits who understood her in ways no one else ever could.

Their connection went beyond the realm of friendship. It was a dark and wicked love, forged in blood and mayhem. They would stand together, united in their pursuit of chaos, forever entangled in each other's embrace.

And so, (Y/N) embraced her dark side fully, relishing in the exhilaration of the hunt, and finding solace in the arms of those who shared her twisted desires.

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multifandomsw · 2 months

Text

Apologies

Part 8

Harry Styles x reader

summary: After an encounter with your old best friend, she gave you her number to catch up. When you decide to send her a message, someone else replies. Was it destiny?

Harry Styles x Reader

warnings: angst, fluff?

author’s note: I know this is short, but this part is very crucial to the story and marks the end of an era. The next chapter is a “new beginning”.

You pushed through the people, mumbling incoherent apologies with only one goal: leaving this goddamn stadium.

The crowd had gone quiet. You wondered if it was because Harry Styles had left the stage to run after you-

No.

Why the fuck would Harry Styles follow you?

Why the fuck would Harry Styles even talk to you in the first place?

It didn’t make any sense, as much as you tried to make sense of it all on your way out of the stadium, your brain just couldn’t comprehend and couldn’t believe that H had been Harry Styles all along.

Surely there must have been a mistake. Surely this was all a misunderstanding.

But Harry Styles did call after you when you left the VIP tent.

Were you imagining things now? Were you going completely crazy?

Were you dreaming? Yes, yes, you had to be dreaming, elseways this didn’t make any-

“Y/n.”, someone called after you and you heard their heavy and fast footsteps as they made their way towards you.

Your whole body froze. Your mind stopped working for a second as you took everything in. You didn’t want to turn around, you didn’t want to be met with the sight of him.

Because then it would be real. Everything would be real.

You noticed the person slowing down behind you, noticed the person’s heavy breathing. They had been running.

The voice repeated your name, not as urgently as before, but softer and more pleading. “Please”, the person continued, their voice cracking at the end of the simple word.

You took a deep breath and turned around slowly. Nothing could have prepared you for the sight. Harry Styles was standing only a few feet away from you. His hair was messed up, as if he had gone through it with his hands multiple times. You noticed a bead of sweat rolling down his face and when you met his eyes, your heart truly stopped.

His eyes were filled with tears. Only a few more blinks and they would fall down his cheeks.

They were pleading. Pleading for you to say something, anything, but the only thing you could do was stare at him.

You noticed him swallow, watched as his adam apple bobbed but you but you both just continued staring at each other.

It was ironic really, how you stood so close to one other, yet so far away. It was as if an ocean was separating you two.

He was Harry fucking Styles and you, you were just you.

The smell of his perfume hit your nose and you wanted to cry at how familiar it smelled, at how familiar he smelled. Like warm fresh washed bedsheets. Like home?

Goosebumps raised on your skin as you felt a raindrop touch it. It was beginning to rain.

It was as if the rain sent you back into reality. All of your thoughts that had stopped while you were admiring Harry Styles came back at once.

All of it became reality. You were standing in front of H. He was the person you trusted with your heart, the person you told everything to, the person you learned to adore, love even in the past few months.

And yet, this was not H at all.

In front of you stood a liar.

“Was-“, you began, your face morphing from shock into disappointment. “Anything of it even real?”, you whispered with a shaky voice, watching as Harry’s hair got wet from the rains and sticked to his forehead.

You watched Harry’s face fall. “What?”, he whispered quietly, brokenly.

“Was everything you told me a lie?”, you demanded now, your voice firmer.

“No.”, Harry answered without hesitation. “Nothing was a lie, I swear-“

“Nothing was a lie?”, you laughed, your voice filled with sarcasm even though you just wanted to cry. “How about your whole fucking identity?”

He took a step forward, but stopped in his tracks when you took one step back. “Cherry-“, he began, but his words were cut off by your own, filled with venom. “Do not call me that.”

You thought you saw his eyes darken, but you didn’t dwell on it. “Okay.”, he whispered, defeatedly and opted to say your name instead. “I swear on my life, everything else, everything besides that, was real.”

“There’s not much left to be real!”, your voice was louder, but cracked at the end of the sentence. “Did you- did you use me? Are you making fun of me? Is this a joke? Do you casually mess around with your fans? Are you doing this because you’re bored-“

“Stop.”, Harry demanded, the tears now falling freely from his eyes. “I would never do that. You of all people should know that.”

“I don’t know shit!”, you argued. “Why would you- why the fuck would you do this then?”

Harry, for the first time since the conversation started, moved his eyes away from yours and to the ground. He looked so vulnerable, you almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

“I wanted to tell you I swear, but you knew the real me. Not Harry Styles. You knew H. There were no expectations, there was no judgment. I was going to tell you eventually.”, he admitted, more to himself than you and raised his head again.

“As if I had treated you differently just because you’re a popstar. As if I had judged you!”

“No, no, I know you wouldn’t have, just..”, Harry gulped and stopped his sentence.

“Just what? You fucking lied to me! I thought we had something, I thought you cared about me. But once again, I was foolish enough to think that anyone would-“

Harry had enough, he took a step forward, and then another and silenced you in doing so. He only stopped when he was inches away from you, your faces so close that you could feel his heavy breathing on your face, so close that you could see the tears falling from his eyes, mixing with the raindrops falling from the sky. “You know I care about you. I love you.”, he admitted finally.

A laugh was the only response you could get out. “You don’t fucking know me. I don’t fucking know you.”, you shook your head multiple times. “Harry.”, you began, saying his name out loud for the first time. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have lied to me.”, you let out with tears falling down your face and with your lip trembling.

“I do! I love you so much it hurts-“, he was interrupted when you pounded your fist against his chest.

“You lied to me.”, you let out the first sob. “You fucking lied to me.”, you continued pounding against his chest. “I thought, I thought someone finally cared for me.”

Harry swiftly grabbed your fists, trying to stop you and trying to reason with you. “Cherry, I do. I care about you more than you could ever comprehend.”, he tried to catch your eyes. “Please, please look at me.”

You shook your head, trying to get out of his grip. Harry let go of your wrists, but didn’t hesitate to place his hands on both of your cheeks, practically forcing you to look at him. “Oh, Cherry.”, he whispered as he attempted to wipe the tears, along with the raindrops, from your cheeks. “I’m so sorry. For all of it.“, his voice was soft and his eyes didn’t leave yours for even a second, even though he wanted to admire your features. Desperately.

The warmth of his hands on your cheek, the closeness of him, made your heart beat a thousand times faster. Even though you were angry, even though you were so fucking angry at him, you just wanted to lean in and kiss him. To feel his lips on yours for the first and for the last time.

You closed your eyes for a second, trying to think rationally, but when you opened them again, they moved to his full and rosy lips.

You leaned closer, feeling his nose brush against yours. “Please, Cherry, let me love you.”, he whispered, his warm breath softly tickling your face. “You don’t love me, you lied to me.”, you answered, but didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned even closer. “I do I-“

Before Harry could finish his sentence, you just leaned in, your lips crashing with his. The first thing you noticed were the warmness, the softness and the sweet taste of his lips as he slowly and carefully moved them against yours. It felt electrifying, your heartbeat increasing even more as he caressed your cheeks with his thumbs. The kiss was desperate, but it didn‘t feel like it at all. It was soft and gentle and sweet and everything you imagined your first kiss with Harry to feel like. The tears continued falling down both of your cheeks, but the salty taste wasn‘t what was making you stop-

Your rational mind was.

He had lied to you and here you were kissing him?

You pulled away and watched the hurt flash across his eyes. He searched your eyes for the reason for your sudden change in behavior, but he didn‘t come far, because then you were practically throwing yourself into his arms, clinging to him and sobbing into his chest.

Harry didn‘t hesitate to cradle your head. “It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay, I swear.”, he promised while he slowly pulled you to sit on the ground with him, pulling you into his lap and holding you as close as it was anatomically possible.

He let you sob into his shoulder, caressing your back softly and gently while he fought his own sobs.

You wanted to yell at him, you wanted to put as much distance between you two as you possibly could, but you needed, you craved his touch.

You didn’t know how long you just sobbed into his shoulder, but you were eventually both interrupted by someone coughing next to you.

You instantly pulled away, trying to wipe your tears away as you stood up and met Lucy’s eyes.

“There you are!”, she exclaimed, moving her gaze to Harry. “Everyone’s looking for you. They say that the show must go on.”

“I can’t continue. Not now.”, Harry decided, not even hesitating as he stood up too.

“Harry.”, Lucy stressed. “Your fans are all waiting for you. They paid to be here today. You have to finish the show.”

Before Harry could answer, you chimed in. “I’ll just go.”

“No, come on, we’ll just go back to the VIP tent, Harry’s going to finish his show and then you can continue to talk.”

You furrowed your eyebrows as you watched her closely. “You and Harry are friends.”, you observed. “You knew all along, didn’t you?”, you moved from her eyes to Harry’s and when no one answered, you had your answer.

“Wait.”, you whispered, shaking your head again. “So us meeting was not a coincidence?”, you questioned. “Did- did you ask her to befriend me?”, you turned to Harry, your lips trembling once again.

He stared at you once again, before he slowly and carefully nodded his head.

So the whole friendship with Lucy was a lie to.

“Great.”, you scoffed. “So not only was everything you told me a lie, the whole friendship with Lucy was a lie, too.”, you directed towards him.

“I just wanted-“, Harry began, but you cut him off.

“Bullshit! Stop with the fucking bullshit! What else was a lie?”

Lucy whispered your name quietly. “I swear, maybe he asked me to befriend you, but when I got to know you, I realized how great you are and that I truly want to be your friend. I swear.”

“I can’t listen to all of your fucking lies anymore!”, you shouted this time, taking both Lucy and Harry aback.

“Cherry, please, just let me explain everything-“, Harry began, stepping closer again and fighting every urge to pull you into his arms once again.

“I don’t.”, you began, stepping back. “Want to ever see you both again.”

Harry’s whole face turned into one of anguish. “No. No.”, he whispered. “Cherry, please, one more chance. Please, let me take you home, let me-“

“No. This is over. In every way possible.”, you let the tears fall freely again. “You don’t love me and I sure as hell don’t love you.”

You watched Harry’s lip tremble, watched him struggle to find any words before you turned around and finally left.

“Not anymore.”, you whispered to yourself.

taglist: @st-ev-ie @hsstylesrings @bubblespower101 @ravisinghs-wife @mopeymousey @shishcabobsworld @stylesfever @valntynebaby @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @harryspirate @xxlunathewitchxx @hannah9921 @fingermonkey101 @amateurduck @babyiamperfectforyou @ravisinghs-wife @creativelyeva @fanficismydrug @manrocket-mo @crimeshowjunkie @lomlolivia @pagesfalling @harryssky1 @buckybarnessimpp @melancholy-help @annesauriol @tea-and-toast463 @sheslikeacurse @kuntxrgraudunkelbunt @white-wolf-buckaroo @itsgigikay @cherrystyle @be-with-me-so-happily

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfiction

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thegingerwrites · 2 months

Text

I'm calling this "the grass isn't always greener au" and I'll probably never write it but it was stuck in my head today:

The Clone Wars are over, Palpatine is dead and the galaxy is more at peace than it has been in a lifetime. Anakin is no longer a Jedi. He has been living with Padmé and their children for two years now and everything is fine. Everything is definitely, absolutely fine.

And yet Anakin can't help but feel like he made some kind of mistake in leaving the Order when Padmé told him she was pregnant. He can't regret her or their children. He can't regret the fact that he no longer has to deflect blaster bolts on a daily basis. He can't regret peace.

But he does miss Obi-Wan. The ragged threads of their bond are still present in his mind when he can bring himself to sense them. (And he does, often, like picking at a scab or the empty cavity of a missing tooth. He prods at the empty space, making sure never to go far enough as to make Obi-Wan aware of it. He hasn't seen Obi-Wan in months). He misses having a purpose, a bright shining goal, the feeling of fulfilling his destiny even if the pursuit of that destiny aged him in ways he is still coming to terms with.

He was never the Jedi he should have been but now he is no longer a Jedi at all. And maybe if he had held himself together for just a little longer, he could still be one today.

The Force gives him the chance to find out.

Anakin wakes up in the body of Darth Vader, two years after the fall of the Republic, broken and in pain, fully invested in the power of the dark side.

He flees the Executor as soon as he can. Taking stock of his mechanical limbs, full-body burns, and life support suit, Anakin has no idea where he is or what has happened to him. But this is him, some alternate version of him. When he takes off the helmet and stares into his reflection in transparisteel window of his escape pod, he sees himself. Despite the changes, the burns, the eyes, he recognizes himself.

He seeks out Obi-Wan through the tenuous, broken bond in both of their minds. This may not be his world and this might not be his master, but Anakin knows he could find Obi-Wan anywhere if he allows himself to reach out to that connection again.

Darth Vader appears on Obi-Wan's doorstep on Tatooine, begging for his help. It takes Obi-Wan time to understand what is happening but they sit and talk and everything that happened in the last days of the Republic is slowly revealed. Everything that Anakin did, everything that he became.

They talk for hours, Anakin reveling in Obi-Wan's companionship again, taken aback by how much his master loves him, even this version of him and all that he did, and Obi-Wan nearly brought to tears by the idea of having Anakin back again. What Obi-Wan wouldn't do to sit side by side with Anakin again, to have even the smallest speck of hope that Anakin might come back to him.

By the light of his hearthfire, Obi-Wan asks Anakin to take off his mask, so that he can see his face again. Anakin would do anything for his master but especially this older, sadder version who loves him so desperately and he obliges. Obi-Wan reaches a gentle hand out to stroke Anakin's pock-marked cheek. He presses a kiss to his pale and scarred forehead.

Then Anakin wakes up in bed with his wife, pulled completely from the alternate reality and back in his body again, his eyes wet with tears. Without hesitation, he reaches out to his bond with Obi-Wan and pulls.

Perhaps Anakin didn't make a mistake in choosing peace. But he certainly made one in leaving Obi-Wan behind. And if Obi-Wan's love could survive all of that, it can definitely handle a few years of strained silence and damaged trust.

Anakin races up the steps of the Jedi Temple in early morning sunlight and for the first time in two years, meets his old Master for tea.

#obikin fic #obikin au #obi wan x anakin #obi wan/anakin #aniobi #i almost titled this “the grass isn't always greener”#maybe i could write this if i convinced myself it didn't have to be 30k long #hmmm 🤔#i thought about putting in a read more but it's less than 700 words people can deal

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a-spes · 6 months

Text

A D E A D L Y W I S H - One-shot.

Words count - 5,5k.

Tags & Warnings - Wanda Maximoff x Reader, mentions of forms self-harm (burning, scratching), description of suicide (drowning), deaths (background characters), a lot of angst/hurt with a bit of comfort at the end, kinda a happy ending.

Summary - It comes a day when you are so desesperate that you threw a coin in the lake, wishing for a better life. At first, you thought it was stupid, but was it? If you've learned anything, it is to never take ancient magic lightly.

N/A - It is my first time writing for Wanda Maximoff, I really hope you'll appreciate it! don't hesitate to let me know and interact with the post ♥ ♥

MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST

"Are you sure that you want to hear that story again?" she asked, smiling soflty at the girl, but she already knows the answer because, every night, you were demanding the same story.

And tonight was no different.

She chuckled as you nodded frantically, excited by the idea of hearing that legend again. Yet, she is almost sure you know this story by heart now, with the amount of time she read it to you, she would be surprised if you didn't.

Your mom doesn't appreciate it, you know it because she frowns every time she has to read it to you, always making comments that you are trying to ignore, pleading her to stick to the story that is told in the book.

"This story takes place a loong time ago. When grandpa and grandpa weren't even born, when the world was nothing like the one we know today. Some say that this legend is so ancient that it was told even before Humans discovered fire."

"It was a time when magic was known by people, it could be seen everywhere, it was truly amazing!"

"But very few were the chosen ones, the ones that were gifted with such a talent by nature, because not everyone could bear the weight of it. The nature choose the strongest human that were born, but it wasn't all about physical strenght, they also needed a great mind to be able to deal with the responsabilities that come with great powers."

"The rest of the story was twisted by the centuries, so we can't be sure of anything as there are several versions, but here is the one that runs in the family, the one that my own mother used to tell me when I was around your age."

"A long time ago, a girl was born that was gifted by nature. Her name was forgotten, but we now remember as the Scarlet Witch. Some say that she is called that way because of the color of her magic, stained by the blood of her numerous victims. It's said that she took so many lives that it would be impossible for a human being to count all of them."

"But she hasn't always been the Monster described by the legends. There was a time when she was just like any average little girl, when she was similar to you," she said, taking the opportunity to steal a laugh by booping your nose. "The only difference was the magic within her. She was bright, handling this gift to perfection."

"Yet, for some people perfection isn't enough, and the little girl - that was now a teenager - was one of them. She decided that she wanted more than what the society would allow, that she wanted to fully embrace the power she was gifted. Those rules she learned as a child, the Witches Code, and all these ceremonies only fed her desire for power as they made her feel trapped. She knew she could do great things, way more important than helping the villagers with their trivial problems."

"She wanted to believe that her destiny had more important things in store for her than what they wanted her to believe. She was certain that her name would be remembered for a long time to come, and she definitely won't let a few random men, frihtened by the talent she had been given, prevent her from fulfilling her destiny. If this powers were given to her, it was for a reason."

"But nature isn't excempt from mistakes."

"She was prepared to do anything to achieve her goals. She has taken hold of the weakest minds, convincing them to bring her the powers of the other witches in exhange of a favor. She tricked those who were seeking for her help into believing she would grant their wishes."

"Yet, she never lied and always fulfilled her promises, just not the way they were expecting her to. The Scarlet Witch was wise, she knew how to twist the words so they could mean exactly what she wanted them to. She played with the words and the despair of the Humans, all ended up begging for their deaths, filled with feelings of guilt and regrets they couldn't live with."

"Soon enough, she was the only living witch, also being the only one whose name and story lived throught the centuries."

"What happened next?" you asked, following your mother's silence. She never liked this part of the story, the one that tells the downfall of the Scarlet Witch, she used to say it wasn't appropriate for a young girl like you to hear about the atrocities the enraged villagers inflicted on the witch.

You used to sneak up in the living room when she was asleep, just so you could get the book and leaf through its pages to take a look at the illustrations she never let you see. If those were already horrible to look at, you don't even want to imagine how bad the reality could've been, probably worse than what's depicted in your child book.

If they couldn't attack her directly, because of how powerful she was, they could still take her most precious possession: her family. So you saw how they burned her home and family, how they took everything from her because of their anger, seeking to inflict a punishment equal to the harm she had caused them. After all, it was just fair that they took from her the same thing she had taken from them.

"It wasn't long before it became a quest of blood and revenge," you could read on the pages.

It only made it worse and, this time, the village didn't survive her wrath, the last picture in your book being a representation of the village, completely destoyed and empty of any presence except for a female figure. She was depicted from behind and seemed to observe this spectacle. She has red hair that flutters in the wind and a red aura that matches the colour of the dress around her: the colour of blood and death.

"After that day, she wasn't seen anymore," your mom would continue to read after skipping the few disturbing pages of the book, "some say that she died, but this is unlikely, she gathered so much power that she could easily defeat the human condition."

"She propably cut herself from the Human world, waiting for the day she could be needed again, when she could get another revenge over the ones that took everything from her because eradicating them wasn't enough for the witch - and it'll never be, nothing could ever make it up for the loss of the ones she loved. The legends say that she retired in what is now called the Ancient Forest, which would explain why the wildlife, even the flora, is so hostile to humans."

"However, even if she hasn't been seen for decades now, her story is still told by every parent to their kids, the mere mention of her name being enough to instill fear in people's minds."

"This story is a lesson for everyone, both those who use magic and those who ask for its help: there is always a price to pay," she added before falling silent. The story finishes here, you never got to know what the Scarlet Witch became, it's left to your imagination.

• ✧ • ✧ • ✧ • ✧ • ✧ •

Everyone knows better than wandering near the Ancient Forest. This place is the scene of many strange events and legends that give nightmares to the children, but you've never believed in these.

The past decades, only two kinds of people have ventured into the forest: the most courageous soldiers the village has ever known and the stupidest ones. If you certainly don't belong to the first category, you don't feel like you are part of the second, so maybe there is a third type of person that is going here: the ones in despair.

They are the ones that have nothing to lose, the ones that see they're last hope in that forest, the ones that think that, maybe, if none of the humans that ever went to the forest came back, it's because they found a better life, wherever they are now.

And it is exaclty what you are. Not a brave soul, not a silly mind, just a desesperate human.

In the end, it doesn't matter what category you belong to, because once you've stepped into the forest, you are just as everyone who did it before. She doesn't care about your motivations or story, she reserves the same fate for everyone who dares to enter her domain.

No one knows what exactly happened to those who went here, no one was ever able to come back to tell their story, but many rumours are whispered among the inhabitants. Some think that they are dead, it is the easiest explanation because it doesn't involve searching for those who have lost their way in the forest - which no one wants to do. So very few are the ones who maintain the hope that they are still alive and will, one day, be able to find their path back to the village.

It never happened and the ones that got lost were never seen again, dead or alive.

For decades, it was assumed that this rule couldn't be broken. The centuries had failed to attenuate the witch's rage and each generation of villagers has learned to stay away from it, passing on this use to their children - and so on. Thus, when you walked into the forest for the first time, by the age of ten, no one would've expected you to emerge from it a few hours later as if nothing happened, not expecting a little girl to be the one to break the curse.

You were the only exception to a rule that everyone thought immutable.

By the time, you've lost count of how many times you've visited the Ancient Forest. It slowly became your realm, where you go whenever you want to be alone for a while, knowing that no one would dare to drag you out of here. You weren't ten years old anymore, nor the kid you were the first time you stepped in the forest, oblivious of its dangers and distracted by the flowers she was picking up that just got the luck to get out of here safe.

No, now, when you enter the Ancient Forest, you know exactly where to go.

It may be strange to some that you never got lost. Even in the darkness of the night, when all the trees were looking the same and you couldn't even see the stars because of their leaves, when you would get off the beaten tracks with no idea of where you were going, you have always found yourself exactly where you needed and never struggled to find your way back to the village.

There was something, like a voice in your head, that was whispering to your heart the right moment to turn or, on the contrary, when you shouldn't go somewhere, filling your soul with fears, but always to guide your steps through this hostile environment. Even if you've never been attacked by any wild beast, you know there are many because you saw them in the past - but they never tried to get close to you, they seem to be afraid of something.

This forest was your realm more than theirs.

This simple thought was enough to fill your heart with pride, giving you the feeling that you eventually found your place. You've not felt that way since your childhood, desesperatly looking forward to the day you would eventually stop feeling like a stranger in your own village.

Nature chooses you, after all these years.

They say that you're carrying her mark and that is why you can go in the forest as you want, but it's just another story they made up to explain the things they can't understand in any other way. You believe that the mark they are talking about is nothing more than a birthmark and that, given the circumstances, their minds created stories around it - you are almost sure the mention of a mark on witches' skin was only a thing after they saw yours.

You are convinced they made it similar to the one on the back of your neck on purpose, describing exactly the circle they saw on your skin. It looks like a sun, except for the rays that are crossing the circle instead of being on the outside. In the legends, the mark is scarlet as a symbol for the devil living inside the witches' hearts, but yours isn't.

How convenient was it that there were no witches left to verify this fact?

The rumors were quick to spread among the inhabitants and, soon enough, you became the Beast. No one wanted to interact with you anymore, they barely dared to glance at you, scared that an action as simple as this one could lead to a horrible fate for them and their family. They hoped you would go away on your own, that you would understand that you weren't desired here, but to go where? You had no family, the closest town was miles away, a journey of several weeks, maybe months, that you couldn't start alone.

You've tried to get rid of the mark, but you just couldn't. It was on your skin, a part of you that you couldn't part with despite your desesperate attempts. At first, you hid it and tried to cover the symbol with your hair and clothes but, when it wasn't enough anymore for you to forget it was here, you tried to scratch and to burn it, but it didn't make any difference - except for the pain you experienced at the back of your neck.

Maybe if it wasn't here, they would forgive you for your sins.

Even if they decided to not throw you away because you were a child and had a few of the elders by your side, they still made you pay for what they believed to be your mistakes or to prevent the ones they were sure you would do when you grow up. They believed that you would follow the steps of the one who marks you’re carrying, destined to become like the Scarlet Witch.

So you decided to run away where no one would come to harass you, the only place where you know they wouldn't dare to go because they weren't courageous enough to defy this forest and the monsters living in its legends.

This time, you found yourself on rocks, overlooking a lake by a few meters. You've never seen this part of the forest before and it was probably the most beautiful place you were allowed to be in your life. It was late, so the only light was coming from the moon, dimmed by the clouds that were covering the sky. Further down, you could observe how the water is brushing against the shore in small waves caused by a light wind, the same that keeps bringing your hair in front of your eyes.

The landscape had something sinister, but yet you found it comfortable, wishing you could stay here forever.

For a second, some darkest thoughts infiltrate your mind, whispering to you that peace was only a few steps away. As you are standing at the edge of the rocks, you can't help but imagine what would happen if you jumped. You imagine your body colliding brutally with the cold surface of the water, stealing your last breath. You could almost fill how the water would fill your lungs until it has replaced the air inside, making your struggle vain.

You wouldn't really try to get out of here anyway. Even if the lake is calm tonight, you would drown into some of your own thoughts. The way you are trying to get to the surface is all an act, your arms and legs moving just so you could trick yourself, saying that you did everything you could when it was a lie. You wouldn't try at all, being relieved the moment your eyes would close.

But when you open them, you aren't greeted by pitch black, but the same landscape as when you closed them. Before you could listen to the voices in your head, you decide to take a few steps back from the edge - this night wouldn't be the one of your death.

You are not sure where the confidence is from, but you are certain that your time has not yet come.

As you slip your hand into your pocket, your fingertips touch something cold. It is a small object that is rolling between your fingers and you were sure it was never here in the first place. When you get it out, you can't help but frown as you're observing the penny because it doesn't look like the ones you are used to see. This one has a strange crown engraved on the first side and, on the other, a symbol you are unfortunately familiar with.

It is the mark, the same as the one at the back of your neck.

You don't really know what to think about it, brushing the symbol with your thumb while you're losing yourself in your thoughts. You are not afraid by this discovery, it is something closer to curiousity that you're feeling.

Eventually, you remember some details about the Scarlet Witch's story. As you are playing with the penny, you think about how people used to ask the witch to grant their wishes by tossing a coin in a lake or a fountain. You wrap your hand around the object, hesitating for a moment.

"I wish..," you whispered, taking a few seconds to think about what you really want, "... that I could find my place in this world, if I have any. I wish they would stop treating me like I am not one of them. I am tired of being alone and... so weak," you eventually said.

At this point, your voice wasn't just a murmur anymore, you yelled the last words, hoping someone would hear your distress but, once you're done, you are just greeted by the deep silence of the forest and your loneliness. You laugh as you realize how stupid it was, tossing the coin as far as you can, using all the rage you are feeling at the time. It hits the surface of the water, disturbing it for a moment before it becomes calm again. The minutes pass and it's as if nothing had happened.

You are laughing as you are thinking about how stupid you've been to expect anything to happen, like a child who still believes that tales are real. Soon, your laughter turns into tears which run down your cheeks, they are carrying your pain and despair, the one of not having a better life.

As you are easily finding your way back to your house, you could feel the stares of the villagers on your back. Your journey is accompanied by their murmurs and you don't need to hear their words to guess what they are whispering to each other, sometimes being ignorant is the best. Every time you step out of the forest, you could read the disapointement mixted with the fear on their faces.

You now understand why your mother didn't like that story, it was twisted and unfair, and you stopped liking it when it became too close to your reality.

Tonight, you can't sleep properly. For seemingly endless hours, you toss and turn, your eyes closing only so your mind could trap you in horrifying nightmares. So, when a voice whispers a few words in your ear, you are unable to say if it's a part of reality or just another trick of your mind, the line between the two being too blurred. On the corner of the room, you catch the movement in the shadows. It was so furtive that you weren't sure you actually saw it until the shape detaches itself from the gloom.

At the end of your bed, a montionless figure is observing you. You can't see their face, but you can make out its outline thanks to the moonlight filtering through the open window. This being is envelopped in a red glow that is even more intense around their eyes and hands, where it seems to be concentrated. You don't dare to move, petrified by the power that emanates from your guest, not needing to see their face or to know their name to feel this overwhelming aura that lets you know you'd better be careful around them.

Yet, strangely, you don't feel worried, no fear grips your heart, no questions trouble your mind, it's almost as if this lad'ys presence makes sense, that you've been waiting for her all your life and the universe has eventually decided to put her in your path.

"I could help you, if you'd let me," she whispered, unclasping her fingers to hold on one of her hands, expecting you to take it.

"You could?" you asked, and she just nodded, which resulted in a sad laugh from you, "and how's that?" you added, your words sounding drier than it did in your mind, for a second, you regret it, scared it would make her angry.

"I can't tell you that," she murmured after a few seconds of silence, "you just need to trust me, but would you? How hard do you want your wish to be granted?" she asked, tilting her head to the side. She didn't take her eyes off you for a moment since you started talking.

You hesitate, but not for long because you are eventually nodding. You have the feeling that you can't lie to the woman anyway, you are sure that she can read in your body and mind your lies and you want your wish to be granted more than anything else. You decided to trust her the day you threw that coin in the lake, sharing your secrets with her, begging for her help.

And, if for a second you thought about refusing the hand she was holding to you, you don't. It is impossible to deny the woman when your soul is drawn to her, your body almost moving on its own to shake her hand. At this time, you already know that there is no turning back, that you sealed an unspoken deal of which you don't know the conditions but that will have a great influence on your life.

Your destiny was sealed the moment your fingers entwined with hers, the moment you pronounced the name that was on the tip of your lips the whole time: hers.

"Scarlet Witch...," you whispered, and she smiled. It was strangely soft, it contastred with the atmosphere of the room. If she was impressive, she did not appeared as mischevious.

That is when you find yourself surrounded by a white glow similar to the witch's. You have the feeling that the pressure she is exerting on your hand became stronger, her fingernails digging into your skin, almost leaving marks, only to prevent you from pulling away from her grasp. Your heart is racing and you are struggling to breathe as anxiety is taking over you - but it is too late to have regrets because you are already feeling your consciousness slipping away.

"I know it can be scary, but I promise it'll be okay, love," she mumured as you were struggling to keep control over your mind. She slowly raised her hand to stroke your hair behind your ear, the same way a mother would with her child, "don't try to fight it, let it go...," she added, convincing you to do so.

There is an unknown force trying to get in control of your soul, and you don't have the strenght to drive it out. It only lasted a few seconds before a sharp pain twists your head, spreading in the rest of your body and getting you on your knees. The white aura around you turns the same colour as the witch’s and the scarlet glow darkens your vision.

For one night, she accepted to share her magic with you, to lend you her strenght.

When you slowly get your mind back, it takes you a few seconds before being aware of your surroundings again. The first sense to come back to you is touch; as you could feel the heat that is licking your face, but it is only when you hear some muffled screams that you open your eyes, brutally brought back to reality.

Everything is burning.

You were standing in the middle of the main street of your village but you couldn’t recognize anything. You protect your face with one of your sleeves, the smoke-laden air starting to make you cough and sting your eyes. In the chaos, you could barely see anything.

The worst was probably the silence that came next, when no one could scream anymore, when the beginnings and excuses turned into unintelligible sentences before shutting up completely. The last prayers were said, but they were useless: no one is left alive, except you, as a spectator of this scene.

Not as a spectator, but as the culprit.

You are suddenly running through the village, praying to all the gods you have never believed in so that it is not too late and there is at least one person you could save. You don’t even think about it twice, your legs moving on their own to the first house that is still standing, pushing you inside despite the fire to seek for any form of life.

But there is nothing left.

Inside, you can’t find a soul or a piece of furniture, just destruction. You barely have time to glance around anyway because you are pulled out of the building by a firm grip on your arm. For a second, you are relieved at the thought of another soul still being alive, but it is short-lived as you realize it is the Scarlet Witch.

"What were you thinking?" she yelled while dragging you out of the burning house so strongly that you are almost tripping on your own feet. "I certainly didn't do all of that for nothing,” she added, glaring at you and you knew you made a mistake.

Contrary to what you may think, your death is the last thing she wants. She waited so many years to be awakened by one of her peers, she won’t let you go that easily. When she eventually lets you go, it is accompanied by a heavy sigh that carries every of her thoughts; how can one be so dumb? She definitely wasn’t expecting you to run in the fire while she was making sure everything was going as she planned, she only left you for a minute but she now regrets it deeply.

But if her face shows concern, yours is pure hatred as you slowly understand what happened despite the lack of memories.

It is her fault.

Tears start to uncontrollably run down your cheeks but you are barely feeling them, the only thing in your mind being the sick feeling that is growing inside of your chest as the realization of what happened dawns on you. There is nothing you can do except watching the consequences of your own mistakes, the result of your naivety.

“What did you do?” you yelled, suddenly turning around to face the woman, getting out of her grisp with agressivity. She raised an eyebrow, surprised by your reaction and the tone you are using, but she is not amused at all - you are on thin ice and must be careful about what you are going to say next.

“Me?” she scoffed, as if what you just said was nothing but a joke, “I did nothing my dear, you are the one that did it all,” she added in what you could describe as a condescending voice.

“But I-,” you immediately said, trying to protest, but she doesn’t even let you enough time to say a word before she cuts you off, not having the patience to deal with that kind of shit tonight - it was a long day.

“Isn’t it what you wished for?” she asked back.

“Of course not!” you yelled, crying, shaking, “that’s never what I wanted!” you added, but as you are talking you realize that it is exactly what you asked for, just not the way you wanted it to be done.

How are you supposed to find the peace you were seeking for now?

You are not feeling at all the relief she promised to you, only guilt and disgust, and you know that feeling is going to eat you from the inside for the rest of your life. You wanted to be better than them, that’s what you tried to do your whole life by ignoring their insults, you’ve never replied to their provocations, waiting patiently for the day you would prove them that they were wrong.

But you just showed them how right they were all that time.

Some of them were innocent, you heard the cries of children that will never get a chance to live, the ones of the elders that gave you a bit of help, the ones of the people that smiled at you on the sly, but it is all gone now.

“Oh,” she frowned, her tone being like it was just a mistake without any importance and it gives you the urge to slap the woman, but you don’t do anything. “Then I guess you should’ve been more precise,” she added, shrugging.

That’s a first lesson she knows you’ll remember for the rest of your life: always be careful with ancient magic, it is not some sort of game.

She knows it is not easy, but she also knows it is needed. As she sees the tears in your eyes, she feels the urge to take you in her arms to comfort you, to tell you that everything will be fine, but she can’t.

She can’t lie.

The future that is now yours won’t be sweet, the ones born with that mark have never meant to live a great life.

When she looks at you, she is filled with a feeling she hasn’t felt for decades: pity. When she was born in a witches’ society, you grew up in a humans’ one. As her eyes wandered around the destroyed village, she sighs, knowing she is about to do something she promised herself to never do, but she can’t leave you there.

In that instant, you seemed to be so fragile, your whole body shaking, not even having enough strength to stand up, and it reminded her of the person she was a long time ago, when she was just as young as you are. Maybe if she had someone to guide her through that she wouldn’t have ended up with the name she knew for now, maybe she could spare you the mistakes she made, the ones that condemned her to a life of errand and loneliness.

Or maybe it will only cause chaos and destruction, no one can know.

“Come,” she eventually said, holding out her hand to you so you could take it, “it’s time to go home,” she added, her tone being gentle compared to the one she used earlier, when she dragged you away from the fire.

“Where?” you asked back, “where?! My home is completely destroyed because of me, of you, I have nowhere to go!” you screamed, standing up just to shout at the woman, making big movements with your hands.

The witch flinched, she wasn’t expecting you to talk to her that way but she didn't say anything, trying to be understanding. She takes a few steps closer until she is close enough to wrap your hands in hers.

“That wasn't your home,” she said, “let me show what a home really is, let me guide you,” she added, she was practically begging.

And, despite everything that happened that day, you decided to trust the woman a second time, to take her hand again, to follow her home, and you don’t need to know where it is, as long as you are far from the village. You are convinced that everything will be fine by her side, her hand in yours is making all the negative emotions disappeared for an instant.

After all, she is the one you have waited for your whole life.

MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST

Tag list - @onyxwolf96 @alexawynters @ichala

#a spes writing #wanda maximoff #the scarlet witch #wanda maximoff x reader #scarlet witch x reader #reader insert #mcu fanfiction #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #scarlet witch au #angst with a happy ending

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pilot-boi · 3 months

Note

If Pyrrha had survived the fight with Cinder, how do you think that would have gone for her? Do you think Jaune would be there for her, when she woke up? Do you think he'd be able to meet her eyes, after what she did? All but told him she loved him, but that wasn't enough to keep her from running to almost-certain death?

Why must you hurt me this way

I don’t think wild dogs would be able to drag Jaune away from her side. But also… yeah. Things would be hella strained between them

I feel like Jaune would bottle it up to focus on helping Pyrrha. But at the back his mind he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about how she loves him, and that wasn’t enough to stop her from running to her death. How can he look at his partner without thinking about how she almost died and it was because HE wasn’t enough to fight at her side?

And Pyrrha, meanwhile, is in shambles. Of course physically, because pain, but also mentally. Because she Fulfilled Her Destiny, but she never prepared for life AFTER her Destiny. Who even is she without a goal to work towards? And how can she look at her partner without thinking about how she stabbed him in the place he’s most vulnerable?

#rwby #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos #arkos #golddragon387 #mine #asks

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jasmine-tea-latte · 6 months

Text

Zutara Week Day 5: Respite

(everything is) blue

(Song Credit: Colors Pt. II by Halsey)

Destiny was indeed a funny thing, Zuko thought to himself through the haze of agony still overwhelming his senses.

A year ago, he’d wanted nothing more than to redeem himself in the eyes of his father, to find the long-lost Avatar and regain his honor.

An hour ago, he’d been determined to win back his birthright, so that he might ascend and be crowned Fire Lord.

And mere minutes ago, he’d been prepared to throw everything away, all of his goals and dreams and even the throne that was rightfully his.

All so he could protect her.

The waterbender who, until a few months ago, had been his sworn enemy, the ever-present thorn in his side whose determination rivaled his in protecting the Avatar from being captured.

And now, she was one of his closest friends.

An ally he trusted with his life, the member of their team who seemed to understand him better than anyone else.

And lately, the one person he couldn't live without...

But no, now wasn't the time to entertain those thoughts, he supposed.

As his bleary eyes gazed up at Katara while she continued to work tirelessly to salvage what was left of him, the prince exhaled a weak sigh of relief.

In the coming days, everything would change forever.

He would be crowned, charged with bringing his nation into a new world of peace.

She would no doubt leave afterwards for her homeland to rebuild, and there was no telling when their paths would cross again, if ever.

But for now, Zuko allowed his troubled mind a few minutes of respite, offering his savior a tired smile that she returned.

For now, he would cherish every moment spent with her while he still could.

“Thank you, Katara,” he rasped out.

She blinked back tears, smiling down at him.

"I think I'm the one who should be thanking you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the last couple of months, I've been dusting off my (incredibly basic) video editing skills, hence how this project came about.

For the longest time I didn't know what to do with it, until I saw the @zutaraweek prompt list and thought, well, it could work for "Respite."

After the hellish journey they've gone through as enemies into friends, they finally find a moment of respite on the battlefield, a few precious seconds of peace.

Some of my favorite details:

The flashbacks of them as enemies are in gray

The moments between them once they're friends / allies are in color, mostly blue

The Southern Raiders moments start off in gray and gradually become colorized, signifying the growth of their friendship

"What can I do to make it up to you?" -> cut to his foot pounding on the tile, racing to intercept the lightning strike

"You're dripping like a saturated sun"

And of course, that moment at the beginning when Azula shoots the lightning

This is my only entry for Zutara Week 2023, so I hope you enjoyed!

Thanks for watching / reading! 💜

#zutara week 2023 #zutara week #zutara #zuko x katara #my video #my fanfiction #my stuff

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violetriorsons · 7 months

Text

—in a world alone (we're all alone);

a collection of missing moments based on xaden's letters to violet. // pre-FW; iron flame spoilers.

part one.

“sgaeyl watched me kill another cadet for bullying garrick during threshing. she says she chose me for my ruthlessness, but i think i just reminded her of my grandfather.” — chapter 12 (iron flame).

.::.

The number one objective: don't die today.

It's proven to be a shockingly easy goal over the last few hours. A quick glance at the sun in the sky tells Xaden it's the start of the afternoon, and the biggest problem he's faced since Threshing started at nine this morning is the uncharacteristically strong heat for the beginning of October.

It's unsettling — he knows damn well that Fen Riorson's son is at the top of the hit lists of a number of cadets in his year (and the other years, for that matter). And he also knows Threshing is the best opportunity any of them are going to get to finally settle any bets.

It's why when his year dispersed this morning, Xaden had made a point to move in the opposite direction than Garrick and Masen. The target on his back is too big today to risk his only friends.

But so far, it seems his worries were for nothing. The few cadets he's come across over the last four or so hours have paid him nothing more than a wary glare, clearly far more interested in finding their dragons than wasting time trying to run a sword through him.

The dragons Xaden has passed by have also ignored him, both to his relief and mild dismay. The jitters in his chest persist, but for new reasons.

For months, the most common and accepted rhetoric he's heard spread throughout the quadrant is that no self-respecting dragon would go through the disgrace of bonding a marked one. That there's nothing worthy in the children of the people who had threatened the safety of human- and dragonkind all over Navarre.

Up until now, Xaden hadn't let himself dwell on the theory. His priority was keeping himself, his friends, and the rest of the marked ones in his year alive (a feat he's already fumbled, twice). But now, walking through the disturbingly quiet forest, there's no escaping the nauseating fear that everyone was right.

If he'd had the choice, Xaden thinks he might've gone into infantry to honor his father's wishes. He hadn't had the time to figure out for himself what he'd wanted to do with his life before fate and the lost Battle of Aretia had written his destiny for him. Before he knew it, the apostasy had come and tragically gone, and he was suddenly saddled with a hundred and seven souls to keep out of Malek's all-too greedy hands.

Three years ago, Xaden had brokered a deal with General Sorrengail to keep the orphans of his father's allies alive. He knows his father would've abhorred the agreement, but the man had also taught him well about making tough decisions. And making it through the riders' quadrant was their only shot at survival.

But now he's dreading that he might've sentenced them all to a worse fate: if the dragons aren't interested in bonding them, they'll all be doomed to relive their first year in the riders' quadrant over and over until Malek finally decides to collect his due.

Xaden hears the crackling of dragonfire in the near distance— too near for his liking. He quickens his steps as he searches around him in vain for any spot of blue.

Unlike Garrick this morning, Xaden did have a certain dragon from Presentation on his mind. An enormous, navy Blue Daggertail that had left him stunned when he saw it near the end of his deadly stroll yesterday.

He'd stopped dead in his tracks when he'd first caught sight of it, and had Garrick not given him a shove from behind, he's sure that he would've ended up a pile of ashes for daring to look a dragon in the eye for as long as he did.

It was an honest mistake. Xaden had felt something shift inside of him when he locked eyes with the beast, a sharp thrill that lingered long after the first-year cadets had all retreated to their bunks for the night.

Though judging by the icy narrowing of the dragon's eyes as it stared back at him, he thinks maybe the feeling was not mutual.

The thought is reinforced by the fact that he hasn't caught a single hint of her presence anywhere this morning. Idly, Xaden wonders if perhaps the Daggertail had picked another cadet at the start of Threshing, and his mood begins to sour.

But before he can linger any longer on his newfound worries, he hears a familiar shout nearby that has his stomach dropping.

It's Garrick.

All thoughts of the Blue Daggertail are forgotten as Xaden races in the direction of the shout.

The number one objective: don't die today. It goes for himself and especially for his best friend.

Xaden may or may not bond a dragon today. But if nothing else, he'll gladly spend the rest of the day making damn sure his friends make it out of this forest alive.

The shouting continues as he approaches, and Xaden recognizes the voice of Garrick's opponent just before they both come into view.

Prince Alic.

Xaden should've seen this one coming. He'd been too concerned about the target on his own back to consider that his friends have also made enemies in the quadrant all on their own.

The limp-dick, sorry excuse of a prince had wasted no time trying to assert dominance in the quadrant after crossing the Parapet this summer. He's been a terror to most, the Riorson son included, but Alic has had it out for Garrick since he lost to him during assessment week on the mat.

And apparently, he's decided Threshing is the perfect setting to enact his revenge.

Garrick's one of the best in their year when it comes to sparring, but the royal training the asswipe of a prince has under his belt makes him more than a worthy adversary. And though Xaden would be willing to bet that Alic snuck up on Garrick, any matters of honor and dirty tactics don't matter much if Alic makes it out of this forest with Garrick's head in the end.

Rage waves over Xaden and he barely manages to wrangle it back under control so he can slow his steps and assess the situation from a distance.

So far, Garrick seems to be holding his own well enough.

Xaden wavers, unsure of whether to step in or let his friend prove himself to any dragon who may be paying attention.

"I'm betting the prince loses his head."

The unfamiliar, feminine voice startles him out of focus from the fight. He hadn't noticed the giant shadow under his feet that now blankets his immediate area, and when he twists around to look for the source of the voice he finds himself face to face with the navy Blue Daggertail he'd been seeking all morning.

"Holy shit," he curses without thinking, and he just barely stops himself from scrambling backward. Dragons typically don't respond well to cowardice, and he doubts this particular one is any exception.

Her size had been daunting during Presentation, but having her right in front of him now, with her head lowered to his eye level and a bit too close for comfort, it dawns on him what a monstrosity of a creature she is — especially compared to the other dragons he's come across in the field today.

Suddenly, Xaden can't remember exactly why he'd been searching for her in the first place. Does he have a death wish?

The dragon's head moves forward, and Xaden locks his knees in place as she gives him a quick sniff at his chest before lightly blowing steam in his face through her nostrils.

"There's something very familiar about you." Her voice echoes in his head again, and his heart is threatening to break through his ribcage as she stays in his personal space and continues her perusal of him.

Xaden arches an eyebrow. Familiar? "Yeah, we kinda met at Presentation..." His joke falls flat, but he pushes forward. "I'm Xaden —" He stops short of saying his last name, and his earlier fear surges back with a vengeance.

Despite all it's cost him, Xaden has never been at odds with the war his father had started. Their country was corrupt, rotten to the core, and the price Xaden has been made to pay for his father's actions has only strengthened his belief in Fen Riorson's cause.

But would the dragon agree with that?

"Riorson," the dragon finishes for him, rather absentmindedly — uninterested, even — as she sniffs at his hair. She says nothing more, all her focus on her odd inspection of him, and some of Xaden's nerves give way to confusion.

Is it a good sign that this dragon is currently covering his leathers in snot?

As if in response, the dragon chuffs. "Better that than being charred by dragonfire, I would think."

Xaden's eyes widen in return. Did she hear his thoughts?

"Very true," he breathes. He tenses again, keeping quiet as he awaits judgment from the dragon he'd spent all night thinking about.

With no warning, the dragon lifts a claw and swipes it over the upper left side of Xaden's face, too quick for him to see it coming. The claw breaks the skin deep over his brow, nicking the eyelid he'd managed to close out of pure instinct, and digging through the top of his cheek.

"Fuck," he swears without thinking, instinctively lifting a hand to his eyebrow. His fingers come back bloody.

"There," the dragon says, sounding satisfied as she lowers her head to his level again. "Now I see it."

"Interesting word choice after almost taking my fucking eye out." He can't help himself from expressing his disdain as he works to keep the blood from seeping into his eye. "What do you see?"

"I'd given your grandfather a similar scar during his Threshing. It'd been accident then."

Surprise quells the anger. His brows knit together, the movement making the sting from his new wound worse. "You knew my grandfather?" He didn't even know his grandfather. From either side of the family.

"He came before you. But he didn't make it out of the quadrant." Her words are matter-of-fact, but there's an undertone of sadness that has Xaden believing she feels the loss far deeper than he ever could.

"I'm sorry...," he trails off, not sure how he's supposed to address her. He wipes more blood away from his brow before it gets in his eye.

"Sgaeyl," she offers distractedly, her eyes moving beyond him, to the sword fight still being waged in the tiny clearing behind him. "I said the prince would lose his head today. Why don't you go prove me right?"

Xaden turns back around and tenses, cursing himself for forgetting about Garrick.

Blood is now flowing from Garrick's left shoulder but he's paying it no mind as he raises his sword up to block Alic's attempt to slice Garrick's right arm off. As the two swords clash, Alic gets in a sloppy, but effective kick to the side of Garrick's calf that has him going down.

Garrick manages to twist his body last-minute to land on his side and avoid getting the wind knocked out of him. But the maneuver has his wounded shoulder taking the brunt of his fall.

Xaden's moving toward them before he even realizes it, silently drawing his own sword as he approaches. His heart is hammering again as he watches Alic raise his weapon to take the final strike.

Xaden sword is quicker, and he runs it through Alic's back, deep enough that it reappears through his abdomen. Alic's response is a garbled groan, and Xaden lifts his foot to kick the prince off his sword.

Alic falls forward, the force of Xaden's kick sending him face-first towards the ground — right where Garrick is lying.

Garrick rolls out of the way just as Alic hits the dirt. His eyes meet Xaden's with a flash of gratitude as he works to get himself up.

Xaden waits to make sure his best friend is good before turning his attention back to the dying prince, who's working mightily to get up onto his knees.

"You're a... worthless piece... of shit, son of a... traitor..." Alic's rambles are out of breath as he continues to bleed out on the ground.

Xaden hears the dragon grumble behind him, and he can feel the wordless expectation emanating from her as she waits impatiently for him to follow her earlier command. He spares a quick glance at Garrick again, who's retrieved his sword but is distracted by the dragon who's stepped out from the trees and into view.

"Sorry I butted in," Xaden tells Garrick with a sheepish grin. "But I've been asked for his head." He tilts his head in the dragon's direction as means of explanation. Garrick's eyes widen, but he chooses to stay silent in the presence of the dragon, giving Xaden a firm nod instead.

Before he can think too hard about it, Xaden swipes his sword through the neck of the still-rambling royal. The man's head hits the ground with a sickening thud, and Xaden works to keep his breakfast down.

Though not his first kill, it is the first time he's ever decapitated someone. It turns his stomach in the worst way, even as he feels a small twinge of satisfaction in getting to behead one of King Tauri's sons.

Perhaps he's not quite as monstrous as he's come to feel over the last few months — yet.

He's still got a dragon to impress, so he forces down the nausea, compartmentalizes any horror he may feel over adding to his body count, and bends down to retrieve the severed head by its hair.

He turns toward the dragon and tosses the head at her feet, making sure to keep his eyes off the ground and on hers the entire time.

She chuffs in what seems like approval. "Ruthless."

A heady rush of pride sweeps through him, giving him confidence as he admits to her, almost accusingly, "I've been looking for you all morning." Her earlier words about his grandfather finally sink in.

He came before you.

She'd chosen him. And now she's choosing Xaden.

She lets out another chuff. "I woke late. And I refuse to skip breakfast, even for Threshing."

Xaden smiles, glancing behind him to see that Garrick has disappeared. His smile wavers, and he worries over the wound in his friend's arm. Will he be okay to keep dragon-seeking?

"You care a lot for him. And for the others." It's a statement, not a question.

"Yes," Xaden answers anyway. He forces down the trepidation over letting her in on his secrets.

The marked ones and Aretia are who he's dedicated his life to, and there's no point in trying to hide it from her. She needs to know who she's choosing, and what he'll be continuing to fight for. And all the types of monsters he's willing to fight against.

"You carry scars for the ones you're devoted to," she notes. "And now you'll carry one for me as well."

The reminder of the wound on his brow cuts through the adrenaline enough for him to feel the sting again. But her words erase any lingering resentment he may have felt over the scratch.

She steps forward. "Get on my back. The cadet you saved will be just fine, and your other friend has already been chosen. There's no point in spending any more time around here tempting the cadets who'd love to take your own head off your shoulders."

Xaden exhales in relief at the news about Masen, and decides to trust her certainty that Garrick will make it just fine on his own.

He hesitates for just a second, calculating the best strategy to make it up her leg. The gauntlet didn't quite prepare him as well for a dragon of her size. It's a challenge, but he makes it up to her back, avoiding the spikes at her neck, and reaches the divot with only minor embarrassment.

"Didn't you practice?" she chastises him, but her tone is light.

"Of course I did." He rolls his eyes. "But you're huge."

She chuffs. "Wait until you see my mate. You'll see who's the real monstrosity of a creature."

Xaden lifts a brow, fighting the discomfort of her knowing what he had been thinking earlier. "Is that always...?" He trails off, not sure how to phrase the question.

She scoffs. "Get used to it, cadet. I know everything about you. I always will." It almost sounds like a threat.

He nods, mostly to himself, knowing he'll just need time to adjust to it.

As a means of distraction, the dragon formally introduces herself. But she also launches into the sky as she does so, and her words are lost to the wind whooshing past Xaden's ears as he directs his focus on staying seated as she flies high above the trees.

He remembers her earlier introduction, though — her name is Sgaeyl. She's a navy Blue Daggertail, once bonded to his grandfather.

Unbidden, a memory from many years ago of his mother rises to the surface. She'd told him once that her father had entered the riders' quadrant while she was a baby. She never got to meet him.

"Dragons aren't allowed to bond direct descendants of their previous riders," Xaden notes lightly, trying to shake off the heavy feeling that comes from remembering his mother.

Sgaeyl stays silent, and Xaden interprets it to mean that she has little care for any rule that may stand in the way of what she wants. And what she wants at the moment is him.

"I could go mad," he continues absentmindedly. Judging from the excited flip his stomach just did at the thought of being wanted by this dragon, he may already be half-way there.

"You won't go mad," Sgaeyl asserts.

He arches his wounded brow. "And how do you know that?"

"Because I chose you," she scoffs.

He grins at the arrogance, but his chest fills with pride. And anticipation, as he sees the flight field getting nearer in the distance.

Soon, they'll be landing in the field. Soon, he'll be walking up the dais to look the roll keeper and General Sorrengail in the eye and announce the name of his new dragon — and relish in the shocked faces of Commandant Panchek, Captain Fitzgibbons, Colonel Aetos, and anyone else who doubted that a dragon would choose Fen Riorson's son — or any marked one.

Sgaeyl knows everything about him. And she chose him.

Xaden Riorson is officially a rider.

#xaden riorson #sgaeyl #xaden and sgaeyl #fourth wing #iron flame #fourth wing fic #empyrean fic #this really got away from me oops #it's way longer than i thought it would be #lina scribbles

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strixcattus · 2 months

Text

Chapter IV: Violence/Passion

He's going to die here.

History

The cabin comes into view blurrily, almost like they’re just waking up. They didn’t doze off in the cabin, did they? That wouldn’t make a very good first impression on the Princess.

Though, this cabin doesn’t look like that first one. Its walls are formed from pale, rough stone, with openings in the sides to serve as windows. The doors are more of the same, cutting quite an impressive figure. Instead of a plain wooden table, there’s a metal altar holding the blade, and a couple loose planks lie askew on the floor. The cabin normally wouldn’t look like this on the first go-around, would it?

So why doesn’t Smitten remember what they did last time?

It’s probably not all that important. Even if he doesn’t remember, surely someone must. He’ll just have to go along.

“Well, boys?” he asks. “Shall we go and see what form our beloved has taken this time?”

No one says anything. That’s rude of them.

No one does anything, either. That’s a bit far for a prank.

“Very funny of you,” he says, listening for any sign that someone else is here. “Yes, you’ve got me this time, good joke, now let’s be off to fulfill our… destiny…”

It’s completely silent. There’s no one else here.

His shoulders drop, and he turns around to face the door to the outside. His body obeys, allowing him to see that the cabin is entirely empty, except for him.

That probably isn’t good.

Maybe something happened to the others. Maybe they’re somewhere outside. Maybe they’ve been tossed about to different cabins like this one.

If they are, he’s sure it’ll all work out. They’re resourceful people. Everything’s going to be fine.

Still, he should try to find them. He’ll just pop down to the basement, free the Princess from her imprisonment, and then the two of them can meet up with everyone else who’s also made their way out. It’ll be easy.

He leaves the blade on its altar. Wouldn’t want to give the Princess the wrong impression, if she has as little memory as he does.

The doors are heavy, resisting his attempts to wrench them open no matter how much he strains. Eventually, one of them folds and scrapes slowly across the floor, and the other follows a little more easily. The stairs beyond are cramped, stone walls pressing in on him, but they don’t look as though they’ll pose any obstacle. If those doors were to decide to close again, though, he might be in trouble.

Oh well. He’s sure the Princess will be more than capable of getting the two of them out, if the doors even do shut on them. The Narrator, conniving scoundrel that he is, is blissfully absent, and he was always the one that tried to meddle.

“Is that a challenger?” the Princess calls from the basement. Her voice echoes off the stone walls. “Finally. I haven’t had a good fight in far too long.”

A fight? Why would she want to fight him? They have the same goal!

Maybe she just got the wrong impression in some time he doesn’t remember. He should say something to put her mind at ease. “Fear not, Princess!” he cries. “I have no ill intentions towards you!”

She laughs. “Is that so? Why don’t you come down so we can meet face-to-face, then?”

This is progress! Probably. She does sound like she’s willing to talk. And he was planning to finish climbing down the stairs anyway.

The basement is less like a room and more like a cave, not much wider than the stairs. The Princess stands at one end, taking up most of the wall, chain in place on her wrist.

A pair of horns rise from her forehead, framing a set of spikes that look almost like the crown she usually has. The skirt of her dress is translucent, with a slit in the side, and a long tail curls around her. Her feet look more like hooves.

She’s beautiful.

Her eyes narrow onto his hands. “No little knife, huh? Did you forget to bring it with you?”

Is she talking about the blade? She must be convinced there’s no way out unless she’s cut free from her chains. “Fret not, fair maiden. We won’t need the blade for this.”

“Is that so?” The Princess grins. “Good.”

Smitten steps closer, reaching for the shackle on her arm. This is going well. He’ll slip her hand from the chains with no problem at all, and they’ll leave the cabin and go see what else is out there… as long as that mirror doesn’t show up again.

It won’t. It can’t. He won’t stand for it.

He should probably ask her name once they’re out, too. But one thing at a time. He’ll slip her hand from the chains…

His back lands on the hard stone floor, sending shockwaves through his bones.

The events leading up to the landing piece themselves together backwards. He landed on the floor because he fell. Why? Because the Princess pushed him. No, pushed isn’t the right word—she grabbed his arm and threw him to the floor. Why? Heck if he knows. All he did was reach for the chain.

He looks back up at the Princess, vision swimming back into place. She’s frowning at him. Why is she frowning at him? She ought to know he has no intention of hurting her, right?

“Are you really going to give up this quickly?” she asks.

His brain hasn’t finished pulling itself back together, so all he can say is, “What?” And, if he were being honest, that’s probably what he would say if he were in peak condition.

“You hit the ground once and you’re down for the count?” The Princess leans over him. “Did you just come down here to toy with me or what?”

Toy with… her? But he had no such intentions… right? “I can assure you, my intentions have never been anything but pure.” He pulls himself to his feet as his vision finally snaps back into one piece. “If you’ll allow me to remove that shackle, the two of us can go at once.”

The Princess looks down at the chain. “What, worried it’ll slow me down? You must be confident.” Before Smitten can figure out what she means by that, she begins to strain against the chain, metal groaning before it finally snaps. She’s free! This is great! “You’d better live up to the figure you’re making yourself out to be.”

“Oh, I would never dare mislead y—” Smitten begins, cut off by a fist landing on his shoulder and throwing him across the room. His flight is cut short by the wall of the basement, head directly striking the stone. Some imperceptible noise echoes in his ears.

Didn’t he just say she could trust him? Why doesn’t she trust him?

The world is slowly beginning to decide it would rather not remain in one place. Smitten wobbles on his feet as he takes a few steps towards the Princess, nearly having to lean on one wall for support. “Why would you… do that… my love…” he wheezes, lungs refusing to cooperate with him.

“What do you mean, why would I do that?” The Princess stares at him, her arms folded. “Why wouldn’t I do that? You did come down here for a fight, didn’t you? Or are you less honest than you claim to be?”

A… fight? He never said anything about a fight or that sounded like it was about a fight or fight-related or anything of the sort… right?

“I’m afraid I… don’t have any idea… what you’re talking about.” He slumps against one wall, legs unwilling to do their job on their own. “All I want is… to set you free.”

“And what if I don’t want to be free?” The Princess takes a step towards him—he thinks. It’s all a little blurry. “What if I want something else?” Another. Probably. “What if what I want is for you to fetch your little knife and fight me?” She’s either right in front of him or still by the back wall. It’s still unclear.

Smitten wobbles backwards. He can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not. “Th—that can’t be right. Freeing Princesses is always the right thing to do.”

The Princess grits her teeth. “You are impossible! Why don’t you start thinking for once so that I don’t have to!” She reaches out with her hand, faster than Smitten can see—not that that necessarily means it’s fast, with the way he is right now—and grabs his throat. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to kill you, right now, so you can come back with a half-decent head on your shoulders. And when you do, you’re going to take your little knife, and you’re going to march right down to this basement and fight me.”

The pressure on Smitten’s neck tightens. He’s going to die. He should probably say something nice before he dies. A nice little pre-death one-liner while he’s still pre-death. A nice little… that shouldn’t be too hard…

His meandering is cut off with a pop, or maybe it’s a snap, or maybe it’s more of a squelch or even a crunch. It’s still a little hard to tell what’s going on around him, and more so to put words to it.

But words don’t matter in some cases. No matter what combination of letters accurately capture whatever sound he hears, soon after everything goes dark, and he dies.

He shoots to his feet before he can take stock of the cabin he’s in. That part comes after. The walls are made from a pale, rough stone, with open holes for windows, and the doors to the basement are heavy and carved from the same material. The blade lies on a metal altar—

This is the same cabin.

The Princess’s final words to him dance just out of his grasp. He certainly wasn’t doing all right in the head by the time she killed him, was he? At least that’s over and he can approach her with a clear mind.

It must have been important, though, whatever she said. “I’m going to… you can come back… and when you do… right down to this basement.” There must have been something in between all that…

Oh! Of course! She must have seen how badly he was doing and killed him knowing he’d come back in one piece and be able to hold a proper conversation with her. How thoughtful of her!

He strides over to the doors with a bounce in his step. This time, he knows to brace himself in order to wrench them open.

The Princess is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, arms folded. Her face falls when she sees him. Why would she…?

“I thought I told you to bring your knife this time around,” she says. “Do you just not have it or what?”

Is she forgetting something? Is he forgetting something? “You must be mistaken. We don’t need to cut you free. If you’ll just allow me to—”

She growls. “Did everything that happened last time breeze through your empty head? If I wanted to be free, I would be.” She pulls against the chain, metal snapping and falling to the floor in pieces, leaving only the shackle around her wrist. “Now go and get that knife so we can fight.”

The memories that abandoned ship the moment Smitten hit his head start to drift back. “Going to… take… knife… right down to this basement… fight me.”

But that doesn’t make any sense. “Why would you want me to fight you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” She narrows her eyes. “Why don’t you? It’s fun. And it feels right.”

Smitten laughs a little as he backs away. “I don’t know if I’d exactly describe it that way, though I suppose… if it would make you happy…” There’s something wrong with this Princess. Not that there could possibly be anything wrong with any Princess—they’re all perfect in their own way—but this one has something wrong with her.

He does a little hop back to the base of the stairs. The Princess continues to watch him. “I’ll, ah, be going to fetch that blade now,” he says. “I shall return posthaste.”

Then he turns and bolts up the stairs, not stopping to catch his breath until he’s well and fully in the upper part of the cabin.

She wants to fight him. But that’s not… that’s not how this works, right? She’s supposed to want to be free. Sure, there were a couple Princesses that had other intentions, but that was only after they’d been wronged and were out to take righteous revenge!

…Did something happen to her in the time Smitten hasn’t been allowed to see? Is she trying to take out her anger on him? But that doesn’t sound quite right.

She wants to fight him. Not to kill him, presumably. Just to fight him a little. She doesn’t look angry—at least she didn’t, not before they properly got to talking. Maybe a little spar could be fun, if it’ll make her happy. She said it would be, so he’ll believe her.

“I hope you aren’t trying to run away,” the Princess calls from below. “What’s taking so long?”

Smitten jumps and scoops the blade from the altar. “Don’t worry, fair maiden! I’m merely steeling my nerves for our battle.” He may as well play it up. If a fight’s what she wants, he’ll do his level best to make it as dramatic as possible.

He steps down the stairs, taking in deep breaths to steady himself. He can’t let the Princess down.

She is waiting for him in the basement, and her face breaks into a grin when he comes into view. “Finally. Let’s get started, shall we?”

“We shall.” Smitten raises the blade, pointing it at the Princess. “En garde!”

The Princess doesn’t waste any time in launching herself across the room, fist narrowly missing Smitten’s face. He ducks past her—she’s tall—and whirls around, catching her arm with the blade as she aims another punch. A few drops of blood fly away from the nick and splatter on the floor.

He didn’t mean to do that.

She seems to take notice, stepping back instead of continuing her attack and glancing at the cut in her arm. It’s shallow, at least so he hopes, but a drop of blood still traces down her wrist as he watches.

“I’m sorry—” he stammers. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No. You didn’t. That’s your problem.” The Princess wipes at her cut with one thumb. “All this and you still don’t get what this is about.” She thrusts her arms out to the sides. “I died and I’m still fine. I killed you and you’re still fine. There are no consequences for us here. We can kill each other all we want, and nothing is going to happen.”

No. No, he was right. This one does have something wrong with her, no matter how he wishes he could look past it.

His hand trembles just enough for the blade to slip from it and clatter on the floor. “But I don’t want to kill you,” he says meekly.

“Don’t think of it as killing me.” The Princess takes a couple steps forward, and Smitten scrambles a couple steps back. Their dance as such is cut short by Smitten hitting the back wall of the basement, allowing the Princess to catch up to him and pick up the blade. “It’s not like I’ll stay dead. Now get up.” She tosses the blade at his feet. It lodges, tip-first, in the stone floor.

He’s going to die here a second time. He’s going to die because he couldn’t bring himself to give the Princess what she wanted. That’s not right. He’s supposed to give the Princess what she wants, but what she wants is supposed to be freedom, and—

The Princess’s fist smashes into the wall where Smitten’s head would have been if he hadn’t thrown himself the rest of the way to the ground. As it is, some of his feathers float lazily through the air as a reminder of what might happen to the rest of him if he can’t keep this up.

He tugs the blade out of the ground as the Princess turns for another strike, and stands to face her. He’s going to die again. She’s going to kill him, and he’s going to deserve it. He’s supposed to be giving her what she wants, because she’s always right, but…

The Princess is always right. If she thinks they can’t die, if she thinks that him trying to kill her is fun, well, she probably knows better than him.

He lashes out with the blade, carving a stripe up the Princess’s arm. She swings at him, fist colliding with his shoulder. Something that probably isn’t supposed to go pop goes pop. He strikes back, this time burying his blade in the Princess’s chest, somewhere in the vicinity of her heart.

The Princess steps back, laughing, the sound wetter than it should be. She grasps the handle of the blade and tosses it back.

Smitten catches it. Then he drops it again as his injured arm decides it’s had enough of its current working conditions and falls limp. The Princess pretends not to notice as he reaches down to pick it back up.

“See? Isn’t this so much more fun than talking?” the Princess asks once they’re face-to-face again.

“I suppose,” Smitten says, unable to get another word out as the Princess launches herself towards him.

He lashes out with the blade again and again, barely deflecting each of her attacks with stripes of red carved across her arms. The Princess’s fists connect as often as not—there’s a crunch as she lands a blow on his ribcage, then a snap as his already-injured arm is well and fully put out of commission, then a squelch that was probably some crucial organ.

He’s going to die here. That’s fine. The Princess said it would be fine.

She steps back as though meaning for her next punch to be her last. “Are you sure you’re really trying to kill me?” she taunts. “You’re not just trying to postpone your own death?”

Smitten tries to answer, to say, No, of course not, I would never dare to imagine going against your wishes, but something is very, very broken in the parts of him in charge of speaking, and all he manages to do is inhale blood.

The Princess seems to notice. “I’d say you’ve only got a few seconds left this time around. Why don’t you make them count?” She holds out her arms. “Go on. Stab me—unless your heart isn’t in it.”

My heart… is always… in everything. Smitten raises the blade with his remaining arm, steadying it as much as he can. I hope this makes you happy. He brings it down with as much force as he can muster, right over her heart.

Then he falls, and none of his limbs opt to catch him.

The Princess continues to stand over him, unfazed even by the blade in her heart. Assuming it even made it to her heart.

Her sitting down beside him is the last thing he sees as his vision fades to a sort of reddish black. “Were you even trying to kill me?” she asks, followed by, “No. You were.” There’s a sound like she’s leaning back against the basement wall. “You’re no good at this. Even if you come back with the passion you had at the end, you still won’t be able to kill me.”

He says nothing, of course. He’s not sure he can even fully understand what she’s saying.

“You’re not meant to be here,” she continues. “If you were meant to be here, you’d be meant to fight me. And you’re obviously not meant to fight anyone.” Her hand lands on his neck, fingers pressing into his feathers as though searching for something. A pulse? Does he still have one of those? “Is there someone else out there who’s meant to be here? Is that what this is?”

If she keeps talking after that, Smitten doesn’t hear any of it. Everything goes dark—darker than it already is—and he dies.

He shoots to his feet before he can take stock of the cabin he’s in. Every piece of it lines up with how it looked the last time, anyway—same pale stone walls, same heavy double doors, same blade on the same metal altar. He grabs the blade without even thinking.

He needs to go back downstairs and apologize. He failed to live up to her wishes. Should he try to make it up to her? Give her the fight she deserves? He did make a promise to her. Or maybe he just thought it. Or thought he thought it. The latter half of the last go-around is a bit fuzzy again.

By the time he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he’s made up his mind. He raises the blade and charges towards the Princess—

—And she catches it before he can close the distance, tip of the blade sinking into the palm of her hand. She twists her wrist, and Smitten’s grip breaks before the blade can wrench free.

“Does your brain just stop working after you’ve been beat up enough?” she asks, tugging the blade out of her hand. There’s a visible hole in the back of it where the tip broke through the other side. “I told you, we’re done here. I’m going to find someone whose heart is actually in this.”

Smitten sputters, still in the process of grasping that the blade is no longer in his hand. “My heart is in this! It would be impossible for me to not put my entire heart into anything I endeavor to accomplish!”

“So I didn’t just disarm you before you could land a hit on me?” The Princess glances at the hole in her hand before tugging on the chains once more. They splinter just as easily this time as they did the previous two. “You’re not cut out for this, loverboy. Stick to writing poetry or whatever it is you’re supposed to do.”

“I can fight!” Smitten follows close behind the Princess as she strides up the stairs. She ducks a little to avoid hitting her horns on the doorway. “If you’ll allow me another chance, I can assure you I will not let you down a third time.”

The Princess glances over her shoulder. “You don’t actually want that.”

“I do! If a fight is what you want, I will gladly—”

She tosses the blade to him, and he fumbles the blood-slicked point of it, barely managing to keep his grip. “You’re just saying that because you think it’s what I want to hear. And it is. Just not from someone who’s lying.”

Smitten extracts his hands from the blade, looking around in vain for something to wipe his hands on that isn’t his own cape. He settles for smearing the excess blood across the cabin wall. “I would never lie to you.”

“Oh?” the Princess asks, eyes glinting. “If you’re so honest, then tell me: Was it fun?”

Of course it was fun. The Princess said it was, and it clearly was for her, and anything that makes the Princess happy is good enough for him. Right?

“I’ve… had more enjoyable experiences,” he finally admits.

She nods and turns her attention to wrenching the outer door open. It’s not as heavy-seeming as the ones to the basement, but maybe that’s just because she’s so much larger than him. It’s not as though he ever tried to open it himself. “There’s more of you, right?” she asks.

“Yes. Several.”

“Then there’s someone out there who doesn’t have to lie when he says he gets it.” The Princess steps back from the door. “Let’s go find him already.”

Smitten nods. “Certainly. Say, before we leave, you wouldn’t happen to have a name?”

She looks over her shoulder. “Adversary. You?”

“Smitten. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

The Adversary scoffs. “Suits you. Come on.”

They don’t get more than a step into the outside world before freezing again.

Everything is… meat. The cabin sits atop a hill of smooth skin that collapses into fleshy lumps of meat at its base, and the path, instead of packed dirt or smooth stones, looks more like the bones of a spine. In place of trees, clawed fingers reach from the ground, meat bared to the world and webs of translucent meat strung between their knobby bones. Smitten can’t resist glancing at his own hands and noting the similarity.

“So. Meat,” the Adversary begins. “Not normal.”

“No,” Smitten agrees. “Meat is most certainly not normal.”

The Adversary takes a few steps forward, hooves sinking into the meat with an array of smushes and slushes and squishes and sounds that can scarcely be put into writing. Smitten follows suit.

He can feel the meat between his toes. Also sticking to the bottoms of his feet, and wrapping above his feet. It’s very squishy.

There’s little reprieve from the meat. If he tries to pull his attention away from the sensations beneath his feet, there’s the sound to worry about. If he ignores the sound, there’s the smell of blood filling the air. And that’s to say nothing of the sight—the only place he can look without finding meat is the back of the Adversary’s head.

At least his focus on her means he notices when she suddenly stops walking, and he’s saved the embarrassment of crashing into her. He still almost does, losing his footing on the meat for a second before she catches him.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

She points across the meat. “That’s another one of you, right?”

Smitten follows her arm to the horizon. She’s right. Between a pair of meat hands is a figure wearing a long, black cloak, veil hiding his face at this distance. Next to him is a smaller figure, with a dress and a tail flicking behind her.

He can’t be sure about the second figure, but he certainly recognizes the first.

The two figures pause, clearly having noticed them at the same time. The shorter one turns to the taller as though saying something, but Smitten has no intention of giving them enough time for him to be the one to approach.

He strides across the meat, for once able to ignore every sensory detail of the stuff, and soon comes face-to-face with the worst one of the bunch.

Cold tilts his head to one side. “Oh. You’ve escaped. Good job.”

Leading with sarcasm, is he? Smitten has no intention of allowing him to have his way. He grips the front of Cold’s cloak and shoves him against the nearest meat hand. “I’m more surprised you didn’t leave your Princess rotting in the basement,” he growls. “Are you just toying with her? Does she know what sort of monster you really are?”

The Princess that was with Cold glances between him and Smitten, brow furrowed as though trying to figure out what to say.

“Ha! And here I thought you weren’t a fighter.” The Adversary seems to have no such issues. “Looks like there’s one person you’re supposed to fight.” She steps up behind him with a squelsh—she’s so tall she doesn’t have to strain to get a good look at Cold’s face. “Don’t know if it’s the same way for him, though.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Cold levels his gaze with Smitten’s, still not bothering to struggle against him. “If he actually followed through on his promises, I might be interested in seeing them play out.”

Smitten tightens his grip. “I am no liar. You would do well to mark what I say—I will drag you into the depths of my misery and leave you there to drown.”

“Been there. Done that.”

The other Princess seems to have finally snapped. “Would one of you shut up and explain what you’re talking about?”

Cold shrugs. “It’s not that interesting.”

“Not that interesting?” Smitten shoves him further into the meat with a wet smeesh. “You murdered my true love in cold blood. And so I took my revenge.”

“Was that really intended to be revenge? I thought it was just an attempt at reuniting with your ‘true love.’ Did you think I would mind being stabbed?”

Has he no limit to his insults? “Perhaps I hoped it would snap you into something capable of sympathy.”

The Princess sighs. “We get it. His brain is broken. Can you cut it out now so we can go somewhere with less meat?”

Fine. In the interest of the Princess being allowed to go somewhere with less meat, Smitten releases his grip on Cold’s cloak. Cold remains suspended on the meat hand for a moment, making no move to extract himself, before he peels off its surface with a long, drawn out squueeemch and lands on his knees with a pair of squishes.

“Sticky,” he observes, then stands (with a pair of ssspops) and turns back to the meat hand. “I wonder—”

“Nope! Not going through this again!” The other Princess grabs Cold by the arms and yanks him away from the meat hand. “Let’s go! We’re leaving!”

The Princess leads the procession, dragging Cold behind her despite his weak protests (“One couldn’t kill me, could it?”). Smitten follows close behind.

“If I may, could you tell me your name?” he asks the Princess. “My own is Smitten, and this—” he indicates the Adversary, who is currently trailing at the back of the pack— “is the Adversary.”

“We’re doing names now?” The Princess wrinkles her nose. “Witch is fine.”

Is she… surprised he’s asking for her name? No, of course she is. Of course Cold would never extend such a courtesy. “I’m guessing he hasn’t bothered to make a proper introduction? Allow me to correct such a grave error. This is—”

“I’m Cold,” says Cold.

The Witch turns to stare at him. “Really? In that cloak?”

“He means it as his name,” Smitten explains. “Though I’m not surprised he didn’t bother to adequately clarify.”

Before any arguments can start up again, the Adversary cuts in. “Do you two know where we’re going?”

The Witch shrugs. “Not really. We were following a river, but then it started to look like blood and he—” she jerks her thumb in Cold’s direction— “started asking me how I thought it’d taste, so I dragged him away from it. Now we’re just heading anywhere that isn’t made of meat. Unless you have a better idea?”

“No. Anywhere that isn’t meat is fine. Besides, now we know there really are other people out there.” Smitten hazards a glance back to see that the Adversary’s face has split into a sharp-toothed grin. “Which means there’s someone out there I can fight.”

The Witch whirls around so sharply Smitten fears she may have given herself whiplash. “What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Smitten tunes out the remainder of the discussion. He’s already heard it all. He doesn’t need a second reminder.

#slay the princess #outside context problem #voice of the smitten #the adversary #and surprise guests #stp fanfic

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