I'm just the witch idea went well (love the drawing!) I have another idea, but it's lengthy: A terrible blizzard hit England once, and PJ's mother remembered that snakes were cold-blooded. She ordered PJ to bring Hiss to a fireplace and cover him in a bunch of blankets. Then, as Hiss recovers, she explains to PJ what being cold-blooded means.

THE BLESSED ANON IS BACK-

I actually love this so much, England is a cold place so I'd imagine Hiss would struggle in winter

Thankfully he has a nice cozy basket to help him through it ^-^

jonmartin for 13? :)

i have absolutely no restraint and cannot write anything short im so sorry. this is a mag 102 au where martin finds out jon was kidnapped sooner. warning for discussion of this kidnapping as depicted in the episode, and the aftermath of recovering from this. also here on ao3.

13. things you said at the kitchen table

In the end, it's Melanie who tells Martin Jon's been kidnapped. Catches him in the break room, irritated and banging around the mugs, and she drops it into a sentence like it's something casual to be communicated. Oh yeah, Jon's back. Guess he's been kidnapped or something, and something sharp presses into Martin's chest, something like urgency. He's pushed his way out of his chair and halfway towards the door in a blind sort of franticness before Melanie catches him by the arm. "He's fine, you know," she says. "He looks… I mean, he doesn't look good, but he…"

"A month, " says Martin, feeling sick. "A month, he's been gone, and we… we didn't…"

"We didn't know, " Melanie says annoyedly, but there's a tiny pinprick of guilt in her voice, too. "He… he wasn't here before. You know that."

Right, Martin thinks, because you're probably the person he talked to most before he disappeared, and then he immediately feels guilty. Jon's been kidnapped, and he's… he's just… "Where is he?" he says, softer this time. (The bite's still in his voice, a little bit. He isn't sure who to be furious at, but it's hard not to be under the circumstances.) "Has… has he left?"

"Uh… no, I don't think so," says Melanie. "He… he said he was going to go lie down."

Martin knows, immediately, where he is, and he tries not to wince at it; he remembers sleeping there every night, scared out of his mind on that little cot, he doesn't know how Jon stands it. "I'm going to go check on him," he says. "I… he shouldn't… I'm going to go check."

Melanie lets go of his arm. "I think Elias knew," she says darkly. "Jon said it and he didn't even bat an eye. He knew, and he didn't tell us."

Something twists in Martin, something that he pushes aside—doesn't matter, not yet, all that matters right now is making sure Jon is all right. He nods a little, at Melanie, and then he pushes out of the break room and down towards the office. Tim is out for the day (not surprising), and Basira is reading at her desk; she doesn't look up when Martin comes through. Martin goes to the storage room where the cot is, where he knows it still is, and raps his knuckles quietly on the door frame before opening the door. 

Jon jumps, when Martin enters, in a way that instantly makes Martin shrink back with guilt. He's huddled on the cot, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and he looks awful. Thinner, hair shaggier than when Martin saw him last. He looks exhausted, leaning towards the wall like he needs it to hold him up, and his arms are wrapped around himself in a protective sort of way. "... Martin?" he says, voice thin, and Martin honestly can't tell if he's happy to see him or not. 

"... Hi," Martin says, honestly not sure what to say. (What do you say in a situation like this?)  He chews at his lower lip, reaching for what to say— Are you all right doesn't seem appropriate, when Jon is so clearly not, but it's what he comes up with, his voice shaking a little when he asks it. 

Jon laughs, bitter, and uncoils his arms from around himself, relaxing a little. "Honestly? Honestly, not really, Martin. I… it's been…" He lifts a hand to press against his forehead; his sleeves fall down and Martin winces, immediately, at the red marks on his wrist, where he must've been restrained. "It's… it's, uh, really good to see you, Martin," he adds, softly. 

Martin presses a hand to his mouth, just for a minute; he's torn, he doesn't want Jon to see him upset, not when he's… "Melanie… told me," he tries. "What you… and I didn't… Jon, I'm so sorry. We had no idea, I… I swear, if we'd known, we would've…" 

Jon sits up a little straighter, something flashing in his eyes. "Hey… hey, no, Martin, it's… i-it wasn't your fault, it's all right, it's… t-there was no way to find me, and I hadn't really been… around before then, and it…" He breaks off his words, clutching a little harder at the blanket. "... Elias didn't deem it worth telling anyone," he adds, with a wry laugh. 

Martin takes a few steps closer, trying his damndest not to fall apart (at the fact that Jon looks like this, that Jon's been gone a month, that Jon is somehow trying to comfort him when he's…). "You aren't… d-did they hurt you?" he asks, uncertain who they even are. 

Jon flinches a little, looks down at his feet. "No, n-not… not really. I… not, um…" He laughs a little again, a hollow sound. "I'm just so tired. "

Martin stops, a few feet away; he thinks about touching Jon, some sign of comfort, a hand on his shoulder or—but no, that wouldn't be—he can't do that, not when Jon's just been kidnapped, it's probably the last thing he wants, to be abruptly touched. He does what he can do, instead; he says, "Jon, d-do you have anywhere… er, there's a… there's a reason you're staying here, isn't there? Wh-what about your friend you were staying with, could you go back there?"

Jon immediately, vehemently shakes his head. "I-I can't go back. Not if, n-not after… th-they came there before, they found me there, and if I go back… I-I told Georgie I'd leave. I can't bring her into this. I can't. If they came back…" 

"Okay," says Martin. "Okay, that's…" He crouches a little, feeling awkward as he does it, but he can't shake this feeling of—of looming over Jon. "Y-you can't stay here, Jon. This cot is horrible, i-it's… it's not a place for recovery, it's…"

"I'm going to find a place," Jon says softly. "I just… I need to sleep. First." 

"You shouldn't stay here, though," says Martin, "not after… you need a bed, a real bed, Jon. I…" He stops, halfway considers for a second. Starts again, because what else is he going to do? "C-come stay with me."

Jon looks up, shocked, but he doesn't immediately protest, so Martin continues: "Sleep on a real bed, recover, j-just until you're… I mean, my bed isn't great, but it's better than a cot, especially after…" He stops. He doesn't know what to say. "Just… you deserve something better than that, right now," he tries. 

Jon shakes his head, just a little. "Martin, I can't. I… i-if they came for me again, then you would…"

"I don't care," Martin says, firmer this time. (If Jon doesn't want to come back with him, fine, but he won't let that be the reason.)

"Martin, i-if anything were to happen, i-if you got caught in the crosshairs, I'd…"

"Really, Jon, I don't care. I'm not going to let them take you again, so you can put that thought out of your mind." Martin adjusts his position—it's uncomfortable, squatting like this, but making sure Jon feels safe is more important. (If it's even helping at all.) "You said you didn't want to put your friend in danger because she's out of this, right? Well—I'm in this. Pretty far into it, at this point, there's no getting out of it. So it doesn't matter. Okay?"

Jon worries at the edge of the blanket with his overlong nails. "... I… wouldn't want to impose…"

"You're not, Jon. I'm offering." Jon's still quiet. Martin shifts back into a standing position, because it really is uncomfortable, going slow; he adds, "It's the least I can do. Please."

Jon's hands are shaking. Martin can see it, now, and it's hard to watch; he's pushed a lot of fury back, just watching Jon now, still without any idea what's happened. "A—all right," Jon says quietly, finally, and his voice is thick, like he might cry. "Okay. Thank you. Thank you, Martin." And Martin feels a flood of relief at this, that Jon might be, at least, somewhat safe in his flat. 

---

They take a cab home. The Tube seems like it would be a lot. Jon really is exhausted, huddled up in an old coat despite the warm weather, leaning against the window in the back of the car. Martin shows him the bath and the bedroom, when they get home, says, "Let me know if you need anything," and leaves him alone. It feels like the right thing to do.

Martin stays in the living room. The anger begins to rise to the surface, then, coming out in bursts of nervous pacing and muttering (quietly, of course; he's had lots of practice with that, with Mum). He's furious at whoever took Jon (he isn't sure who, but he has a sneaking suspicion it's connected to the Unknowing), more furious at Elias for not telling them. He's going to say something this time, he thinks—march up there and give Elias a piece of his mind, or, or draft a furious email—and Martin has to stop there because it's all starting to sound ridiculous. He's going to say something now? He didn't say something when they found out Sasha died, when Elias told them that they were all trapped, but he's going to say something now? It sounds ridiculous, it does, and what would saying something do? Jon's back now, more or less safe, and there's nothing he can do now—no charging, triumphant rescues, nothing like that, all he can do is offer Jon his bathroom, somewhere safe to sleep. Shouting at Elias won't do a thing. 

(Martin wants to do something. He should've said something for Sasha, and he thinks he'll regret that forever, but if he couldn't then… well, he wants to have the courage to say something for Jon. But he doesn't. For some horrible reason, he can't.)

Jon sleeps for over fifteen hours, all afternoon and into the night. Martin sleeps on the couch. (He goes into the room to get the extra blanket and a change of clothes, and for a moment, he worries he'll wake Jon, but he must be quiet enough. Jon doesn't wake; he makes a strained sound in his sleep and turns over, curling in protectively on himself, but he doesn't wake up. Martin wants to go over there, kneel by the bed and hold Jon's hand, climb into bed and hold Jon and make sure he isn't hurt again. He doesn't. He doesn't have that with Jon, and now isn't the time, he can't scare Jon, make him uncomfortable, he has to leave Jon alone.) Jon's still asleep when Martin wakes hours later, tangled in his blanket on the couch, restless and on alert. He stares at the front door, tensing like he expects someone to come in (someone coming back for Jon), but nothing does. The apartment stays quiet. 

Martin gets up to make tea. It's still early, still dark outside, but he can't go back to sleep, he can't relax. He puts on the kettle and sits at the table, opens a packet of biscuits to munch on absently. Something to do. Something to do besides sit and think. 

The door creaks, abruptly, and Martin's head shoots up to see Jon, leaving the bedroom, looking dwarfed in one of Martin's rumpled jumpers. He looks at Martin with a tired sort of tentativeness and says, "Hi," softly.

"Hi, Jon," says Martin, his own voice too soft. "How… how did you sleep?"

Jon rubs at his throat, an absent sort of motion, and pads across the floor to the table. "I… well, actually. Very well. Best… best sleep I've had in a month." 

Martin's heart breaks a little, and he pretends it doesn't. Jon motions to the empty chair beside him and says,  "Do you mind if I…"

"No, no, of course not," says Martin quickly. "... D'you want some tea?"

A funny look passes over Jon's face as he sits and he says, "Yes. Yes, I… tea sounds amazing, Martin."

Martin gets up to get out another mug, to get out the milk and sugar. "I can make you something to eat, too," he says, and immediately feels horrible for not suggesting it earlier. (He doesn't want to speculate about when Jon's last eaten.) " Christ, why didn't I… I'm so sorry, Jon, you must be starving. I should've…"

"Don't, Martin, it's… I-I'm fine," says Jon. "Honestly, I… I-I can eat in a little bit, I'm not really hungry."

Martin bites his lower lip too hard and grimaces at the sudden burst of pain. "Okay," he murmurs. "Just… let me know when you're ready."

"I will," says Jon. 

There's silence for a few moments aside from Martin puttering around the tiny kitchen. It feels strangely domestic in a way that Martin isn't used to; he hasn't lived with anyone since Mum. He and Jon have shared meals before—they did it often, before Jon went on the run because they'd thought he was a murderer—and Martin's made him tea a dozen times, but it's never like… this. Quiet and natural, like they've done it a dozen times. Jon's staring down at the table, tracing a pattern cut into the top with an absent finger; he's shivering, in his chair, and Martin makes a mental note to turn on the heat. And then the kettle goes off, a sharp sound in the silent room, and Jon's jumping, jolting nearly out of his chair with huge, panicked eyes. 

"Sorry, sorry!" Martin says in a rush, reaching to yank the kettle off the eye. "Sorry—I-I forgot it was there."

"I-i-it's all right," Jon says. He's tensed against the table, his palms pressed to the top, like he's waiting for a bomb to go off, but he looks at Martin and he says, "Just a… little on edge, b-but really, it's fine."

Martin's chest aches as he fixes the tea. All of him aches, a guilt he can't really put his finger on—he didn't notice Jon was gone, he couldn't go after him, and now he can't even get to the kettle quick enough to keep from scaring Jon out of his wits. He doesn't say anything, though, besides another murmured, "Sorry," as he passes Jon the mug, and sits back down beside him. 

Jon holds onto the mug with both hands, like he expects to be pulled away, inhales a bit before taking a drink. "I've… missed your tea, Martin," he says quietly, stiltedly, like it's difficult to say. "All this time." 

Martin blinks in genuine surprise at that—all this time, and he's wondered before if Jon was just tolerating the daily cups. "You're joking," he says with disbelief. 

"I'm not," says Jon—and it's stunningly familiar, that tone of voice. He smiles a little down into the mug. "Haven't had a decent cup since February—Georgie's a coffee drinker."

"The audacity, " Martin snorts, theatrically, some small attempt to keep Jon smiling like that. 

"Yes, well—that's what I told her," says Jon, still with that halfway smile. He looks up at Martin abruptly, and something shifts on his face, almost—almost guilt of his own, which makes no sense. He says, "Martin, I've… I've taken your bed, haven't I? You… you should've said something."

"No, I shouldn't have, and I won't," says Martin firmly. "I didn't bring you here to sleep on the couch, Jon, for god's sake. The bed is yours."

"Sleeping on a couch won't kill me, Martin—"

"And it won't kill me either. You're not talking me out of this, Jon."

"A couch would be an improvement over that cot— anything would be. I shouldn't have…" That same look passes over Jon's face: that something resembling guilt. "I should never have made you stay there," he nearly whispers. "For months on that cot, after what you'd…"

"Jon, don't," Martin says, and he reaches out suddenly, to cover Jon's hand where it lays on the table. Jon looks up at that, as if he's startled, and Martin yanks his hand back, but he doesn't bring it too far; he leaves it there, hovering just above Jon's. " Don't ," he says. "I-it was a long time ago, and it was… I didn't mind staying there, I wasn't… you gave me a way out, and I-I appreciated that. I still do, Jon. So don't, please. Don't beat yourself up over that."

"I should've offered you better," says Jon, something like disgust in his tone. "I should've… there are so many things I should've done better."

Well—he isn't wrong, Martin thinks, but—but there's a dozen things they both should've done better, and now isn't the time to discuss them all, so Martin just says, "Don't," again. "Please. You don't have to… it's okay. It is. " And after a moment, Jon nods. He hasn't moved his hand away, but Martin feels odd, leaving his hovering there, so he just pulls it back.

They drink tea in silence for a few minutes. It's a pleasant silence, one that, under different circumstances, Martin might allow himself to hope for every day. It's several long moments before Jon speaks again, his voice rasping and small—he says, "It was the Circus. That took me. T-the one we've been looking for, planning the ritual. They'd… they planned it, they were watching me and they came."

Martin tries not to flinch, tries to ignore what feels like his insides grinding themselves together. Jon keeps talking after a moment; he says, "They… they wanted my skin. For the ritual. They… kept me for that, so they could… skin me. They were waiting for that."

Martin can't stop the words this time, when they push their way out; he says, "Oh, Christ, " like air being pushed out of him, like a sucker punch. He says, "Jon…" and his voice breaks, too, and something inside of him rips when Jon looks back at him, when he looks as if he might cry. 

"Um, Martin," he says, and he inclines his head tentatively towards Martin. "Do you mind… um, if I…"

His arms go out to the side a bit, and it's then that Martin realizes what Jon's asking for. He nods, immediately, and opens his arms, and Jon leans forward and into him so quickly that Martin wonders if he was waiting. 

Martin folds his arms around Jon gently, tentatively (one hand cupping the back of his head); he wants to cling, wants to hold Jon tight enough that nothing else would be able to take him, but he's afraid to hold on too tight. Jon, though, clings hard, his grip tight, his fingers digging desperately into the back of Martin's shirt. So Martin tightens his grip, and leans his head against Jon's, and lets Jon expel shaky breaths into his shoulder. He rubs tiny circles into Jon's back, murmurs, It's okay, it's okay now, and desperately wills it to be true. 

Minutes or hours later—it is impossible to be sure—Jon whispers, "Thank you," into Martin's shirt. He whispers it with a sort of finalty, but he makes no move to pull back. So Martin keeps holding him. 

"Jon… I'm so sorry," he says softly. "I'm so sorry. I… i-if I'd known. I swear, I would've come for you if I'd known." 

Jon takes another shuddering breath and looks up at him. His eyes are wet. There's something in his expression Martin can't quite place… reassurance, maybe. Or trust. "I know," he says. "Martin, I-I know you would've. I know." 

They sit there for a while longer, just like that, holding onto each other at Martin's kitchen table. 

oh my gosh i loved soft so much!!!

if i could perhaps request a remus lupin fluff, maybe with similar vibes to the sirius one you wrote ! young!remus x fem!reader

maybe after the full moon he convinces madam prince to let him leave the hospital wing early, and he goes up to y/n (ravenclaw)‘s room, ending similarly to your one before if that’s possible :) very soft !! thank you so much my love!

Remus Lupin X Ravenclaw!Reader

A/N: thank you for your request babe! You’re the first :) I’m really sorry this took so long, I’ve been in a slump :( Also thank you for requesting Remus because his birthday was this month and I cried all day :,) love him so much my sweet boy!! Also also thank you for requesting ravenclaw reader because that is all i know how to write :)  kisses to you i adore you thank you :* Also also also I Might write one similar to this and Soft about James potter just to complete the trio :) Requests are open for The Marauders right now, though I’m willing to write someone else if you want just ask :) 

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff dude call your dentist, a few physical descriptions? Glasses and longish hair and pajamas, reader being the absolute softest love of my life, sad Remus being anxious, reader is head girl bc that’s what I am when I shift so its all I know sorry, use of she/her pronouns, use of the nickname bunny bc I’m obsessed, this long speech about soulmates, food and eating mention, pretty freaking long sorry I got carried away I just love remus so much

Word count: 2801

enjoy :)

Remus was tired.

Madam Pomfrey had told him it would be a good idea to stay in the hospital wing at least one more night, to assure he get the rest he so desperately needed. Despite loving and caring about Madam Pomfrey, Remus was beginning to become claustrophobic in the tiny bed he was ridden to whilst staying there. He asked kindly, quietly, if she would be so kind as to give him the potions he should need and let him go to his own bed. She had made him promise to come to her immediately if anything were to happen, and with a less than convincing smile and a sarcastically cheery “Of course I’d come to you Pomfrey, you’re only the best,” she let him go. 

The walk to his dorm was slow. He was having no physical pain, apart from the dulled ache in his bones, yet he felt like he weighed a thousand pounds, and his bag was a thousand more. He trudged through the hall, hoping no one was in the dorm right now. It was unlikely, at almost noon on a Saturday he doubted his friends would be inside their room still. Remus loved his friends, more than he loved most things, but the thought of seeing them now was nerve wracking. He wasn’t in the right mindset to listen to them talk about a new prank plan, or a new sneaking out plan, or how lovely Lily’s eyes are, or how good their last shag was. Remus loved his friends, but he needed quiet. He needed a good book, a chocolate bar and a cozy sweater. 

The dorm was empty when he got there. He felt guilty for feeling relieved, for feeling part of the weight leave his shoulders because his friends were absent, but he also knew they would understand. They were good people, good friends who cared about him and his problems. Remus had been working on his guilt, telling himself that these people caring about him was a good thing that he shouldn’t feel bad about putting them through the things he does, that they do it because they love him and whatever issues he comes with. He hadn’t believed it yet, but he kept saying it.

He flopped face down onto his bed, dropping his bag to the floor and wincing when he remembered his book was in there. His bed felt nice compared to the cot in the hospital wing, a soft knit blanket James’ mom made him for christmas and cozy pillows she bought all the boys for their birthdays. Remus loved James’ mom, loved how she included him in their family events, loved how after Sirius moved in with the Potter’s she called Remus her son too. He had spent lots of holidays with them, sleeping in a guest room that just happened to have photos of all of Remus’ friends and posters of music he liked, a seemingly homemade bookshelf with James and Sirius’ initials carved in it. Sirius said when he first moved into the Potter’s his room was magically decorated too, and that Remus shouldn’t think too hard about how or why it happened. He knew it was his friends, brothers seemed like more of an appropriate title at this point, but he didn’t say anything for their sake. It was a sweet gesture, it made Remus cry a bit the first summer he spent there, so he let them have it.

Getting out of bed was a tough feat, but he needed a shower. He opened his trunk, grabbed his biggest sweater and favorite sweats, and headed for the shower. Remus loved showering. It was one of his favorite parts of the day. The warmth, the scent of his soap flooding the entire room, the steam dulling his senses down. It was calming, never failed to relieve his shoulders of some of what they were carrying. He relished the moments alone, relished in the sound of the water hitting the tile, the water hitting his skin, and even though he loved his friends, he relished the privacy. He didn’t get much of that anymore.

He towel dried his hair, making it messier than usual. He waited to put his sweater on, walking around in just his sweats, waiting for his skin to lose it’s pink hue from the heat of the water. He laid back onto his bed, facing the ceiling this time, and made an extensive to do list in his head. He missed 2 days of school because of the full moon, and getting caught up was something he wanted to do before laying in bed and reading all day like he planned. He also decided he should probably eat something of sustenance, other than chocolate bars and the terrible oatmeal Pomfrey served for breakfast. A trip to the kitchens was due, perhaps before studying so he could get some brain food. He also wanted to ask Professor McGonnagal about changing his prefect rounds. Telling third years to stop snogging in the halls after curfew gets tiring after a while. When he had his plan, he stood up off the bed. He put his sweater on and put his hands through his hair a few times to tame the mess. He picked his bag up, taking out some things and putting in some others. He decided he would do homework at his desk in the room, go and get some food and come right back. Nodding to himself and his plan, he put his shoes on and left the dorm. 

He had a bit more of a light step after his shower, feeling as if he washed most of his stress off. The trip to the kitchens was routine at this point. Sneaking in was muscle memory, after doing it for so long. It was a little difficult without James’ cloak, but he survived just fine. He made himself toast, spreading jam across the bread, and looked through the cabinets for some hot chocolate. He sat on the counter to eat, criss cross, right next to the sink. He thought about the elves that worked in the kitchen, how much they did. The ones who cleaned Hogwarts too, they did a lot for him, probably more than he was even aware of. It was a different kind of affection, unknown, prescribed almost. It was nice to think about. 

He stopped at the library on his way back to his room, wanting to get an extra book as a source for his herbology essay. He stopped to talk to Madam Pince, asked her about a book he had heard Sirius talk about, and went to find it and his herbology book. He found them quite quickly, Remus has come to know the library like the back of his hand. He put them both in his bag after checking out, and went to head back to his dorm, and then he heard James and some friends yelling across the hall. A guilt filled Remus again, he loved James, loved him like family, but he didn’t feel like he could handle the attention, the loud voices. As James got closer, Remus felt stuck again. The claustrophobic feeling that caused him to beg Pomfrey to let him leave the hospital wing a day early. He walked quietly, tiptoed across the hall, and when he was sure he had gone unseen he went the opposite direction of the Gryffindor dorms.

He ended up at the Ravenclaw tower door. His feet taking him here was inevitable really. He usually ended up here on a rough day. Today wasn’t too bad, he’d be the first to admit. It wasn’t great though.

“What has hands, but cannot hold anything?” Out of all the things Remus loved about the Ravenclaw tower, the Eagle spouting riddles at him when he just wants in is not one of them. He shifted his weight between his legs, picked at his nails for a minute, his bottom lip next. Terrible anxious habits that he cannot help, he looked at his watch for the time. Half past two.

“A clock.” The door opened slowly, revealing the Ravenclaw common room to him slowly. Bookshelves to the ceiling, constellations on the ceiling, soft piano music playing on a charmed record player, Remus loved it here. He usually would relish longer, stare at the stars, browse the books, try to figure out what song is playing, but he was still breathing shallow from his near death encounter with James across the hall. He wrung his hands, cracking his knuckles and twisting his fingertips as he walked up the staircase to the girls dorms. The charm for the Ravenclaw girls dorm stairs fell quickly from his lips, almost half way up by the time he completed it. He knew the way to the head girl's room by heart, down the hall straight until the last left door. He stood there for a moment, toe to wood, hand itching to knock. 

Remus suddenly felt insecure. He knew she would be happy to see him, her smile would be just as soft as he needs and she would say the perfect words, just like she always did. When he finally knocked the door opened very quickly, opening to a shy smile, and the top of a head.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” Her smile was small, and her voice was barely above a whisper. She had a warmth about her, the way she looked at him, it warmed up his whole body. She opened the door wide enough for him to step in and shut it right behind him. She was wearing an old t-shirt, some band that her cousin liked and grew out of, blue pajama shorts, and socks with little rabbits all over them that Sirius bought her for christmas last year when she visited the Potter’s. Her hair was down, messy as if she were laying on it, and her glasses were crooked. She looked pretty, in a realistic way. The kind of pretty that makes Remus want to make her a cup of hot chocolate, lay in her bed, and stare at her for hours. 

“Pomfrey wrote me a note that you left early, ‘was waiting for you t’come see me.” Remus stared at her, her soft smile making his resolve break easily. This always happened, he went to her broken and she was perfect and helped him fix himself. She always knew just what to say, as if she could read his mind. He wouldn’t be surprised if she could.

“Jus’ felt bad today, ‘s all bun.” His voice was quieter than he intended. He wanted to tell her everything, the claustrophobia he had been feeling all day, the dread that swallowed him when he saw James. He wanted to tell her he was sorry for this becoming a routine, showing up to her dorm needing her glue to put him back together. Remus swallowed, bouncing on the heels of his feet, and blew air out of his cheeks. “I ate though, made some toast, and I took my potion from Pomfrey before I showered, so I don’t hurt.” He smiled softly as he said it. Full moons were hard, and Remus often neglected to take care of himself after them. Telling her he had made a point to care for himself meant everything.

“‘S a good start isn’t it? Maybe we could read a bit? Got that book you wanted me to read, thought maybe you’d want to read it with me?” There were few good things in Remus’ life. He had been dealt a poor hand from an early age. But this, his girl, smiling at him so tenderly, made it all better. This made it all worth every ounce of pain he had ever felt. 

“Can we cuddle, bunny? ‘M quite tired.” Remus pouted, looking at her with the absolute worst case of puppy dog eyes she had ever seen. She had to bite her lip to stifle her giggle, she got to love the most cutest boy in the whole world. (Y/N) grabbed Remus’ hands and pulled him to her bed. She made him sit down while she went to grab the book, and when she returned she noticed he had taken his sweater off. Remus always liked skin on skin contact, once Sirius had told him no matter how much his love language is quality time, it would always be squashed by his need for physical touch. For a while Sirius’ comment made Remus insecure, like he was clingy and annoying, overbearing. But after a long conversation (and a few tears as well) he learned that she loved him, loved holding and touching him, that it made her feel the same way it made him feel. Safe, connected, warm, and loved. 

“Y’wanna lay on me, sweet boy?” Remus broke out of his daydream, nodding his head enthusiastically. She didn’t bother hiding her giggle this time, jumping onto the bed and patting her belly. Remus wrapped his arms around her waist, shoving his nose as deep into her shirt as physically possible. Her hands wound around his shoulders, rubbing his shoulder blades and mid back. The absolute bliss Remus felt was indescribable, if this was a dream he never wanted to wake up. 

Remus sat up slightly, resting his chin on (Y/N)’s stomach, looking at her with complete adoration. He stared for a while, tracing her features with his eyes. Her hands were running through his hair now, scratching the back of his neck and softly pulling the strands on the top.  She ran her fingers across his cheeks lightly, mumbling, “‘S goin’ on in that big brain of yours, sweetness?” 

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

He could see her brain working out an answer. Her eyes squinted very slightly, her mouth parted and she ran her fingers down his jaw as she spoke.

“I don’t know. I think it’s silly to think just one person is made perfect for you. I think Sirius was made perfect for you and James, but I don’t think you lads’ll get married. If there were to be soulmates there would be a thousand different kinds. You could be soulmates with the person you marry, and your best friend. And the bloke you sit across from on the train, and the waitress at your favorite restaurant. There is too much love in the world to just limit yourself to one person,” She paused, looking at Remus, dragging her finger down the bridge of his nose and booping the tip, “But if I had to choose one person to give all my love to, one person to be my every kind of soulmate, well I just think I’d pick you, Mr. Remus John.” She ended with a pretty smile, leaning down to kiss his forehead as she started to run her hands through his hair once more. 

Remus was speechless. His eyes were teary, his mouth was opening and closing as his brain screamed at him to just say anything at all, but he couldn’t. All he could do was stare. He grabbed her wrists, holding them against his face, kissing them while he thought of exactly what to say. It was a long while until he said something, just looking into her eyes with such awe. 

“I’d pick you, too, to give all my love to. Already have, honestly.” His face split into a wide, boyish grin. Bad day forgotten, he felt nothing but love and warmth in this moment. No guilt, no insecurity, no weight. If you asked him, he’d probably say he could fly with how light he felt now. 

“Well I’d sure hope so, otherwise it would be quite awkward to have you shirtless in my bed.” Her teasing made him giggle in disbelief, how one person could be so perfect he would never understand. How that same person could love him, choose to care for him and show him love, was an anomaly to him. 

“Now kiss me so I can read to you. I need you well rested as my soulmate.” Remus had never moved so fast. Jumping level to her face, kissing all over her cheeks and lips, making exaggerated kissing noises as she squirmed under him. Her giggles and squeals loudly filled the room, floating around Remus as his hands gripped her waist. He kissed each cheek one more time, leaning his head up to look in her eyes, which were closed from when she was laughing. This was another moment, where Remus forgot all things that weren’t in this space with him. The only thing in the world was her smiling under him, and him feeling utterly delighted to exist, and a few more kisses, too.

(Here’s Grif and Simmons being stupid and not just accepting the fact that they are destined to snuggle)

The first time they slept together had been because they were both wiped-out after running training drills all day; they flopped down in the barracks, intending to head to the showers, but were too tired to get back up again. They landed on a cot… it wasn’t either of their cots, just some cot, but nobody tried to move them, and they fell asleep next to each other, still in their armor. They woke up about 4 hours later, now irritated because they felt gross (no shower), and hungry (no lunch). They didn’t even acknowledge the fact that they had been half-way all over each other, they just got up, muttering and complaining, with Grif stumbling off to find food and Simmons finally going to get clean.

Between then and being sent to Blood Gulch, there was maybe 5 or 6 more times when Grif nodded off sitting next to Simmons while they were supposed to be waiting for orders, or riding in a transport. Simmons would try to shove the other guy off, but Grif always fell back onto him (sometimes nearly crushing him). Once, Simmons had stayed up late re-reading some handbook about how to not get shot, and fell asleep sitting at a desk. Grif had been nearby, pretending to read a different handbook but REALLY sneaking some chocolate snacks he smuggled in. Simmons wound up leaning over, until he was pressed against Grif. Once Grif realized the dude was passed-out, he kind of just shrugged (thinking that Simmons was basically a human-shield to block the view of his snack), and went back to the chocolate.

The next time they slept together was at Red Base, when Grif had fallen asleep in Simmons’ bed and refused to move. Simmons did everything but literally kick him off the mattress (though such a thin little mat of fabric could BARELY be called that). Once again, they were wiped-out from running around all day… Sarge was merciless, and Blood Gulch was hot as hell. Simmons’ bed just happened to be closer to the door than Grif’s, and Grif wasn’t going to take another step. Simmons sat down on the side of his bed next to the wall and tried to roll Grif away… and even that was too much trouble. He’d only managed to make enough space for himself, so he gave up, pulled the only pillow out from under Grif’s head, and scrunched as far away from the bed-stealing a-hole as possible, until Simmons was pressed up to the wall. At least this time, they had both managed to shower first. Later, when they woke up (and discovered that they once again wound up half-way all over each other), Simmons had chewed him out for being so inconsiderate and annoying. Grif simply flipped Simmons off (he was far less concerned about sharing sleeping space, having grown up with a little sister who was always right THERE). A few more times where they were supposed to be keeping a look-out, and Grif would start napping. A few more times where Simmons stayed up too late and then just passed out. Whoever fell asleep first, the other one was always nearby, and somebody would lean against somebody else.

There came an incident at Red Base where they technically slept together… because Grif had been hurt. Badly. Between all the trauma to his body and the blood loss, he nearly died. Thanks to a rushed and risky surgery from Sarge, he didn’t. The main problem was; Sarge had various ways to replace the limbs and organs that were injured or failing, but Grif’s nerves were damaged… his body would reject anything inorganic. If they had better equipment and materials, maybe they could have created something synthetic that would work… but they only had scraps and junk. Simmons knew he and Grif had compatible blood (he had memorized his own medical information, and had seen Grif’s enough times when doing the files for Red Team to remember certain things like this). So, he offered to donate what Grif would need. By working slowly on Simmons, Sarge was able to add the cybernetics bit by bit, and his body accepted them. Before getting knocked-out for the surgery, Simmons asked Sarge not to tell Grif why he was doing this… if Grif knew how dire this had been, it would just be more complicated than it already was. Too sentimental and serious. He didn’t want Grif to feel all… guilty about it, or  read into it too deeply, or... something. Sarge had agreed, and then Simmons slipped off. Grif was unconscious next to him.

The excuse used to explain why this surgery happened the way it did; Simmons was simply more “trustworthy” as a cyborg soldier than Grif. This barely made any sense, but hardly ANYTHING Sarge said did, so it was an accepted answer. Later, Simmons had to deal with being heavier and lop-sided, while Grif had to deal with having mis-matched limbs and feeling light-headed. The metal bits on Simmons pinched painfully and itched where they connected to flesh. Grif’s new arm and leg would sometimes go numb (and freak him out, because what if this meant they were DYING or something?), and sting him with pins and needles when they woke back up. They got used to it, the same way they got used to each other.

Simmons nagged Grif to quit smoking because those were HIS lungs in there (he really just didn’t want Grif to ruin his own breathing again). Grif ignored the nagging for a while… but he started to ease up, and eventually stopped. It was just too much of a hassle to keep getting his hands on cigarettes, and food started tasting better now that he quit. Those were perfectly believable reasons. One evening, when Grif had been dealing with a nic-fit, Simmons helped distract him by playing cards on the floor in their room at Red Base. He didn’t mention that he KNEW Grif was trying to quit (because that might make Grif start smoking again out of spite). They talked for a while, about nothing in particular, and Grif started to settle down. They had pulled some blankets down onto floor with them, and as the hours went by, they went from sitting to being sprawled out next to each other as they talked. Before he could stop it, Grif passed out, dead asleep. Simmons thought about sorting out the cards, putting them away, gathering up his blanket, putting it back on his bed… and had a rare moment of laziness. He stayed on the floor, next to Grif, and slept there too.

After that, there had been more than a dozen different times when they slept together. Some of them had been due to passing out from exhaustion and lack of space. Once or twice, it happened with the excuse of needing to share body-heat (sure, they had been somewhere cold… but there were other ways to keep warm. This had been “easier” though. That was all. Yeah). Occasionally, only one of them was asleep, and the other couldn’t be bothered to move (Grif was heavy- that was the excuse when Simmons was awake. Grif was lazy- that was the excuse when Simmons was asleep). A lot of times, they were in their armor. A few times, they were in fatigues. Very rare incidents involved one of them having what appeared to be a nightmare… and they were already sleeping in the same room, anyway… so the other would simply come over to sit by them, talk to them, help them calm down… and then wind up leaning down to sleep as well. Not that they really cared THAT much. Not that this was anything IMPORTANT. It was just… easier to sleep side-by-side, offering mild comfort to each other (which was NOT special or significant in anyway), than to listen to somebody bitch about being tired the next day. Grif usually would anyway, he was ALWAYS tired, but his bitching sounded extra pathetic when he had been up half the night, dealing with some kind of horror in his own head. Simmons would sometimes still be jumpy in the morning, like whatever freaked him out in his own imagination had followed him into the waking world. It was easier for them both to talk through the night, distract each other, and then just sleep… together.

Hayloft- Ezra x Reader P.4

AN: Part 4 is here!! This week has been hectic, again, so I am sorry that the headcannons never got published, but they will at some point! Anyway I hope you enjoy!!

PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS

Masterlist

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: AFAB reader, descriptions of depression, mentions of death, ATTEMPTED ASSAULT, slight nudity, cleaning (bc cleaning sucks)

The days and weeks following the night in the spare bedroom of the house just passed in a numb blur. Everything had happened that night so quickly that I hadn’t really processed what all had actually gone down in that tiny room until about days later. The first three days I couldn’t tell you anything that had happened, I had purely just been moving on auto-pilot stuck in my head; one thing that I could tell you though is that I didn’t once step out of the house, and barely left my room. My father refused to look at me for at least a week, let alone talk to me in any way. Mealtimes were tense and full of food that just didn’t carry any flavor any more. A few times Anthony had tried to talk to me, but for every word, he said I could only see his mouth moving and for every glance, I gave him only made me see and think of Joshua. Anthony for all his faults knew that I was suffering and he was trying to bring me back from the numb state that I seemed to be stuck in. He started making small comments about something Ezra had said to him during the day’s work after offering to help with the dishes or he would occasionally walk into the house for glasses of water for him, dad, and Ezra and would motion out the window where I would find Ezra himself standing just far enough away that he could meet my eyes and give me a small smile. Anthony even allowed me to make the plates that he took out to the barn for Ezra, and upon returning with the empty plate he would quote Ezra’s praise for the food with an eye roll, trying to act like he didn’t care or was annoyed; he always failed. Though, because he never failed to bring a small smile to my face, which in turn caused him to smile, and for a moment things would feel ok, but it never lasted long.

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After that first week of being away from Ezra, I couldn’t take it anymore and I snuck into the spare room and sat on the cot he had been using, my legs crossed and my hands in my lap picking at the skin surrounding my nails. As I sat there I took in the room before me, I couldn’t stop the tears that fell down my cheeks in what seemed to be an endless river. Nothing in the room was out of place, everything where it had originally been placed, and all the cots were made. The room looked as if Ezra had not even been here and that only served to make me cry harder, but as I looked down and moved one of my hands to muffle a sob I noticed something small on the floor that was out of place and didn’t belong. Standing up slowly, I wrapped my arms around my middle as I slowly made my way over to the small sprig that laid on the floor. As I knelt to pick it up I knew instantly that it was part of the handful of flowers that Ezra had pressed into the pages of my copy of Pride and Prejudice. The flowers’ small puffy round white and purple petals still as vibrant and fragrant as the day they had fallen into my lap. 

Feeling my legs start to get wobbly from the emotions the small flowers had pushed over me, I clutched the small branch of dried petals and walked back to Ezra’s old cot, this time laying down with the tears freely flowing down my cheeks. Curling into myself, I held the fragile flowers perhaps too roughly to my chest, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. 

Eventually, my crying slowed to a stop. Exhausted I couldn’t bring myself to move, more than to pull the blanket over me and bury my head in a pillow that still faintly smelled like Ezra. That night I fell asleep on the small uncomfortable cot still clutching the flowers to my chest and wishing that Ezra’s scent that still clung to the blanket and pillow was stronger, or that the man himself was there to hold me and whisper into my ear lovingly in his sweet lilting accent. 

As I slept, for the first time in the week I had not been near the man my heart longed for, I was able to actually sleep peacefully, without waking several times aching for the man I couldn’t reach.

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After that first night that I had fallen asleep in the spare room on Ezra’s old cot, I couldn’t help myself but continue to sneak into the room every few days, each time falling asleep on the same cot. The pillow and blanket had lost Ezra’s scent after a couple of weeks of me sleeping there, instead taking on my own scent. Even though all traces of him were missing from the room, I couldn’t help but to continue to sneak into the room. 

After his scent had faded from the blanket, I found myself wrapping myself in the blanket anyway and looking out the window he had often looked out of. Instead of looking to the stars as he often had done, I watched the barn, or more specifically the hayloft where I knew he to be resting. Each night I watched and I not once seen so much as a flicker of movement or light, but the thought that he was close by brought me a little comfort, even if it was shortly washed away by the melancholy of the knowledge that I could not go to him. I found myself, as I watched the hayloft for any sign of Ezra, nervously chewing on my bottom lip to the point that  I tasted the coppery coiling taste of my own blood on my tongue.

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My father’s plan of keeping me just doing housework and my weekly Saturday town visits didn’t last very long. In fact, it only lasted roughly three weeks before he needed the extra set of hands, and much to his dismay he allowed me out of the house. He still found ways to keep Ezra and I from crossing paths as we worked, always sending one of us to do work away from the other, and always trying to keep me working within eyesight of himself. 

Being outside again felt lovely. I hadn’t realized just how much I missed doing work in the field until I had stopped completely. And even though I wasn’t out in the field with Anthony, my father, and Ezra often, I still enjoyed when it was necessary, because it meant that I was closer to Ezra again after weeks apart. It seemed as if things had completely restarted to the way they were going before I left the note for Ezra to find that first night. Though things seemed to have progressed even further back than that, at least before there had been small talk and small touches. Now we were only able to share short meaningful glances at the other, and only heard the other’s voice as we spoke to anyone but each other. At this point, I ached to be held by Ezra and feel his calloused fingers tracing my arm again, and from the glances, he sent my way I could only imagine he felt similar, though neither one of us seemed ready to make any moves that might cause us to be separated completely again.  

Roughly two months out from harvest time, my father decided that we needed another pair of hands since he had limited my work. As a solution, he had gone to Mrs. Robertson and asked to borrow her eldest son, Tucker, the son she and my father had been trying to set up with me for the last year and a half with no success. Tucker was a hard worker and was a nice enough guy, but he had a tendency to make me uncomfortable and he always was trying different ways to get the two of us alone. My father and Mrs. Robertson seemed to both believe that Tucker was just taken with me, but I wasn’t convinced from the interactions we had had. 

The first few days of Tucker being on the farm were calm and moved slowly. When working together with him I always kept up my guard and only spoke with him when necessary and keeping my words short and to the point. Tucker stayed civil and for once didn’t seem to be pushing to get me alone, and I thought that he was finally starting to realize that I wasn’t interested in him. As my guard started to come down, I started to notice that Ezra tended to glance in my direction more now that Tucker was there, almost like he was checking on me, scared that when he wasn’t watching Tucker would take me away. Each time I caught Ezra’s eyes as he looked over at me I started to send him small smiles that I could only hope to express my love for him and not Tucker. 

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Things were slow and anticlimatic the first week with Tucker, even with Ezra’s tense glances in my direction every time I had to work with him. As the next week rolled around things started much the same as the previous week. But, as seemed to be the new pattern in my life, as I was finally getting back into the groove of things, even without Ezra’s closeness, things went downhill, and quickly.

It was halfway through the week and not much needed to be done with the harvest, so my father had sent me to the barn to do some light cleaning and sorting. The barn, which hadn’t really been cleaned in over a year, needed more than the light cleaning that he had told me to do which caused me to sigh loudly, but there was nothing to do but this so I just got to work. We had never really had animals on our farm besides a clutch of chickens at one point so there weren’t any animals to clean up after, only old tools that need to be cleaned and sorted. I had decided early into the process to start at the back of the barn and make my way to the front as I worked. If I did things right, cleaning the barn would take all day to finish, but I wasn’t going to complain if it meant that I could work alone, away from Tucker and my father, for the first time in days. 

Moving quickly, I was almost halfway through the sorting through the tools scattered around the barn when I heard footsteps outside of the entrance to the barn. I didn’t pay much attention to them, figuring my father had sent Anthony for water for the four of them working in the field. Humming I bent over to pick up a wrench to throw into the toolbox a few feet away, I felt someone grab me from behind. I could only gasp in surprise as I was pushed completely into the dirt floor of the barn, the wrench still in my hand, though it was ripped from my grasp before I could realize what was happening. Shortly after I heard the wrench being thrown away from my reach, I felt someone’s breath on the back of my neck one of their hands held the back of my head, keeping my face in the dirt and the other gripping my waist harshly. As soon as I got over my initial surprise I started to try and fight back, squirming as much as I could in the person’s grasp only to have them lift my head up by my hair and then slam it into the dirt hard enough for me to see stars, but not enough to really hurt me or knock me unconscious. After the person slammed my head down the finally spoke up, though it was hardly above a whisper as they breathed out my name into my ear, “Hush now, we don’t want dear old daddy to come running and find you like this now do we?”

As the person spoke I couldn’t do anything but whimper and close my hands into fists as I realized just who had me pinned. Tucker. I couldn’t say I was surprised by any means, but that didn’t change the fact that I was scared out of my mind, and mentally berating myself for letting my guard down enough that he was able to pin me down before I could so much as react. He whispered my name into my ear again before pulling back and speaking a little louder, “Now this is how this is gonna go sweet cheeks. I have been trying to get you alone for what feels like an eternity, but you have always managed to escape me every time, but not this time. No, this time I have you, and you’re going to do everything I say. Now first things first I want you to flip over and take that shirt you’re wearing off, and then we’ll work on getting that fabric off your pretty little bottom.”

As he spoke Tucker flipped me over so that I could see his sick smirk and lustful eyes looking down at me. Disgusted, I went to reach up and claw at his face with my nails, but it was like he had expected it so before my hands had come anywhere near him, he used the hand that wasn’t clutching the bottom of my shirt to smack me across the cheek, hard enough that it sure was going to leave a mark and the sound had echoed around the barn. I felt tears start to stream down my face as he ripped off my shirt far from gently before one of his hands moved to pin both of my hands above my head and the other moved to grope my breast roughly over my bra. Crying now to the point that I was hiccupping and sobbing, he moved his hand down towards my bottoms before harshly whispering, “If you don’t shut that pretty little mouth up, I’ll do it for you, now stop it.”

I felt helpless as I tried to struggle against him and get free, or at least stop his assault, but that only caused him to grip my wrists tighter to the point where his nails were digging into my skin, which caused me to whimper loudly and ask him to stop through choke out sobs. As I got louder he quickly moved his hand from my waistband to clutch harshly at my neck, “I said be quiet you little fucking slut.”

Gasping harshly for air, I noticed a shadow quietly approaching where I had been pinned to the floor, and right as I felt that I was going to pass out from lack of oxygen I felt Tucker being dragged off of me. At that point, I didn’t care who my rescuer was, as I rolled onto my side and gasped for air as spots danced in my eyes and my ears were ringing. It took me a few seconds but I was able to regain my breath and glance over to where the person who had saved me had pinned Tucker to the floor of the barn and was from the looks of it beating him to a pulp. Once my hearing came back I was also able to make out low mutterings and curses every few words. As I crawled closer I started to recognize the man, whose back was to me. 

I watched stunned for a few seconds, tears still falling down my cheeks, as Ezra’s arm kept swing at Tucker’s face, even after he had gone limp. After shaking off the shock I finally crawled over close enough that I could place my hand on Ezra’s shoulder and hoarsely whispered, “Ez, please stop, you’re going to kill him...”

Ezra, for all the brutality, that he had just shown, turned his head gently and looked into my eyes softly as he touched his forehead to mine, even as he still knelt of Tucker’s unconscious body, “My beautiful sweet flower, he deserves to be taken away from this mortal realm if he thought for even a second to harm your graceful beauty if he thought that he could touch you even as you cried and struggled against him. No, my precious flower, he needs to pay.”

Ezra after saying those words went to turn back to Tucker, but I placed my hand on his cheek before his head could even more away from mine and whispered out his name softly as new tears sprung to my eyes, “Please...don’t do this, just….just…”

“Just what flower? Ask and I will do it for you. Anything for you,” Ezra’s eyes met mine with a new intensity as he spoke. Fully crying now and not trusting my voice I just wrapped my arms around him and pulled him away from Tucker to the corner of the barn a few feet away. Ezra, the smart man that he is, instantly picked up on what I wanted, and even though he still seemed to be thrumming with anger and adrenalin, he pulled me the rest of the way into the corner where he allowed me to curl up into his lap as he stroked my hair with his bloody hand and whispered loving to me. We sat there like that for a few minutes before I finally calmed down and looked up at him. It was obvious now that as Ezra had been in a blind rage Tucker had managed to fight back, at least a little, as a purple bruise was starting to form on the underside of his chin, and his shirt was torn in some places. Softly brushing my fingers over the new bruise I followed it with a kiss and a watery smile as I whispered, “I never thought I would have my own knight in shining armor…”

Laughing soft Ezra shook his head and placed his forehead against mine once again, “Oh flower, I am anything but a knight in shining armor. I am far from the virtuous men who did nothing but good for the ones they loved and their kings. While they had a code and rules they still followed, I would throw every last one of my morals, or what is left of them, if it meant that you were safe and unharmed. I am sorry delicate flower that I was not here to stop him sooner….”

(As always thank you for reading, and any and all likes, reblogs, and comments are really appreciated! If you would like to be added to the taglist let me know! If I have this planned correctly there will be two more parts, and possibly some short side stories I might add! Anyway have a lovely week end!)

Tags: @babybelou​ @farrvey​ @anatanotegami​ @revolution-starter​​ @cadelinhadopedropascal​​ @lucifurrr​ @coolfishoperatoreagle​

Second Chances

So with some encouragement, I thought I’d start the John x reader fic I’ve had in my head for ages! I’m not forgetting about my Micah fic at all, for those who care ;) I just really can’t shake this idea. 

For the premise of this story, Jack is a little bit younger. I just can’t hurt that boy’s feelings!

Summary: You're Sadie Adler’s 18 year old daughter who was visiting from school when the O’Driscolls attack. How will you cope with gang life and your increasing feelings for someone who, on the surface, isn’t up for grabs?

Pairing: John Marston x female reader

Warnings: None

Chapter 1

It’s freezing. The world outside blanketed in snow and ice.

Everyone sits huddled into the small Colter shack covered in blankets and large coats; doing whatever they can to stave off the bitter chill that leaks inside.

Mrs Adler is situated between you and Mary-Beth. She cries into her hands and lets the tears drop freely onto her skirt.

“Mama, you have to try and calm down” you say softly. Only to be met with more wailing. You take a deep breath and make your way to the other end of the shack where John, you think his name’s John, lies in a terrible state after his wolf attack.

You can’t help but sigh and rub your forehead, trying to ease the tension that keeps building. You’re pulled out of your thoughts by a croaky voice.

“Things really that bad?” John quietly asks before letting out a small laugh; followed by a hacking cough. You rush to sit on the little stool near his head and ease him up to help him cough better. After he’s done you lower him back down and smile.

“Oh you know. Been better.” you smile softly and place his freezing hands underneath the blanket that’s draped across him.

“Yeah I bet.” is all he can manage to say before wincing and you decide that a bit of light conversation might be a good distraction for you both.

“I just needed to breathe you know? Grief….it’s suffocating at the best of times let alone when you’re stuck with a bunch of strangers. Not that we ain’t grateful! I’m not saying that. Just….it’s….” you trail off struggling to find the right words but John jumps in with an answer.

“It’s like you’re being crushed.” he says and you give him a small, sad smile.

“Yeah…that’s about right….you know I haven’t even cried yet?” you whisper and hang your head in shame. John reaches out his hand from under the blanket and lightly brushes your hand to get your attention.

“Won’t lie. I don’t know everythin’ that brought ya to us, been kinda out of it. But…don’t beat yaself up so much. Can see it in yer eyes….won’t do no good. Ya doin’ all you can ‘n thatsa nuff.” he says through his broken, chapped lips.

You find yourself drawn to his eyes. Beautifully vibrant eyes that tell you he knows all about beating yourself up. You wonder what happened to him.

You give him a tired smile, “How did someone so wise get beaten by some wolves eh?”

It makes you happy inside to see John smile despite the terrible shape he’s in.

“Nah we’re tha same. Not beaten. Justa bit bruised” he huffs out.

Before you can say anything else, the woman who’s been sitting with your mother the most, bursts through the door with her little boy. If you had to guess you’d say he was about 2 or 3. The topic of children has never been one you’ve been interested in. You usually just nod and smile as people discuss them. You’re happier to actually have a chat with the children rather than the parent.

Abigail storms her way over to John and you jump up and out of the way.

“John” she says rather curtly, “the boy wanted to see ya.”

You look at Jack and to be perfectly honest, the kid doesn’t seem interested in the slightest. He’s looking at the blonde woman who’s sat in the corner drinking with an old man. She’s making faces and little Jack is loving it.

Your attention is snapped back when John answers Abigail. You weren’t aware that they’re a family. In all fairness your mind has been elsewhere the last couple of days.

“Yeah, well, now he’s seen me.” John grumbles at her, not even looking at Jack. You can tell that Abigail is instantly pissed off by this.

“Guess I was hoping to see a corpse!” she shouts before walking Jack away to be in front of the fire.

For a moment you stand shocked at what you’ve just seen. It’s clearly a very messy situation and with everything that’s going on, you’re staying far away from it.

John looks at you and you smile awkwardly before moving back to sit with your mother who collapses onto your shoulder. You put your arms around her and rock her back and forth, like she used to do to you as a child.

You can’t help but notice that John is still straining his neck to look at you before giving up and relaxing into the thin cot underneath him.

Days pass and you move on with the gang. The 'Van der Linde’ gang you learn.

You arrive at Horseshoe Overlook and begin helping unload the wagons. You can hear Miss Grimshaw screaming already and the sound cuts right through you. As you’re carrying a large bag over to one of the tents you see Arthur walking away from Dutch. From what you’ve gathered by listening, and what you’ve been told, Arthur is his right hand man.

The bag is taken from your hands and you look up to see your mother.

“Go on” she motions towards Arthur and you smile; jogging off to catch him before he mounts up.

“Umm excuse me, Mr Morgan?” you call out and he stops, turning to look at you. He genuinely seems like a nice man. Fatherly almost. You’ve not seen him lose his temper yet as you have with the other men. Well, other than kind Hosea of course.

“Yes, Miss Adler, what can I do fer you?” he asks and you smile.

“Y/N. Please.” you say and he nods, saying in that case you’re to call him Arthur. You nod.

“Okay, Arthur. Well I was wondering if you could put in a good word with Dutch for me?” you start, “See, my skills don’t really lie with sewing and washing. I’m happy to do that of course, you’ve all been so kind to me and my mom. I just….I’m a really good hunter.”

“Is that so?” Arthur says smirking, but not unkindly.

“Yeah. Living where we did, I had to be.” you laugh.

You don’t see it, but Arthur looks across the camp and see’s your mother watching you both. She nods and mouths “please”. He subtly nods back.

“Well, hows about this. The woman’ve been yappin’ at me that they’re bored. So when I get back from runnin’ this errand, I’ll take you all inta town 'nd we’ll get some supplies. We’ll go huntin’ and if I like what I see I’ll talk ta Dutch.” he smiles and turns to mount onto his horse.

You smile a real smile for the first time in what feels like forever.

“Thank you Mr..Arthur” you say correcting yourself.

“No problem. Now, go help out before Miss Grimshaw gets ta ya” Arthur chuckles before riding out of camp.

As you walk back toward your mom you hear a grown from inside a large tent. Curiosity gets the better of you and you glance inside to see John struggling to turn over on his cot.

“Hey, need a hand?” you ask quietly as to not make him jump.

“Ya know what. A hand would be mighty helpful” he laughs and you cant help but laugh too when you see the mess he’s gotten himself into trying to get comfortable.

However while entering the tent you can clearly see that John’s only wearing his union suit without the blanket covering him.

“Umm” you clear your throat, “Maybe I should go get Abigail?” you say trying to avoid looking in his general direction. You point outside of the tent and move to exit before John jumps in.

“God, no. Please just….just help me shift downa bit. Please?” John sounds so fragile and you just can’t find it in you to refuse him. You meet his eyes and fight a smile.

“Okay” you say and go over to help him move down the cot. He gets his legs into a comfortable position and holds onto your arm while you use your other one to support his upper-back. Once John’s comfy you find yourself just watching his relaxed face.

“Ah thanks. Much better.” he sighs and you smile.

You take a moment to study John in the light of his open tent. The scars on his face are healing well but still look sore and angry, as do his bruises. He looks almost frail. There wasn’t much to eat up in the mountains, everyone seems a bit gaunt but having been missing for so long John seems to be the worst.

John snaps you out of your trance.

“Haven’t seen much of ya.” he notes.

“Um, yeah, you know. Its all been a bit manic” you laugh humorlessly.

“I was uh, kinda worried Abigail said sumthin’ to ya.” he adds awkwardly.

That takes you aback.

“What? Um no….no she hasn’t said anything” you say quickly while glancing through the gap in the tent flaps. You can see Abigail ushering Jack into their newly designated area of camp. Your eyes snap back to John as he manages to prop himself up on his elbows.

“He….he ain’t mine.” he starts and you find yourself fiddling with your hands, “She tells everyone he is. 'nd I got nothin’ against the kid but….he ain’t mine.”

This really is none of your business. But you can’t help the feeling of butterflies in your stomach.

“Why…why would she lie?” you ask quietly but before he can answer, the flaps of the tent are pulled open.

“John!” Abigail shouts before coming to a sudden halt in front of you. Your eyes go wide and you can’t help but stutter like a child who’s been caught stealing candy.

“I…was just helping…John….but I um” you say quickly.

“But you was just leavin'” Abigail finishes for you which John admonishes her for.

“Abby for God’s sake” he starts but you cut him off.

“No, I was just leaving. B…bye John.” you say even quicker and give a clearly angry Abigail a small, awkward smile as you sneak past her. She doesn’t give you any extra room so you have to make yourself as small as possible to get past.

Soon as you’re on the other side of the tent she drops the flaps and starts whispering harshly to John. You stand for a few seconds trying to work out what they’re saying before you give up and make your way over to your mom.

“You okay baby?” your mom asks when you join her on a large rock just outside camp.

“Oh yeah. Fine.” you sigh and rub your tired face.

“You weren’t made to be cooped up like this” your mom says before she starts crying again, “I’m sorry this happened”.

“Oh mama don’t say that” you say before hugging your mother tight, “We’ll be okay.”

You hold your mother as she cries. Rocking her back and forth, all the while watching as Abigail storms back out of John’s tent. She catches your eye and you look away from her. You can’t deal with all this drama right now. You have to get yourself back on your feet; to start rebuilding your mothers life. The one that was so cruelly taken from her.

“We’ll be okay,” you repeat quietly.

A Float

MOVIE: MAZE RUNNER AU COUPLE: NEWT X READER RATING: SWEET + SAD

I sighed as I went around picking up glasses and tankards wiping my little rag along the tables where the ale had spilled, I kept my eyes on the wooden floor and tables and off the girls stood in there dresses leaning on the stairwell in the corner, I felt the eyes of the bar keep glued to me as he watched me. I heard the bell ring on the door but I thought little off it and continued my work till someone shoved my back almost tipping me over  "Watch it kid" he snapped as he headed over to the girls  "Newt!" My barkeep warned  "Sorry sir" I said to him "No hard done by kid" he laughs as he grabbed at some poor girl taking her upstairs  "Go on head home Newt" the bar keep said so I finished my work and handed him all the glasses getting my bag and went out to the foggy cobble streets. I groaned putting my arms across my chest to try and avoid the cold  but the damp air made that impossible, I could hear the noise from the pubs and houses I tried not to smell the sweet scents from people's homes it just made my stomach rumble and grumble slowly going though town  "Evening Newt" I heard a voice smile I looked over and saw the familiar yellow dress half torn and broken, her red hair a plaited mess from being on her back Most of the day  "Evening Teresa" I smiled to her "how's business?" "Pretty slow... Never much catch in the fog" she says  "I suppose not" I laughed  "Here, while I have you" she says handing me a couple of glass bottles  "Thanks Teresa" I smiled getting her a coin and handing it to her open palm before I headed off, soon enough I got to the alley heading down getting my key and unlocking the door to the cold dark little house.  I shut the door locking it up again and lighting a candle or two with my last match before it burnt my finger I hurried to the left room opening the little door I headed over to the crib and lit a candle just as I did someone started crying so I smiled be gently lifting little  Erwin up out his crib giving him a little cuddle which silenced his cries so I put him down tucking him tight oh no... One, two- where's Sonya!  "Oh no, oh no, oh no" I said unlocking the door and rushing out into the foggy streets "Sonya! Sonya!" I shouted as I ran thought the paths and alleys I ran for what felt like forever till I stopped to get my breath  "Newt?" A voice asked I turned to see a window opening it was Mrs linley who lived a few blocks away "I found this little one trying to steal my laundry" she says handing me little Sonya  "Oh thank god, I was so worried about you" I told her but she just giggled sucking on her fingers "thank you, I don't know how she keeps getting out"  "You know... Isn't right young boy like you raising those babies" she says "you haven't the time with work and all... Should really give them in"  "I'm doing fine taking care of them" I snapped "sorry I just... I know my mum wouldn't want us all to be separated" I said hitching Sonya up on my hip "thanks again for finding her" I smiled before heading home putting her in the cot with her brothers Erwin and George, once I got the bottles sorted I got them all out sitting in there chairs "sorry guys, as this is all we've got we going to have to ration a bit," I sighed knowing this isn't going to be enough not for Tonight let alone the week so I feed them each as much of the milk from Teresa as I could possibly spare, Teresa is a whore and has been as long as I can remember but she got pregnant not to long ago and... Unfortunately lost it. And since what happened to my mother she agreed to give as much milk as she could for them atleast till they get a bit bigger. But since it is all we have they get some milk a day and the rest is having to be bread soaked in water but I tried to keep it as fair as I could between the three. As they where having there food I got the last few biscuits they were so stale they where hard to chew and a few had rat and mouse bites in the sides but if it's good enough for the rats I suppose it will do for me.  I was just about to set them to bed when the door knocked  "Who is it?" I said in panic  "Open up Newt it's just me" the sweet voice replies I quickly opened it shutting it again behind her  "You scared me" I blushed  "How?" She giggled pulling off her black hood revealing her pretty purple dress  "I thought you might be a debter or something"  "You worry too much" she laughs going off to the bedroom I smiled sitting back on the chair  as she got sorted out "look what I managed to sneak home?" She smiled putting two apples in the table  "What would I do without you Y/n" I smiled giving her the biggest hug I could manage "Be dead probably" she giggled pushing me away and getting a knife from the kitchen "this one today, this one tomorrow" she says putting the other apple away and cutting this one into five equal prices three of which she diced up and gave to the kids and we shared the other two even if I could have swan she gave me a little more then she had  "How was work?" I asked trying to take tiny bites to make my apple last "Fine, long day" she says "how was work?"  "Okay, herb didn't pay me again"  "I'll talk to him on my way out tomorrow" she says  "No please Y/n, it's okay we can make it work"  "Newt... We can only stretch my two pounds a week so far" she says "if he's not going to pay you, you may as we get another job" she says taking the triplets to bed  "Knowhere will take me, knowhere but the factories... And I can't risk it in the factories. I couldn't have the risk of not coming home" I explain  "I could always..." She says as she came back fiddling with her dress "take up some extra work? In the evenings" "Y/n no" I told her holding her hands "no, it hasn't come to that... We'll be okay,"  "If you're sure, come on bed you have work tomorrow mr" she says "and you best not be home late tomorrow, it's bath night" she warns so I smiled and headed to the bedroom clothes scattered everywhere the window boarded shut, the old half broken bed tucked into the wall with a thousand blankets I got sorted and tucked into bed the bed as cold as everywhere else, as Y/n came in not long after having locked up the house and blewn out the candles, she undid her long brown hair and slipped off her dress and corset revealing her curves I looked away best I could as she climbed into bed "goodnight Newt" "Goodnight Y/n" I told her pulling her close she was a little warmer then me but not much, she drifted to sleep quickly nuzzling close to me as she slept her skin slight shivering so I gave her as much blanket as I could spare to try and keep her warm.

I suppose I should really explain. A long time ago, things where simple.  My father used to run the cobblers in the town with my mother helping out where she could, until I came along, and even then things where okay if a little stretched sometimes... Until my siblings came, my mother passed away in childbirth but they where able to save all three triplets, but not to long after my father ran off with some whore girl. I tried keeping us afloat best I could but we where drowning... And then Y/n. I had known her quiet a while meeting in the shop and such like but I found her one night while I was walking home from work tucked in an alley in the rain, she had run off from her abusive father and uncle but had nowhere else to go. And ever since we have lived together we share a bed but mostly for warmth and for the fact we couldn't afford a new bed so this was my parents bed together both of us working is just enough for the bills and for food but it means using every last penny.

I hated having to live this way but I refuse to let her go out and get a evening job, the things people do to those girls I couldn't bare the thought of Y/n doing that, Even if we could really use the money.  I hated how people looked at us the assume we are living in sin even if I've never touched Y/n like that...well intentionally. They look at us even worse if we go out with the triplets people think that we live in sin with three bastard children even if most around here know that isn't true 

Lasabrjotr Chapter 43: Blár Ljóss Dreyma gnimaerD thgiL eulB

Chapters: 43/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: None Relationships: Loki x Reader (Someday) Characters: Loki (Marvel),  Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Loki Wants To Be Fancy, I Wonder What All This Blue Light Is About,  Summary:   Loki acts very soft towards you, and you discuss your shared dreams.

Loki wheeled you through the halls of the palace complex, Andsvarr on one side, another young guard on the other, keeping everyone at more than arms length from you. The concept of a wheelchair seemed very new to everyone around you, raising serious concern about disability accessibility in New Asgard.

You chatted back and forth with him about it as he pushed you towards your room. If humans were eventually going to be allowed in the city, then it would have to be accessible, and it was best to build that accessibility in from the very beginning, so extra money didn't have to be spent fixing it later. Since the city had barely been built, there was still time to include accessibility plans into the blueprints.

“And you'd better do it pretty quick, because I'll be old and frail in what seems like no time to you guys.” You joked. “I mean, I know you could probably just lift up the chair with me in it, and carry it everywhere, but it's way less awkward to just have a ramp.”

Loki seemed withdrawn for the rest of your trip. Probably thinking about accessibility, you figured. He parked you in front of your desk, which held a few new books.

“The Complete Icelandic Sagas.” You read. “And the Nibelungenlied?”

“Classics, apparently.” Loki said. “Though I must warn you; there are some very unpleasant things in these stories. They are rather like your modern day action movies. Full of violence, revenge, and adrenaline. I have helpfully marked each one with warnings, so that you can know what they hold before you start reading.”

You flipped the book of sagas open to find little notes tucked in between the pages.

“This one contains many bodies, but the hero is a decent fellow after all.”

“A horse is harmed in this story.”

“The protagonist is a horrible person, and does many unforgivable things. Perhaps skip this one. It leaves a bad taste.”

A smile crept across your face. “That's very thoughtful of you, Loki. I'm glad you remembered to think of me.”

Loki preened at the praise. “Of course! You are the most important!” He declared. “Of my entourage, that is. As my seidkona.”

“Your entourage...Which consists of whom? Just me? Andsvarr?”

“There is you, and Andsvarr, yes.” He'd had the flowers brought from the healing wing to your room, and began arranging them idly. You were pleased to see that someone had been tending your houseplants in your absence. “Technically, since Thor and I rule together, we share some people between us. Several guards, since there is a shortage of them, and all the palace servants for example. Brunnhilde is an advisor to us both, and Heimdall as well, though he is far closer to my brother. Well,” Loki said a touch sheepishly. “That is probably my fault.”

“Probably?” You said sarcastically.

“Cheeky woman. Give you an inch, and you take a mile.”

“Isn't that my job?” You leaned back in your chair, gazing out the window. The sun was dipping down in the sky, and you realized with a little relief that night would soon return.

“And you just love your job, don't you?”

“Well, there are some parts I could do without.”

The light triple rap of Andsvarr's signature knock sounded on the door. Dinner had arrived, and he gave you a thumbs up as Loki took it from him. Now where had he learned that?

“Good to be home?” He asked. “Feeling all right?”

“I'll be fine. But yeah, it's better to be in my room, than cooped up in the healing wing”

His smile was so fake. Loki had said he was stressed, now he was probably trying to put forth a cheerful front for you. Poor kid. He should have never gotten caught up in all this, but sometimes parents left troubling legacies for their children, whether they meant to or not. You just hoped he wasn't facing too much trouble at home.

Loki shooed him back to his post, and set dinner down in front of you. It was a good, thick chowder, with soft bread, easy for a convalescing patient to eat.

“Do you need any help?” Loki asked, pulling up your desk chair and sitting next to you, very close.

“Pretty sure I can manage soup.” You said.

Eventually, you did need him to help you lean forward to eat, because doing so on your own made you dizzy. He held you effortlessly with one arm, eating his own dinner with the other.

“Hey Loki...I had another one of those dreams.” You mentioned.

“Ah. You remember. I wasn't sure you would, since you were so deep in your unconsciousness.”

“So it did happen. Are they real?”

“I honestly don't know. I know that we have shared dreams that are not real, because they pertained to things that never happened. But Titan and Jotunheim...I simply do not know. The Titans are extinct, but we brought dust out with us. I do not know the state of the Frost Giants now, but there was snow in our hair when I awoke. I do not know if our magic is creating the things we see in the dreams, or if we are truly there on some level, and bring things back with us when we return.”

“Do you think it means something? Should we be trying to interpret this as some kind of prophesy?”

“I certainly hope not.” Loki said with a sour expression. “The less I have to deal with either Titans or Frost Giants, the better. We have quite enough on our plates with rebuilding, frankly.”

After dinner, he carried you to your bed, and massaged your arms and legs again, this time with a nice, vanilla scented oil that warmed and smoothed your skin. When you realized you would need help bathing, he looked oddly hopeful, right up until you requested Saldis's help. He tucked you in tenderly, and made to leave before you stopped him.

“What if I need help?” You asked. “Can you hear me from your room?”

Loki had a hard time hiding his excitement as he bid you wait, leaving the room and returning minutes later with a folding cot, and his blankets. He set this up happily beside your bed, humming to himself.

It looked to you like Loki really, really liked feeling needed. Maybe due to many years of being overshadowed by his brother, the feeling of someone wanting him specifically was novel to him. If that was the case, you should probably ask him for help more often. He seemed so happy about it.

Loki turned off the lights and drew the heavy curtains to darken the room, then snuggled into his cot, thick blanket up to his neck, black hair spread out over his pillow, smiling at you like a kid at a sleepover. He sneaked his hand under your blanket, and took your hand.

“Just squeeze if you need anything.” He said at your questioning vocalization. “I'll awaken at once.”

This all felt so nice. Someone sleeping next to you, holding your hand, knowing that any needs you had would be fulfilled. Knowing that there would be food tomorrow, that this room would be here to live in. Knowing that your medical needs would be seen to, that your mental needs were being taken seriously, that your government took your well-being seriously.

As much as you sometimes missed Iowa, you had to admit that none of those things were guaranteed back home.

His hand felt so large and warm, enveloping your own. You drifted off, feeling full and as comfortable as your head would allow.

                                                                       *****

You held Loki's hand, runes of light trailing up your arms and filling your eye, the both of you walking slowly towards a pulsing blue light. There was something important there, the answers to everything, you just knew it, but you could only approach a few steps at a time. It had completely filled and banished the void that had once threatened to harm you, replacing one mystery with another, but this one you didn't want to run from.

Till death do you part. A voice that was almost not even a voice repeated over and over again, a background for the pulsing light that filled your mind and poured out through your runes. Loki looked down at you, the lines of hardship gone from his face, blue light glowing from one eye. You noticed with a little fascination that his other eye had gone black, only the iris showing bright blue. No doubt yours were the same.

“Forever?” He seemed to ask, though no words were voiced.

“Forever.” You agreed.

“Gods among gods. Legends. The whole of all things. Galaxies at your fingertips. Till death do you part.”

Squeezing his hand, you both walked into the light.

                                                                                                                                                    *****

You awoke to a soft shaking of your shoulder. No need to ask: you had squeezed his hand in the dream.

“What does it mean?” You asked groggily.

“I do not know, not for sure.” He whispered. “I wonder...but maybe it has something to do with the nature of our magic together. Your teleportation, my enhancement. You may be taking us to these distant places, in a sort of half-solid form, without even meaning to. I do not know that for sure though. You have yet to physically teleport a whole person. It might not be that at all. But I wonder.”

“Should I go back to sleep?”

“Yes, my darling.” He said fondly. “Go back to sleep.”

                                                                        *****

You barely remembered the dream the next day, just a strong impression of blue light that you had seen in dreams before. Your head hurt, but Loki got you your medicine, and some breakfast, then called for Saldis to come help bathe and dress you. Saldis surprised you by lifting you up as effortlessly as Loki could; for a moment you had forgotten that she was Asgardian, and fully as strong as any of the rest of them.

She carried you off to the bath as if you were a new bride, and scrubbed you thoroughly, but carefully. Dressing was a bit more of a challenge; trying to get clothes on over your head without hurting.

“Oh dear, I do not think this is going to work.” She fretted. “However shall we get you dressed? Must I send out for another healing gown?”

“I might be able to help.” Loki said through the door, startling both of you. “I use magic to change clothes very often. It is much easier.”

“Might be our best bet.” You muttered.

���With your leave.” Saldis said, draping a towel over you. “He may be my Prince, but he does not get to cheat.” She said with a wink.

“All right, come in you eavesdropper!” You called, and he entered instantly, a cheeky grin stretching his face.

“Let's see...” He said gleefully lacing and stretching his fingers. “What shall you wear today? How shall we enhance that natural beauty of yours?”

“Oh, cut it out.” You said. Of course he would embarrass you in front of Saldis. It was perfect payback for the time you had done it.

“How do you feel about green, my darling?”

Saldis giggled, clearly enjoying herself. You rolled your eyes.

“As long as it doesn't clash with my bruises.”

“Oh no, never. I have a much better fashion sense than that! Besides, they are almost gone. You won't need my help much longer, so let me enjoy this, will you?”

“Oh, okay, get as fancy as you want.” You conceded.

“Just remember, you gave me permission!” He said swiftly, the emerald glitter of magic sparking from his hands.

“Okay...” You said, staring at all the flowing, green gauze and shining jewels in the mirror. “That's...a bit much.”

“You said as fancy as I wanted!” Loki pouted. “You said-”

“I know!” You cut him off. He certainly was the youngest child, wasn't he?

“I think you look lovely.” Saldis said, but the giggle was still there, behind her words. “Like a high-born lady.”

“But I'm not!” You protested. You weren't sure why you were so uncomfortable with being dressed like a princess, but it made you feel dangerously fake. Like an undeserving impostor that would insult all the real noblewomen.

Why did that matter? You were well aware that, having grown up poor, you had been bombarded with covert propaganda to make you believe that you didn't deserve better. But here, you had been shown just how dangerous an offended noble could be. Loki might be trying to impress you, but you weren't impressing his subjects.

“You are just as important as any Lady in our court.” Loki said firmly. “You must believe it, and own it. You are just as good as they are. You hold a place of supreme importance. In my entourage.”

“And besides, with his new reputation as Tyr's-bane, people will think twice about raising their precious hands to you.” Saldis interjected. “They are such a limited resource.”

“All right you impudent little thing.” Loki said. “You have other duties to attend to, do you not?”

“I can think of a few things, your Highness.” Saldis said, graciously taking her leave.

You still stared into the mirror, trying to recognize yourself. Your face, your clothes, all the jewels, all so different than the usual you. He'd even given you a tiara, for goodness sake, made of golden flowers, crusted with colorful jewels. Was this what Asgardian women wore in the prime of the realm's power and success?

It felt almost obscene.

Loki stood behind you, hands on your shoulders. “Does it really make you that uncomfortable? Do you not find these things beautiful?”

“I do, but...you know, all my jewelry was cheap plastic, all my clothes were clearance, almost everything I owned was just...” You trailed off.

“Prosperity...troubles you?” He asked, brow wrinkled in confusion.

“No, no, I'm just not used to it, that's all. Shouldn't these things go towards funding the rebuilding?”

“Oh, my darling. You are such a caring and generous soul. But we cannot sell every cultural artifact, now can we? Would we not lose some important part of ourselves in the process of commodifying our culture?”

“Oh. Well...”

“Besides, most of this is illusory anyway. I just thought you might feel better being stuck in that chair if you were also sparkling with riches at the same time.” A wave of his hand, and most of the gold was gone, tiara included. The green gauze remained, flowing over your figure like a wave.

“I could really get used to seeing you like this.” Loki said softly. “Could you?”

“Are you really the same guy who pulled me out of a bog half a year ago?” You asked  jokingly.

Loki smiled brightly, with a slight shake of his head.

“No.” He said.