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thranduilland · 4 years

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I’ve tripped back into the Barduil fandom, so...

(Whoops, I did a thing.)

Bard isn’t human, least not fully. He’s not fully anything. He’s not mortal either. There had been a time, in his youth, where his parents thought that perhaps he would be mortal in the way that his mother and grandfather weren’t, but he reached his majority and didn’t grow a single day older and they knew.

When his beard had started to grow in, he’d been surprised, had assumed that he wouldn’t grow one, like his grandfather. But he’d been pleased when it had grown, without it he looked too young, too other-worldly and he didn’t want that. Especially not after learning the reason for the Master’s hatred of him. He does wish his mother could have let Grandfather murder the idiot, but alas, that was too much to ask for.

He’s twenty when his father dies, illness had caught him in the winter and he never recovered. He watched his mother wither away in the months that followed and begged her to stay, but he already knew that she would be leaving him. At twenty, he loses his mother and father and begins working as the bargeman for the Woodland Realm.

At twenty-five he meets Florrie; he knows within moments of meeting her that she is like him. Stuck halfway between belonging anywhere and, therefore, belonging nowhere. They spend the majority of their courting days chasing each other through the trees at the edge of the wood at night, giggling like little children and pretending that they are elves of the wood and the moon and the stars. All the while, they know that when morning comes, they’ll be forced to return to their lives among mortal men, where they do not fit in. They know already that they do not fit in under the trees, either, but it’s fun to pretend.

His grandmother dies suddenly when he is thirty-three and he already knows without his grandfather needing to say a word, that he will lose him, too. The morning after his grandfather passes, he clutches Florrie close to him and they promise each other that they will not fade, no matter what happens, because one of them must always be there for the life that grows in Florrie’s womb even then.

His wife dies when he is forty-one, sickness and age could not claim her, but the birthing bed did. She leaves him three beautiful children and he promises that he will raise his children right, that he will love them always and ensure they know their mother and where she came from.

He is fifty when a dragon burns his town to ashes. Fifty when he does what countless others have failed to do. Fifty when he slays a dragon and becomes a king.

He is seventy-five when he has to sit his lover down and point out the fact that they’ve known each other for fifty-five years and he hasn’t aged a day. This is when he realizes that time truly means nothing for his grandfather’s people.

Ever since Bard abdicated his throne to Bain, citing old age, and disappeared into the Woodland Realm to be with his lover, he notices the way his lover has changed. Where once his lover made as much time as possible to be with him, now he pulls away, avoids him, and does what he can to be elsewhere, which is made easier by the fact they’re still sneaking about like they did in those early days. For all the affection they used to show in public, their relationship is one that has never been out in the open and now it seems to be slipping away. If Bard didn’t know better, he’d assume he’s made a mistake, that what he thought was love between them was only affection, but knows he isn’t wrong.

He has more patience than most, but even his patience is not infinite.

“Why are you avoiding me?” his voice comes out harsher than he intends, but he cannot ignore this situation any longer. If he had wanted to engage in a charade, he would have stayed in Dale. His lover is silent, looking at him from across the room, his lover’s eyes flickering to the doorway that Bard is now blocking. “Thranduil, answer the question.”

“I’m not avoiding you.” Thranduil finally answers, sighing and crossing the room to pour himself a glass of wine, as ever.

“I haven’t seen you in a week.” Bard points out, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes tracking Thranduil’s every movement.

“I have responsibilities and-“

“Don’t.” Bard says, cutting him off and shaking his head. “Don’t lie to me. I’ll accept whatever you have to say, as long as it’s the truth. You’ve never purposely lied to me before, don’t start now.” Thranduil is silent and still, a goblet of wine clutched tight in his hand as he looks down into the liquid depths. “If you don’t love me anymore, just say it and I will leave, you’ll never have to see me again.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Thranduil says, the words leaving him in a rush.

“What?”

“That you’ll leave and I’ll never see you again.” The elf answers, slowly putting the glass of wine down and looking across to Bard, his eyes shining with tears Bard has never seen him shed. “I thought I knew what I was doing when I let myself love you, Bard. But you’re mortal and I’m not and I can’t-“ Thranduil chokes on his words, swallowing thickly and looking away. Bard stares at him in stunned disbelief, before he let’s out an amused laugh, that he just can’t hold in.

“I’m not mortal, I never have been.” Bard says, watching as Thranduil’s eyes snap back to him.

“What?”

“My mother was half-elven, so was my grandfather.” Bard answers, cocking his head to the side and frowning at his lover. “I thought you would have figured it out by now, love.”

“How?” Thranduil exclaims, even as something like hope lights in his eyes.

“Love. We’ve known each other for fifty-five years! Do I look any older than I did the day we met? When you decided you just had to meet your new bargeman and decide his worth for yourself?” Bard demands, looking intently at Thranduil’s face, watching the confusion and disbelief that forms there.

“It can’t have been that long, surely.” Thranduil denies, but Bard can see him doing the maths in his head.

“Love, it’s been fifty-five years, trust me.” Bard promises, sees the moment Thranduil has counted the years in his head and realized the truth.

“I’m so stupid.” Thranduil whispers, burying his head in his hands and groaning. “I’ve been breaking both our hearts for nothing.”

“Yes.” Bard answers, laughing softly and shaking his head. “Honestly, Thran, I thought you’d figured it out!”

“Who?” Thranduil asks, looking at him suddenly, Bard just frowns and shakes his head in confusion. “Your elven ancestor?”

“Oh. Well that’s kind of hard to say, most of them were half-elves.” Bard explains, then he hums. “I guess Lindis but… look, I’ll just draw the family tree.” He mutters, crossing to the writing desk and sinking down into the chair, pulling blank parchment from the drawer, and starting to write. From a young age, his grandfather had ensured he could recite his family tree without prompting or hesitation.

“You are born of noble blood, Bard. No matter where life takes you, you must never forget the blood that runs through your veins is the blood of kings.”

His grandfather had just laughed and ruffled his hair when Bard had pointed out that Girion had only been Lord of Dale, not a King.

He starts the tree from the bottom, the way he had learned it in the first place. So lost in his writing is he, that he doesn’t notice when Thranduil appears at his shoulder, he doesn’t notice when Thranduil grips the back of the chair to steady himself, and he doesn’t notice the hard look that has formed on Thranduil’s face.

He draws the link between his great, great, great grandfather and great, great, great, great grandfather, marking them as brothers and the family is complete. He carefully puts the quill in its stand and blows across the parchment, drying the ink.

“There we are. The family tree of one King Bard of Dale.” He announces, leaning back and looking up at Thranduil, he frowns when he sees the far away look in Thranduil’s eyes, notes the way his lover’s hands are gripped so tightly to the back of the chair, his skin has gone white. “Love?”

“It always comes back to Doriath.” Thranduil whispers, his voice shaking as tears slip from his eyes.

“Thranduil?” Bard asks, nervously biting his lip. Thranduil gives a quiet little laugh and leans down to pick up the quill, dipping it in the ink pot and beginning to amend the family tree.

Bard watches in surprise at the names Thranduil adds, they’re not new on the family tree, they’re just alternate names. Names that Bard knows, names that everyone knows, if they know anything of Doriath, as Bard’s grandfather and great-uncle taught him.

“That’s not possible.” Bard whispers, but he remembers his grandfather’s words, remembers the argument his grandfather and his great-uncle had when they all learned he wasn’t mortal.

“He will not be recognized! They will not accept him!” Uncle Elurin grumbles, glaring at Bard from across the room, Bard doesn’t know what he’s done to upset his great-uncle, who has always enjoyed telling him stories and teaching him of his grandfather’s culture. “He is too different.”

“He is the heir.” Grandfather answers, his voice brooking no argument. “If the day comes that he must step into his own, he will claim his birth right and they will accept him. They have no right to do otherwise!” his grandfather snaps, then the brother’s devolve into a heated argument at a volume so quiet not even Bard can hear what they are saying. So, instead of trying to hear more, he turns away and gets ready to start his shift.

He’d assumed they were arguing over Dale, though why they thought he’d want to claim a ruin had been beyond him at the time. Now, he understands and he doesn’t want to.

When he looks up at his lover, he finds Thranduil watching his face intently, searching for something, his lover doesn’t speak, just keeps looking at him. Bard sighs and looks away.

“My grandfather always told me I was born of kings, that I was born to be a king.” He admits, rubbing his eyes, feeling suddenly like crying. “I always just assumed they were talking about Dale. He was talking about Doriath.”

“No.” Thranduil answers, sucking in a breath and letting it out slowly. “No, he wasn’t, Bard. Elu Thingol wasn’t just the King of Doriath. He was considered to be the King of All Sindar.”

“Fuck, no.” Bard exclaims, shaking his head. “No, no, nope, no. Dale is… was more than enough for me!” there’s a moment, of silence before Bard remembers what his great-uncle had said and he laughs, the sound quickly turning to sobs. “Fuck, that’s what Uncle Elurin was talking about.” He says, through hitched breaths.

“Bard.” He looks to Thranduil, even though his chest aches and he can’t seem to bring enough air into his lungs. “Bard, listen to me. There is no need for you to do anything, now or in the future regarding this. Alright?” Thranduil says, his voice pitched low and so soothing it seems to reach right into Bard’s mind and quiet all his fears. “No one is going to expect anything from you unless you want to give it, I promise. If the day comes, where we need another High King, there are others who it could be.”

“I know.” Bard says, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly as he gets control of himself. “Like… like Elrond… and my cousins.” He whispers, rubbing the tears from his eyes.

“Cousins?” Thranduil asks, looking back at the family tree. Bard sniffs and reaches for the quill, to add them in. Three cousins that he has never met but has heard stories of from his uncle.

“Oh. Hmm, that’s quite interesting.” Thranduil mutters, reading the names with a little laugh. “I wonder if they know.”

“I don’t … I don’t think so.” Bard answers, resting the quill back in its stand.

“You ready for another surprise?” Thranduil asks, an amused glint in his eyes, Bard breathes deeply and scowls at him.

“Do I have a choice?”

“No. But it’s a good surprise, I think.” Thranduil answers, leaning over to pick up the quill, but he hesitates before putting quill to parchment. “This… changes nothing between us. I love you.”

“I still love you, too.” Bard replies, brow furrowing as he watches as Thranduil starts writing.

His breath catches in his throat and slowly he lifts his eyes from the parchment to stare at his lover, who also, apparently, is a cousin. “Did you elves ever figure out that inbreeding is really bad?”

“Don’t judge us! The First and Second ages were wild times. There was a lot happening.” Thranduil argues, though there is laughter in his voice. “But if you must know, yes, we did figure that out, thank you.”

“Clearly not, if we’re an indication.” Bard replies, looking down at the family tree once more. “Do you want another surprise?” Bard asks, smirking at Thranduil who groans.

“What now? Isn’t this enough of a revelation for a single evening? For both of us?”

“Hmm.” Is Bard’s only reply as he reaches for the quill, a laugh bubbling in his throat.

“It’s always bloody Doriath!” Thranduil grumbles, Bard just laughs and then sighs.

“So, Daeron is from Doriath, too?”

“Yes! He was Thingol’s bloody scribe! We thought him long dead! But we thought the same of Elured and Elurin as well.” Thranduil rubs at his eyes and groans. “You don’t have to claim anything, there’s nothing really to claim at this point, but… we should tell people. I’m sure Celeborn would be happy to learn he has more relatives still living, and Elrond, at least, would probably like to know that he has cousins. Valar, he probably would like to know that he has a living uncle.”

“I don’t know if he is still living.” Bard points out, frowning at the tree. “I haven’t seen him since my grandfather passed, long before Smaug came.”

“Well, either way, I think this is something that should be shared, Bard. Finally learning what happened to Elurin and Elured is… incredible.” Here Thranduil pauses and looks at Bard who stares back and simply raises an eyebrow. “I’ve been wanting to ask since I found you after the Battle of Five Armies, but you were mortal and I...” Thranduil pauses, shaking his head as he breathes in deep and lets it out slowly. “Will you marry me?”

“I’m pretty sure we’re already married in the elvish custom, but… if it’ll make you stop hiding me in the shadows, yes, I’ll marry you.” Bard agrees, sees the smile that lights up Thranduil’s face, only to dim a few moments later, Bard frowns.

“I didn’t… I never meant for you to feel like something I was hiding or that I was ashamed of, I just… I didn’t think I’d be able to keep you so, I wanted everything that we had to be just… ours and no one else’s.” Thranduil admits, sighing. “I was foolish.”

“It’s alright. We both… we made assumptions and those assumptions were wrong. We’ll do better in future.”

“Yes, we will.” Thranduil agrees, gently pulling Bard up from the chair. “Let’s go to bed, tomorrow we can scandalize my kingdom with the news of our affair.”

“Technically, we’re already married.”

“Yes, but also technically, we are each still married to our wives, so we’re having an affair...” Thranduil points out, Bard laughs, a full belly laugh, leaning into Thranduil for support, unable to stop laughing as he lets Thranduil all but drag him to bed.

Bard is seventy-five when he learns he is the heir of Elu Thingol.

It changes nothing, but it also changes everything, as is the way of such secrets when they come to light.

He was always the heir of Elu Thingol, even if he never knew it.

He was always the heir of Girion, even if he never wanted it.

He was born of kings and a King he became, just as his Grandfather foretold.

#the family tree took forever #and I made several spelling mistakes that I refused to fix #because ugh #Barduil #Thranduil #Bard #Lord of the Rings #the Hobbit #is this fandom dead yet?#I did a thing #fic writing #Elured #Elurin #Tumblr keeps making the family tree all blurry #why tumblr #why

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d3monslust · 3 years

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𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 - 𝐀.𝐃.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Only setting up traps for them , Andy didn't see any of this coming

𝐖𝐂 : 3,151

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: pregnancy, mentions of miscarriage & abusive relationships , cheating , manipulation , violence

𝐀/𝐍 : tumblr deleted the original and I thought for couple of minutes I haven’t backed it up to the point I had a panic attack :) also I worked really hard for this , any kind of interaction is appreciated!!

////////////////June 7th 2020\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Every story has a happy ending , where the villain gets defeated and the heroes win , but in eden , no one could recognize the corruption and the decent. Everyone hid their darkest and filthiest desires deep down inside them , in their abyss of their souls . Andy knew that , from first hand . He was still getting to know the place , the idle juveniles laying in the sandy beaches , the laughs of the middle aged men echoing through the thickness of the trees’ leaves . A literal paradise ... with no God .

Dolan had promised his wife to keep her safe, and eventually after his decadence , he was more fazed than anything . Their inseparable form could be made out from kilometers ago, their vivid and full of life auras leaving hints of sunshine from time to time . Winning the couple of the year and being stunned was not in their plans but the did not dodge it . Until Dolan started venturing at inexcusable bars , reciprocal pink lipstick decorating one side of his neck while he reclined next to his bond , mumbling about his ambiguous accomplishments. He had her to the point , Mariah felt overwhelmed. The weight of his nifty assets , the gravitas of his clumsy , yet anticipated acts made her scream and wince .

But Mariah David Dolan , did not intend on giving up so easily , only because her husband was demonstrating his incompetent self . Haphazardly, or not , the female found herself at Sherlock’s , who fasty evaluated and corrupted all of her nasty problems . Taken the right measurements, Mariah decided to treat themselves to a dinner , the brunette averting his gaze back from his laptop to his wife. “Did something happen ?” Mariah never cooked , even at special , “crowded” occasions , she wouldn’t lay a finger at the metallic kitchenware . “No . I just though about all the work you’re recently hooked with. A nice dinner with your wife would help you blow off some steam” smirking at the fit of the last words, she left Dolan alone, drowning in his intellectually safe thoughts.

The capriciousness of the vexing atmosphere made the couple exchange some absurd looks. With Andy being the always tired one, sexual intercourse was lost long ago . “Something you would like to say ?” “No .” She went for a debate , any sort of the key for relationships , communication. If that clink unraveled , there would be no sweet salvation for the married couple . “Well , I want to say something.” Andy whispered a silent “go on” as one of their housekeepers wiped off him some of the pasta’s sauce . “I’m pregnant .” the brunette almost choked at the hear , she couldn’t be . “What ?” voice so small , the trait of vulnerability showing .

The fraction made his stomach toss and turn with anticipation, his dreams for the unknown slowly falling apart . “I’m pregnant on the 3rd month .” eyes infested with fury , the blue like sea color dissipated. “And when were you planning on telling me , hm ? When the waters would broke ? Or when the bump would start to show ? Or when you couldn’t fucking miscarriage?” his excessive, painful words ventured to withhold her insurmountable fury . Unceremoniously, his unbeatable character almost took back his sharp words , the marvel Mariah always waited for could intervene their scold and corrupt his grudge . Albeit she had cried and prayed for that baby to come , her husband didn’t yearn it .

“Did you talk to the gynecologist? Can you ?” he stated chastely , reclining his tensed back to the chair . Who could envision Andy Dolan with a child ? The reluctance became vexing , the tension had to be dwindled if she wanted to keep that inexcusable -for him- child . “Yes . We ... discussed and he said that I cannot ... get rid of it .” her unconvincingly words passed from the one ear to the other . He abruptly threw his crystal glass at the respective wall , agitating the woman to run to clean the mess . The hot , ambiguous tears wetting her cheeks . “Cant you just love me ?” she mumbled , her fasty movements elicited a cut from the sharp glass . She hissed at the pain , she wanted to resemble the perfect , sincere , housewife Andy pleased . To conquer the theme , so as to stand next to him with all her lucid pride while clutching his right hand .

And the things became even worse , chaos consuming the island , darkness drowning the residents . But the worst was Andy’s behavior shift . The unintelligible man faltered and his intriguing about his serene family faded , woefully leaving only his malice and possession . Fighting with his own demons , his rigid and virile facade came and ended up resented . The 24-hour absence of the paternal figure made the child cope with egregious insults and quarrels . Curling up in her little bed , her hands covering the ears as not to listen his beloved parents . Was her the reason they fought every night ? And as the family withered , Andy prepared to hit with sweet and sour vengeance .

“Please ...” the woman begged , the tears blocking her already blurry vision . Fatigue in her system degenerating, she tried to refrain this , but Dolan’s wrath could not be avoided . “Please what , hm ? You had a fucking debt ! Look after that damned child . And I swear to god Mariah ^ if something had happened to my daughter!” he scolded . “Oh come on ! Stop acting like you care ! You never did ... you never cared about your family .” His intimidating methods would usually work , and if not he would try for the vicious skin-to-skin contact . Slapping her and looking her terribly weak silhouette, squirming and crying under him . She remained frigid , not wanting to get that answer , Mariah ran to the basement , advancing around the marble halls like a lost puppy . Andy rubbed his stressed temple , waiting for his own kind of wonder to come and take him from this type of hell . The paradise where demons are hidden .

Andy never wanted to become one of them. That vicious, hungry, creatures . Demons . The olds said that if somebody approached the North river he would see a little red creature . A graceful , gorgeous demon . That was bullshit , demons didn't exist , his friend Michael had told him , that poor man - he had taken the subject of claiming to be the Antichrist of the end times too thick . He ended up at an asylum - good man , sick brain . “What are you thinking ?” . God , or whoever , heard him sent him his guardian angel . The nifty woman was everything he wished for . A real living angel . And that chaste, naive flirt shifted into this; whatever that was.

“Nothing to be honest . But let’s not talk about me , hmmm ?” the girl nodded heartily . Y/N had found her person , the one she could trust and never receive betrayal , the one she could cry at and talk about her insurmountable problems . Their meeting was casual - one , two drinks exchanged , some additional winks and the saccharine act of sex to help Y/N realize her feelings. When she was with him , the blithe and sybarite feeling would bloom inside her , becoming as beautiful as a sanguine rose . She chuckled at his works , could describe him as selfless ? No . But to her ... yes . Her despondent self hid his abusive and possessive persona . For her eyes and only , Andy Dolan was a god , innocent and perfect . “I wanted to ask about ... the divorce ? When are you two signing it ?” he had to be astute and answer handily . But they answer was always the same “Oh sweetheart, don’t worry . Mariah is a bit pertinacious but I’ll persuade her , okay ?” and she would fall at the trap , again .

“You’re always answering the same !” maybe today she would revolt and fortunately leave the poisonous love of Andy’s . His eyes shone dangerously, he didn’t want to do this . “Y/N’s not like Mariah” he would remind himself , but the poor girl was sticking her nose almost everywhere . “Aren’t you pleased , hm ? I took you from that fucking clinic , I helped you withdraw and this is your thank you ? I’m disappointed in you , Y/N .” his esoteric character on sight again . His cogent and invidious words caused the sentient girl spill the salty water . The male disdaining to help or comfort . “You deserve this anyway .” she stumbled back , her apprehension increasing whilst seeing him standing up from the bed . That absurdity had to stop , but he had saved her and it was her time now .

As Andy returned home , and the futile try to persuade his wife about the divorce exhausted him , he found himself at his daughter’s room . Observing her sincere and innocent moves . “Daddy ?” “Yes , Baby ?” his far-fetched sweet talk made the two smile in sync . The blonde’s smile making daddy crack . “Can I tell you something?” Andy nodded , hoping the child wouldn’t have read any of his recreational messages . “Mommy told me the reason she doesn’t want you two to break up !” his eyes lit up at her appendix . Perhaps it was the money or the child but anyway - Andy had to know . “What’s that ?” patting his lap for the girl to sit , Hera made herself comfortable at the warmth of his legs . “She said that she won’t let you fool around with every individual who has two holess.” “She said what ?!?!” “Yes , yes but what did she mean when she said “every individual with two holes .” ?” “Not now , Hera .” he quickly placed the kid down , as she sulked at her daddy’s extraordinary behavior.

By the time Andy stated the predicament , Mariah had ruminated on her terms . She should have said this , fuck she really shouldn’t . Her dull and attention-seeking words pushed her husband’s last buttons . “Are you fucking braindead ? What was that you said to my daughter ?!” she knew where that debate would end up . Condescendingly , she wrapped her arms around his neck . Her touch-starved grating amusing his carnal urges . Not wanting to dwell on the situation , Andy let it happen . Her amorous posture , the well-med hair , how didn’t he feel it coming ? Her hands traveling at his shirt’s buttons while Andy’s fingers went for her top . Discarded clothing were soon decorating the floor of their kitchen . His greed for more would eat him up one day . And he waited - patiently and calmly for that day . Her tenuous dominance caused waking up his boredom. But his prurient mind , thought otherwise.

She licked his upper lip , Andy letting her tongue slip into his mouth . The sloppy kiss turning into something more passionate, more loving . “I’ve missed this .” she mumbled in between breaths , making a smirk plaster on Dolan’s face . “I’ve missed you .” he hushed her by kissing her , the loving , lingering kiss making butterflies fly in her stomach . “Andy ?” he groaned at the call , not wanting to eye roll , he approved the question and motivated to go on . “Do you love me ?” “Yes. Only you . And no one else . I know things are hard right now but I’ll make it up to you.”

Bare bodies tangled . Two bodies in one . His hips snapped viciously at hers , hand grabbing a harmful fist of hair . Abruptly pulling it back , making Mariah hiss at the sudden contact of pain . The persona she would only see , not even Y/N , the sadistic one . Her head touching his sweaty torso , the tears in her eyes strengthening his stamina . The coil in her stomach tightened and as the loved noticed it - his hands traveled between her puffy lips , toying with her little bud . “I’m .... im-” her muffled cries interrupting her . “I know baby . Cum , cum with me .” and the coil in her belly broke synchronized with his . The addicting feeling of euphoria engulfing them both . “You did so well .” his sugary words causing her pride to rise , awaking her love for him . Just like the old times . “I love you , Mariah .” she perched at his tight embrace , inhaling his intoxicating scent . “Mhm me too .” she had to savor the moment . Mariah didn’t know what could possibly find her tomorrow .

////////////////

And as Andy distanced himself from Y/N, he kept his promise and made up the tangle. At least everything that could be fixed . The insuperable bond they created was ineffable. The somnolent love , almost dead , rose back from the dead . His pernicious and arcane self opened at his therapist . The Dolans couldn’t be happier . Apathy no longer lived between them . No invidious implication wafting around the tensed atmosphere. Just some more scarce , anticipated details and Dolan would finally fall into blithely.

Andy planted the usual good morning kiss on his wife . Excusing himself for his aimless absence on lunch and venturing to the car . The fraction of 2 to months without seeing Y/N, made him tacit. Where was the power Dolan’s hold ? He couldn’t falter, not now. He would withhold and keep things conservative. His conscience screamed no , but he shut it off , not wanting to trust his instincts . Choosing the obliviousness.

Approaching her modern like house , the cars of topical police confused his comprehension. Incompetent to walk inside , albeit he promised not to care - a part which was got circumvented - some of his worry remained to Y/N . “Officer , is she okay ?” the concern in his eyes made the blue - dressed man doubt his accusation . “Sir , are you Mr.Dolan ?” the man let his white scribbling block down , paying full attention to the brunette . “In the flesh .” two more patrols approaching, no feeling of timidity in their eyes . His envision had to be mendacious . A prosaic one , more realistic. “Andy Dolan you are arrested for the murder of Y/N Y/L/N” his conception blurred, everything changing into automatic. His eyes caught the figure of his wife talking to another police man - she wouldn’t? Would she ?

Everything happened so quickly, the metal handcuffs were clutched onto his hand, the ignominious state making him sentient. He would go to prison and there was no denial in that . At least he would leave Eden .

/////////////// Now \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

He had learnt the news . Mariah was in all this . She had been informed about Andy’s illegal affair , not only with women but with drugs , too . On the one side, she had managed to plan her husband’s perfect suicide but the contradiction she received made her tentative. Therefore she visited the professionals . Sherlock’s beneficial - for both Mariah and him- and handily trap got Dolan arrested . They had planned everything, even the littlest detail . The plan was easy , yet complicated.

He would wake up at 7:15 a.m. as always . Head to the kitchen to make his morning coffee , catch up with Mariah who would accidentally leave the house . His phone would remind him about his last meeting with Y/N , where she would end up thing with him . Or what Mariah had decided to do for her . Y/N had left the island months ago when Mrs.Dolan appeared in her house and threatened to kill her and her soon-to-be-born child. As Andy would drive his way , Sherlock would leave his fingerprint everywhere , placing them carefully at the edges of the gun . Next step would be Y/N’s doppelgänger, nice and murdered next to the white rug .

The unbearable route of the dull prison . The thousand of men behind the metal bars , hungry for every kind of fight and sexual intercourse nettled his every atom . Compelling himself not to communicate with anyone , Andy , who had received a life imprisonment lost and the last bit of faith . There was no salvation for him , it never existed . “You have a letter .” the word taking him out of his dwelling thoughts. His family never sent him letters , not that they were coming . Drugs were forbidden, or that was the law applied . “Sender ?” “Unknown .” Andy wasn’t in the mood for playing games . This almost one years in prison erased all of his lenient future. Additionally, alleviating his last mendacious fantasies about life .

Taking the rigid piece of paper , the handwriting of a woman caught his attention . Refraining himself from toring it apart and throwing it to the trash can , he want for abstinence. Cutting the edges with a small knife which used to hide right down his pillow , the form a photo fall on the floor . Inhaling a piece of pure reluctance , Andy took the shiny piece of paper between his hands . The silhouettes of two girls laughing at each other quirked his eye brow . But her ineffable and disheveled beauty stopped his breath . A baby adjoining her side , made him caught the implication . The transparent eligibility to join this family causing him to incandescent. That was his child and his Y/N .

Last thing , eyes traveling at the bottom of the photo

- SHOT WITH NIKON 456 | 6/4/2021 | 7:56 p.m.

And they were alive .

////////////////////////////////////////

Tag list ; @ferndolan @brooklinn13 @lavenderahs @mllxngdonswife @kitty4860

If anyone wants to be removed or added just say it lol

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dredshirtroberts · 3 years

Text

Constellations

on AO3!

Rating: M / Lime Pair: Eskel/Geralt Summary: Eskel loves Geralt but their soulmarks don't match - he'd know. They're witchers, and scars are their business. As he joins Geralt in retirement, Eskel figures whatever he can get with the other witcher will be enough. He might get a little bit more than he thought he was bargaining for, but Eskel's never passed up a good deal.

My entry into the @eskelbigbang. Trying something new for posting fic so bear with me. Check out the awesome art by @dat-carovieh on their tumblr and twitter @ LupisLionstooth!

Eskel growled a little as he stumbled off the path, clutching the wound on his side. The scar on his face creased with his snarl as he collapsed into a tree. He hated being wounded. The blood loss was greater than normal and his vision swam as he tried to push forward. The horse beside him whickered softly at him as he tripped. A loose stone, probably—or at least he hoped. If there were nothing in the path that would be worse. That would mean he was worse off than he’d thought.

He needed to keep going. He had an appointment to make.

"You should meet me in Novigrad,” Geralt had said over cards last winter. They were several glasses of his horrible wine in (it wasn’t horrible, Eskel loved it, but he loved picking on Geralt more—loved making his nose wrinkle with irritation, and Eskel did prefer ale over wine but the wine made at Corvo Bianco was alright and, best of all, free) and having a quiet evening.

Most of their evenings together were quiet these days. How long had they lived now? How many of their friends were lost to the passage of time?

Lambert never stayed, preferring the road. They both dreaded his never returning but after the loss of his soulmate—the Cat Witcher that Geralt had helped avenge—he’d never been quite the same.

Ciri had grown up, grown into herself. She’d had a longer than average lifespan from her Elven blood, but she stayed with Yennefer more often than not, and had become a strong woman and mage in her own right. Yennefer, for her part, came and visited infrequently, lost often in her own research and pursuits.

Geralt’s bard, Dandelion, had retired from traveling, had owned a bar, had been a professor at Oxenfurt, and then, eventually, had passed in time from an old life lived long and lived well. Their other friends were either distant or dead.

So, things were quiet.

“Why would I meet you in Novigrad? I’m here?” Eskel had asked.

Geralt had rolled his eyes, “I mean when you’re not here. Back on the Path. We should meet in Novigrad. It’s a mid-point between here and your normal territory. And the biggest bookshop on the Continent.”

It was a tempting offer. And it wasn’t really like Eskel was going to refuse. They’d just never planned to meet before. Geralt had retired from the Path years ago, staying at his winery or traveling to meet his friends but never hunting monsters. Not that there were many monsters to find these days as it was. Eskel’s coin purse had been light for years, the only saving grace was Geralt’s hospitality during the winters, and his generosity with the funds that came in from the winery.

“Alright. Why?”

“Because I miss you when you’re out, dumbass,” Geralt groused with another eyeroll, the bite in his words sour and reminiscent of their younger brother-in-all-but-blood. The quick twitch of the corner of his mouth down and the tightness near his eyes belied the sincerity behind the words, however.

“Aww, I miss you too,” Eskel batted his eyes at Geralt sweetly, teasing, “Alright sure. I’ll meet you in Novigrad. When?”

Eskel was supposed to have been there days ago. But the contract he had been on was not only longer than anticipated but a larger beast as well. A more vicious one. And now he was injured and trying to make his way to Novigrad to meet Geralt.

He needed to meet Geralt there. He missed the man, his closest friend for the past century and a half, his only family. The closest thing Eskel would get to having his soulmate.

They didn’t talk about their marks. They used to. Before the Trials. Before everything had changed.

They were very young, the first time it had been brought up among their year group. Ten boys huddled around comparing the discolored skin that showed the closest their mate would ever come to death and recover from. They were in nothing but their smallclothes, sitting in a circle in one of the dorm rooms of Kaer Morhen and lit by only the fire in the hearth that kept the room warm in the cold nights.

Eskel’s mark was a series of dots on his arm, black-purple like bruises, peppered in regular intervals, dark lines running deep into his skin, touching the veins that brought blood to his hands, peppered in at the crook of his elbow. It was remarked by one that they were like stars—a description Eskel held onto for many years, even onto the Path itself, the constellations of Destiny drawing him to the match to his soul. Some boys had dark red patches on their chests, deep shadows of wounds-that-weren’t-yet slicing through their legs, their arms, their stomachs. One boy, Gweld, had a pale line running right across his throat.

Geralt’s was the biggest. A swath of pink skin from hips to shoulders, like he was flayed open and a new patch was sewn on in a slightly wrong color. Eskel’s heart hurt to see it. He liked Geralt best of the other boys, he wasn’t too loud when Eskel wanted to read, exchanged stories of knights and chivalry and wanting to be a hero with Eskel. And they of course got up to much mischief together, which Eskel always appreciated. To see him marked like that, to know that whoever Geralt’s soul was promised to would have to survive something that bad, was painful.

Eskel and the other boys knew Geralt’s soulmate was a Witcher. It was obvious. No one else would survive an injury that large, that deep.

Vesemir had caught them that night, scowling and barking to get back into their beds, that they’d all have kitchen duty in the morning and for the next week after for being out of bed so late. The boys had complained, whining as they got into their bunks.

The outline of Geralt’s soulmark was etched into Eskel’s mind for a long while after. Forever, really.

They’d discussed their respective marks privately at other times. Osbert had caught them out once, poking and prodding at one another, wondering what the cause of their marks would be, speculating on when they’d meet their soulmates. Would it be before they’d gotten the scars that would be representative of the marks on their bodies? Would it be after? What scars would they acquire and how would they show up on their soulmates?

Osbert had seen their marks. Saw Geralt’s and nodded, his eyes sad but knowing. Then he’d seen Eskel’s. The look on his face was one that Eskel wasn’t able to parse at the time, but as he looked back on the memory in later years, he realized it was devastated.

Eskel didn’t know what caused him to feel that way until he was strapped to the table during the Trials, mages and Witchers alike hovering over him. One of the mages had seen his arm, had nudged another beside him and said, “Look, this one already has where the needles go on his arm. Nearly labeled and everything.”

The laughter that had passed between the two mages frightened Eskel, but not more than the knowledge that his mate, the soul that matched his soul, the one that Destiny herself had picked for him, would go through the Trials, and that would be the worst thing they would survive. Would they die? On the table? He knew it was a possibility but…

Would he die before meeting his soulmate? That hurt worse, the thought of leaving his soulmate to the world without knowing what happened to Eskel. His brain raced through all the injuries he knew he’d acquired since coming to Kaer Morhen—which one was the worst one? Which one brought him closest to death? Which would be the mark on his mate’s body if he died on the table, chemicals and reagents and mutagens pouring into his bloodstream, changing his body?

For the first time in his life, he wondered if his soulmate would fear him after he became a Witcher, if he survived. And as the needles pierced his skin, their caustic, toxic mixtures seeping into him and altering him irrevocably, he cried.

Eskel, of course, had survived the Trials.

Geralt had, as well. Not easily, though. He’d been chosen for additional mutagens, extra tests, further Trials. Once-auburn hair that shone blood-red in the sunshine was snow-white. His skin was death-pale, and shadows seemed perpetually under his eyes. He had been unconscious when they’d brought him back up to the dorms, and Eskel had sat by his bed as often as he could, watching, waiting for his friend to wake up.

If he’d checked Geralt’s arms for the marks that still lay purple-bruised on his own, darker now with the pinpricks of the needles that had actually entered his arm, well… They weren’t there. His arms were as clear as the sky on a summer day. It was as if the Trials had not happened to him. Eskel knew that Witchers healed quickly, that the marks on his arm—the one’s he’d acquired, not the ones he’d been born with—would disappear shortly. But to see Geralt who had gone through more with nothing had…

Had…

Eskel hadn’t realized until that moment how much he desperately wanted Geralt to be his soulmate, until he had been so devastated by the undeniable truth that he wasn’t.

Eskel collapsed on the ground, the world shifting on its axis as he blinked foggy blurriness from his eyes. The horse behind him had stopped obediently. Geralt had trained him well, of course. Eskel didn’t expect otherwise from a man who had trained every single horse he had ever ridden—even if he did end up calling them all Roach.

He wasn’t going to make it to Novigrad.

It was the last coherent thought he had before he slumped to the ground, the world going dark around him.

Eskel had many wounds in his lifetime. Wounds that had brought him to the brink of death and he was saved only by the timeliest of Swallows, of magical healers, of mages. It was the fate of a Witcher. Their Destiny to be covered in marks from their profession. Some wore their scars proudly, some hid them away. Eskel didn’t really mind either which way. Not until Diedre.

The deep, horrible mark on his face certainly made him feel as though he were better off dead. It wrapped around the side of his face, tore part of his lip away leaving him with a constant snarl, reaching to his ear. He knew, in that moment, that whoever his soulmate was, had to hate him for giving them this…this…

This thing on their face.

It was also when he lost all hope that Geralt could still be his soulmate. That his best friend would ever become more. Geralt had always had a rather romantic idea of how soulmates worked. He would take his pleasure where he could get it in the meantime—as most Witchers did, but he would wait to have a romance with someone until their marks matched scars.

And Eskel, the fool, loved him for that. Loved him for his hopeless, idealistic view on soulmates, when in reality a soulmate was just a person, as flawed and horrible as every other person on the Continent. There were soulmate couples who hated one another. Those who never met. Those who hurt their mates, were the ones to give them their scars.

As soon as Eskel knew he was not Geralt’s he worried. He worried for Geralt because the man, despite everything was still soft on the inside, was still the boy with bright eyes who waxed poetic about becoming a Knightly Witcher, who would save the world, not just from monsters but from everything he could. The man who had wanted to name himself Geralt Eric Roger du Haute-Bellegarde entirely earnestly. The man who loved every horse he ever met and named them each after the same kind of fish.

Eskel worried because he could not protect Geralt if his soulmate hurt him, because Eskel was not his soulmate.

Eskel traced the constellations on his arm, the little stars that marked where his soulmate went through the Trials. That marked where he went through the Trials. Absently, late at night he wondered if they were someone he had already met.

After the pogroms and the attack of Kaer Morhen he no longer needed to wonder. If he hadn’t met them yet, they had probably already died.

It was years before he let himself consider that they had died even earlier than that. Likely the first year on the Path. He tried not to think about if they were from the Wolf school or another.

Sometimes he would run his fingers over the shape of the scar on his face, wonder if his soulmate could feel it—could have felt it, he sometimes reminded himself, they weren’t alive anymore, likely. He would think about what it would be to run his fingers lovingly over the mark that tied them together, let them touch his mark—the memories of the Trials were painful, traumatic for all who went through them, but maybe with the fact that it connected them together in so many ways it would be… better.

Eventually he stopped letting himself think about it at all. It hurt too much. It wasn’t Geralt, it would never be Geralt, and he would never know his soulmate.

And maybe, if he were really and truly honest with himself, he didn’t want to know his soulmate.

Eskel woke in a bed.

This was mostly jarring because he had the distinct memory of passing out in the middle of the road, but he’d woken up in worse places than a bed before. At least this time there were no succubi.

That had been interesting.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Geralt’s voice was gravelly as always, and coming from Eskel’s left hand side.

Eskel grunted as he turned his head to look at the white-haired man beside him. The ever-present dark circles under his eyes seemed darker than usual, the pallor of his skin waxier and wanner than Eskel remembered from the last time they’d seen one another.

(Geralt had been looking healthier since he’d retired, well-fed, relaxed. This looked like Geralt on the Path—something Eskel hadn’t seen in years, decades even.)

“You look like shit,” Eskel said, pulling his face into a rough approximation of a smirk. His body felt heavy and he could feel the familiar tug of stitches in his side. At least he wasn’t actively bleeding out anymore.

“Yeah, well,” Geralt started like he was going to retort, but his voice fell flat as his expression did something Eskel wasn’t sure he’d ever seen on the man before, “You’re lucky I caught your scent while I was out hunting or you’d have died laying in the road.”

“Business as usual, then,” Eskel grunted, attempting to sit up a little. Geralt moved quickly, faster than Eskel was anticipating, and a hand was on his chest, pushing him back down into the bed. If Eskel really wanted to, he probably could have ignored the hand but…

Geralt’s long fingers were cold and felt nice on his heated skin and it had been so long since their last hug in Toussaint before Eskel had left on the Path again. Maybe this year he’d actually talk to Geralt about retiring with him, about setting up in the winery with Geralt, becoming even-older-old men together. It wasn’t like the monsters were getting any more populous. He could take up a trade, maybe, and pretend he wasn’t made into a monster himself by mutagens and actions and scars. Maybe he could pretend they were soulmates again, that this was enough.

He suddenly remembered why he hadn’t chosen to retire with Geralt yet. Why he might not ever.

“Stay down, idiot. You’ll pull your stitches.”

“Doubt I need them much longer,” Eskel grumbled.

“The fact that I could see your intestines before I got you fixed up begs to differ.” Geralt’s eyes were narrowed, the slits of his pupils dark in the wheat-gold of his eyes.

“Eh, they needed a bit of fresh air,” Eskel’s joking tone didn’t quite hit, and Geralt’s jaw clenched as he swallowed thickly. Eskel winced, turning away, “That was dumb of me to say, I’m sorry.”

“No you’re…you’re right. It’s part of the job,” Geralt was leaning back, taking his hand with him and Eskel gritted his teeth together to avoid begging him to keep touching Eskel, to never let go.

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck,” Eskel shrugged.

They sat in silence for a bit, Eskel’s eyes feeling heavy again.

“You give me something for it?” He asked, his brow creasing in confusion.

“What?”

“For the…” He gestured to his side, “Did you give me something?”

“Nah, why?”

“Tired,” Eskel mumbles, feeling his eyes drift shut again. Though, perhaps the exhaustion is more from having pushed himself on the Path for days on end before his last contract, and then further while injured, from having little to no food because he couldn’t afford it and the hunting was scarce close to the griffin.

Perhaps it was being in a bed for the first time since he’d left Geralt’s side in early spring, or maybe just the safety and comfort of having Geralt by his side again, listening to the man’s steady, Witcher-slow heartbeat and the soft sound of his breathing.

“So sleep,” Geralt’s voice is fond in Eskel’s ears and he thinks it’s probably just his mind making things up as it slows from waking to meditation to sleep, drifting from consciousness to dreams with little to no effort.

Eskel thinks he could get used to it, and fears what that means.

Eskel wakes again and it’s morning. Sun is shining through the window in the corner and birds are chirping outside.

Geralt is asleep, leaned forward on the bed, head resting on Eskel’s lap, and hands clasped around Eskel’s own. Previously cold fingers are warmed by the heat of Eskel’s palms and something in Eskel’s chest clenches in a way he is all too familiar with.

Geralt’s hair is loose, unbound and a tangled mess around his shoulders. Several strands have fallen across his face, a lock of it draped over his eyes, closed in sleep with pale lashes fanned out over dark circles. Soft breaths huff between parted lips that move slightly with the dreams that he sees behind his eyelids—Eskel can see the shape of his eyes darting back and forth beneath the thin skin.

He brings his other hand up, the one unclaimed by Geralt’s grasping fingers, and gently pushes the hair out of the other man’s face.

Geralt is beautiful. And Eskel loves him. He loves him so much.

Golden eyes drift open slowly, pupils sliding from wide circles to rounded slits with the light as Geralt blinks, taking a moment to wake up.

“Hey,” Eskel murmurs, a smile sliding over his face—easy, this time, and he is sure his emotions are plastered all over his face but he can’t really find it in himself to care. Geralt is here. Geralt was worried for him. Geralt slept at his bed rather than in one of his own, holding his hand.

“Hey,” Geralt’s already rough voice is moreso from the sleep as Eskel brings his hand away from the white hair that slides through his fingers like water made semi-solid. “You actually awake this time?”

“Probably,” Eskel chuckles, resting back against the pillow to stare up at the ceiling. “Been a tough season so far.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He wants to explain, but also he doesn’t. He doesn’t want Geralt to worry about him more. He didn’t really want Geralt to worry about him injured, either, but that wasn’t his fault.

(Their trainers might have disagreed, might have said of course it was Eskel’s fault he had been injured on the Path, but they weren’t there now, were they?)

“What got you?” Fingers trace the line of the wound, healed already, the stitches already out, having been removed while Eskel slept. Eskel shivers.

“Griffin. Villagers weren’t exaggerating the size, after all.” Eskel pulls himself up to sitting, his muscles protesting after so long relaxed in sleep. “Got here in the end, though.”

Geralt snorts, “Barely.”

“Eh, I knew either you’d come find me or it was my time to go,” Eskel half-jokes. A mirror of their earlier conversation. A conversation they’d had about various wounds and injuries accrued over their extra long lifespans. Geralt’s face is impassive, neutral and shows nothing. Which means he’s very upset by this comment.

“Come back to Toussaint with me,” Geralt says, and his voice is soft enough that if Eskel wanted to he could pretend he didn’t hear it.

Eskel isn’t sure what he wants.

“Why?”

Geralt’s jaw works as his mouth stays shut. There are words, Eskel knows, caught behind teeth and tongue and throat that will not come out because Geralt’s mind won’t let them. Ever since Blaviken, he’d been like this. Their hands are still tangled together and Eskel squeezes Geralt’s fingers to his palm gently.

“Why do you want me to come to Toussaint with you in the middle of the season, Geralt?” He asks again. Sometimes saying it again, saying *more* helps. Sometimes it makes it worse. He desperately hopes this makes it better.

“I don’t want…” Geralt starts. Stops. Squeezes Eskel’s fingers back. Then he pulls away. “You’re probably hungry. I’ll get food.”

Eskel drops it. Geralt will come to him in his own time. Eskel will decide what he wants to do in the meantime. A few days rest as planned here in Novigrad will be enough for now.

Geralt comes back with food for them both, and Eskel’s body remembers that it is starving. They don’t speak much during the meal, and when it’s over they talk about everything other than Geralt’s invitation.

Geralt doesn’t bring it back up that day, or the day after. Or the day after that.

They spend a week together in Novigrad. Eskel raids the bookstore—it was very impressive, filled with tomes on tomes of books with knowledge and poetry and stories and everything and anything. Geralt came with him, though he only picked at the plays and atlases, but he purchased several books that Eskel looked at longingly, tucking them in his bags to travel, saying they will be waiting in the library for Eskel when he comes back.

Eskel decided that meant they were not going to talk about the invitation to Toussaint again unless he brings it back up.

The thing is, Eskel doesn’t want to leave Novigrad. He doesn’t want to leave Geralt. He doesn’t want to go back on the Path where he will be lonely and cold, where there is little food and fewer friendly faces. Back to monsters and fighting and nursing himself back to health, to glares and fearful children, to long stretches of time with no contact with anyone other than the horse and his reflection in the water.

He doesn’t want to risk not being able to get back to Geralt.

That night, he begins the conversation.

“We’ve been here a week,” Eskel observed, taking a bite of a soft, buttery roll. He was not sure what kind of money Geralt was paying the innkeep here but they have eaten well since Eskel arrived.

Geralt freezes momentarily. Had Eskel not been watching, he would have missed it.

“Yep.”

“Been trying to think about where to go next. Not many monsters up north anymore,” Eskel keeps his commentary light, his tone gentle and observational only. Nothing to indicate that he’s leading the conversation anywhere.

“Eskel.”

“Geralt.”

Ah, he has been found out. Figures it wouldn’t work on the man who has known him the longest of anyone alive in the world right now.

“I- I can’t-…” Geralt pushes back from the table a little, tension clear in his body and shoulders, “I won’t-”

“I was thinking I could head south. Maybe travel with you. Head to Toussaint. I know they were having vampire problems decades back. You think there are still any hiding out? I bet there’s an infestation in your library. I should really check that out, you know. Since you’re all out of practice and all.”

Geralt glares at him but there is a relief etched in his bones that Eskel can feel as he grins unrepentantly, feeling his stiff scar tissue crinkle the skin on his cheek as he does.

“You’re an ass.”

“Hmm, but you’re friends with an ass so I think that says more about you than me.” Eskel teases and Geralt rolls his eyes.

“Ass-kel.”

“Come now, Geralt. We’ve surely grown past the insults you thought up when we were twelve.”

“Not if you still act like you did back then.” Geralt points out and Eskel laughs. The tension breaks, and the two of them end up nearly giggling over their dinner.

It is good to hear Geralt laugh again. Eskel wonders when the last time he heard it was and realizes it’s been much longer than a season on the Path.

Travelling with Geralt is easy. It is also the hardest thing Eskel has ever done.

They camp on the road. It’s economical, and reminds them both of earlier times, times before the world changed and left them behind. It also leaves them with little to no privacy between them and Eskel has never wanted a wank more in his life than when he has to wake up and watch Geralt still asleep in his bedroll, or bathing in the stream. But trying to get off with another Witcher around is even more difficult than it had been to try and get off in a keep full of them—especially when he doesn’t want Geralt to know.

Because Eskel is sure Geralt would figure out exactly what was causing Eskel’s need as soon as he was caught.

Geralt’s back is nearly unmarred by scars, leaving his mark clear as the day Eskel first saw it. The mark Eskel has seen in his mind's eye for decades. Nearly a hundred years of thinking of that shape, the line of it. The pink is the same shade as it was before but seems so much darker, starker with the contrast to Geralt’s death-pale skin. The shock of color interrupted by fine scars from smaller wounds, and from the bright white hair trailing between Geralt’s shoulder blades. Eskel wants to run his hands over it, claim it, mark it up with bites and scratches and make it his because that mark ties Geralt’s soul to another and Eskel wants what he cannot have.

He turns away, usually, and does not watch as Geralt bathes. Does not imagine what he is doing, does not follow the sounds of the water moving as it is sloughed over skin, hands chafing at dirt to scrub it off, dripping, dribbling sounds as it is squeezed from the long locks of hair.

The trip to Toussaint from Novigrad is the longest it has ever been and Eskel is glad when they arrive at Corvo Bianco, greeted by the man Geralt has hired to run things in his stead. The rooms Eskel normally uses are clean and available for him and he realizes he has actually agreed to do this. He will be staying in Toussaint. He won’t be finishing the season on the Path. He will be with Geralt.

He doesn’t know if he’s made the right decision.

Geralt is far more relaxed in Toussaint than he ever was anywhere else. He allows himself to be open with his affections—something he lost when he went off on the Path, and gained back in fits and spurts after rearing Ciri. Hugs to his brothers for no reason, gentle touches to shoulders and arms and hands, leaning on them when sitting together, especially when drinking.

Lambert always scoffs and complains, shoving the man off and griping about how he’s become sentimental in his dotage. Geralt always grins and laughs, making a joke of it, teasing the youngest of their remaining family and ramping up the gestures to absurdity for his benefit.

With Eskel it is quieter, softer. Eskel always returns the touch, reveling in the chance to hold the man he cannot have. Arms around Geralt for the hug, squeezing him tight. A returned pat to the shoulder or back (where his mark is, don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t–), a squeeze of fingers when their hands touch. His arm wrapping around Geralt’s shoulders when it’s late at night and they’re leaning on one another, deep into their cups and watching the stars and the lights of the town below the vineyards as the night drifts on around them.

If he adds a few touches of his own here and there, well, it’s just to show Geralt that it’s okay to share these moments. And a kiss to the top of the head during those late nights is entirely innocent enough.

(Wishing it was more, wanting desperately for more, more, more, is just something Eskel has gotten used to after all this time. Wanting and wishing is one thing, acting on those is another and he won’t do that to Geralt, he won’t.)

So it is that they find themselves late into the night, out on Geralt’s balcony, several bottles of wine in, and Geralt resting his head on Eskel’s shoulder, Eskel’s arm not around his shoulders but further down his back, settling on his ribs. His fingers are absently tracing patterns through the fabric of Geralt’s shirt—if he’s tracing the line of the mark on Geralt’s skin, well…It’s on his back, Geralt probably doesn’t put that together.

Geralt sighs softly, a happy, content sort of sound, and turns his head into Eskel’s shoulder, headbutting it gently with his forehead.

“You good?” Eskel asks, his voice barely above a whisper. For some reason talking louder feels like it might break some sort of spell between them. Something that would cause them to have to part.

“Yeah,” Geralt hums, a smile visible from what little of his face Eskel can spy looking down at him, “Yeah, I’m… I’m good.”

“Good,” Eskel pulls him in closer, abandoning his tracing of Geralt’s soulmark through his clothes to lay his hand steadily on Geralt’s side.

“You?”

“Yeah. Me.” Eskel teases laughing a little, “I’m good.”

“Good.”

And it is. Good, that is. They’re happy. It’s warm, the last of summer fading into autumn, a breeze blowing and rustling the leaves of the vines in the vineyard below. They can hear music from the town—probably none of the human inhabitants of the land Geralt owns can, but the two Witchers are able to. It’s faint, what with the distance, but it’s audible and sets a nice background tone for their evening. There are bugs making chirping noises and night birds calling in the trees and it’s peaceful and everything Eskel never knew he wanted alongside everything he always wanted.

“Esk?”

“Hm?” He glances down again at Geralt, having been staring out at the lamplight across the valley in a daze, feeling Geralt’s body heat against his own and his thumb absently stroking against the ribbones he can no longer feel so starkly under Geralt’s skin.

Geralt’s face is… much closer than Eskel thought it had been the last time he’d looked down at him and now it’s moving even closer and–

“Ger?” He whispers when Geralt stops, a hairsbreadth from their lips touching.

“I–” Geralt stops again, pulling back a little.

“I didn’t say stop,” Eskel breathes, leaning in and connecting them together in a way they haven’t before.

Geralt is on him like a starving man on a feast, hands gripping at Eskel’s shirt, pulling him in closer, closer, closer. And Eskel goes willingly, opening his mouth to Geralt’s assault, letting him do the leading, finding out where Geralt wants this to go because wherever it is, however far, Eskel will follow.

His hands bracket Geralt’s sides, palms resting above hip bones and thumbs pressing gently into the softer flesh under his ribs. Eskel slides them up and down slowly, just a fraction of an inch in either direction, and Geralt makes a noise that Eskel has never heard him make before and suddenly Eskel is the starving man and Geralt is the feast.

They break for air when even their lung capacity is at its limit. Gasping and panting, Geralt leans into Eskel’s neck, biting kisses into the flesh there, bared because this is home, he is safe and needs no armor, no barrier between his vulnerable parts and Geralt because he can trust this man like he trusts no other on this earth.

“Fuck, Geralt. Geralt, I–” Eskel groans, tilting his head to the side to give Geralt more room, “How long?”

“Forever,” Geralt breathes and Eskel’s hands grip his hips, yanking him closer, closer still, burying his face into Geralt’s neck for his own marks to be made on the pale, pale skin.

“I’m sorry,” Eskel’s teeth bite at Geralt’s jaw, “I wish I’d known.”

“Please,” Geralt asks, “Please come to bed with me. I– I can’t. I can’t wait for you anymore.”

Eskel answers by grabbing underneath Geralt’s ass and hauling him up. Geralt inhales sharply—whether in surprise or arousal is hard to tell—his legs wrapping around Eskel’s waist as his arms drape over his shoulders. And then there’s more kissing, which honestly Eskel doesn’t know how he’s gone so long without because it’s perfect.

Geralt doesn’t have a mark on his face, and doesn’t have scars on his arm, but Eskel thinks that this has to be better than kissing your soulmate.

He carries Geralt through the door between the balcony and Geralt’s bedroom, carefully making his way over dirtied clothes and stray shoes and half-read books to reach the bed. His knees bump the edge of the mattress and he grins wickedly into the kisses Geralt is plundering his mouth with before releasing his hold on Geralt suddenly.

Geralt clearly did not realize just how much of his weight Eskel was holding, falling to the mattress with a shocked yelp of surprise before Eskel was on him again, leaning over him, pressing him back into the bed.

“Still good?” Eskel asks between kisses to Geralt’s shoulders and neck.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Geralt is nodding and his breathy words are half-whined, “Still good, fuck Eskel. Eskel I’m– I’ve–”

“I know. I know, I’m sorry.” The kisses he is giving to Geralt get gentler, softer, sweeter, “I’m sorry, me too.”

“You’re an idiot,” Geralt breathes, fondly, “The fuck did I do falling in love with a dumbass like you?”

Eskel’s heart is fit to burst at this and he looms over Geralt suddenly, “Say it again.”

Geralt is blinking with wide, dark pupils encompassing almost the whole of his golden irises, his hair is fanned out around his head like a snowy halo and Eskel wants more than he has wanted ever before and he didn’t even know that was possible but here he is. Geralt is with him, wants him, and he can have him and it’s so much more and so much better than he thought it would be.

Why the fuck did they wait so long?

“Fuck, Eskel. Eskel I love you,” Geralt’s hands rest on Eskel’s arms, but they’re sliding up to cup Eskel’s face, thumb tracing the scar from lip to cheek and back again, “I have always loved you, you stupid idiot. How the fuck have you not known?”

“When the fuck was I supposed to know?” Eskel asks, frowning, “You never said!”

“I thought you did! I thought you were waiting for your soulmate or whatever but maybe you’d settle for me eventually.” Geralt scoffs, “Seriously? You had no idea? I’ve been so obvious that Yen said something about it ages ago.”

Eskel wants to comment on the fact that Geralt thought Eskel was waiting for his soulmate when the whole time Eskel thought Geralt was waiting for his soulmate. He wants to say something about how low Geralt’s self esteem is that he thinks Eskel would have to settle for him, like Geralt isn’t the only thing in the world Eskel can’t put a price on if he absolutely had to. He wants to make mention of the fact that Geralt thought he was being obvious about it, that Yen somehow figured it out.

Instead he just grins down at Geralt.

“I love you too, you son of a bitch.”

It’s good, what they have. It’s pretty much the same as it was, but Geralt is even more physically affectionate and now Eskel can kiss him and hold him and Geralt kisses and holds him back. Geralt is very good at kissing and Eskel tries to be as appreciative of it as possible every time he is gifted with the opportunity.

They have not gone farther than rutting against one another through their clothes and Eskel can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not.

On the one hand, he very much wants to fuck Geralt. It’s something he’s been thinking of doing for nearly a hundred years, and now that he gets to be so close to it, it’s almost painful that he can’t. On the other hand, seeing Geralt’s soulmark while they’re intending on doing something intimate together, despite how many times Eskel has fantasized about marking it up, making it his, making Geralt his, he’s not sure he would actually be able to follow through with anything if he saw it in the moment.

Geralt, too, seems to be reluctant and that’s probably the main reason Eskel hasn’t made any motions to go further with it. They share a bed at night for sleeping, they wake tangled in one another, they eat together, they drink together, they hold and touch and kiss and say “I love you” to one another like it’ll be the last time they ever get to say it, like it’s the first time they’ve ever said it before, and it’s good. It’s so good. It’s more than Eskel ever thought he’d get, and it’s enough.

Eskel has taken to helping out in the fields for something to do during the day. It’s harvest season and they need all the hands they can get out there, so he joins in and assists. It’s warm in Toussaint, in the early autumn, and he is sweating and dirty when he comes in for the afternoon.

Geralt is sitting outside, drinking and reading his legs crossed as he reclines a little in the chair he’s sat in, reaching blindly for the glass of wine on the table beside him to avoid looking up from his book. Eskel smiles but does not interrupt, instead shucking his shirt off with a roll of his shoulders and taking the bucket of water beside the patio and upending it over his head.

The sluice of water is chilly enough despite the bucket’s position in the sun, and while bracing, it is also refreshing and feels good on his sweaty and overheated skin. He shakes his head out like a dog—or a wolf, he thinks to himself with a smile—his medallion clinking gently on his chest as he stretches out. Not quite as rigorous as a training session with Vesemir, but close enough. He might even be sore later if he’s lucky.

There’s a startled gasp from behind him and the clattering of a glass on wood, followed by a curse. Eskel turns around to see that Geralt has knocked his wine over and is desperately trying to clean it up while also not setting his book down in it. His movements are flustered and Eskel wonders what startled him so.

“Good book?” He asks, a laugh at the edge of his voice, amused by Geralt’s movements.

“What? Oh, uh. Yes. Yes very… very… um,” Geralt struggles to come up with a word. “When did you get that big scar on your back?”

“What?” Eskel blinks at the non sequitur.

“The big scar on your back. That’s– it’s– it looks old but I don’t think I’ve seen it before?” Geralt is affecting a tone that says he’s trying very hard to appear nonchalant, which means he’s failing miserably at it. Eskel crinkles his brow with a confused smile.

“I have lots of scars on my back, Geralt. You will have to be more specific.”

“It’s…” Geralt stands, still acting flustered, and turns Eskel around, laying a hand on the top of Eskel’s shoulder and dragging it down in a rough diagonal before tracing the edge of it—it spans the whole of Eskel’s back, and he thinks he remembers which one it was.

“Uh… Leshen, I think. About… twenty years on the Path? It’s been a while, Geralt, why?”

Geralt spins him around and takes his arm, pulling it forward and stretching his elbow flat. The network of dots on his elbow are visible to the sun for the first time in, gods, half a century at least—he’s tried to keep them covered as much as he can because looking at them was too much. A pale finger traces over them, slightly cool as usual. Eskel wants to take those fingers and chafe them between his palms to warm them up but he knows that would only work a little. Plus he kind of likes that Geralt’s hands are cool to the touch.

“Yeah, uh… that’s where they put the needles for the-”

“The Trials. Yeah. I remember.” Geralt whispers, his finger tracing a connecting line between the star-shaped marks, “Had it done twice.”

“Don’t remind me,” Eskel scowls, remembering the fierce terror at waking up and not knowing where Geralt was, learning that he was having more torture forced on him, then the recovery period where he had sat sentinel at Geralt’s bedside.

“Worst thing I ever lived through,” Geralt murmurs, glancing up at Eskel through white lashes and oh.

Oh.

“Oh.”

Eskel feels numb. And dumb. And like he’s been struck by lightning. Or a griffin. Or a Leshen.

Oh.

“So… we’re idiots, right?” Eskel asks after a moment.

Geralt laughs leaning forward to drop his head onto Eskel’s shoulder. Eskel’s arms come up automatically to hold him, threading fingers through his hair, loose and long and gorgeous. He finger-combs the locks as Geralt shakes, not answering him. Eskel doesn’t worry, it happens sometimes, that Geralt won’t have words.

He does worry a little when he catches the scent of tears, “Geralt?”

“Yeah,” He finally says, “Yeah, we’re idiots.”

“But you’re my idiot,” Eskel says and it’s the strangest, greatest feeling in the world that it’s unequivocally true.

“And you’re mine,” Geralt leans back, tilting his head to the side, and taking Eskel’s mouth with a fierce—but somehow sweeter than even their chastest—kiss.

They knock their foreheads together lightly, eyes closed for just a moment as Geralt’s hands reach up and cup Eskel’s neck and face.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

#the witcher #eskel big bang #ebb2021 #eskel/geralt #my fic #my writing #the captain writes #soulmate identifying marks #mutual pining #idiots in love #soulmates #making out #fade to black #happy ending

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jasperwhitcock · 4 years

Text

04. Accidents

yes, the rumors are true. literally there are no rumors nobody is talking about this a month and a half later, i have finally updated my bella as a vampire and edward as a human fanfic inspired by an au that @bellasredchevy posted. you can read the new chapter on AO3 or here. i post updates on AO3 or on tumblr using the #equinoxjw tag.

me to kae like two months ago when i started writing this fanfic: i don't want the plot to follow exactly along with smeyer also me: *copy and pastes midnight sun*

i promise i'll deviate eventually hehe leave me alone <3

It may have been an overabundance of caution, but I decided to hunt again that night once my family had coupled off into their perfectly matched pairs, leaving me to be the odd one out again. I had no desire to be an audience to whatever acts occurred when their bedroom doors locked.

Prior to this, I spent some time in Carlisle’s study along with Jasper. We worked in silence for the majority of our few hours together; Jasper quietly organized some of our recent identity paperwork, making preparations for the next set of documents we would require in a few years, Carlisle read through a very thick medical textbook for research, and though it was months too early, I was distracting myself by preparing to file our family’s taxes for the last year.

Our finances had been in something of disarray since Christmas anyways. Of course, the mind-boggling accumulation of wealth our coven possessed never necessitated a budget, but we still ensured to balance the checkbook to keep account of our transactions. The holidays were always an ostentatious occasion in our household. We tried to make the most out of days deemed special as means to have something to look forward to in the years that began to blend together as our endless amount of time passed.

Other than Carlisle and Esme’s gifts, it was typically a tie between Alice and Emmett concerning who spent the most on presents. Whereas Alice was flamboyant in her gifting – there was hardly a holiday season where hundreds of designer label bags didn’t appear beneath the Christmas tree – Emmett was mischievous. Although he always included something we’d actually enjoy, he managed to come up with something entirely nonorthodox year after year. There was a year where for Hanukkah, he had presented me with a deed to a piece of land each day, and by the eighth day, I was the owner of a very small country.

Carlisle and Esme made sizable donations in our names every year to charities of our choice. It may have been too on the nose of me, but I always opted for something that’d impact children’s reading education. There were many small libraries across the world named after both my immortal and mortal parents.

Just as my jaw nearly dropped upon discovering the amount Emmett had spent this past year on Christmas alone, I had been interrupted by my brother.

“Bella,” Jasper hesitantly spoke to capture my attention.

The look in Carlisle’s eyes as they flickered up from his book briefly and back to the page he’d been reading instantly made me feel suspicious. I knew Jazz would immediately detect as much.

“Yes?” I’d answered, reserved.

“We are always ready to move on at a moment’s notice, of course,” he’d begun, his tone cautious as he sampled the emotional climate. “However, I thought it might be best if we addressed how you’re feeling. Rather, we wanted to know more about your feelings and thoughts on the current situation.”

“Uh, you best of anybody understand how I’m feeling. What else is there for me to say? What are you getting at, Jazz?” I’d demanded, my focus no longer on the paperwork before me.

“I just thought that while we make preparations for additional documents for the future, we should ask if you’ve given any thought to leaving early...as in leaving now.”

“You want me to leave!?” I had almost shrieked, my voice rising a few octaves. Just as the shock had run through me, it’d been instantly sedated by my brother.

“Of course not, Bella,” Carlisle assured, closing the textbook atop his ancient mahogany desk. “It was only a question. We’d be horribly unhappy – Esme, especially – to not have you with us. And if you wanted us to move along with you, we would do so.”

“It was merely something for you to consider. A precaution. We wondered if perhaps providing you with the option might be beneficial bearing in mind how stubborn you are,” Jasper expressed, his words careful and his eyes vigilant.

I had been shocked at what I was hearing. My eyes narrowed.

“Me, stubborn? My tenacity is no match for Rosalie.” My adopted father had laughed in the middle of my response. “Really, I don’t understand where this is coming from.”

“Bella, we don’t wish for you to leave us,” Carlisle had guaranteed me again. “Nor do we wish to move on from Forks so soon. Naturally, neither must happen. It is entirely your decision, and we would all support you. Needless to say, but I have complete faith in you. However, I don’t want for you to feel as though you cannot leave if this is too difficult. There is nothing to prove to any of us, nothing worth proving. Nothing worth endangering the boy. The boy will be gone in a year or two. So if it is the better option, I wanted to offer the idea for your consideration.”

Jasper’s eyes had scrutinized my expression as he read the emotions, searching for some facial indication to explain what I’d felt. I couldn’t provide an explanation even if I’d tried. The idea of leaving emptied me, making me feel worn and hollow.

“It was just a suggestion, Bella,” Jasper had repeated upon experiencing my inexplicable hurt secondhand, offering a tiny smile to soothe me.

I’d absolutely miss my family. But that didn’t seem reason sufficient enough to match the level of anxiety and sadness that accompanied the idea of leaving Forks.

The boy would be gone in a year or two.

Carlisle’s words were just along the line of thoughts I’d had a week ago here in this forest.

I again felt bewildering sorrow for the life the boy would live without me. Rather, the life the boy would live that I could never live.

As I emptied another deer of its life source, I wondered about the question Carlisle had asked when I insisted upon staying.

“What holds you here?”

How could I explain to them what I couldn’t explain to myself?

Carlisle and Jasper had been right to suggest I leave. What was another two years in this small town to me in this endless life? It was merely a blink of the eye, and yet the fact made me feel deeper in desperation to remain here. So little time left to unravel the mystery of the weird bronze-haired boy’s pervasive insight...

But the mystery was not of the same value as the boy’s life. That was true. Edward, no matter how smug and obnoxious, deserved the right to continue on without my presence beside him as a looming threat. I could never forgive myself if in my pride, my stubbornness, I hurt him.

There couldn’t be that much behind him anyways. I’d figure him out in less than a week and resume my previous boredom.

Or at least I would have, had he not been the one human whose blood was temptation enough to consider leaving Forks.

It was the right decision to make, and yet, there was that incomprehensible woe inside me again.

I’d have to say goodbye today. Not only to my family but to the boy too.

I didn’t have to leave Forks, but staying at home for two years avoiding Edward seemed like a depressing waste of time. I could travel or spend some time in Denali.

It was melancholic to look at the forestry surrounding me, knowing now I’d be leaving it behind. By the time the boy graduated, it might be time for our family to move on.

I would miss Forks and its shrouding cover of clouds.

As a human, I’d hated the rain and snow, the gloom and the grey.

As a vampire, the rainfall was freedom–a promise of a day not spent blanketed in darkness. The snow was a beautiful romanticization of that freedom. Once the threats of snow had been removed thanks to the lithe grace that corrected my above average human clumsiness, I could now appreciate the beauty of the water droplets crystallizing in the air, seeing every unique shape of the flakes as they fluttered softly down in an effortless dance.

Today, the snow was stiffened after having refrozen. The scenery was enveloped in ice, the trees and grass and rocks sparkling with glossy glass.

Yes, I would truly miss it.

How many times had I sat on this stone in the past week, so pensive and desolate, as I stared out at the icy river? Last time, I cared little to watch the hidden sunrise beside Esme because of how indifferent I’d become. Now, though I could recall the image perfectly, I regretted not cherishing the moment.

At least my family would no longer have to be an audience to my ineffectual stoicism. That was something of a positive.

A nimble whisper of tiny feet against the glazed over blades of grass made my head flick upwards in time to see Alice appear beside me as if she’d been sitting there all along. Tucked in her hands, she carried two neatly folded stacks of dark fabric.

“One last day?” She asked, attempting to smile for me, though her dark eyes and bleak tone betrayed her.

“Of course you’d see the second I decided. I didn’t even think about that,” I laughed once without real amusement.

“Yeah, you’re very off recently,” Alice gently nudged me, her smiling taking on more authenticity. “Your future’s all blurry and vague. I can’t make much sense of it. I can’t even see where you’re going.”

“I don’t know where I’m going yet,” I shrugged, growing more glum by the second.

“You know Jazz and I will come with you if you want,” she offered, freeing one of her hands to grab mine, gently squeezing my palm.

“Jazz is the one who suggested I go.”

Alice snarled, a hiss escaping her teeth. “I heard.”

“He was right. And I know you’d come, I know all of you would. But I don’t want to uproot everybody, and it’s not that long anyways.”

Her pixie face contemplated for a fraction of a second, looking as if she wanted to argue, but she then sighed, giving in. Her lips twisted into a pout.

“I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” I carefully fixed an unconvincing smile onto my face.

My sister rolled her eyes before pulling me into a hug.

“Get dressed. You can tell the others when you’re ready.”

Alice stood up, kissed the top of my head, and darted off to the house.

I tugged the clothes on my body without thinking much about what they looked like, crumpling the old clothes I’d worn into a ball.

On the way to school, we sat in silence. Though Jasper could sense the sadness emanating from Alice and I, she made good on allowing me to be the one to tell them. I could always trust Alice.

Once we’d arrived at school, my eyes searched for the growing familiarity of a pair of sage eyes. The last time we’d been in this parking lot, I’d begun to feel my spirit lifting again. It seemed funny that it was once again crashing down like the first day we had crossed paths.

Today would be the last time I’d see him.

I didn’t know how to feel about the fact. It seemed maybe sorrow was the emotion that’d define my entire morning.

The others left for their classes, but Alice remained by my side as I waited, our backs leaned against Rosalie’s day car.

I tried to avoid Alice’s doll-like eyes as she gave me somber, pleading glances, instead listening for the quiet hum of Edward’s car as it approached the Forks High School parking lot.

It was easy to detect. The majority of students at the school drove older, used cars passed down from parents and grandparents with noisier engines.

I braced for his arrival as the wheels turned onto the slick, icy pavement. I finally gave in to peeking at my sister’s face, but she no longer looked at me with devastation. Instead, her eyes glazed over in search of the future.

I wondered if she was watching my indecisiveness as I grappled with what to say. I knew this attachment to saying goodbye to the boy was bizarre. I didn’t owe him an explanation, but something in me wanted closure with the person who was the reason for my leaving Forks.

I comforted myself by thinking that of course in this neverending span of time I lived, any minute connection was of interest to me – just something to find absorption in. This odd relationship of unwilling predator and over-perceptive prey was just another intrusive thought to occupy my time.

His shiny black car rolled into view as he expertly parked a few spots diagonal from Rosalie’s car, cutting the engine swiftly. He seemed to be a confident driver. How old was he? Seventeen? Eighteen? He couldn’t have been driving for more than three to five years, but I was relieved he seemed far more trustworthy behind the wheel than some of the other students’ reckless driving. It was no wonder we’d had so many assemblies preaching responsible, defensive driving with the way these teenagers ineptly sped around the town. My human father had often complained about the kids’ injudicious carelessness around here.

I was somewhat pleased because with all of my effort to keep this boy alive so far, it’d be a true shame for his own thoughtlessness to lead to an untimely death.

He stepped out of the driver seat, combing a hand through his bronze hair that was striking today in contrast to the cloudy, grey sky and the thick, black fitted sweater he was wearing.

“Hey, Edward!” Sara, the sandy-haired girl from biology who had taken a surprising dislike to me, called from a group of girls for his attention.

He looked in the direction of her voice, offering a wave which resulted in giggles.

I scoffed, once again seeing humor in the absurdity of the effect he had on the student body. Did they not find any annoyance in the grating edge of self-importance that coated his boyish charm? Humans were so unperceptive. Well, I could grudgingly think of one exception.

As I watched him, peripherally I could see the confusion knitting Alice’s thin eyebrows together at my smirk in response to the exchange. The ridiculousness made me grin wider. It seemed a safe bet to say I’d lost my mind, just as my siblings probably suspected behind my back. Well, they wouldn’t have to witness my deepening insanity any longer.

Rather than give in to the sadness that ebbed at the edges of my thoughts, watching the boy this one last time was a rush of dopamine, so I allowed myself this one moment of fun.

It seemed somehow we both could sense when one was watching the other, because as I let out a laugh amongst my own inner turmoil and chaos, the boy looked over, his pretty green eyes meeting mine.

They were alight, brilliant, and amused, asking to understand the joke. His strong face of angular features that garnered the fan club of silly little girls seemed pleased to find my attention on him, to no surprise of mine. Of course his ego would be stroked. I laughed again, a twinkling sound that distracted a part of my mind as the supernatural lure of the noise reminded me once again of the differences between us. He was human, and I was something completely other than that.

He leaned down to open the door to the backseat and reach into the car, pulling out the same leather-bound journal I’d seen him carry before, his eyes never breaking our gaze. Edward raised an eyebrow, smug as ever, his expression a clear invitation for me to approach him.

Just as my unfeasibly fast brain began to consider the words I’d say and the pain that’d come with saying them and the proximity to the boy, three things happened instantaneously.

First, I’d nearly forgotten about my sister before Alice’s tiny hand gripped onto my arm violently, her grasp unbreakably steel.

“Bella!” She hissed, the words a cry of warning as horrified air whooshed out of her lips in a gasp.

Second, I’d grown frigid as the implication of what she might have seen hit me until the shrill squealing of a van rounding the corner onto the parking lot at a negligent speed sent another shock through me. The angle the van’s tires hit the ice at was sending the large vehicle skidding, spinning in an unstoppable trajectory that would result in the destruction of the sleek, black car, the very car Edward still leaned into as his eyes finally left my face to discover the source of the noise.

It was only seconds before the van would crush him – crush and mangle his body to death.

Third, bent over as he was still straightening up from his reach into the backseat, his bewildered sage eyes flickered between the large van inevitably barreling towards him and my terror-filled face.

It was unacceptable. Idiotic. Careless. Moronic. Irresponsible and deeply selfish. But without another thought, I threw myself across the parking lot between the van and the boy.

Lifting Edward like a ragdoll, cradling his lanky legs to his chest, I launched us through the open door of the backseat just as the van made impact with his car, slamming the door shut into my back, the metal pressing and molding into the shape of my body with a groan as the motion sent us forward to crash into the car parked two spaces beside Edward’s, the glass of the window fracturing into thousands of glistening shards that I desperately shrouded him from.

“Holy! Fucking! Shit!” I cried out as I kicked open the door on the opposite side, sending it flying off its hinges into the car we were about to collide with beside us, throwing us flying out through the opening before we could be sandwiched in the wreckage, all the while begging to god or any deity that the glass of the imploding windows hadn’t reached any part of Edward’s skin to expose the blood beneath. Now was not the time to test my self control any further.

I’d crashed us into the pavement, carefully holding Edward beneath me. The warmth of his entire body pressed into mine made me painfully aware of how it burned my skin. One of my hands supported his head while the other held all of my weight off of him, and I was terrified of his fragility. Would my actions alone be what killed him? To my consolation, amongst the cacophony, I could hear the thunderous beat of his heart. Once I’d yanked him through the car, his legs had flown out wildly, stretching out again.

The van alongwith Edward’s car continued to bend and shriek as they warped into new grotesque shapes, smashing into the other car parked a space away from Edward, the friction finally slowing the accident to a stop.

The rest of the glass splintered off in a grating, violent shatter. My hand fluttered to block the stray pieces threatening to hit the boy beneath me, sending the fragments ricocheting back into the frame of the vehicles, denting the metal further like microscopic bullets.

Only seconds had passed, and I’d moved too fast for anyone to have detected any of my movements, but as I finally looked down severely into the eyes of the boy below me, as part of my brain registered immediate relief that he seemed to be unharmed by both myself and the wreckage, the other part of my brain registered the wide, astounded viridescent bewilderment of someone who’d seen everything.

I’d cursed again through my teeth, horrified with my actions, as the students witnessing the accident began to scream in panic. My forehead puckered as my eyebrows shoved together in torment.

What had I done? The risk I’d compromised my family with now was nothing in comparison to the exposure that’d have threatened us had I just murdered Edward Masen the very first day I’d seen him. The risk I’d placed Edward in as he stared wildly at my face beneath me was realer than it had ever been as his breath, warm and sweet, enticed me even without my inhaling his scent. The risk I’d placed myself in had never been greater as, though he looked unmaimed, my actions could have potentially damaged him far more than the van would have, which would only result in decades of deep self loathing for the harm I’d have inflicted.

The panicking footsteps clumsily sliding along the ice towards us meant we only had seconds before the other students discovered me here. Had they witnessed my materialization and supernatural maneuvers as well as Edward may have?

Somehow, it didn’t feel as important as my desperation that the boy beneath me was truly okay.

I knew my face betrayed my agony, so with great effort, I softened my features, though the pucker between my eyebrows remained.

Fiercely, I peered into the intense shock of his pretty face only inches from mine surrounded by a canopy of my long, dark hair.

“Edward,” I asked critically, my voice almost pleading. “Are you alright?”

“Never better,” he responded, though he blinked rapidly, disoriented from the trauma of the past minute.

The solace in hearing the sound of his voice was almost dizzying, and a manic, hysteric giggle escaped from my lips as I basked in the intoxifying relief at his sarcasm. Reluctantly, I sucked in air through my teeth. The scent of his blood was just as dizzying, if not more so, on my tongue, but I embraced the burning pain almost blithely. The blood wasn’t fresh, so it seemed I’d managed to protect him successfully, but whether or not it had been as thorough as I hoped, I’d need Carlisle to examine him internally for damage.

“Okay,” I breathed out. “I’m going to move away from you now. Stay still, and be very careful.”

Gently with as much care as I could, I laid his head down along the concrete, and lifted my body from shielding him. I scooted away, distancing myself from him, the glass clinking against the other pieces on the ground beneath me as I moved to lean against the misshapen trunk of his car.

“How-?” Edward began to prop himself up on his elbow.

“Edward,” I cautioned him sharply, cutting off the question that sobered my internal celebration at his well being.

Slowly – in effort to re-immerse myself into something more believably human – I crawled back over to where he laid, and softly pushed his upper body back onto the frozen ground.

“I said stay still,” I snapped, assertively but delicately grabbing his face to force his head to rest against the pavement. My fingertips were alight at the touch as if they’d been set on fire. I moved again, this time positioning myself to sit on the heels of my feet with my hands resting on my knees behind his body in case he made any effort to disobey again.

“How’d you get here so fast?” His chin tilted upwards to look at my face, his upside down expression revealing intense green eyes that bore into mine, searching intently for answers.

Something about our positioning reminded me of Mary Jane Watson and Spiderman. Except Spiderman never saved Mary Jane in favor of preserving her from a worse death – a death he’d have inflicted on her himself – had her blood been exposed. We were far more akin to Spiderman and Gwen Stacy – but without the romance – because it seemed I’d never stop shouldering more responsibility to keep him alive. If he were to die, it’d be my fault.

“I was right beside you, Edward,” I lied as a scowl pulled the corners of my lips down, severely examining his expression. I began to feel the anxiety of the risk I’d posed to my family.

“Don’t lie to me.” His face grew just as bitter and severe, his eyes accusatory. He began to move again as if he wanted to sit up, but I tugged him carefully back down.

“Can’t you listen?” I almost begged, the words holding multiple meanings.

The scene of the accident became surrounded as panicked students and faculty began to crowd where we were behind the barricade of the three cars. The bedlam was soundtracked by a torrent of shouting.

Although I could hear every exclamation of concern, every question, every instruction as we waited for the ambulance to arrive, I paid little attention to the canopy of humans, instead studying the strange metallic hues of his thick, tousled dark hair, the surprisingly smooth milkiness of his skin, the magnetism of his light green eyes, speckled with flecks of dark green the shade of the forests and brown the color of honey. This was the closest I’d ever been to him, and here I was, not falling into any monstrous temptations. It was a bizarrely beautiful sight – the upside down boy, the sparkling glass, the pretty eyes. I responded when urgent questions were asked of me but didn’t glance away.

Only when the ambulance finally arrived a few minutes later did I look elsewhere as the boy disappeared from the ground, being lifted onto a gurney along with another student, the careless van driver. It was Melanie Dean, a very striking girl with curly hair and luminous dark skin. My frozen heart felt as though it sunk upon realizing it was her. She seemed to be in much worse shape with gashes across her body bleeding profusely. Her mother was very kind to Esme, and she was a very responsible and kind student. She couldn’t have been careless; it must have truly been an accident. I mentally forgave her and let go of the resentment I’d already built for whoever had placed this annoying boy in harm’s way.

After reassuring the EMTs I was perfectly fine, I climbed into the passenger seat of the ambulance, chatting with the driver, a friend of Carlisle’s. I didn’t look back at Edward, procrastinating facing the accusations in his eyes and trusting the medics to do their jobs.

I ignored the fierce stares of my reconvened family members as we drove out of the parking lot. Their anger wouldn’t be enough to keep them from destroying any evidence I’d left behind.

It was a great deal of luck to find Carlisle alone in his office. Hearing my approach from down the hall, his golden eyes were full of perplexity as I entered the room, becoming aghast upon seeing the gravity of my expression.

I could almost see the thoughts flash across his face as he assumed the worst, but he was polite and patient enough to allow me to speak.

“Carlisle, I’ve done something terrible,” I confessed. “Edward – or, the boy – is fine, or at least, I hope so. I didn’t do anything to him per se.” I might as well have been monosyllabic with how effective I was communicating the situation. I continued in a rush. “There was an accident. A student’s van nearly crushed him,” I decided to correct myself, “would have crushed him had I not intervened. It was entirely reckless and irresponsible. Carlisle, I am so, so sorry. I-” I faltered, my voice catching in my throat in a strange way, the sound becoming thicker as I realized this was exactly the kind of mistake they had encouraged me to leave to avoid making. “I’m so sorry. I put you, Esme, the entire family in danger. It’s all my fault. I should have left as soon as you and Jasper said so, I shouldn’t have-”

Immediately, my adopted father materialized by my side, pulling me into a strong hug, shushing me. How many consoling stone hugs would I be enveloped in these days?

“Sweet Bella,” he began, smoothing the top of my head. “You are not the first – and I’m certain you won’t be the last–” Carlisle chuckled before continuing, “–of our family to be less than perfect. You have had grace for us countless times, and we will have grace for you.”

It was typical of Carlisle to include himself in the plural even though it seemed he had never made a mistake in his mortal or immortal life.

He pulled away from the embrace but only to hold me at arm’s length and examine my face. I looked up into his comforting eyes more than a head above me, so full of compassion and understanding that I felt unworthy of. Something about the unrelenting and unconditional love in his perfect face made me think of my human father. “Now, explain again what happened.”

I recalled every action in meticulous detail. Every shriek of the tire, every movement of my sin, every expression on Edward’s face as he watched me. As Carlisle listened, he left my side to straighten up his desk, closing the thick textbook atop it, and folded up the prescriptionless reading glasses he sometimes wore at work to hang on his collar.

“You did the right thing. And it couldn’t have been easy for you. I’m proud of you, Bella. Perhaps only the boy saw, and with all of the shock and trauma of the moment, he might be considered the least reliable witness.”

“He knows we’re...different. He knows something is wrong with me,” I whispered like a scared child.

“If we have to leave, we’ll leave.”

I frowned.

“Has he said anything?”

“Not yet, but he asked that I didn’t lie to him. Well, demanded really. Which is a very privileged stance to take when someone’s just saved your life.” The frown on my face deepened as I recalled how maddening Edward could be in the little time I interacted with him.

Carlisle brightened at my words, a small smile pulling at his lips. I wondered what he found funny.

“Anyways, I’ll come up with an explanation. I’m sure I could be persuasive enough to discredit his account of the events.” There was an edge of doubt to my voice.

“Perhaps it won’t be necessary. Shall I check on our patient?”

“Please!” I said. “I’m worried that maybe I ended up hurting him instead!”

Carlisle’s fair eyebrows raised, and then he shook his head, laughing aloud. “With Alice a part of our family, we rarely have such a strange day that comes as a shock to us, don’t we?”

Strange, indeed. This morning we discussed how it may be more beneficial for me to leave to protect the boy, and yet, had I been gone during the accident, my absence would have accomplished the opposite.

I found myself unexpectedly laughing too as Carlisle left the room.

I impatiently waited alone in his office, distracting myself by listening to the passing voices throughout the hallways of the small Forks hospital. The anticipation was too much as I listened to the van driver’s diagnosis of injuries. I felt bad for her mom but was relieved there seemed to be no permanent damage.

Edward patiently awaited his turn for x-rays, and I was anxious to hear Carlisle’s voice. He seemed to be allowing the physician’s assistants to do the bulk of the assessment. It was probably better this way. Carlisle’s face would instantly trigger the memory of me snatching him and all but flying through the backseat of the car. Who knows what might break Edward’s silence.

Melanie and Edward chatted back and forth. He consistently brushed off the staggering guilt that led her to apologize profusely, instead charmingly turning the conversation onto other subjects as if they weren’t sitting in a hospital post accident. He seemed to always know the perfect thing to say, soothing the tension of the circumstance and distracting her from the discomfort of the PA’s inspection. Edward asked about her now deceased van, her home life, her aspirations once completing high school, making guesses as to the reasons behind her answers. Melanie was shocked at how spot on some of his assessments were. It seemed he truly was a good reader. Only when she chuckled at some of his words did she remember where they were as the laughter pained her bruised and maybe broken body.

I froze with stress as Melanie finally asked how he had gotten out of the way.

Without hesitation, Edward smoothly replied, “Oh, Bella pulled me out of the way.”

This was true, but it didn’t pose a significant risk to me.

“Bella Cullen,” he spoke again as Melanie hesitated. She must have looked confused.

Edward had spoken my name before, but something about hearing it again this time overcame me with inexplicable excitement.

“Bella was right next to me in the car.”

“In the backseat?”

“Yes.”

“What was she doing in the backseat?”

“That’s not really any of your business,” Edward laughed. He said it perfectly in a way that made it clear he wouldn’t reveal more but wasn’t rude, making Melanie laugh as well. I wasn’t sure how to feel about the implications of what he said.

“Bella Cullen… That’s weird. I didn’t even see her. It was all so fast, I guess. Did she make it out okay?”

“I think she’s perfectly fine. She’s around here somewhere, but she seems to have the right connections at this place. No stretcher required and a first class ticket to sit passenger side in the ambulance.”

I smiled to myself.

Absentmindedly, I wandered around, feeling frustrated at the distance the circumstances forced between Edward and I. I wanted to see his face for myself, know that he was okay, and figure out what needed to be said.

Near the radiology room, I snuck a peek at the X-rays they just imaged of Edward when the nurse was looking elsewhere. His scent lingered in the hallway, though muddled by the movement of passing visitors and orderlies. It tickled my throat, but the temptation didn’t consume me. I could tell he’d already been moved back to the emergency room.

Carlisle caught me, giving me a meaningful glance as he pinned the images to the light board.

“He’s absolutely fine, Bella. No harm whatsoever. Well done,” my adopted father whispered so quietly that only I could hear.

The praise evoked a complicated reaction in me. I was very pleased but remained silent for a moment.

“I think I’ll go talk to him before he sees you. Act as though nothing happened,” I whispered back. He nodded approvingly. “Act as though I didn’t kick the door off a car,” I added sarcastically.

Carlisle chuckled quietly to himself.

Arriving at the ER, I hesitated. This would be the last time I’d ever see Edward Masen. A slight ache in my chest kept me from beginning this last of moments with him. I guess I could toy with the possibilities for the explanation as to why later once I’d left Forks.

I inhaled deeply, moving into view.

Edward’s thick eyebrows raised once he saw my face, his eyes accusatory again, but he relaxed his expression immediately before Melanie could see. “Ah, our fellow survivor’s finally decided to join us.”

Melanie’s dark eyes snapped over to look at me. She blinked rapidly, distracted by either a disorientation from her wounds or the proximity I stood to her. I was rarely this close to humans I didn’t share classes with. I probably looked even more unnatural, more inhuman under the fluorescence of the hospital lights.

“Oh, hey, Bella.” She said once recovered. “I’m so sorry-”

“No blood, no foul,” I interrupted her apology, shrugging. I smiled widely.

Glancing over her wounds, I found myself relaxed by the lack of desire. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be so strong and unaffected. The fleshy areas of her skin and fresh blood soaking through some of the bandage wraps around her arms hardly distracted any part of me.

It was nothing in comparison to Edward’s unexposed blood.

I strolled over to seat myself on the end of Melanie’s mattress.

“So, fellow survivor,” I mimicked the name he used, “give it to me straight. What’s the verdict?”

“As I said before, never better.” He answered. Edward’s green eyes were narrowed slightly in suspicion, though I doubted Melanie would detect as such. His eyes held allegations. They seemed to say I don’t trust you.

As he shouldn’t. “They won’t let me leave though. Is there a reason you’re not strapped to a gurney? I didn’t know nepotism could extend to medical treatment.”

“It’s all about who you know,” I smiled again at his irritation. Carlisle’s tread was nearring us down the hallway. “But lucky for you, I came to spring you.”

As Carlisle entered the room, I glanced down at my hands, unwilling to watch Edward’s reaction to my father’s face. I knew he’d notice the resemblance immediately. I winced when a quiet gasp escaped from Melanie’s mouth as she dropped it open in surprise.

“So, Mr. Masen, your X-rays look good. How are you feeling?” Carlisle clipped the X-rays to the light board on the wall opposite the bed.

“I feel perfectly fine,” Edward replied smoothly.

“Does your head feel alright? I heard you hit the ground pretty hard,” Carlisle crossed over to Edward’s hospital bed. He reached forward to gently run his fingers through Edward’s bronze hair, searching for any bumps from the impact.

I froze again watching this, stunned by the nearness. A bizarre surge of something like envy crashed over me as I wished I could have the control to so tenderly touch him, no fear of inflicting pain or harm… No longing for his blood the way I longed for it now.

“I can assure you, I really am okay, Dr. Cullen.” Edward laughed.

“Well, in that case, you’re free to go. Although, I’m afraid your car wasn’t so lucky with its fate. We spoke on the phone to your father, but he-”

“Had a meeting in Seattle today, I know,” the boy finished for him.

“He’s on his way back to Forks as we speak, however if you don’t want to wait three hours, I’m sure Bella wouldn’t mind taking you home.”

I was unprepared for Carlisle’s words. My eyes immediately flashed to his, searching for an answer as to his madness. Was now truly the optimal time to push the boy’s luck? My father’s honey eyes were partly apologetic but full of faith. Clearly he trusted me too much – trusting me to ensure the safety in our secrets and the safety of the boy’s life. He reached for a clipboard of medical paperwork, looking away.

Edward barely had time to glance in surprise at me by the time our exchange had occurred. Again, he raised his eyebrows, the green irises beneath full of questions.

“Of course I wouldn’t mind, Carlisle. However, I don’t have the car with me,” I began with false politeness, knowing I was being extremely rude to question his judgment but questioning it nonetheless.

“You can take mine.” He didn’t look up as he flipped through the paperwork.

“Perfect,” I replied before standing from Melanie’s hospital bed and walking towards the exit of the room. “I’ll be right back, Edward.”

“Mr. Masen, if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all, come back. Bella will stay with you until your father comes home or she’ll leave a phone number for you to call if you require assistance,” Carlisle instructed as I walked down the hallway in pursuit of his office.

“Thank you,” Edward replied politely.

“It seems you were extremely lucky.”

I entered Carlisle’s office, crossing to collect the key from his belongings.

“Lucky that your sister in law happened to be beside me,” he agreed, a stern edge to his tone. I grasped the car key so tightly I nearly molded it into a new shape.

“Ah, well, yes,” Carlisle replied. I’m sure he detected the same note in his voice that I had. I listened to the near-silence of his feet and the turning of papers. “Unfortunately, Ms. Dean, it seems you weren’t quite as lucky. You’ll have to stay with us a little while longer.”

As I heard the shuffling of Edward sliding off the hospital bed, I rounded the corner of the hallway to the ER.

“Handle it whichever way you think is best,” my father mumbled silently beneath his breath upon hearing my approach.

I leaned against the wall outside the doorway, listening to the beating of Edward’s heart sending the blood circulating throughout his entire body. With every step of his feet against the tile, I wondered how I was going to do this. Sit so close beside him. Lie to him. Say goodbye.

Every thought pained me.

Edward exited the emergency room and was startled to see me already leaning there.

I smiled mournfully as I listened to the pounding of his heart in reaction.

“You scared me.”

“You ready?” I asked, holding up the key for him to see.

Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked down the hallway, silently gasping in the waves of air as other people passed by. He followed behind me through the automatic doors.

“Would you like to wait here as I bring the car around?” I turned to look at him.

“Please, Bella. I’m not that fragile. I’ll walk.” His jaw tightened. He looked down at me, the same indignant expression from earlier on his face. Don’t lie to me, he had said…

“Okay.” I frowned, storming off in the direction of Carlisle’s black mercedes.

Once no longer beneath the overhead of the hospital, the dreary grey gloom of the sky released the frosty droplets of an oncoming rain.

I groaned internally. The rain made everything smell so much more saturated, and Edward Cullen didn’t need the extra help. The universe seemed determined to rid him from the planet today.

I unlocked the car, sliding into the driver’s seat and revving the engine to life. Although unaffected by the weather, the air was glacial, so I reached to blast the heat throughout the vehicle for his sake.

Edward caught up to the car then, opening the passenger door and dipping down to settle into his seat.

I turned to face the outside world one last time, taking a deep breath of the wintry air before closing my door.

It was worse than I imagined. The tension. The longing.

Here, in the intimacy of the interior, the heat from Edward’s body was deliciously sweltering. I was almost dizzy as the venom began to pool. I swallowed hard.

Slightly less tortuous, I could sense the resentment in the air.

I slammed my foot on the gas, reversed the mercedes out of the parking spot, and sped to the highway as if I could avoid all confrontation by racing to his home.

“Address?” I asked through gritted teeth.

He answered quietly, and I nodded, redirecting myself in that direction.

I refused to look over at him as I swerved through any traffic. There wasn’t much at this time. Hardly any witnesses…

I accelerated.

Even without breathing through my nose, I could still taste him on my tongue just as I did in biology class. Just as I did in the parking lot. But now, there were hardly any witnesses...

My foot slammed down on the gas again.

This was exceptionally more dangerous for multiple reasons. There was no hope for fresh air from a hastily closed textbook or a passing student unless I inexplicably opened a window in the very end of a chilling winter. There was no menagerie of other human scents to dilute the potency. There was no means of exiting the situation without leaving him in a car with no driver barreling down a highway. It was an inescapable inferno.

“Bella,” Edward finally spoke. His voice was softer than I anticipated. Less accusatory. I wished I could read his thoughts to understand what led to the resolvement in his tone.

I kept my eyes on the road ahead of us.

“Bella,” he began again. “I understand that for whatever reason, you don’t want to provide an explanation as to what happened today.”

He paused, waiting for me to respond in any way. I felt his eyes scrutinize my face. I kept my features fixed into an impassive mask.

“But I’m not as gullible as you think I am. Or hope that I am. I know what I saw.”

“And what do you think you saw?” I demanded, still watching the giant firs streak past.

“Bella,” he groaned. I couldn’t help but notice he’d said my name so many times today. This time, his voice was as accusatory as his eyes had been. “Don’t patronize me. You were next to your cousin-sister by your car. I saw you. And you were laughing at something as you watched me. Then, when Melanie’s van began to skid toward me, suddenly, impossibly you were beside me, pulling me through the backseat of my car. And even more impossibly, as we were about to crash into the other car, you somehow kicked the door of its hinges and got us out, pinning me to the concrete as the collision crushed my car like a soda can. It would have crushed me, killed me even, had you not been there. So don’t act as though you were beside me the entire time, and I’m just too stupid to remember clearly. Or don’t act as though I’m too stupid now to not know when I’m being lied to.”

Finally, I looked at him.

I was horrified. But even more than that, I was awestruck. He had seen everything.

His face was fierce and weirdly beautiful.

“Nobody will believe that,” I almost whispered.

“Bella,” he quietly said my name again. The intensity of his expression softened slightly. “I had no intention of telling anybody.”

As I looked into the sincerity of his magnetic sage eyes, I was shocked to see how genuinely he meant it. I believed him.

“Then what does it matter?” I asked stubbornly.

“I value transparency. If I’m going to lie, I want to know why I’m lying for you.”

What he asked of me was fair. And I was surprised that I wished I could give it to him. That I trusted him. Something in me wished he could trust me.

But he couldn’t do that. And he shouldn’t.

I realized what was so stirring about the connection to this strange, bronze-haired boy. The draw of his blood was the inciting complication driving us together but outside of my family, these were the first real conversations I’d had in years.

And I can’t even truly be honest.

I pulled onto his street, scanning the numbers for the correct address.

“Here,” he said as we slowed in front of a lonely house nestled behind giant trees and bushes, much too large for the boy to go in to be alone. It was one of the nicer houses in Forks with its latticed bay windows and small wraparound porch. But it was a grey home against a grey sky and lifeless within. The windows were dark as if nobody had been home for a long time.

There wasn’t much I could do about having to breathe to speak. Reluctantly, I inhaled. The appeal was every bit as powerful, and I battled with the instinct to grab hold of him and crush his neck to my mouth.

I gave myself a moment to recover, willing myself to clarity.

He waited, watching me. I turned my head to face him.

“Edward,” I began this time. “Please. Can you please let it go?”

He stared me down, his eyes dark and contemplative.

“I can’t.” He moved to unbuckle his seatbelt. “But I can see that you won’t tell me, so don’t worry about it. Thank you for the ride.”

I placed the car in park and cut the engine as he began to exit the car.

I should have just let him go, but stubbornly I couldn’t let that be the last moment I’d ever spend with him.

“What are you doing?” He asked as I got out, shutting the door.

“Carlisle said to stay with you, didn’t he?”

“He said that after you’d left the room,” he pointed out. I wanted to kick myself, but this was a minor slip up in the grand scheme of today. “Well, it wasn’t hard to assume. How else will you make it back to the hospital if something happens to you?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

His words took on a double meaning to me. Maybe I should just leave now. He will be fine. Or at least, he’d only ever truly be fine once I’d left Forks.

“You’ll still have to wait three hours for your father to make it home. If you died in that time, it’d be my responsibility.” Tenaciously, I kept pace with him easily up the walkway to the porch. Whether Carlisle missed something crucially life-threatening from the accident or not, the words were true.

“I don’t see myself dying soon,” Edward fished in his pocket for a set of keys. “But whatever helps you sleep better at night.”

His strong face was sullen. The heavy eyebrows pulled together in frustration as he used the key to unlock the door.

“You’re angry with me,” I said.

He sighed heavily, pausing to look down into my eyes. His eyes were stormy and brooding. Then, he swung the door open and stepped inside.

Hesitantly, I followed him in.

His home was shrouded in darkness – not that my eyes needed the silvery light pouring in from the open door he was shutting behind me. I could see how carefully decorated it was. Navy walls and dark wooden accents everywhere – the floors, a great big grandfather clock, bookshelves, the frames on paintings. There were touches of white and black here and there too – gothic white lattice doors to the right leading to a home office with shelves of books nearly rivaling Carlisle’s collection behind a massive, intricately carved desk, a glossy black grand piano in the small, living area off to the left up a small step.

Here in the dark, it was even worse than it had been in the car. Though there was more distance between us now, lessening the heat his body washed over me, still, everything smelled of him and I was waging a war within. A bizarre current of energy coursed through the air between us and into my dead veins.

He turned on a small lamp illuminating the small entrance hallway with golden light that warmed his angry eyes.

“Do you play?” I asked in an attempt to distract myself from the inevitable bloom of the mouthwatering aroma beneath his skin, glancing again at the piano.

“Yes,” he responded, not bothering to elaborate.

“We have a piano just like this at home. Rosalie plays,” I spoke quietly. Aside from the bloodlust begging for attention in another corner of my brain, the intimacy of the two of us in this large house made me feel shy.

He looked at me meaningfully again for one moment, the mesmerizing green of his irises betraying some of the hurt he felt, before he turned to walk down the hallway.

The aching in my chest returned and without consciously deciding to, I was following him much too fast. The monstrous side of me was instantly excited by the pursuit, so I slowed myself to subdue it.

I paused for a moment before rounding the corner he had turned, wrestling with myself, suppressing the violence that begged me to lurch forward and empty his body. I smoothed the anguish contorting my face but finding that the pucker between my eyebrows was unwilling to undo itself.

With another excruciating breath through my mouth rather than my nose – I told myself that the burn ripping across my tongue was a good thing seeing that it was a reminder he had survived the car accident and the unexpected car ride that soon followed later – I turned the corner.

This must have been the real living room. Again, it seemed much too large for just the boy. His house wasn’t overwhelmingly huge but definitely bigger than average for this town. The room was decorated again in the strange assemblage of something victorian, something gothic, and something modern. It seemed reminiscent of another time. The room was still in the rich, dark jewel tones of navy, onyx, and pearl with the dark accents of wood. Patterns and textures of damask and velvet covered the rugs, tapestries, and drapery.

The boy was squatted down by the ornate white fireplace, his silhouette dark against the brilliant orange that erupted from the wood once he successfully got the fire started. The room was instantly filled with a heat that could nearly rival what it felt like to sit beside him in Carlisle’s car.

He stayed down for a moment, his back to me. Although completely vulnerable, the monster was quieted for now as I watched him in wonderment.

Finally, he stood up, looked at the fire for a second longer, and then settled onto a long white couch before the fireplace, stretching the length of his tall body across it.

“Edward,” I almost whispered from the entrance of the room, unsure of what to do with myself.

Tentatively, I took slow, cautious steps towards the couch as if approaching a wounded animal. With every movement, I measured the risk I posed. When I trusted myself, I crossed around the couch, gradually sinking down to sit down on the rug that extended from the edge of the fireplace across the length of the room.

I might as well have sat in the fire and allowed it to consume me for how much distance I tried to leave between the two of us. I was practically a foot from being perched on the wood. I wrapped my arms around my knees as I watched Edward’s eyes move along the mantel, the heat of the fire on my back and the boy in front of me warming me wonderfully. The flickering of the flames cast shadows that danced along his face, illuminating his green eyes. His rain-sprinkled hair appeared redder than ever, all traces of the warm bronzy-brown having vanished before the orange light of the fire.

“I know you’re not stupid,” I spoke. Edward’s eyes flickered over to me.

“I’m not,” he agreed, a halfhearted smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’re not,” I said again, surprising myself by laughing. His smirk grew into a sweeter smile, and I was relieved by the change in expression. In this moment, it felt as though no barriers existed between us. Like I had no secrets to hide from him, no differences among two friends. Except I did. And we weren’t friends, nor could we ever be.

“But?” He asked, already reading that I was unwilling to relent.

“But I can’t explain myself. I simply can’t. And I need you to promise me that you’ll let this go.” It was too much to ask and horribly unfair.

He sighed, sensing that the moment was clearly over.

“Okay,” Edward replied simply, reaching for a blanket hung over the back of the couch. He unfolded it, throwing it across his body. “I’m going to try to take a nap.”

“Okay,” I answered.

He propped his head up on a plushy brown pillow, his arm sliding beneath it, and closed his eyes.

I watched him for a moment, wishing he’d change his mind and open his eyes instead of hiding them from me. I hadn’t been ready to never see them again.

“Are you just going to watch me sleep?” He asked, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. His eyes remained closed.

“No,” I shot up, unsure of whether I should leave or stay or where to even place myself if I did.

“Well, make yourself comfortable. You really don’t have to stay though. I can take care of myself,” Edward chuckled, readjusting his position on the couch.

I nodded even though he couldn’t see, deciding he was right. As I noiselessly made my way out of the room, his voice stopped me.

“Bella?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For saving my life.”

“Goodbye, Edward,” I whispered.

“Oh, and by the way,” he yawned. “I’m still not letting this go.”

I said nothing as I left the house.

i hope u enjoyed. sorry for taking so long!

nobody: vampire bella: my vampire mind is infallible and so strong and fast because i'm a vampire and i can smell everything and see everything even in the dark because my vampire powers are so strong did i mention i was a vampire?

if we’re being real, smeyer’s bella would have said holy crow at the accident, but MY bella can curse because i’m not a mormon.

#twilight fanfiction #twilight au #the twilight saga #twilight saga #edward cullen #bella swan #edbella #edbella fanfic #twilight renaissance #twilight revival #midnight sun #stephenie meyer #equinoxjw #new moon #eclipse #breaking dawn #alice cullen #carlisle cullen #jasper hale

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centuryofdean · 4 years

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Of Food and Comfort - Part 12

Author Note:: You guys, this is the last part! I honestly do not feel 100% great about it, as if I could have ended it better but unsure how. I still hope everyone enjoys it! There is something else in the works now that I am excited to start sharing soon!

Here shortly I am going to take a small hiatus. I need to finish my Hobbit story (it has been neglected too long), and once it is finished I want to get back more into Marvel. I will be working in the background, but not posting until I have gotten everything else squared away. In the meantime, please tag me in Marvel stories you think I would enjoy! I want to read more fanfics and support writers on Tumblr, so I will be sharing more works as well.

Author Disclaimer:: Marvel and its characters are not mine. I take no credit. Instead I claim the maybe not so great plot, writing and characteristics of the reader insert character. I am not a die hard Marvel fan, I haven’t read all the comics, but have watched the movies. I may get some things wrong, so please don’t hate me. I also have been incorporating Old Norse as terms of endearment.

Summary:: You worked for Tony Stark as a…mechanic of sorts. Anything around the Avengers compound that needed a technicians touch, you handled. With working and living there, you had grown to be friendly with the super heroes. Of course you had grown to have feelings for one of them. The muscled Thunder God to be exact.

Rated:: M for Mature. Please do not read this story unless you are 18+. Smut. NSFW

Pairing:: Thor x Reader

He looked different. The usually shiny bright warm blonde locks you loved running through your fingers was longer, darker and tangled together in messy strands and braids. It was the longest you had ever seen it, coming down just past his shoulders. Some of it was still bundled in braids behind his head. His beard was completely dark, and also very long. It came down past his neck and onto his chest in more intricate braiding. The new look, although a little ragged and dirty, was something you found you liked.

Everything else about him screamed different. It appeared he was dressed in oddly dirty large Earth clothing.

The only concerning thing you did notice was the once bright mirthful ice blue eyes were now dull dark blue like a stormy sky. One was even noticeably darker than the other, oddly…perfect? Now, these new hopeless eyes were starring right back at you.

Even with noticing all these things, you couldn’t help to feel significantly happier. The past months seemed to slowly fade into a blurry bad dream you had woke from. The ache didn’t matter anymore, what mattered is that he was back—home.

Steve had jumped to action, reaching down to pick up the broken mug at your feet and trying to hush Mjölnir who was still growling from the floor a little ways off.

The tremble started in your jaw before the tears. In one swift movement you were posed on your feet, mouth opening to say anything and everything all at once.

“Thor,” another feminine voice called out from the hallway, “I can’t find the bathroom. You said it was at the end of the hall?”

The happy warmth that had just filled you moments ago disappeared with such quickness you were convinced someone doused you in ice water. Your skin prickled with the change, eyes turning to take in the woman, the same woman you passed in the hallway on your way to the kitchen.

Without conscious thought, or ever seeing her before today—you knew who she was—she looked just as you envisioned. Taller, thinner, big eyes and plush lips with flawless skin and sleek brunette hair.

Jane Foster looked as you imagined. Though standing in your kitchen talking to Thor with ease is not what you visualized.

Your hands were shaking as they grasped the island, holding on for dear life when Steve’s head popped up with his stance.

“Steve Rogers,” he offered quickly, making his way around the island to meet Jane. “Let me show you where the bathroom is ma’am.”

The look of awe covered Jane’s face as she smiled awkwardly. Steve started to lead her from the room, but then popped back in a moment later, “If you need anything sweetheart, I’ll be in the living room.”

Just like that you were alone with this new Thor, just a handful of feet away from each other and awkwardly starring at one another.

He didn’t look excited to see you; he didn’t look even remotely happy. Instead he looked upset and forlorn. Why would he be happy to see you, not when he had Jane back? Why else would she be here, with him?

For five months you sat on this base, mourning him every single day—trying to remember the love you shared so that it would get you by until he returned. He finally returned and now you are trying to remember if the love was ever real.

Unconsciously you grasped at the collar of your shirt, checking to make sure the necklace he had given you was hidden underneath the fabric. You had worn the keepsake every day, wearing it even when you showered. It wasn’t uncommon for you to play with it throughout the day either. At this moment you didn’t want him to see it. For some reason it felt as if it were a weakness for him to see you cling to it so tightly.

The only conclusion you could reach was that you were a stand in for Jane. Everything had been a lie, especially when Thor had told you that he no longer cared for Jane in that way, he only cared for you, only loved you. It was confusing, because Thor never lied, but how could you believe it when it looked like he had been back on Earth for more than a few days and came back with Jane in tow?

You tried to picture how your reunion with Thor would be when he returned. You would throw yourself into his arms and tell him you missed and loved him very much. You would tell him that you didn’t care about how upset you would be separated from your friends and family—you would gladly move to Asgard because you couldn’t go without him like that again.

This isn’t what you pictured; heartbroken sitting across from him and rethinking everything that had happened within the past year.

“What happened?” The words came so softly from your lips, you coughed to clear your throat and croaked them louder when he didn’t reply.

Thor’s eyes fluttered close, hands coming up to cover his face while he took a deep breath.

As he spoke, more tears fell from your cheeks. The deep timber that you thought you forgotten brought back a rush of emotions, goosebumps crashing to the surface of your skin. His voice was just as deep as before, but full of defeat. It was like listening to an old sad country song you hadn’t heard since you were younger.

Once he returned to Asgard, he was immediately needed across the realms to fight another battle. Once one battle was over, he needed to go to another. It was as if wars were breaking out all around him. He was trying to prevent the downfall of the realms and Ragnarök.

Eventually he found himself imprisoned by a fire demon. He defeated the demon and returned to Asgard to find Heimdall missing and Loki posing as their father and leading the kingdom.

Forcing Loki to help, they left Asgard and found their father in Norway. Odin revealed that the brothers actually had a sister; one Odin locked away for becoming too powerful and using her powers wrongly. He was dying, and once he passed their sister Hela would be released from her prisons. Even though Thor fought hard to prevent Ragnarök, it was going to happen, and Odin wanted New Asgard to be in Norway on Earth because he thought it was beautiful.

It happened so fast. Odin passed on, and Hela appearing in his place almost. The Bifrost opened, leading Thor and Loki back to Asgard—but Hela followed.

The story began to become garbled as he spoke, almost as if he were grasping to remember the finer details himself in his grief and the order that they happened.

Hela destroyed Asgard’s armies. Thor’s friends were killed at her hand—and she had plans to destroy and conquer the rest of the realms.

Somehow in all this Thor and Loki found themselves separated, Thor on a ship and crashing on another planet. After emerging from his ship, he was captured and taken to the leader to be used as fighting entertainment. Not surprisingly Loki was there becoming good friends with the leader while pretending not to know Thor.

“Mjölnir was left behind on the ship,” he sighed. At his words, the dog perked up a bit, tilting his head in confusion on why a stranger was saying its name. “After I had freed myself and a few others from the fighting games, I was unable to get back to the ship I arrived on and retrieve it. I had tried summoning it, but it never returned.”

Since you needed to know the rest of the story, you kept silent. After he finished telling you what happened, then you would tell him you had the hammer.

The ship Thor found himself on with the other imprisoned fighters was intercepted by another ship. One that housed a talking furry animal named Rocket and a talking tree named Groot?

Thor admitted early on in his retelling of the past five months, that he lost track of days after his father passed away. So, when he and his other escaped friends were taken in by Rocket and Groot, he said he wasn’t sure if it had been months or years when that he had been gone. Time always traveled differently in space. If you didn’t pay attention to how many times you fell asleep and woke up, it was hard to keep track. The time with their new friends blended together so much and went on so long he had felt as if he would never return to Earth.

Thor described his time on Rocket’s ship as endless. They hardly ever stopped anywhere because their food supplies never seemed to deplete. He had vocalized that he was needed back to Asgard to defend it from Hela, even though it was so long ago. Before he could go back, he had needed a weapon since Mjölnir had been left behind.

The new group found themselves at a forge in space, getting assistance from a welding dwarf to create Thor a new weapon, one strong enough to defeat his sister since he sensed she was stronger than even him.

As he was talking about it, he lifted the large axe from the floor for you to see. It reminded you a lot of the hammer but had a wooden handle instead of a metal one. The handle looked like it was just chopped from a tree and slapped together. The carvings etched in it screamed familiarity, though were completely different than the ones on Mjölnir.

It was named Stormbreaker.

Your fingers traced the sleek metal of the weapon, eyes drinking in everything about it while Thor continued to speak.

He explained that their travels back to Asgard were just if the travels to the forge seemed. He still was unsure of how much time had passed.

After they arrived on Asgard, everything happened quickly. They found that Heimdall was trying to help the rest of the Asgardians escape to Norway with the Bifrost. Hela was fighting back, wanting the sword that controlled the Bifrost so she could start her plans to rage war against the rest of the realms.

Thor jumped in the thick of it, battling his sister while his friends and Loki were fighting her army of undead. In one particular moment, Hela stabbed Thor in the eye. This action led him to a vision of how to defeat her. Even with Stormbreaker, he was unable to wield the new weapon efficiently to land a deadly blow on her.

Thor told Loki to put a crown on a flame, knowing that this action was going to rebirth the fire demon who imprisoned him and bring on Ragnarök—bringing the downfall of Asgard.

As the demon and Hela battled, Thor helped Heimdall usher the surviving Asgardians through the Bifrost and to Norway, where Odin said New Asgard should be.

At those last words Thor said, you sat starring at the countertop, trying to take it all in. It sounded like a lot. He must be heartbroken over losing his father and his home. You found it unsurprising he was gone for five months and unable to get back—but was he gone for five months? He probably has been on Earth longer than a few days, especially if Jane Foster was with him.

“When did you get back to Earth,” your voice tried to break as you asked.

Thor coughed to clear his own throat, eyes latching onto Mjölnir the dog at your feet. You looked as well, to try and see what he was seeing. One very large black dog with thick fur, barring his teeth slightly towards Thor and a soft rumble.

That a boy, you thought, smiling softly. Protect your Momma.

“Ten days ago,” Thor said softly. “We arrived to Norway ten days ago.”

Thor had been on Earth for ten days. Clearly, he sought out Jane, why else would she be with him? The realization ate away at your chest, leaving you in pain and short of breath. So why were they here? All he really had here were clothes, clothes he could easily get anywhere else. He did have some belongings, but they were things you had given him.

A pair of sunglasses that were big enough to fit his head and cover half of his face for example. He found them amusing. You had bought him a handful of books about Asgard, and together you both read them (even the children’s books) and discussed what was fact and what was fiction. There were a few Nordic bracelets and clothing, maybe even some beads and hair ties you had gotten for his hair when he braided it.

Everything he had that wasn’t clothing, you had given to him. Thor didn’t keep materialistic things on Earth, because Earth was never really his home. All the thoughtful and meaningful items were in his room in Asgard. He had shown you’re his room once when you were there. It was decorated and personalized. Paintings of his family hung on the walls, old weapons or toys from his childhood. He even had a few Poptart wrappers hidden under his bed.

All of that was gone now. It burned with the rest of Asgard when the fire demon destroyed itself and Hela.

“I have something of yours,” you whispered, finally rising from the stool you sat on. You could give him one last thing that he hadn’t completely lost at least. Without having to ask, Thor trailed behind you as you lead the way back through the hallways towards his room. When you both passed the door to your old room, you took made a mental note to start moving your things back in there as soon as he and Jane left.

Thor made a weird grunting noise but didn’t say anything as he followed. Mjölnir put much needed space between Thor and you. As you both reached his room, you took one more deep breath before pushing forward.

Ever since you moved into it, it had been a state of mess. Dirty clothes littered the floor—well the clean ones did too. You were only able to tell what was clean by sniffing them. Mjölnir’s dog bed sat on the farthest edge of the room, covered in dog hair. Again, everything was covered in dog hair from the clothes on the floor to the sheets and blanket on the bed. Hell, even some dog hair was on the clothes you were wearing and surely in your hair.

You couldn’t help but think that this is what depression looks like.

The hammer was leaning against the vanity dresser you had brought into the room the first week you moved in. It hurt to look at all the photos of you and Thor when you walked towards it.

As your fingers touched the leather on the handle, goosebumps trickled across your arms and chest. This was the first time you touched it since bringing it home. Although you never said anything to the others, it scared you slightly with how you called the power of electricity and thunder like Thor would have. You weren’t Asgardian, you weren’t a God—you were lucky it didn’t kill you.

The hammer swung up with your arm as you presented it to him.

His eyes grew wide, a soft smile hinting at the corners of his mouth.

“Mjölnir,” he exclaimed excitedly.

The sight caused your heart to snag and pull. The last time you had seen that beautiful smile was just before he left. Just before the both of you had gone to bed that night, you found yourself settled on his chest, starring down at him while you both talked about anything and everything. You told him you loved him—and that’s when his face lit up brightly with excitement and joy.

At that moment the dog was on the bed, watching quietly until he heard his name. A sharp bark met the air, causing you to snap out of the trance you slipped into watching Thor smile.

Once he took the hammer off your hands, you stepped over to the bed and sat next to your dog, hugging him tight.

“How,” Thor asked confused.

“A month after you left Tony let me get a dog,” you started, taking a deep breath. You didn’t want to talk forever, you wanted to say as little as possible and leave. Running your fingers through Mjölnir’s thick fur helped you stay grounded. “I went to the park with him one day and he got loose. I called for him over and over again. The hammer showed up just before he did.”

Thor closed his eyes and gripped the handle on the hammer tightly. Then, he quickly turned and started to take in the room. Before he arrived, this room became part of your comfort. Now you were embarrassed that he was here witnessing your distress over him, especially since he moved on.

“You named the dog after the hammer,” he said quietly. “You moved into my room. You wear my clothes… You did not—you did not move on with Steve?”

“What,” you asked sharply, a little confused. “Move on with Steve?”

Thor sat the hammer on the floor, soon settling onto the ground with it. Now that he was in front of you without an island separating you, you could see he had gotten bigger—he wasn’t just wearing baggy clothes.

“When I arrived,” he said. “the Captain was not happy to see me. Your room was empty. He had your tea prepared for you and—and he called you—”

Thor stopped talking suddenly, hands clenching into fists on the tops of his knees. At a loss, you starred back at him. Was he getting jealous that Steve called you sweetheart?

Finally a little fed up with it all, you wanted to explode. You wanted to yell and scream and tell him to take his girlfriend and get the Hell out—but it was Thor. Even if you were heartbroken, you couldn’t ever treat Thor like that; you still loved him.

“I cried—I cried every damn day since you left,” you started off softly. With each of your words, your voice and anger showed itself. “Every. Single. Day. When that fucking hammer came back and you didn’t follow; I thought you were dead. I mourned you Thor! I still tried to hold out hope you were alive and would return. For five months, I never stopped missing you. Steve has been a great friend to me, keeping me company and making sure I’m okay—but only as a friend.”

The waterworks started when you told him you thought he was dead, and they didn’t stop. The dog had gotten up and off the bed when you started yelling about mourning Thor. Mjölnir hid in the closet and whined softly.

“Here I was, for five months, waiting for you to come back! And when you got back, you came back with Jane Foster,” you bit out scathingly.

Those are the words that broke Thor from his silence. He jumped up off the floor and stood before you with heat in his eyes.

“Jane brought me here because I asked her to, I didn’t know how to come back to you,” he hurried out. “I would have returned the moment I came back to Earth, but my people needed me. They needed a leader to talk to the Midgardians in Norway to gain assistance to build and regrow. Jane showed up four days ago. She sought me out when her science things told her the Bifrost opened for a long period of time. I did not seek her out schat.”

Even as the said the word, a broken sob left you. It had been so long since you heard it, you never realized you craved to hear him say it again. He had once told you it meant you were a very rare and good person. Even if it was a compliment that could be given to just anyone, he never used the word for anyone else but you.

He stood. You sat. Both still starring, both with tears in each other’s eyes.

“You weren’t happy to see me,” you cried out, hugging yourself from the bed while you tried to wrap your head around it all. Was it true? Thor had never been one to lie, but you couldn’t help but hesitate to believe him.

Suddenly Thor’s shoulders hunched in on themselves while he ducked his head.

“When I first arrived, I went straight to your rooms to find them empty. Then when you woke and came to the kitchens…I assumed you moved on with Captain Rogers. Seeing your beauty again reminded me that I am unworthy of your affection even if you had not moved on—even after I was gone for so long,” he said quietly.

It was like everything he said was confusing you. Thor sensed your confusion and looked away while gesturing to his middle and grabbing at his hair. “I have grown lethargic and heavy in my time on ships,” he muttered.

A sudden laugh ripped from your chest, a little hysterical in the mist of it all. Thor was implying that he had gotten fat and unappealing? You gestured to everything in the room and then enthusiastically to yourself. The last time you got on the scale a few months ago, you discovered that all the depressed eating had caused you to gain twenty-five pounds. You could notice it when you looked in the mirror. Your clothes were a little tight, so you wore Thor’s clothes more than your own. Self consciously it bothered you some, but not enough to actually care. The only thing you truly cared about was his absence.

Finally, you grasped at your hair that hadn’t been brushed in days. “I’m a mess Thor,” you cried softly. “I have been since you left! Do you see the room? It’s a pig sty. I can’t remember the last time I put on real clothes, I have left the base six times! Not to mention I haven’t stopped eating to fill the void, and I got fat—”

“You are a Goddess,” Thor’s deep voice commanded through the room loudly cutting you off. “You look more radiant now than the last time I saw you.”

The tears that had started to slowly wane suddenly burst forth again, eyes and face hurting from all the energy that went into crying. Being overwhelmed by everything wasn’t helping, by the fact that Thor was here, and he didn’t love Jane. He still loved you then?

He at last approached you, touching your shoulder softly and hushing you. “Please do not cry drottning,” he murmured. “We are together again. I have missed you.”

Without hesitation you crushed yourself into his front, hugging yourself to him as tightly as you could. This only caused you to cry harder. Getting tears and eventually mucus all over his already dirty sweater. It was worth it when his arms came around your shoulders to hold you closer to him.

It was odd, being pressed up against soft giving flesh instead of hard muscles you were used to as you leaned into his hug more. Other than the first note of the difference since the last time he hugged you, you felt completely at ease. This is where you were meant to be, where you craved to be for months. The warmth from him seeping into you. Soon your tears stopped to small hiccups, and you held him closely as you breathed slowly.

“You probably want to shower,” you said pulling away, fingers playing with the ends of his tangled hair, taking in the state of his clothes and feeling the grime in his hair.

“Will you be alright,” he asked, fingers coming up to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. The first blush you felt in a long time dusted your cheeks at the action.

“Yes,” you breathed out. “I’ll be fine. We can talk more later. I really need for us to talk more later actually.”

He looked a little uneasy as you said this, arm wrapping around your middle again to urge you closer to him.

“Don’t worry,” you smiled softly. “I just what to know more about what happened…and more about Jane showing up. Trust me, I believe what you’re saying but I just feel like we should visit that conversation again. Is that okay?”

“Anything you want to ease your troubles,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your forehead quickly.

After you pulled away, you didn’t attempt to kiss him. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to, but that you felt that there was too much going on in your head to try and deal with the next emotional hurdle. Thor didn’t attempt to kiss you either, which you were thankful for.

“I’ll bring you some clean clothes in a second and set them by bathroom door,” you told him. “Are you hungry?”

Thor paused by the door to the bathroom, looking at his hands on the knob before answering, “That would be nice, I have not eaten today yet.”

You left to go look for clothes for Thor. Thankfully Tony Stark thinks of everything. In the training rooms on the ground floor you found all sorts of workout clothing from shorts, sweats, shirts and sweaters in various sizes. Tony usually kept it stocked in case new recruits were coming into train or simply if someone needed something to change into real quick and didn’t bring anything.

Not sure what size to grab, you selected a couple of different sizes in different styles for Thor to choose from before trekking back upstairs to drop them off to him.

Mjölnir was jumping excitedly and whining the whole trip. The poor dog probably really needed to relieve his bladder and you had stopped his whole morning routine when Thor appeared in front of you.

When you finally made it to the living room, you found Steve sitting across from Jane on separate couches and talking softly. “I’m going to make some breakfast,” you said after making an entrance. “Are either of you hungry?”

Steve smiled up at you and then glanced at Mjölnir, who was almost whimpering. “That would be great Y/N, thank you. Do you want me to take Mew-Mew out,” he asked.

At the word out Mjölnir completely flipped sideways in excitement.

“Please,” you replied in gratitude. “I would appreciate that.”

“Come on boy,” Steve clapped, “let’s go water the flowers.”

Just before you left for the kitchen, you turned to Jane. “You can come with to the kitchen if you want,” you offered, “or you could watch some TV. Not sure where the remote is.”

You were surprised when she smiled and got up to follow you.

It was a little awkward at first. You went about grabbing all the dishes and ingredients you would need to make breakfast while Jane sat silently at the island. Every once in a while, you would get and eyeful of her. She was dressed in jeans and a soft looking knit sweater, her hair clean and brushed with minimal makeup. All the while you were barefoot, in just an oversized Thor shirt and underwear. Messy hair and lack of shower aside, you felt a little gross in comparison to her.

“Sorry that I’m still in my jim-jams. We don’t get a lot of company in the living quarters,” you called out over your shoulder.

Jane laughed lightly, “You’re fine. This is your house, I’m sorry for showing up unannounced.”

A soft smile quirked your lips at her words, at least she was polite.

“Do you have a preference for breakfast? I was planning on making waffles with fruit, sausages and biscuits and gravy—but if you want something else, I can see what we have,” you asked her after putting some more mixing bowls on the counter-top.

“Oh! Thank you,” she said surprised. “I could go for waffles and fruit, that sounds wonderful.”

The conversation died out a little after that, which wasn’t the worst thing. Even if you held no ill feelings for Jane—because why on Earth would you—she still made you feel a little uncomfortable. Did Thor tell her about you, or did Steve?

Soon Steve let Mjölnir into the kitchen before disappearing. The dog was—as always—excited to see you. While he danced around you and tried to get pets, you would nudge him away with your hips because your hands were full of food or ingredients. “Go lay down,” you said with a laugh, “you will get your breakfast after we eat.”

Dejectedly, he walked off to the corner of the kitchen where he slid to the floor and rested his head on his paws.

“It’s really hard to hate you,” Jane said suddenly.

After throwing the biscuits in the oven, you turned to her somewhat shocked. You liked to think of yourself as a blunt person, but Jane seemed to take the cake and then some on the subject.

“Erm, I’ll take it as a compliment,” you asked confused.

“I just mean,” she sighed, playing with her cuticles on her fingers. “That—I—I ended things with Thor a while ago, because I couldn’t handle him being gone all the time. I knew eventually he would want me to move to Asgard with him, and my life was here on Earth. When I noticed the Bifrost open for more than a few minutes I knew something was wrong and flew to Norway without thinking about it.”

Trying not to be rude, you continued to prepare breakfast, but showed her you were listening to what she was saying but nodding and saying ‘okay’ softly.

“That told me I wasn’t over him,” Jane said with a broken laugh. “Who drops what they’re doing and flies across the world for their ex-boyfriend? He was really surprised to see me, and I tried to tell him I missed him—and all he said was that he needed to get back to you.

“I wanted to be jealous, to dislike you just for the fact that he was coming home to you. I was sure that the moment I walked in with him you were going to dislike me too—but, here you are, cooking me breakfast without a care in the world and being a genuinely nice person.”

Knowing that Thor just wanted to get back to you made you feel a little at ease again. The words tried to mold in your mouth before you said them. “Thor told me why you broke up with him,” you said. “I don’t dislike you Jane; you did nothing wrong to Thor. You were honest with him about your feelings and ended things, a very hard but mature decision. Unless you do something to hurt him or hurt our relationship, I have no problem with you at all. You seem like a good person, so I don’t see you doing either of those things.”

Soon she changed the subject and was telling you about some of the research she did. A lot of it was a little lost on you with her technical terms and some of the Astrology. You were more in tune with mechanics so some of what she was saying was familiar, at least with the machinery she uses. In turn you told her of some of the work that you did for Tony. It wasn’t as prestigious as the kind of science she was doing, but you enjoyed doing it.

Most of the food was done when Thor and Steve returned.

Thor looked much better than before. His hair was clean and brushed smooth, pulled into a bun at the base of his skull like normal. The beard that adorned his face was completely different than what you were used to. Simple braids pulled the beard together and down his neck.

Without thinking, you started to put a few waffles on a plate and placed it in front of where he sat at the island and then slid the bowl of mixed fruit to him. In return you received a small smile and nod of thanks from him. Soon he started to repeat his story about Asgard and traveling with his new companions to Steve and Jane.

Eventually his story melted into the here and now, discussing what they had accomplished so far in New Asgard and what, yet they still needed to do. Thor then started to lose enthusiasm for what he was saying, his words getting quieter and forlorn.

“When I return,” he sighed, “I must go trade with the people of Norway to acquire more food and supplies for Asgard. I only was able to break away after there was enough for a few days.”

That means he needs to go back soon. Maybe in a day or so it seemed. Dread started to fill you again at the thought, he only just came back to you—

“When do we need to leave,” you asked, pushing your half-eaten plate away.

“You will come with me,” he asked quietly. Thor’s hands had risen to rest on top of one another on the counter, fingers clenched together tightly.

“Of course,” you said easily, anxiety rushing through your veins at the thought of being without him again. “I’m sure if we ask Tony, we could borrow a quin-jet to get there faster. I don’t own a lot of stuff to pack so if I start now, I could get everything together by the end of the day. Just my clothes and some odds and ends, the furniture is Tony’s anyway. Whatever I can’t take right away I can come back for in a few weeks. We could leave tomorrow morning—”

“You want to move your things there,” Thor asked with surprise lacing his tone.

You had already gotten up and was bending over to lay a plate of food on the floor for the dog. Mjölnir bound over happily to start licking at the sausage gravy.

“Yeah,” you sighed standing back up. You had already committed yourself to moving to Asgard with him, what was the difference to moving to Norway to be with him. At least you would be on the same planet and could still call your parents. “I’ll need to notify Tony that I’m going to have to stop working for him, but I think—”

“You will leave here and come live with me in New Asgard,” Thor interrupted you again.

A little laugh escaped you at his antics. Although you were still an emotional wreck, you wanted to do everything you could to give your relationship with him a fighting chance. “Yes Thor,” you said. “If that is where you need to be, then I’m going to be there too.”

Thor’s arm slipped behind your back and pulled you down to settle across his lap. Warmth seeped into you from all around, his arms coming to squeeze you tightly to him. “You do not realize how happy this makes me schat,” he murmured. “I did not want to leave you again.”

It happened pretty fast after that. Tony and you had a long conversation about your work. When Thor had disappeared your work around the base decreased by half, so you felt bad when Tony was trying to offer you a severance pay for leaving. That is what took up most of the conversation at least—you fighting on taking the money. Other than that, you packed up all of your clothes and the little odds and ends you had collected over the years.

Even though you had said that you and Thor could leave that next morning, Thor insisted that you have another day to see the rest of your friends and bid them goodbyes. Not all of them were around much anymore, having moved out or going on more and more missions. With every teary hug and promises to call often, you reminded yourself that you would come visit and they could come visit you.

It wasn’t out in space, just over the ocean in Norway.

Tony graciously gave you a quin-jet and spent a handful of hours going over the controls and logistics of flying it. Since you refused to take a severance pay, he strong armed you into accepting the ship instead. All he had to do was tell you that it could be used to fly back over to New York in just a handful of hours; and you caved.

It took a little enticing with lunch meat to get Mjölnir to get on the jet. Once on it and you started up the engines, the dog howled in fear and cowered on the floor shaking. Thor held the dog close for the long four-hour flight it took to get to Norway.

He guided you from the co-pilot chair the entire trip, murmuring suggestions on how to handle the ship and directions. After landing, he slowly stood with the large dog in his arms as if Mjölnir weighed nothing and helping the dog to the floor gently.

The cool air touched your skin as soon as he opened the doors and lowered the ramp. It wasn’t as hot as it was in New York, but a nice spring-like warmth. The view took your breath away.

Bright green hills and cliffs lined the shoreline, making the ideal image of a small quaint fishing town. There were a handful of houses that had been built while some were still half built. Some older buildings were already established, but people were milling in and out of them with tools and cleaning supplies. Down the shoreline you found a handful of men and women tossing nets into the water and pulling them back in rhythmically.

Thor walked to the end of the ramp, looking back at you and offering his hand. “Come schat, let me show you our new home,” he said smiling.

Mjölnir barked, taking off down the ramp in excitement to get off the ship.

Suddenly you felt a little weightless. Maybe it was a giant combination of the weight of everything falling off your shoulders at once, the beauty of New Asgard, Thor finally here with you—offering you a new life with him.

The previous night you both stayed cuddling in bed whispering back and forth—the talk you wanted to have about what happened when he was gone. There were some more tears as you explained how heartbroken you were to see Jane there, that he was gone and how you were extremely happy to be home and so overwhelmed. Thor answered all your questions about his time gone and his thoughts on Jane. After the talk you felt more assured in his feelings for you, and lack of romantic feelings for Jane.

You were still a little overwhelmed, but as you slid your hand into his and took the first few steps off the jet—every breath you took was fresh and exhilarating. All while leading you, he pointed to some buildings and explained what he had planned for them. Numerous Asgardians waved in hello when you both passed.

After a time of walking he stopped in front of a white house with a lot of windows. It rose up slightly higher than the rest of the houses on a smaller hill, one large window facing the water. It looked partially finished. There was no roof, but different patched colored tarps covering the top.

“Some of the people of Norway offered to help build with us. The wood and materials that they gave us—we were unaware how to construct with it,” he said. “This…this in our home. It is not finished, but—”

“It’s perfect,” you interrupted him, smiling brightly. “It’s so beautiful here.”

“No drottning, it is perfect now that you and Mjölnir are here with me,” he murmured pulling you close. The words caused you to smile and run your fingers through Mjölnir‘s fur. Thor had grown to care for the dog as much as you had, it warmed you to know he was accepting of your fur baby.

“You never told me what drottning means,” you said teasingly he gazed down at you.

Thor laughed and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “It is a term of endearment; it translates roughly to ‘my queen’.”

“And schat,” you asked more breathless than anything.

“My treasure,” he murmured before pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “Come, I want to show you the view of the water from our home. We can make it our bedroom if you want.”

Previous Chapter << Part 11: French Toast

Next Chapter >> Epilogue: Peanut Butter

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#Thor Odinson #thor x reader #thor fanfiction #thor fanfic #thor #reader insert #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #of food and comfort #thor x y/n

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stellar-alley · 4 years

Text

Of Scales and Sea Glass

•Chapter 2•

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

(Summary: Eddie goes shopping for food with Bev and Bill, then washes the mer’s tangled hair.)

Also shout out to @ambitiousskychild on tumblr for being my beta!

The next morning Eddie woke up to the sound of the doorbell echoing through the quiet house. His eyes fluttered open as they drifted over to his alarm clock. 11:00am, holly shit i never fucking sleep in this much, Eddie wondered why for only a split second, before the memories of the day prior resufaced. “The merman…” Eddie spoke aloud, his eyes wide with realization.

Hastily, he threw his legs over the side of his bed and stumbled out of his room and into the bathroom. He slammed himself against the door and opened it up wide.

The merman had been slouched over in the tub, head underwater. He jerked his head out of the water after the sudden bang against the door. Breathing heavily, mind still hazed by sleep, he watched as the small human, Eddie, shuffled inside. He rolled his eyes at the sight, relieved that it wasn’t a threat.

“It’s just me don’t worry” Eddie’s voice was groggy and tired as he waved off the merman’s worries. “I-uh, just wanted to make sure you were okay-” The doorbell rang again, Eddie stiffened, “Sorry I’ve gotta get this but please- stay here,” Eddie begged before leaving the room.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Eddie rambled as he unlocked the front door. He swung it open to reveal not just one of the Losers, but two. “Ohmygod- Hey guys!” Eddie’s mood brightened.

Bill and Beverly both stood on Eddie’s front porch. “Hey Eddie, what’s up?” Bev smiled. Eddie moved aside, allowing his friends to come inside. The three settled into their normal seats in Eddie’s family room. Eddie and Bill on the bigger couch will Bev laid horizontally on the armchair.

“H-Hows the clean up go-going?” Bill asked as he stretched his hands, sore from the previous day of manual labour.

“It fucking sucks! It’s so gross. What about you guys?” Eddie stopped himself before he started ranting about all the weird shit he’s found in his pool.

“My aunt and I got most of the stuff cleaned up but now there’s a leak in the roof, so we’ve gotta wait for the maintenance guy to come and patch it up, ” she explained.

Eddie nodded, then asked, “Bill? How’s Georgie?”

“T-Tired, he hu-hates thunder. The tree in the f-front yard lost a ma-masive branch. My parents told me to go get gru-groceries today,” Bill pulled out a list from his pocket, “Wanna join?” He inquired.

“Yeah, Big Bill and I were gonna go into town and get some supplies, we were wondering if you wanted in?” Beverly raised her eyebrows at him.

“That’d be great actually,” The mental image of the guest in his bathtub caused him to realize how much he needed to restock his pantry, “Yeah, I need to stock up,” Eddie concluded.

The shorter boy glanced down at the pajamas that he wore then back up at his friends, “Let me go get changed then we can head out. Oh, don’t use the upstairs bathroom the toilet… broke,” Eddie lied, but the others didn’t notice. He had a bathroom on the main floor that worked perfectly fine and had no mythical creature hiding in it that they could use.

Eddie checked on the merman one more time and informed him of the recent developments before he got ready and left. Eddie called shotgun as they walked down his driveway, towards Bill’s red Toyota Corolla, Bev rolled her eyes as she hopped into the back. And they were off to the store.

The trio decided on going to Walmart first as it had most of the things they needed. Eddie walked along the aisle with Bill who pushed the cart, and Bev who rode on the front with her phone in hand, she was scrolling through her list, calling out items she needed for Eddie to put into the cart.

They were about to roll past the fish freezers, when Eddie stopped and signaled for the others so to follow him. “Eddie f-fish? Really?” Bill questions as he turns the kart, Bev hopped off to stand beside Eddie as they observed the fish in the ice below them.

“Yeah, so?” Eddie’s tone is more defensive than he would prefer, but he needs to feed his trashmouth and fish seemed like the most logical food to buy for something that lived in the ocean. Eddie worried about giving him human food, so he decided to start with the fish then maybe test the waters with something like bread, once the mer regained his hunger.

“Nothing, it’s just every time I ever offered you sushi during lunch you always talked about your hatred for fish,” Bev recalls a memory from when they were in highschool.

He gestured for the guy behind the counter to wrap up two of the full salmons, “Well, people change,” Eddie shrugs. He smiled as he was handed the wrapped fish.

“So what was everyone else up to today?” Eddie changed the subject onto the other Losers.

“Mike’s on f-farm duty. They had to help f-find one of the sheep that got loose during the st-storm. S-Stan had to work,” Bill explained while he looked over the continents inside of one of the many freezers.

“And Ben’s mom needed help cleaning. OH! And remember his neighbour with that old ass maple tree?” Eddie nodded as Bev continued, “It fell during the storm, broke an upstairs window. Ben’s mom is pissed,” Bev says with a faint smirk playing over her lips.

Bill pulled up onto their street and Bev was talking about some of the new clothes she was making with one of her old dresses when Eddie remembered he wanted to buy a shirt for the merman.

“Shit,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Hm? What? Tired of hearing me talk about fashion?” Bev asked curiously.

Eddie shook his head. “Oh no, I love hearing about the difference between cotton and polyester. I just remembered I wanted to look at some new shirts while we were out. You don’t have any old big shirts do you?” Eddie asked. He would just lend one of his shirts to the fish, but he was at least 2 sizes larger than Eddie.

“Maybe?” Bev cocked an eyebrow, “why?”

Eddie blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Growth spurt”

Bill scoffed, which earned him a back hand slap on his arm.

“I can grow!”.

Bill smirked as he took the key out of the ignition. “Eddie you’re n-nineteen, I think you’re a-a little too old for growth spurts.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered,” Bev put a reassuring hand on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Beverly,” Eddie made sure to eye Bill as he thanked Bev.

Derry’s resident Badass: Left the shirt in the mailbox for you! Enjoy

Eddie read the text from Bev. He finished putting away all of the perishable items before checking his mailbox. Inside he found a light pink T-shirt. It looked pretty normal until he held it up and saw there were two seashell decals on the chest, trying to mimic Ariel’s iconic shell bra. Oh Beverly…. Eddie smirked at the shirt, recalling the times she’d worn this shirt to sleepovers, it always rode halfway down her thighs. He chuckled at the mental image of the trashmouth wearing this shirt.

Eddie ended up deboning one of the salmon's he bought, which proved itself to be much harder then they make it seem on Master Chief. After he proceeded to chop it into bite-sized pieces. He contemplated cooking the fish but opted not to as he can't imagine any way a merman would have cooked fish underwater. Once he was back in the bathroom, he took his usual seat on the closed toilet.

The merman’s head was leaning against the back of the tub, silently napping. Eddie admired his raw beauty and sharp features. He looked very at ease, his lips slightly parted and moving ever so slightly as his chest rose and fell with every breath. A small smile crept onto Eddie's face before it turned into a devilish grin. He held the container of food with one hand while the other slid into the water, with one swift notion he sent a small splash of water up and onto the merman’s face.

He woke with a startle, his glasses fell from his face with the sudden motion. The calm expression on his face turned to confusion as he scanned the room and realized everything was blurry. His breath now quick as his gaze landed on Eddie who was cracking up. He scowled while he slid his glasses back on.

“Oh come on trashmouth! God you're no fun,” Eddie nagged.

The Mer crossed his arms over his chest (ignoring the subtle pain it created) and stuck his tongue in protest.

Eddie only rolled his eyes before getting to what he'd brought. “So I wasn’t sure what you ate so I bought you fish. Is that okay?” He looked to the merman for help. He stared at Eddie blankly before his brow furrowed and he held out his arms and made a grasping motion with his hands. Like a baby asking for its bottle.

“What? You wanna do it yourself?” Eddie asked, a little shocked by his sudden desire for independence. Although he would be sad he'd never feel those soft lips against his hand anymore… He shrugged it off. “OKay…” Eddie hesitated only for a moment before handing it over to the merman.

He mirrored Eddie in the way he held it. Once he was sure he had a steady grasp over the container, he moved a hand to take a piece of fish out and popped it into his mouth. The merman chewed then proceeded to swallow it. He popped another piece into his mouth, chewed then gave Eddie a grateful smile with a mouth full of fish.

Eddie nearly gagged. “EW! Don’t do that trashmouth,” he grimaced, but his voice was filled with amusement as the fish closed his mouth, but kept the smile.

Later that day the cleaners came for the pool. Eddie greeted them in the driveway and led them into his backyard. He explained what he needed done as he stood a couple feet away from the edge of the pool. The main cleaner talked about prices as Eddie scanned the pool.

There was still so much shit at the bottom, he was excited to see it gone. But something shiny caught his eye on the ground. He blinked and focused on the little blue scales that sat about a foot away from the pool. Eddie tried to keep calm as he realized there were the merman’s scales.

Shit, I can’t let these guys see those, even if they are just scales. I cannot let anyone find out about him.

Eddie continued the conversation he was having with the head cleaner as he took a step towards the pool, placing his foot right beside the scales, blocking them from the cleaner’s view.

“We should be done in a couple hours or so,” he explained.

Eddie nodded in understanding, then he kneeled down beside the edge. “Okay good.” He placed his hand over the scales but kept his gaze on the pool. “The sooner it’s cleaned means the sooner I get to keep practicing. I’m planning on joining my school’s swim team,” Eddie lied. He picked up the scales and slid them into his pocket as he stood up.

“Oh! Well good luck with that,” The cleaner smiled. Once everything was discussed, Eddie left them to do their job. He patted the scales in his pocket as he walked back towards the house, a faint smile played across his lips.

The next day Eddie explained to the merman how his pool was now clean and full of water while he examined all of his injuries which seemed to be healing nicely.

“If I find an easier way to transport you then maybe one day you can go swimming there.” The merman only shrugged in response. That worried Eddie as he would’ve thought the fish would’ve been dying to get back into the water, as that’s where he lived.

“A-Are you okay?” Eddie immediately moved his hand to feel the creature's forehead, checking for a fever. It was a little hotter than normal but that could have also been because it was scorching hot outside. Eddie slid his hand from his forehead to ruffle the fish’s black mess of curls, something he grew quite fond of doing. But it didn’t go too far as his fingers got tangled in knots.

“God, how tangled is your hair?” Eddie questioned. The merman responded by raking his hands through his hair, only to be met by the same tangles. He simply shrugged.

Since he’d been in Eddie’s bathtub for the past couple of days, his hair had been able to completely dry, which left it in long thick curls that dangeled into his face. Eddie didn’t mind, he thought it was kinda cute… But now that he knew how knotted they were, he had to do something about it.

He sighed and stood up, “Well, I don’t know what you guys are doing down in Atlantis, but you’ve gotta start conditioning your hair.”

The merman’s face scrunched up, unsure of what Eddie was suggesting. He folded his arms over the side of the tub and rested his head on top of them as he watched Eddie go through one of the cabinets in the corner.

When Eddie returned he brought back a bottle of shampoo, conditioner and a brush. He sat on the ground and placed everything beside him. “Dunk your head underwater,” Eddie instructed.

The merman didn’t.

“Come on,” Eddie removed his watch and sunk his hands into the water.

The merman sunk down a bit but stopped right before wetting his hair, as if he was mocking Eddie.

“Oh fuck you,” Eddie gasped drmatically. He moved his hands to splash the merman. Just as the water was about to wet his face, he raised a hand and it stopped midair, and formed a perfect bubble of water before him.

Eddie froze. Did it do that? He must’ve taken on a shocked expression as the bubble immediately fell back into the water and the merman’s face turned apologetic, as if he was sorry for frightening the human.

Something tightened inside Eddie’s chest. The way the merman stopped, just for him, made him feel warm…

“No, no… It’s okay! I just didn’t know you could do that,” Eddie admitted, his face turning a little red as he rubbed the back of his neck. “C-Can you show me again?” Eddie requested shyly. Sure it’s weird and kinda freaky but that doesn't mean I’m not interested. HE HAS FRICKEN SUPER POWERS!

The merman’s expression softened as a smile tugged at the edges of his lips. This time he pulled a larger bubble of water from the bathtub and held it in the air. With his hand sticking out of the water, he moved his bubble towards him and held it over his head. With the flick of his wrist, the bubble fell over his head, soaking his hair, just like the human had requested.

Eddie’s eyes filled with wonder, and a little bit of pleasure as the fish boy finally wet his fucking hair. “Cool…”

After the initial shock of the whole superpowers thing settled, Eddie began washing the merman’s hair. First off he squirted a generous amount of shampoo directly onto the mer’s head, then proceeded to massage it into his curls and spread it to cover all of his hair. As he massaged his scalp, the mer released a little moan, obviously enjoying the scalp massage. (Eddie heart raced at the sound of that)

Then Eddie rinsed the suds from his inky black hair and proceeded to add the conditioner. Instead of massaging it in, he grabbed his thick-toothed comb and combed it through. The task took a while as his hair was fairly knotted.

All of the effort paid off though as once his hair was fully cleaned, Eddie took out the blow dryer. Sure, it spooked the mer at first but once Eddie showed him that it was harmless and only shot out warm air, the merman complied. Though he’s only known Eddie for a couple days now, he’s grown to trust the human, especially considering everything he’s done for him so far. The warm air felt nice on his cold skin, plus he enjoyed how soft hair had become once it was over. He ran his wet fingers through his freshly cleaned locks but was given a light slap from the human, as he claimed, “You’re gonna get your hair wet and gross again.”

The final product left Eddie speechless. The merman’s hair was full of soft curls, they ended just above his neck. The pieces that’d once loosely fell in his face now curled to the side and nicely framed his eyes.

The merman’s cheeks took on a new shade of pink as he noticed the human’s stare.

Eddie smiled at his hard work, but he also smiled because of the way the mer glanced away shyly, as if he was a little embarrassed at the sudden gaze on him. Eddie would’ve thought he was cute, maybe even beautiful, but just as the warmth began to spread in his chest, he pushed the feelings. We’re from two different worlds. The reminder brought him back to reality.

“You look nice,” the compliment brought the merman’s gaze back onto Eddie. He gave the human a small nod, as if to say ‘thank you’.

During the span of a week, Eddie had developed a bit of a schedule on how his days would play out. First he’d go say goodmorning to trashmouth and make sure he’s still alive. Then he’d go make them breakfast, he’s been testing out some new recipes for himself, while the mer still ate fish. Actually Eddie’s noticed now that he’s constantly getting food ready for the merman, he’s started putting more thought into his own meals. Which is a step up from frozen meals and cereal that he was used to. Then they’d eat together in the bathroom. Eddie had taken up sitting on the floor so he could be closer to his trashmouth while they ate. Sometimes the fish boy would shoot him curious glances, staring down at Eddie’s food from where he sat in the tub. So Eddie would put a forkful of whatever he had made out in front of the fish and feed him. Eddie was happy to know he could start branching out in his meal planning. Now that he knew human food wouldn’t upset the fish’s stomach. Most days Eddie tried to give the mer a big breakfast so if Eddie needed to leave for any reason, his guest wouldn’t die of hunger.

As much as Eddie wished he could spend his days beside the tub, uncovering every secret the merman held, he knew if he started acting weird, someone was bound to notice. So he kept in contact with his friends, going over to their houses, inviting them over once the backyard was clean. Sadly he’s had to miss two sleepovers as he doesn't trust the fish to be home alone for that long.

Eddie even moved Goldy’s fish bowl into the bathroom to keep his trashmouth company. Though she’s on the counter, away from the merman’s claws, he seems to enjoy the company. So now when Eddie returns home from a day at Mike’s farm or something, he doesn't seem as lonely.

Over the past week, Eddie grew oddly fond of the merman. Sure, he couldn’t talk, but Eddie did enough of it for the both of them. Most of the time he just complained about random things, other times he’d explain human things like technology and phones, and sometimes he’d bring his comics into the bathroom and read to him (carefully as he did not want to get them wet).

Also, most, if not all of the mer’s injuries had healed pretty well. The only explanation Eddie could come up with to explain the miraculous chain of events was that mermaids had a better healing factor compared to humans. Which was on one hand, good! He seemed happier now that he wasn't in pain. But on the other hand, Eddie knew once he was fully healed, there wouldn’t be a reason to take care of him anymore, which would mean he’d have to… Eddie shook his head, dismissing the thought and returned back to the present, where he was removing the bandages on the mer’s chest.

The one he had yet to take off was the one that sat on the mer’s cheek. He was slightly worried that out of all the injuries, that would be the one not to heal correctly. Leaving a messy, jagged scar on a face that would have otherwise been considered perfect. With as much care as he could muster, he cupped one side of the mer’s face with his hand (he ignored the butterflies that had formed in his stomach) to keep his head steady while the other slowly peeled the bandage off.

He held the bandage in his hand and admired the skin that was now healed. Instead of a nasty scar that Eddie had imagined, all that was left was a simple line that was half the size of the original cut. Eddie thought it made him look even cuter, in a badass type of way.

Eddie realized a moment too soon that he’d been staring longingly at the merman who’s cheek he still cupped with his hand. He was about to move away when the mer quickly reached his hand up towards the back of Eddie’s neck and pulled him down. Before Eddie could even process what was happening, their lips smashed together. For a second he couldn’t believe what was happening. Their lips moved together as if they had kissed dozens of times before. The mer’s tongue moved into Eddie’s mouth, snapping Eddie back into reality. He hastily pushed away, falling back onto the tile floor.

The merman let out a gasp, as if he was gasping for air. His breaths became quick as he held onto the side of the bathtub. “OH THANK GOD! I Don’t know how much longer I could’ve kept that shit up…” He was breathless, but still, he spoke.

Word Count: 7604

Guys when I tell you I loved writing this chapter, I mean it. Literally, that ending scene? I’ve had it planned since the day I came up with the idea for the AU, and I’m ecstatic that I finally get to show it to the world. So I hope y’all enjoyed it as much as I did.

Don’t forget to comment, like and reblog to show your support!

And until next time,

So Long and Goodnight.

[Taglist]

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bookishable · 5 years

Text

if harry potter characters had social media

harry

has over a thousand followers on everything but only follows like six people

what does he even post??

#defeatedvoldemortagain

rants on twitter about the true story and how no one will believe him

hating on umbridge on ratemyteacher

really good at roasting people in the comments

mainly photos of quidditch

he and ron run a youtube channel that is a hogwarts legend

ron

documents a lot of chess games

regular looking instagram with photos of friends etc

selfies with the elves from the kitchen

“what’s going on at the borrow?” becomes a twitter thread

instagram feed is jumbled but somehow works

also has an orange theme without intending to

promotes weasley’s wizard wheezes all the time and hermione doesn’t notice because she never looks at her feed

hermione

probably the least likely to have social media but anyway

100% has a bookstagram

but her photos aren’t well arranged or aesthetically pleasing

campaigning for elf rights over every social media app

creates a S.P.E.W facebook page

only followed by her close friends and then only because she bribed them

follows millions of public figures and famous wizards and witches

has a study blog

everyone annoyed by her posts

schedules weekly posts so even when she’s petrified she can stay active

tweets about all the ways wizards can improve their approach to things

makes book recommendation videos on youtube

as well as the fake galleons, she manages to send private messages through people’s phones to tell everyone when the next DA meeting is

neville

mainly photos of plants

mimbulusmimbletonia would be his username for everything (took this from @sasmilledge ’s artwork bc it’s literally perfect)

lots of photos from dumbledore’s army, documents their progress and how happy he is to be a part of it <33

but somehow keeps these photos private to not expose them

sends positive messages on tumblr

also spreads awareness for #supportharrypotter during seventh year which was probably part of the reason he got punished

figures out a way to let students know via social media that the room of requirement is a safe place without snape or the carrows finding out

ginny

bomb selfies

literally doesn’t care

doesn’t have a good instagram theme and posts all the time

writes a lot, has all the writing and reading apps and uses tumblr to write short pieces that are lowkey good

you can stalk all her old photos since she never deletes anything

posts lots of family adventures once her and harry have children just like james and lily would have done :)

really good outfits??

millions of followers like harry but unlike him she follows lots of people

luna

two instagram accounts, one for the aesthetic which has photos edited for her theme, the other a complete mess of random facts and irrelevant spam

doesn’t post photos of the thestrals or other magical creatures because she respects their privacy and believes they are too magical to be exposed

the embodiment of quirky

hand crafts her own jewelry which she has a business page for

has a youtube channel called nargles are behind it

draco

lowkey good photography

doesn’t post photos very often if at all

only really uses social media to complain about potter and brag about his new broomstick

#myfatherwillhearaboutthis

fashion model

dean

has an art instagram account which has like 50k followers

personal account dedicated to friends and football

#supportharrypotter used frequently

posts about gryffindor quidditch a lot

weasley twins

run a weasley’s wizard wheezes business account on facebook and instagram

youtube channel shows them testing their products

their separate instagram accounts aren’t even similar

fred posts all the time, updating hogwarts on their latest mischief

george posts less often and his posts are almost always clever jokes

arthur weasley

muggle technology discoveries

posts photos of his plug and battery collections on instagram

CARS

snapchat over-use to the point where it is annoying but everyone loves it

dumbledore

probably only uses twitter

cryptic lessons and messages that make no sense

“mr filch has asked me to remind you that the third floor corridor is out of bounds to any who do not wish to die a most painful death… lol there’s a giant killer dog there go check it out”

goes live during all speeches in the great hall and these are kept in an archive in case you missed the feast because you and your flying car were being beaten up by a tree

or if you got your nose broken

or if you didn’t show up for the year because you’re following his (lack of) advice and have gone camping

#fiftypointstogryffindor

this hashtag is posted at random intervals throughout the year for no apparent reason

hagrid

starts an instagram account to document the progress of the blast-ended skrewts

makes baking videos on his youtube channel, most of which end with smoke obscuring the camera and harry has to go check that hagrid’s hut hasn’t caught fire (no one has quite mastered the concept of “if hagrid has managed to upload a video, he’s alive”)

most of his photos are blurry or of the ceiling because he finds it hard to handle a phone in his bucket-sized hands

the trio decide to get him a bigger phone, at the electronics shop in hogsmeade they customise one

hagrid of course cries at this

mcgonagall

only uses social media to remind her students of the homework they have to do

prefers to text over anything else

creates her own homework tracker app inspired by howlers that causes the student’s phone to shriek at them if they haven’t handed it in

#haveabiscuit

#reposting this since i added more characters #harry potter au #harry potter characters #harry potter headcanons #character headcanons #hp shitpost #hp textpost

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pernatius · 4 years

Text

Lost in Space Part 6: Ch 1

Summary: With the fate of the universe resting in her hands, an unnamed Space Explorer and Saamuki first must find Syco to get back their friends.

Lost in Space on Tumblr

Lost in Space on ao3

Surrounding the cliff are trees with bluish trunks, for the most part, as some have sprouted out two and a thick and seemingly fluffy purple crown. Laying just about a foot below their leaves are large, orange spores that look as if they’re the size of my head. If I were outside the ship and uncomfortably closer I have a feeling they would actually be three times bigger. The sea of purple reminds me of the beach a couple of miles away from here, below the cliff and encased in the place that was once Saamuki’s prison. Just like then I pick up the sand and watch each grain drop and eventually pile into a small mountain below me. Well, I didn’t actually do it considering the howling metal, as wind thrashed against it, encasing me. I imagined I did. I realized how truly short and quick time is. Also, how one thing can change everything. So, that’s when I look up into the blackness above that’s slowly being engulfed by daylight. I do so because I know some of the players. I could name them, but I’ll never get to know all of them. The floating, bobbing alien creature who looked like a jellyfish seen in the corner of my eye reinforces that frustrating conclusion.

“Now I could use your chip.” I nearly forgot Saamuki is talking. I actually forgot about my chip until she reminded me. I was going to completely forget about the former as I get brief, yet painful flashes of the bumpy relationship between the tiny computer clutching the back of my neck and me. “I know just about everything about the mechanical world, but the organic one is something I’ve barely scratched the surface of. Combining both and having me tap into their child is essentially a death wish. I don’t know much about Syco. I’ve only seen him through pictures and heard him through your point of view, but I don’t plan to ever risk anyone’s life like that. However, we’re running out of time. I have no idea what the address of his ship could be,” she rambled in one breath while stroking her chin.

“What do you mean by address? Do you mean ship number? When I was a Space Explorer, all the ships came with ship numbers. They were easier to track that way, or at least I think they did. Those memories are hazy,” I look away from her before continuing, “but how about the ship? Couldn’t you do something with the ship instead?”

She catches her breath before replying, “I could say ship number, but that’s not an accurate label. Ship addresses come with the ship’s number, type of ship, coordinate, and most importantly resonance. Each ship has a different resonance. The address of his ship is embedded into your chip. It’s twice in there now, but your statement wasn’t completely wrong. I can’t blame you for that.”

“Then, The Speaker, have they said anything?”

“No, they’ve gone completely silent.” I flinched when she suddenly bent forward and slammed her fists against the arms of her chair. One of her eyes and the corner of her lips twitched. Noticing my fright, she laid back down and took another breath. Her voice is much lower. It’s almost a whisper when she explains, “I’m sorry, but it’s just that why did it have to be a Space Pirate commander? Why does it always have to be a Space Pirate that outsmarts me? I could only guess what Syco’s planning for the universe and especially for our friends, but it’ll only be a guess. Syco is the only one that knows the answer to my questions, obviously, he does. Even if I were to get the address what’s stopping him from killing us on the spot?”

“No, Syco wouldn’t do that. I know that sounds weird coming from my mouth. It was my fault for basically walking into a warzone that got you into this situation and got me this deep. I know that, but if Syco wanted us and especially me dead then we would be. For how little I’ve gotten to know him I’ve come to understand that he’s cunning. This is too big of a hole in what we’re inching towards to conclude.”

“He’s let you go this far, but he’s tried to kill you. Why the hypocrisy?”

“That’s the thing. He’s tried to even when it wasn’t him physically doing it. Back at his ship when he found out I was trying to kill him with Khavas he didn’t kill me. He could’ve killed me. I was an easy target. Then, when he had Khavas under his control he stopped him. Again, he could’ve let the job be finished right then and there. Now when he had the others pursue me Skeema regained control for a split second. Syco knows how his people work. He’s been working with them. I don’t know exactly why, but I’m important to him and whatever he’s planning. He wouldn’t kill me. At the very least he doesn’t plan to anytime soon.”

Her elbows are perpendicular to the arms of her chair. Her hands are folded and her head is bowed, pressed up against them, as her eyebrows crease close to one another and her eyes are shut. She takes a moment to ponder. The blueish glow from the screen emphasizes her expression. In that time I see that familiar shadow walk towards the window that’s become just about everyone’s spot to watch the infinitely expanding outer space. I follow it and once it’s able to press its hands against the window sill and move its head upwards towards the glowing, gigantic, and ironically heavenly bodies above, it fades out of sight.

“I think I know a way where we can get the address without putting you in harm's way and even not alert Syco and his crew about what we’re doing, but I still owe him even when it’s been several years since the last time we saw each other.”

“What could you possibly owe whoever you’re talking about for?”

“Promise me that what I’m about to tell you remains between the two of us. That means not telling Ashely, and especially Mikrovos.”

If we get to see either of them again at this rate. The real them I mean. Them without mind control I mean. It’s a terrible thing to think about. It hurts me thinking about that, but it’s slowly becoming true. Sure, there’s a strong possibility Syco doesn’t plan to kill them or use them to kill me. It’s only a matter of time before my intuition about Syco proves to be wrong, but I don’t tell her any of this. I nod instead.

“No, promise me. Please say it. I can’t tell you if you can’t.”

Her watery eyes shut down any hesitation I could’ve been feeling. “I promise, Saamuki. I won’t tell either of them. I won’t tell anyone.”

“It,” she gulps, “She was Skeema’s kid.” She pressed her hands against her stomach.

“What?” Again, it’s all I can say besides making a face or cuss out loud. Both of which have an unconscious intent of making it seem like I now view her as batshit crazy.

“It’s the reason Skeema became one of my most prominent clients. You should’ve seen his face when I told him. He was so happy that he was going to be a father, but it was an accident. We didn’t plan to, but that’s why I had to do it. I wasn’t ready. I was especially not ready to tell Cabelo. How could I ever be ready for that? It hurt him,” she began to sob, “It hurt me for weeks. It still hurts. Lords, I’m so sorry for giving you all of this again. Does that make me a bad friend? Does this make me a terrible person?”

With everything that’s happened, I’ll never truly understand what it’s like to see a family member die. I don’t think I’ll ever get to see my child die. Hell, I don’t think I want children. If I did I don’t think I can have one right now. I wonder if my previous self wanted one. I wonder what my old self was like. I wonder what she would’ve thought of at this moment. I know she wasn’t perfect, but she wasn’t this fucked up. She wasn’t me. What would she have done in my place?

I rested her tearful self on my chest as I patted the back of her head. She, in turn, gripped my shirt with shaky hands. “No, of course, it doesn’t. You did what you thought was the right thing to do, Saamuki. No, what you had to, but it’s all over now,” I whispered to her.

We held each other for who knows how long. It might’ve been minutes. It could’ve been hours. While impossible it still could’ve been an entire day. How long we held each other for is not what matters. What does matter is that Saamuki is okay now. I just wish I could say that about myself.

As per usual, I’m sitting on the window sill watching the stars fly past us. My hand rests on the cold glass. The glass is about seven inches thick. It’s what’s keeping me away from being sucked up into the chasm that is outer space, yet I can still feel it. I can still feel space’s coldness. “I know I’ve said this already, but I really am sorry.”

Her back is facing her chair and her eyes are facing the windshield. She’s focused on steering us to where only she knows, but I act like I’m being scolded. I imagine where her gaze would’ve been if she was standing behind me and her reflection in front of me. In her place is a darkened, blurry version of me. That image isn’t new to me.

“As I said earlier, you did what you had to.”

The two of us were never close. We’re in between acquaintances and friends since we know parts of each other no one else knows, but at the same time aren’t able to do much with that information. Maybe we’re friends since we’ve seen each other at our lows. Maybe I’m afraid to label her as my friend because everyone I’ve ever gotten close with has gotten hurt. That’s why it was quiet the rest of the way to a planet I’ve been to before.

Like last time the planet is hot and remains to be a planet-sized sandbox. Unlike last time, besides for the costume change, as I’m wearing the worn and blood-smelling jacket because I’m unable to change back into a Talten but able to transform the crown into a staff and Saamuki taking Mikrovos’ place, a long, twisted torch was placed in the center of the market’s entrance. Also, unlike last time the market is nearly empty. For the handful that is here, they’re as gloomy as the people from Ojos’ city. They just look duller, which is like an oxymoron because of how bright this planet is. I try to figure out what’s happened within the months since my sudden departure from here by using my newly reformed crown, but I’m only able to catch snippets. Everyone here either uses one-worded replies or three worded sentences. I bury down my curiosity as I know I’m not going to get anything at this rate and return my focus to following Saamuki. Although, I already know where she’s heading.

The strip club has been torn apart. Literally. All but one of the tables has been flipped over. The one table had been punctured into some of the floorboards. Some of the lights that had once been nearly seizure-inducing have shattered onto the floor. We try to maneuver ourselves away from the shattered glass and make our way to the bar, past the stripper smoking a high-tech cigarette with a wad of cash tucked between the left strap of her underwear. Leaning against the bar with my eyes following the few patrons and workers and Saamuki facing the bartender, she asks, “What happened here?”

The bartender’s voice is so deep it causes my insides to shake. I didn’t get a good glimpse of him, but I imagine him to be about Mikrovos’ height with slick hair and a well-combed beard. “Two words: Space Pirate. I think it was the old commander of the Tauvoxes. Lots of flashing. Couldn’t really catch important details.”

At that, I come to terms with how The Commander made his grand entrance, as I hear the bartender put down a glass.

“Is Sakhra okay? Where is he?”

“He’s fine. Only got a few scratches. A bruise on his eye. He caused about half of the damages, but if you’re asking about him after all this time this must be important. Isn’t it, Saamuki?”

Saamuki doesn’t reply.

“Oh, it is. Wouldn’t it be a real shame if the last reason you were looking for him were to get out?”

“I don’t have the time right now. Just tell me where he is and the next time you ask for my services I won’t charge you.”

“Then, it truly must be really important. Cabelo is such a stingy old man. It’s every single cent for him. We shake on it and Sakhra’s whereabouts are as good as yours.” I assume they shake without any hesitation from Saamuki because he quickly continues, “He’s up north.”

“Up north? Why there?” Guessing by how much Saamuki’s voice went up, whatever is lying up north can’t be good. Turning around to her pale face I see I didn’t jump the shark with my conclusion.

#204 #lost in space #writers #writers on tumblr #writeblr #creative writing #my writing #spilled ink #fiction #scifi #wlw #space

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lunnanunna · 5 years

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Perfect Christmas

X1 Extra Member AU

Summary: X1′s first Christmas together.

A/N: So tumblr deleted this post and idk why, so here it is again.

REQUEST ARE OPEN! Feedback is greatly appreciated.

Jaein was awoken by a rough shake. Opening her eyes, she saw Eunsang standing by her bed. Jaein reached blindly for her phone and squinted at the harsh light. Through blurry vision she could see that it was 9 in the morning.

“Everyone’s already up. We’re waiting for you,” Eunsang said smiling, pulling on her arm.

Dazed, Jaein slowly got up and swung her legs over to the side of the bed. She ruffled her hair (which was already a bird’s nest) and shook it out. Getting up, she followed the boy.

Stepping foot into the living room, a cup of coffee was held in front of her. She took it thanking Wooseok, who smiled and walked over to join the others around the tree.

Jaein took a look around. Everyone was sitting on the couch or on the floor. They all had matching Christmas pajamas (Seungyoun’s idea). She quickly looked down at her own and smiled.

“Come on, Noona,” Hyeongjun called from his spot on the floor next to Hangyul and Junho. Jaein nodded and walked over to them.

“Morning,” Jaein rasped out (she still had a morning voice), then took a sip of her coffee. Closing her eyes, she savored the taste.

“It’s Christmas!” Dongpyo clapped his hands. Jaein looked at him and smiled.

It indeed was Christmas. It was their first Christmas together. Instrumental holiday music was playing quietly in the background. Everyone was sitting close to each other, drinking either coffee or hot chocolate. There were a few gifts under the tree (they had agreed to keep the gifts small and simple this year). And they were together. It was a perfect Christmas.

Seungwoo was smiling and looking at each of the members, and Jaein could tell that he was thinking the same thing. She smiled too. So far they had celebrated their leader’s birthday last night, had a Christmas Eve movie night and baked cookies, and now it’s Christmas day and they’re celebrating together.

They’ll have the morning for the group then they'll be off to visit families or friends later on in the day. Jaein was going to meet up with some of her old members and then join Seungwoo and his sister for dinner later on. She smiled at the thought.

“Can we open gifts now?” Dohyon asked. He was clapping his hands, bouncing in his seat on the couch next to Minhee.

“Of course,” Seungwoo answered. He sat closest to the tree, so he began to pass out gifts. Each person waited for everyone to get their gifts and they all took turns opening them and waiting to see the reactions to the gift that they gave them.

Dohyon got a box of snacks, which the whole group put together. Seungwoo, Jaein, and Wooseok were still hesitant about giving him his own snack box, but still agreed and actually ended up contributing the most.

Wooseok and Dongpyo got a bunch of face masks and a hairband for face washing (Dongpyo a panda bear and Wooseok a cat).

Seungwoo got a new water bottle and gym bag, seeing as both were “beyond old and need to be put down,” Seungyoun had said.

Everyone pitched in to give Jaein, Hangyul, and Hyeongjun matching hoodies that said “Dance Team”. Hyeongjun also gave Hangyul the hoop earrings that he gotten the other day.

Minhee was given a new set of pajamas and Junho was given a book from one of his favorite authors.

Seungyoun had made a mixtape of all the songs that he thought that Eunsang would like. And for Seungyoun, he got two new hats (a bucket hat and a baseball cap).

For Yohan, they all got him a box set of his favorite drama (he got so excited that he hugged every member).

“There’s still this,” Jaein said, getting up and reaching for the gift bag behind the tree. From the bag, she pulled out all of the flower keychains that she had bought from the street vendor.

“They’re matching,” Yohan observed with a smile.

“Yep,” was all that Jaein said, smiling.

“We should all put them on our bags the next time we all go out together,” Dongpyo stated, running a finger over his orange flower.

“Yeah, I like that idea,” Wooseok smiled, gently placing his purple one down on the coffee table.

“I’m glad you like them. I saw them and I was reminded of ‘Extraordinary You’,” Jaein said, taking another sip from her coffee.

“I thought the same thing when I saw them,” Hangyul said, laughing.

Soon, Wooseok and Jaein went into the kitchen to make breakfast, while the rest stayed in the living room and talked. Once breakfast was ready, everyone grabbed a plate and sat in the living room to watch “A Charlie Brown Christmas”.

After that, Hangyul and Junho went to clean the dishes, and everyone else went to get ready for the day.

Jaein threw on a pair of ripped skinny jeans, a ribbed crop top, and one of Seungwoo’s flannels (the group had come to the realization that if Jaein liked something, she’d “borrow” it). She quickly ran her fingers through her hair, but grabbed a bucket hat just in case.

Walking out of her room, Seungwoo walked in, “Nice shirt.” Jaein smirked and kept on walking.

“Bye, Noona,” Hyeongjun and Hangyul were by the door, ready to leave.

“Bye. She you guys later,” she waved at them, and then they left.

Jaein walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water and found Wooseok doing the same. “Are you visiting Jinhyuk today?”

“Yep, then I’m having dinner with my parents,” Wooseok answered, nodding, “You?”

“I’m hanging with Daehyun and Jongup, then having dinner with Seungwoo and his sister, Sunhwa.”

“That’s nice,” Wooseok said as they walked over to the door to grab their shoes.

“Wanna head out together?” Jaein asked.

“Yeah, we can share a taxi. I’m pretty sure we’re heading in the same direction,” Wooseok bent over to grab his sneakers and handed Jaein her converse. She thanked him.

“Bye everyone!” Jaein shouted to the others in the dorm. Wooseok did the same. A chorus of goodbyes were heard, as Jaein and Wooseok grabbed their coats and left the dorm.

Jaein’s Masterlist

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boyneriver-fraser · 5 years

Text

Extreme shippers are still around rehashing lies and blurry photos because they can’t admit they were wrong all along. At this point every point made to show SC are together is beyond ridiculous. It’s embarrassing.

Wednesday, April 10, 2019 (1817 Standard Outlander Time)

Dear “Anonymous” 😎,

You know what’s serendipitous?

Your submission arrived while I’ve been enjoying early-days SC shipping memories, so instead of ignoring your message — which is what I usually do with rants, not wanting to feed the beast — I’m going to respond like boyneriver might have back in the day. Nostalgia is fun!

Hey, any chance you’re tvuckic’s frequent flyer Anon? I’m wondering if the comment I left on her blog today put me on your radar?

@tvuckic Your they’re-not-together Anons seem to have serious crushes on you. Despite your clearly presented, logical explanations, they can’t help themselves from returning time after time to ask the same question or make the same point. I wonder if they pin a screenshot of your blog header on their mirror? 🤔

You know what’s beyond ridiculous and embarrassing?

You and your compatriots who think in black & white terms, who lack imagination, and who are compelled to tell people what they’re doing is wrong…

YOUR compulsion to lecture and tattle is what’s beyond ridiculous and embarrassing.

Grade 3, in my country 😃

Believe what you want. If you accept the engagement as presented, if you accept the single-man-about-town or girlfriend-du-jour as presented, if you think everything you read is honest and/or correct, if you think people don’t fake aspects of their lives, if you think what you think is right, yay you. 🎉

I believe what I want. I don’t accept the engagement as presented. I don’t accept the single-man-about-town or girlfriend-du-jour as presented. I KNOW some things I read are not honest or correct (because I write and do PR for a living). I KNOW people fake aspects of their lives (duh). I often think what I think is right, but usually leave room for doubt, yay me. 🎉

You know what’s perfectly acceptable?

Shipping couples. Go figure. I never heard the term until I discovered this cesspool of humanity Tumblr in 2016, but I’d been shipping couples since the 60s when I thought my Barbie looked cuter with my cousin’s Ken than her Barbie did, so I would switch our Kens when my cousin wasn’t looking. In the 70s I thought David Cassidy and Susan Dey made a great couple, despite their playing siblings in The Partridge Family (AND their denying any romantic relationship… sound familiar?).

Personally, I ship SC on Tumblr and in private conversations with friends. I don’t ship on any other social media platform, nor do I contact anyone on the Sony, Lionsgate, Starz, or Tall Ships payrolls. In other words, I keep it in my own lane. What and whom I ship is nobody’s business but mine.

If you — or anyone else outside of my friends and followers — know I ship SC, it’s because you’ve chosen to read my blog or my comments on other blogs. That doesn’t make it your business.

You know what’s sad?

For the most part I try to portray my Little Marjie Sunshine side on my blog, but privately, some of my Tumblr friends witness my dark side. If you need to deliver your sad tidings of killjoy to a stranger’s Inbox because you have no friends who share your views or who are willing to listen, that’s sad.

You know what’s funny?

You’re not as anonymous as you think loser. Go Fish.

I don’t endorse or enjoy lots of stuff presented on Tumblr blogs. AND… I don’t visit those blogs to chastise the bloggers, or tattle on them to strangers. Maybe you could follow my lead? After all, you brought your thoughts to my attention; you must be interested in what I think.

Open your mind, dear “Anon.” Make room for possibilities…

Slàinte!

boyneriver-fraser, BS, MS, PhD, lots of shady trees 🛶

Inbox Message: #17 │Received: 041019 │Answered: 041019

Photos: Boyne River sign pembinavalleyonline.com Lisa Simpson popsugar.com Kristin Dos Santos tumblr.com cat shorgtees.com Barbie & Ken babieandkenphotos.com beaver redbubble.com screaming woman gifer.com puffer fish lohdownonscience.com

#Inbox #Number 17 #🐟 Anon #Playground mentality #Grow up #84 #041019

#Inbox #Number 17 #🐟 Anon #Playground mentality #Grow up #84 041019 #submission

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sage-nebula · 5 years

Photo

(Tumblr killed the image quality but if you click on the pics they’ll be less blurry.)

It took me several days and many hours, but at last, I have drawn them: the pair whose bond overcomes reason, the pair whose bond surpasses its limitations, my valiant dragon son and his platonic soulmate---the BEST BOYS.

To be honest, I’m a little surprised at myself, even, because I haven’t attempted to draw a human person since high school, and as such deciding to do so now---and with such an important character!!---was definitely kind of bold of me. But I couldn’t get this idea out of my head, and so I decided to just go for it, and ultimately, I’m happy I did. Originally I was going to draw just Alan by himself, but the reference picture I used as base inspiration also had a charizard in it, and anyway, how could I not draw Lizardon as well? They’re an inseparable pair with an unbreakable bond. There’s no way to have one without the other.

So! The idea I couldn’t get out of my head was this outfit, which was inspired by Red’s new outfit (specifically, his jacket) in Pokémon Masters. I used this picture as a reference at first (hence the charizard). I wanted to change the colors, though, since Red’s colors are not Alan’s colors. I then decided to also change the pose a bit, since I was having a difficult time drawing a hand with a pokéball in it. Alan doesn’t wear a hat, either, and he likes layers so removing the sleeves from the jacket entirely didn’t seem like the wisest of ideas . . . basically what I’m getting at is that while I was inspired by Red’s outfit, I went in a different direction with Alan’s pose and clothes themselves, giving him something still original that he could use for his own journey across Pasio Island (or perhaps a journey throughout Galar, either one).

The colors of his jacket are Mega Charizard X colors, obviously; since the scarf didn’t really fit with this jacket, I decided to keep the same blue from it to use as accent colors on the jacket. I also swapped out the high collar for a hood, mostly because I couldn’t figure out how to properly draw the high collar, but also because Alan does like hoods, if his lab coat is anything to go by. The shirt he’s wearing is based on one I actually own; mine is black instead of blue, and the sleeves are shorter on mine, but the gold tree mirrored in water is present on mine as well. For Alan’s, I looked up pictures of sycamore trees, because I figured him having sycamore trees on his shirt would be a good, subtle nod to his father and family. Likewise, I used my own Doc Martens boots for Alan’s, to the point where I actually positioned them on the floor as I wanted his feet positioned and then did my best to draw them based on that. Lastly, the pendant he wears is the one that Sycamore gives him after the Flare crisis, as I’ve mentioned in many fics of mine. I’m particularly proud of how the Key Stone turned out. I used the watercolor tool to try to give it a more glowing look, and I think it turned out pretty well.

Anyway, I was very, very detail oriented on Alan and was very proud of how he came out, so I’m providing a close-up of him as well. Lizardon . . . did not come out as well, but I also didn’t spend as many hours on him and couldn’t use references too closely, since I made him much bigger than the reference picture (read: the size all charizard should be), and thus had to change up the posing a bit as well. The pendant he wears is likely the one Sycamore gave him, the half-sun to match Alan’s half-moon, complete with Charizardite X. I’m happy with how that came out, at least, as well as his tail flame. I used the oil brush tool for that, and I think it worked pretty well!

As always, this was drawn on my Dell Latitude tablet with Paint 3D, since I don’t have any other fancy programs and can’t download them onto the tablet because it’s a work tablet and I could get in trouble, haha. But I’m still happy with how it came out, considering I’m a very amateur artist. Now all I need to do is send this in to DeNa so they can put Alan in Pokémon Masters (which may seem out of line since he’s an anime character, but Steven referenced him in ORAS, so we can still make it happen!!), and we’ll be all set.

Off to Pasio Island!!

#pokemon #pokeani #trainer alan #trainer alain #lizardon #the bond that overcomes reason #scrawlers scribbles #champion alan #my valiant dragon son #or off to galar as i said in a scenario where maybe he's ash's traveling companion in that season #but like - not as a babysitter or side character #instead he's the deuteragonist like dawn was during dp's run #ash goes on the badge collection journey and yadda yadda #alan might challenge some of the leaders for funsies but his storyline is different #don't know what it'd be yet but it'd be something important #then again he and lizardon can mega evolve so they'd be barred entry into galar to begin with lolololol #so never mind. pasio island it is #also alan liking layers isn't headcanon. it's canon.#look at his canon outfit; he has a jacket and two shirts #the boy likes to layer up

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pheonixandthewisteria · 6 years

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So @m-iikan tagged me in a little tag post thing-y and sorrY for the delay I uhhh, haven’t been on tumblr much recently, but nevertheless,, So this is a tag 11 people and respond to the questions and ask your own then!~ So lets get right on in~ 1) What song have you had on repeat recently? Umm,,, for me I listen to a lot of music so there’s been like 3 on repeat recently, and those are; Alec Benjamin - The Wolf and the Sheep, Ruelle - Game of Survival, and Lindsey Stirling - Crystallize.

2) If the apocalypse arrived and you had to survive for whatever reason and you could only pick one person you met online to help you get through, who would it be and why? Well, I’ve only met a few people online honestly, it would be my friends Max and Vanner or you @m-iikan. So I totally adore all of you and I’m honestly the type who enjoys meeting new people (even if it does exhaust me and make me nervous at times) and learning more about them, who they are, why they are. Max and Vanner would be because we already bonded so much over so many things and having someone else who understands a lot about how I operate and feel over things would be good. Next, M-iikan, it’s cause I’m totally excited to hypothetically(I wouldn’t force anyone) to meet you, we’ve spoken only a few times, and it wasn’t always positive but I feel like we could get a better environment created and get our heads above the water! 3) Favourite Book?

Hhh, umm.... This is more impulse because I’m watching the Shadowhunter Series, but I really Loved the Infernal Devices by Cassandra Clare, I love Will and Jem and Tessa so much, I just wish- *deleted for safety of spoilers x33*

4) What’s one food you can never get tired of?

Crab Meat Tempura. I’m love. One true love.

5) Best thing that happened to you in the past year? Quitting my job at a retail store and starting in a manufacturing company, it seems kinda simple but it is so much better, I sleep a lot better, I don’t spend time after work thinking of ways to get out of work nearly as often, don’t feel nearly as depressed due to the pressure that company put on me, so I’ll have to say that changed my mentality quite a bit. It was a risk at the start but, it was definitely worth it.

6) Shuffle your music what plays first? (I refuse to list how many times I decided against the first song it plays because its itunes and I have too many songs I shame myself for having not deleted yet) But we’ll go with the first song that I actually enjoy listening to that played was Exec_Flip_Arphage by Shikata Akiko from the Ar Tonelico III game.

7) Favourite TV show ever?

Hrm, I’ll assume this doesn’t include anime to keep my nerdism in, but I already alluded to this show before, but I absolutely adore the Shadowhunters Series. It’s on Hulu and I hate that it’s almost over, even though I know it was probably only intended to follow the Mortal Instruments books... The series is based on the books by Cassandra Clare, one of my all time favourite writers.

8) Favourite Memory

Hhholy cats, I umm... I’ll actually chose the memories I have for a particular home I lived in, but my favourite memory has to be a random blurry memory from when I was reallllly young, like hmm, maybe 2-5 years old. I had been with my family for Christmas and my uncle Lane and I had built a little fort of christmas presents and I had a little peek hole to see my family but declared myself (I think, mind you this is a very distant memory) queen of the presents, before taking them to each person whom they were for. 9) What kind of weather do you prefer most?

When it is only lightly raining and typically in autumn so you can smell the trees in the air and sunny enough to make it not be outright cold. I’m also fond of when it’s windy on a sunny warm day, not too warm just warm enough to be tank top and shorts weather.

10) Favourite fictional character and why? This question always kills me, but I’ll say Sai/X/The Phantom Thief from Majin Tantei Nougami Neuro created by Yusei Matsui. Next is Sai from Majin Tantei, So, they’re kinda the main villain for a large portion of it, but they’re just trying to find themself, TBH the gender thing for Sai is largely confusing, so I’ll stick with they/them for them due to it being a complex spoiler if I go too far into it, but they just wrecked my heart with their story and their background and what happened with Ai, I found myself sobbing through quite a lot of Majin Tantei because the characters are so good, Sai was an understandable villain who did grotesque things not always with the best intentions, but to teach a lesson of cherishing what you have before it’s gone, it’s kinda crazy really, Sai is an inventive mind, with a complete comprehension that what their doing is wrong but continuing despite that and accepting that there would be consequences, Sai is a very grey-morally character and just deserves a hug and then some tbh.

11) What can you normally find in your bag?

My ipod/Headphones (for music), a notebook for writing down rogue ideas from out of nowhere, snacks, a fan (for cons), and a few different forms of pain meds for headaches, because I get them easily especially after I got a concussion (again?) in my junior year of high school.

Wow sorry that I ramble so much I’ve been in a poetic talk-y mood today out of nowhere. And onto the questions:

1) Favourite myth and why? 2) A character you were not fond of due to their goals, but you could still respect their decision/reasoning?

3) List your favourite band or a few if you are indecisive like me~

4) If you could change your eye colour to any one you wanted regardless of genetic possibility, what colour would it be and why?” 5) Do you have a favourite foreign(not of your locale except in restaurants or such like that I guess?) food/drink and what is it? 6) When you think of masks, what sort of masks do you think of? (Examples being like Noh masks, theatrical masks, or venetian masks, etc. feel free to use these, you don’t need exact names if you don’t know them describe them~) 7) Favourite movie from when you were a child? 8) What sort of blanket do you like to sleep with (if any)?

9) If you could go to a library with infinite knowledge, what one book would you pick off the shelf and what would it be about?

10) What sort of clothes would you wear if you could wear whatever you want regardless of consequences?

11) A fictional character that you love but often find yourself getting mad at due to their choices? SOrry my questions are a bit odd, I like to sprinkle a little oddity into them and kinda get a feel for what sort of things people think of, I like to learn about people through this odd little test of random questions that make them think.

Alright, I tag @gabriel-morrison-reyes @killus-donuts-trashcan @coreytasticc @arbiters-grounds @bugslamp @maiea-maiea @darkeecofreak and anyone else who feel like doing this random set of questions~ Mind you, none of you have to participate either, voluntary choice! I chose mostly people I know irl or who I am intrigued to get to know better or hear the answers of~ Thank you~

#long #long post #im so sorry #I blabb #english who

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owlways-and-forever · 6 years

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Summary: The Marauders are getting older, and that means so many things. Mischief, heartbreak, and trying to figure out who they really are. They’ll face problems within their group, prove their loyalty to each other, and discover the ugliness that is brewing in the wizarding world at large. Welcome to Years 2-4 of the Marauders time at Hogwarts. **This piece is a sequel to Behind the Mango Tree, however, you do not have to have read the first installment to pick this up. It does stand alone, but there is some carry over from the last book, especially with inter-character relationships. Basically, you don’t have to have read BtMT, but it certainly helps. Word Count: (2,802) 20,225 Links: FFnet | ao3 | tumblr: Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5

A/N: Okay, well only a day late, which I think is not bad for a chapter I hadn't even started a week ago! This is a bit of a lighter chapter, no angst thats too heavy here. Reminder: we are now in the third year of Hogwarts!

Looking forward, there's some good news and bad. On the plus side, the next chapter is about halfway written already, so I feel fairly optimistic about finishing it soon. On the down side, however, I'm moving next week, so I'll be spending Wednesday in a car, which means I most likely won't get to update until Thursday. So bear with me, and hopefully this chapter is enough to tide you over!

Chapter 6: A New Look

James felt self-conscious as he walked into the Great Hall. His parents had gotten special permission for him to join the rest of the school at Hogsmeade instead of taking the train, since they were getting back from their vacation in Mustique that morning, and he’d had to go to the doctor before he could depart. He could imagine that Professor Dumbledore hadn’t been very keen on the idea, but his mother typically had a way of getting what she wanted from people. But then she had kept delaying and delaying all afternoon, saying that they had ages before the train got to Hogsmeade, and of course they had time for one last family dinner. The end result was that James arrived in Hogsmeade with his father just as the last students were piling into carriages, all his friends already on their way up to the castle.

James clambered into the last carriage alone, trying not to fidget too much with the frames around his eyes. It was only a few minutes up to the castle, but it felt like an eternity without people there to laugh with. His carriage finally pulled up to the doors and he followed the other students through the Entrance Hall, scanning the crowd for his friends, to no avail. He paused in front of the door to the Great Hall, his heart pounding in his chest, and he quickly snatched the glasses from his face and tucked them into the pocket of his robes. He didn’t want to walk in last and look like a freak.

The world grew hazy around him, like he was looking at everything through a thin sheet of frosted glass, but James knew where he was going by force of habit. He squinted as he walked along Gryffindor table, trying to find his friends. Eventually he saw the fuzz of Sirius’ curls, and the very blurry faces of Remus and Peter across from him. He plopped down into the space next to Sirius, and began looking around the room (or at least pretending to).

“Where’ve you been?” Sirius asked, his head swiveling to face James.

“With my parents, we got back from vacation late so they brought me to Hogsmeade,” he explained, trying to find Sirius’ eyes.

The Sorting started, and the Great Hall became a yo-yo of hushed silences and exploding cheers as new first-years joined their houses.

“Dude, what is going on with you?” Sirius laughed, and James assumed that something he was doing was not quite right.

“What do you mean?” he asked, colour rising in his cheeks slightly.

“Your eyes, they’re all squinty and you keep looking at my eyebrows,” Sirius said, and James couldn’t see the expression on his face but if he would guess it probably be some kind of mirthful confusion.

“I got glasses,” he whispered, pulling them out of his pocket and laying them carefully on the table.

“Well then why aren’t you wearing them?” Sirius asked.

“I just don’t want to,” James said, trying to shove his glasses back into his pocket.

“Oh come on, mate, don’t be silly,” Sirius scoffed, grabbing James’ hand and yanking his glasses away from him. He unfolded them and unceremoniously rammed them onto James’ face. “There, much better.”

James shook his head slightly, looking down into his lap. He didn’t want the others to see how watery his eyes had become, and not just from the roughness of Sirius’ technique.

“Why don’t you want to wear them?” Remus asked quietly, leaning across the table.

“I don’t want to be made fun of,” James admitted, feeling at least comfortable enough among his best friends to tell them the truth.

“Come off it,” Sirius laughed, and Remus flashed him a very critical look.

James looked unsure, remembering being a young child in the pureblood community and feeling very much the outsider.

“It’s alright James, all of us have been made fun of at some point,” Remus said, and Peter nodded along beside him. “No one can be liked by everyone.”

“I guess,” James agreed, thinking, not for the first time, that Remus was uncommonly wise for a third-year.

“Just don’t listen to them,” Peter advised. “Anyone who makes fun of you for having glasses doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Yeah,” Sirius agreed, “plus we can always cast the horn tongue hex on them, and then they won’t be saying much of anything.”

All four boys giggled lightly at the idea, and James felt much better about his new glasses. They turned their attention to the Sorting in time to see Idella Sexton join Gryffindor. They clapped and cheered along with the rest of their house as she sat amongst them, and then paid very little attention to the rest of the ceremony and the feast that lay ahead.

* * * * *

On the morning of the first day of classes, the third-year boys stepped into the Transfiguration classroom to find names hovering in shimmering letters above each seat. Assigned places. Groans echoed through the students as they all realized what was happening. In their first two years, they’d been allowed to pick their own seats in every class, but now for some reason that had changed. This year, the Gryffindors were sharing their Transfiguration class time with the Ravenclaws, and they could see that they were all going to be sitting mixed in with each other.

James was surprised to find that he, Sirius, Remus and Peter were sitting next to each other. James took his seat – the second seat in the second row – and as he did his name blinked out of the air. Mirabelle Faulkner plopped into the seat to his right, tapping her long fingernails on the glossy oak desk impatiently.

“I’m surprised McGonagall let us all sit together,” James whispered, leaning across Sirius so that Remus and Peter could hear him.

“She probably knew you’d be even more disruptive if you were separated,” Lily hissed from in front of them. “Now please, be quiet.”

Sirius snickered, thinking about how much fun it would be to annoy Lily all year long, but his musings were brought short as Professor McGonagall swept into the classroom, coming to a stop in front of her desk.

“You will have noticed,” she began, her voice dominating the room, “that I have assigned seating for this year, and you may be wondering why that is. This year’s material will be more difficult than anything you have come across before, and you will all be pushed to your limits. For this reason, I have tried to pair my students according to ability, and those whom I feel could help others to reach their full potential.”

James understood what she meant – the stronger students were being paired with weaker students. His first instinct was that it was unfair that he should have to suffer because his partner struggled, and from the surprised expressions around the room, he was sure he wasn’t the only one who felt that way. But as he thought about it more, it occurred to him that it might not be the worst thing. At least, if it were a class he struggled in, he certainly wouldn’t mind the help either. He looked over at Mirabelle, his new partner for the year, and thought he could have done much worse. She might not be the best at transfiguration, but she was pretty competent overall, and they got along decently well. And who knows, maybe she would teach him some of her badass defensive jinxes.

“Today,” Professor McGonagall continued, cueing the students to settle down, “we will go over the curriculum for the year, and then begin the first of our lessons.”

In a flurry of movement, students began pulling rolls of parchment and quills out of their bags, ready to take notes on anything that seemed important. In Professor McGonagall’s class, that usually meant everything.

“We’ll start the year by transforming the state of an object, before progressing to animal-to-object transformations,” she said, waving her wand so that words appeared on the chalkboard behind her. “Finally, we will end the year by discussing human transfigurations, namely, Animagi. We will not be learning the process of becoming an Animagus this year. Are there any questions so far?”

No one spoke up, which Professor McGonagall took as her cue to continue with the lecture.

“Now then, today we will begin by learning duro. Can anyone tell me what this spell does?”

Lily raised her hand, and acting on instinct, Sirius leaned over his desk and slapped her hand in a high five. She turned to face him, her mouth gaping in shock, confusion, and anger. Sirius laughed, and James chuckled beside him – it was difficult not to fin Lily’s expression amusing.

“Miss Evans?” Professor McGonagall asked, and Lily whipped her head around to face the front, her braid swinging broadly.

“Um, duro turns things to stone, Professor,” Lily answered, her brows furrowing as she tried to refocus on the lesson.

“Not the most eloquently put, but yes,” Professor McGonagall said, and Lily blushed slightly at the criticism. “Duro does indeed turn objects, living and inanimate alike, to stone, or rather it transfigures them to have a stone-like nature. All objects are created of particles that vibrate at a natural frequency – the faster the vibration, the more impenetrable and inflexible the object. Duro essentially increases the particle vibration the maximum possible, so that the object has the appearance and texture of stone.”

Quills scratched against parchment, everyone trying to write down as much information as possible. Transfiguration homework was notoriously difficult to do without adequate notes.

“I must warn you,” she continued, giving them all her most stern look, “that while using this spell on living beings is possible, it is not advisable, as doing so would be fatal. If any of you attempt to use this spell in such a manner, you will be met with the most severe repercussions.”

The room felt noticeably cooler, the gravity of her words sinking in. Professor McGonagall was not one for exaggeration or idle warnings.

“Now, as you become more proficient in casting duro, you will be able to control the degree to which your object hardens, and the appearance it takes on,” she said. “You can transfigure objects to marble, sandstone, limestone, and a variety of other materials. Exceptionally skilled wizards may even be able to transfigure their objects to glass, steel, or rare and valuable substances such as diamond. It is important to note that per section 142 of the International Trade and Foreign Exchange Agreement set forth by the International Confederation of Wizards, the use of duro to increase the value of an object for sale is forbidden.”

As Professor McGonagall kept talking, the sound of quills scratching on parchment filled the air. They covered a great deal about the theory behind the spell, as well as a few more details about the history (particularly of how it could go wrong) and legal aspects. Eventually, Professor McGonagall dismissed them – about five minutes before they were due to finish class – and shared that they would begin attempting the transfiguration during their next lesson.

* * * * *

James plopped down heavily on the wooden bench at the Gryffindor table, his friends joining him on either side. He felt exhausted, his mind worn down by the day’s lessons, and it was only the first day of school. Why was it so much harder this year? He felt like he would spend every second of his time studying, which was a real bummer, because he’d been hoping to try out for the quidditch team this year. But he had no idea how he could manage it. He groaned and dropped his head into his hands, letting the fatigue wash over him in waves.

“You okay, mate?” Remus asked, eyeing James carefully.

He shrugged and took his glasses off, massaging his closed eyelids gently with his fingertips.

“I’m fine,” he answered, trying to shake off the lethargy. “I just didn’t expect this year to be so much harder.”

“It’ll get easier in time,” Remus assured him, patting his hand. “They’re just throwing a lot at us because they think we’ve gotten lazy over the summer holidays.”

“Maybe...” James said, biting his lip – he wasn’t entirely convinced.

Sirius joined them, having stopped to talk to Marlene for a bit on the way, and he flopped into the seat next to James. He snatched up a chicken wing and began tearing into it, running a hand through his errant curls. James quickly replaced his glasses, trying to clear his mind.

“So,” Sirius began through a mouthful of chicken, complete unaware of the conversation that had been taking place, “what do you think would happen if you put a werewolf on the moon?”

Remus stared at Sirius, his mouth open in a little ‘o’ of surprise as the colour drained from his cheeks.

“He’d explode, Siri, there’s no atmosphere on the moon,” Peter sighed, reciting the information that he had learned while he was at muggle schools.

“Oh Petey-Pie, I never said we would send him up there without a bubblehead charm,” Sirius trilled, reaching for another wing. “I’m not cruel.”

“Right, forcing a werewolf to endure unending agony by putting him on the moon,” James snapped, surprising everyone, including himself.

“Who says it’d be agony?” Sirius retorted, never one to back down from a challenge.

“It’s just logical, isn’t it?” James replied, turning to face Sirius. “If the full moon is what causes him to change, he’d be forced to constantly be in his werewolf form. And since the proximity to the moon is much closer, the effects would probably be amplified. It’d be worse than transforming on earth, and it would never stop.”

“Bloody hell, those glasses really have turned you into a know-it-all,” Sirius teased, whistling long and low.

“Shut up,” James muttered, adjusting his glasses.

“See, maybe it’s the sight of the full moon that makes them change though,” Sirius pressed on, ignoring the look on Remus’ face. “And if he was on the moon, then he wouldn’t be able to see the whole thing. So he wouldn’t transform. Remus what do you think?”

Sirius looked at Remus, and its like his eyes were steel, glistening, glinting, hard. There was an edge in them, like he was daring Remus to refuse him. Whatever it was, whatever mania gripped Sirius, it scared Remus a little bit.

“It’s not the sight,” Remus finally said, closing his eyes on Sirius’ victorious expression. “Werewolves will transform if they’re inside or outside, regardless of weather. Blindfolding them wouldn’t make a bit of difference. But it’d be nice if it were that easy.”

“Fine, but its still possible that somehow whatever it is that makes them transform would be negated by being on the moon,” Sirius insisted, not willing to back down.

“I guess,” Remus conceded with a shrug. “No one really knows what the mechanism is.”

“That’s rubbish, innit?” Sirius said, but he still looked victorious.

“You have no idea,” Remus sighed, looking at James and Peter, who had very apprehensive looks on their faces. \

“C’mon, let’s just eat dinner, I want to get an early start on homework,” Peter suggested, bringing all their attention round to the rather gloomy task of the essays they’d been set.

P.S. A friendly reminder that feedback is ALWAYS appreciated, and if you really like story, feel free to recommend it to a friend. (And if you really really like the story, hit me up on Ko-Fi).

#gen writes #marauders #hp #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #minerva mcgonagall #lily evans #QiMH #Better Together

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