#and have none left for like…. a golden apple charm

[probablygayattorneys]

I am a little confused, though. because in Layton Mystery Tanteisha, Marina has these charms on her bag, and Layton surmises that Luke gave them to her to serve as a means of verification, if she ever needed to turn to Layton for help. He would know that she was truly Luke's wife, because each of the charms represents a case they solved together. The train is clearly the Molentary Express, representing the events surrounding the Elysian box, and the rabbit is Subject 3, representing the events surrounding Future Luke's letter. So what's the bow?

[persicipen]

𝐼. lapis lazuli ノ neuvillette

𝐬𝐞𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲. ₊ ˙ ⊹ . 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

₊ ˙ ⊹ . about the storm raging through the night, the abyssal creature of ethereal features, the warmth of the stove.

ৎ୭ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . 3.8k ノ fem reader — folktales au ノ no warnings for now . just some world building of the au ノ should be gn reader here but future chapters will be fem ノ first meeting with dragon neuvi ノ slightly ooc neuvillette — less human and not bound by the court ノ no beta i’m alone in this hehe but i hope it will be a nice read ♡

Beware the waters deep and blue, Where dragons’ whispers call to you. The sea will sing its siren’s song, And draw you where you don’t belong.

This is what kids here sing when playing another version of hide and seek, unknown to you, as you stroll through the morning market. Slightly over-ripe apples and quinces pile up on top of wooden carts, golden marzipan shines on display inside the window of the sweet shop, a gem among everyday pastries and baked goods.

As the grocery shopping was as boring as usual, you wondered about the rhyme, but only vaguely. Maybe some older folks will know the legends that inspired the verses to bloom or can point at the books in the library that have tasty remnants from local legends on their yellowed pages.

“Oh, you know, the same old story — someone’s daughter drowned, and they had to find a better explanation than their child’s stupidity,” one of the older ladies started the daily dose of gossip after hearing what’s on your mind.

Regardless of your willingness to join the elderly tea party at the outside table of the cafe, you’re pulled by their curious eyes and a free chair right next to them.

“Don’t be rude, Celine! There are some who quite recently lost their family to the flood!” complained the one to the left, adding a third spoon of sugar to her teacup.

“Well, it’s quite romantic if you consider it a suicide. Happened quite a few times in the history of our village. Some people long to reunite with nature,” said the one to the right, playing with her golden jewellery that probably weighed more than the bones of her skinny wrists.

“Like I said, stupidity! Do not listen to her, sugar! Bernadette is still mourning a lover from half a century ago who tried to convince her to take a dip together, and when she refused, he forgot about her!” bit back Celine, this time almost coughing into the black coffee she tried to drink while talking.

“Some say he simply moved to the city for better prospects. Well, since he hasn’t ever returned, it must’ve been successful,” added Bernadette, combing through her beetroot-crimson locks, dyed not long ago, before taking a sip of the mixture that’s probably more sugar than tea by now.

“I don’t blame him! The air here is foul!”

“Let them say what they want, but there’s still more magic present here, on the outskirts of civilization, than in the middle of the capital. It’s not for everyone!”

“You mean that kelpie that roams between the lake and the shore?”

“For example. You can’t find a kelpie in the metropolis, am I right?”

“It’s dangerous!”

“It wouldn’t eat you, anyway. You’re all bones and too bitter!”

The elderly ladies didn't stop gossiping for another hour, and it was too boring to listen to their recounts of good old days and how nowadays it’s all bad.

Now, back to the reason why you returned here—

Without any sense of purpose in the city anymore, you went back to the small village by the sea where you had lived before. Tranquil, secluded, and adorned with an antiquated charm, it had all the qualities you needed and none of the numbing, pulsing pace of the capital. Here, it was just wind, sand, and water, and your quaint little cottage with its direct view of the beach from the windows.

In the embrace of this village, you found yourself drawn to spending hours gazing out those windows, lost in thoughts and appreciating the ever-changing nature. Sometimes the weather was delicate, a pearlescent light seeping down onto the damp land, casting a silvery hue across the sands. Other times, it was brash, sudden, dark, and cut with blinding thunders, the sky tearing open to reveal the raw power of the elements. Morning mists covered the flat ground like a blanket, their fingers curling around the village, and even from a distance, the humid cold wafted in through the front door whenever you dared to take a peek outside.

Your life is alright now. Peaceful, at last. Too early for retirement, but perhaps none of the careers available in the principal city of the region were for you. You see and greet the old ladies you knew from your youth, tending to their plots of vegetables and flowers while listening to their gossip. Old ladies are always full of it and more than excited to share the sweet news with someone else.

Each day in the village feels like a page from a folktale, the air thick with stories from years before—no one even remembers who thought of it first, who added the unrealistic situations, and who told the truth. You hear whispers of ancient prophecies carried on the salty breeze, legends that have woven themselves into the very fabric of this place. The market is a trove of mysteries, where you sort through trinkets and treasures, each one with a story of its own.

The villagers speak of the sea serpents and dragons who sometimes venture too far into the bay, abandoning their kingdom of rough waves and open seas to take a rest through spring and autumn seasons. The sea itself is a living entity, its moods shifting from serene calm to tempestuous fury. On calm days, the water is a mirror, reflecting the sky’s soft blues and the occasional wisp of a cloud, pearlescent light seeping down onto damp land. But when storms roll in, the ocean roars and crashes against the spiky stones guarding the gulf, brash, sudden, dark and cut with blinding thunders right behind the nook. You find solace in these rhythms, the ways of nature comforting you in a way the city never could.

In your little cottage, surrounded by the mists, you’re stuck seeking a new purpose. Sorting letters at the nearby post office becomes a ritual, a way to connect with the lives and stories of the villagers. Each envelope, each package, a fragment of someone’s existence, a thread in the tapestry of the village’s collective narrative.

As the days blend into a gentle, melancholic rhythm, you start to understand why the villagers lean into experiencing the magical encounters. Partly because the days are dull, but there’s something in the air—an electrifying howl that brings pure magic from both the sea and the hills. It is said that the creatures appear to those who truly listen, who open their hearts to the whispers of the waves and the winds. You find yourself dreaming of the serpents and the dragons, perhaps having a preference for water beasts instead of these cutting through the air. Their shimmering scales and ancient eyes reappear whenever you drift off during your naps, feeling a connection that defies explanation. In these dreams, the dragon speaks to you in a language you cannot decipher yet understand the meaning within your soul, its voice a symphony of the sea.

Your return to the village is more than a retreat from the city; it is a journey into the heart of the unknown, a quest for meaning in a world of mist and magic. Here, in this place where time seems to stand still, maybe you will find yourself, too.

The transition from the early spring to a muggy start of the summer brings storms more violent than the winter ones. The bay is safe, but the roar of the sea and coal-black clouds wander into the land, rustling against your windows when you sip on the afternoon tea, warmly wrapped in the blanket while reading a book too old to guess its title from the worn-out cover.

It’s hard to focus on words, though. You still think about the fisherman who, earlier that week, caught a mermaid in his nets, all accidentally, but it worked as a catalyst for more exceptional meetings between the villagers and the magical creatures. The couple that rides the britzka to deliver the packages claimed they’d seen a dead kelpie further down the shore, devoured by something more evil—dangerous to horses, but not for humans, they quickly assured.

Your mind drifts to the dreams you’ve been having about the serpents and the dragons. They come in vivid fragments, again, taking your attention away from the printed sentences. It all leaves you with an inexplicable yearning, a sense that your life is intertwined with the mysteries of the sea in ways you are only beginning to understand.

A sudden flash of lightning illuminates the room, followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder that shakes the walls. Startled, you set your book aside and move to the window, peering through the rain-streaked glass. The weather outside is ferocious, waves sliding far onto the beach and taking the soil into the depths, carving new puddles and meanders. As you watch, something catches your eye—a figure, shining like a fallen star and indistinct, sprawled on the sand where the sea meets the land. Such a violent storm brought a creature to the shore.

“W-what is this…?” you mutter to yourself, struck with worry.

You throw on a cloak and rush out, the wind and rain lashing against you as you make your way to the shore.

The unconscious beast lies motionless, half-buried in the wet, murky sand, its chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

You would’ve thought it was a human at first, but as soon as you searched around its body for human traits, all you could focus on were the scales, the slippery skin, the bluish tints of the beautifully pale arms. The hair, iridescent and tangled with the sea foam, frames a face that is eerily beautiful and hauntingly white. A man, probably, so you hesitate to bring him home, but there’s no other place to help him.

Leaving him during a heavy rain on the beach would simply mean finding his dead body the next morning.

Gently, you kneel beside him, pausing only for a moment before you slip your arms under his body. It feels cool and strangely slick to the touch, but you manage to lift it, surprised by its lightness. Struggling against the wind, you carry him back to your cottage, your steps quickened by the urgency of the storm and the fragility of the being in your arms. Never has the short distance between your doors and the shore taken you so long to cross, inflicting panic along your limbs.

It doesn’t seem like it should stop pouring outside anytime soon when you set the unconscious body on the floor, dragging your hands across your face to wipe away the droplets running down from your hairline.

The pale man lies motionless, save for the rise and fall of his chest. Gently, you examine his face, with its long, elegant nose and high cheekbones, noticing how each trivial feature works together to create a visage that is oddly ethereal and entirely entrancing. You feel compelled to trace your fingers across it, to confirm the solidity of its beauty. It’s cold under your touch, a few grains of sand sticking to the clammy skin, yet still looking remarkably human, except for the hair, tinted a bluish shade from seawater. Even old people from the village have their hair muddy, incomparable to his starlight silver tresses.

Relieved that he is alive and in the warmth of your house regaining colour on his cheeks, you dash to prepare a bath. Scented with healing salt, you worry if it’s not too piping hot for him because the steam covers the entirety of your small bathroom. Some spare clothes — shirts too big for you and bought on a whim for a tiny price in one of the thrift stores of the city of Fontaine — are waiting on a chair nearby for when he’d be ready.

By the time you return to him, he’s blinking in a daze, half-sitting, half-lying.

“How do you feel?” you ask, helping him stand up. His long, sinewy limbs work perfectly, showing no signs of fatigue or pain from his body dragging against the stormy ocean, trying to cling onto survival. “I… my apologies for bringing you here! I feared you would be in danger if I didn’t bring you in.”

“Thank you for your concern…” His voice is weak, whispery like a lone gust of wind along the flat shore, the roar of the sea having been nothing but a memory now. He touches his forehead with his delicate fingers, shaking his head slightly. “It must’ve been terrible to wander outside during a storm.”

Despite your willingness to continue the conversation, you weren’t entirely sure if he’s strong enough to put him through questioning. Your head is bursting with doubts. To prevent it from overwhelming you in an instant, you change the topic, informing him about the readied bath and gently guiding him toward the inner door.

“You must be cold. I don’t want you to get sick, so please… I hope I can help you this much, at least with a bit of hospitality from my side. At least for the night.”

He only nods, entering the other room. When he raises his hands to reach out for the bathtub, the muscles move under the skin like slender fish, agile and beautiful.

“I will leave you alone now, but call for me if you need anything.”

You knock every so often to check on him, clean the rest of the main room while he takes a while, warming up and getting dressed. Forcing yourself to work on something, you push the worries to the back of your mind, folding the bedsheets with trembling fingers.

To have a stranger late at night in your house… not entirely human, a watery creature of handsome features. Who knows what can possibly happen if he stays here past midnight? But how could you throw someone out into the cold evening with nowhere else to go?

“Excuse me?” he calls softly, stepping behind you and catching you off-guard. “I apologise for presenting myself in such a state… It was not my intention to scare you off or to have you drag me out of the waters, risking your own health… Are you alright?” He pauses, not coming closer in regard to your comfort.

You look down at yourself, remembering only now that the sleeves of your chemise and the hem got soaked outside, and you forgot to change with all the cleaning activities you’ve been doing around the house.

“Yes, I am,” you breathe out, biting back the shame, turning fully to face him and offering a polite smile. “It’s me who should ask if you’re alright…”

He lets out a sigh, shaking his head slowly. “Nothing of your concern, rest assured. It might’ve been irresponsible of me to wander out of safety into the storm.”

“I… who… what are you exactly?” you mumble, picking up his damp clothes, a rag, what you would call in your mind but are too afraid to say out loud, from the floor. “Some sort of local deity?”

“A water dragon. But yes, known in this region very well. Most have seen my image through raindrops on their windows and the clouds gathering during stormy days.” He braids his shining palladium locks together with indigo strands growing out of his head, perhaps a pair of soft horns that look more like long ribbons in the shade of the clear depths.

“A dragon!” you repeat.

He chuckles softly. “You’ve never heard about them in myths? They’re common all around these parts.”

“I did! Yes, of course! It’s just… quite unthinkable, won’t you agree?” You turn your gaze to the floor. “I must sound like a fool.”

“Not at all. I’m sure your curiosity is reasonable.” He continues his soft smile, bringing in front of him the delicate hands, their webs shimmering in the dim light of the living room. “I owe you my life, after all. Even I have limits and a storm like the one wrecking havoc outside is no less lethal to me as to humans at sea… May I sit?”

You nod and start rummaging through the drawers and shelves of your kitchen in search of something to give him for dinner, feeling rude for not having prepared anything sooner. The small stove — if the warm embers were to be called so — was not to be used today anymore. Perhaps there’s still some leftovers from lunch, but that would be ridiculous to offer to someone who looks almost immaculate, dressed in your shirt with sleeves rolled up, save for his still damp hair. An evil twist of fate, to have a sudden guest of unimaginable elegance and charm, yet nothing of equal value to feed him. The plan was to get groceries tomorrow.

“A-Are you hungry? Or in need of a drink?”

“Not necessarily, though I do appreciate your kind offer. A warm water or tea will suffice.”

You set the kettle, unsure of what else to do. With a soft purring of the water inside and the creak of wood inside the stove, you shuffle your weight from one leg to another, clearly stiff under the unusual atmosphere. He seems of no danger, a subtle and slow creature resembling a true gentleman, if you were to describe him to someone else. Almost human, maybe even enough for you to forget about the mystical traits once you part with him, your memory remembering only a man washed ashore.

“So… Water dragons,” you start, afraid of where the conversation may lead to, “the village has many legends about dragons. Well, I wanted to believe them all… But to know that it’s really true, right here in front of me. Well, now it seems like a different tale.”

He hums softly in response, looking at you with attentive eyes, sincere yet somewhat guarded. He’s hesitant to give away too much, it seems.

“What are they like? W-what is your kin doing here? If… If I may ask.”

He ponders on it for a moment, no harm in your innocent question besides being slightly invasive. What a mere mortal may want to know about magical species? After all, he’s been returning to the bay exactly because of those good elemental energy currents — they must be affecting people living here, too.

“Well, dragons live mostly in solitude, having large territories for themselves. Though, mostly there’s a certain purpose behind it. But I shall spare you the monotonous details.” He holds his hands together, leaning back in the chair. “Peninsulas and bays are relatively safe, so we come there to rest, to mate, to remake old spells guarding the shore, to replenish mana near our birthplace.”

You listen closely, staring at the ceiling and praying that the water will boil faster, soon, to give you an excuse to step away. Not only from the embarrassment of these topics, but the throbbing in your chest making it difficult to breathe, an unfamiliar smell reaching your nose, coating your lungs with a sweetness hard to get outside the honey delivery to the market. It’s not tea, not this time, albeit you picked a good one, a special one to treat your guest with generous care.

“Huh…”

“Is everything alright?” He stops the monologue, cautiously eyeing your silhouette.

“Just tired. It must be the pressure change from the weather. I usually am not performing any exercises at this hour. I… I would be going to bed soon, actually.” Admitting it turns into a pang of guilt dashing across your shoulders.

“Would you like me to stay somewhere else? I don’t want to cause any trouble…”

“N-No! Please, worry not!” You shake your head, surprised by the sound of your own voice dying in the stuffy air of the cottage. “There’s nowhere else to go at this hour here… I thought of taking you to the doctor in the morning. But I cannot imagine letting you out during the storm! Even a short walk to the closest neighbour is too risky now…” You admit with defeat, not wishing to sound that desperate. Albeit, appearing too caring is still better than treating a presumably wounded guest with icy coldness.

The nameless visitor just glances across your body, eyebrows furrowed in a handsome expression of concern — that would not be gentlemanly to let you suffer from the exhaustion just because he was careless in his sea ventures. How are you even that trusting, even more after he revealed his true nature? Shouldn’t humans be scared or suspicious in such moments? Is there really no other way and you play along, acting like it doesn’t bother you — but in reality, it does?

He sighs, letting go of the topic, at least for the time being, while you’re busy hiding your emotions behind the act of pouring tea into the cups. Observant of your actions, as if waiting for a chance, he keeps his iridescent eyes on your hands.

“Do you need help with that? You’re shaking. Careful with the boiling water…” He muses quietly, but the answer is in your reluctant headshake.

The gentle dance of fiery pixies from the candles and the lamps scattered on shelves and other flat surfaces around the house gives a vibe much warmer than the actual temperature inside. You never liked fire, to be honest, not that much, but at this hour you wouldn’t say no to a gentle flame coaxing you into its arms for warmth and solace. For all the issues your little stove causes you per year, you’re glad it’s enough to heat your creaky cottage during the colder months.

When you pass him a cup, his webbed fingers linger around yours a little longer than necessary.

What was this peculiar feeling? Wasn’t it just you misinterpreting the situation? Everything was weird since the moment you met him. How could you know if he truly does not possess the will to harm you? So far, you were ready to invite him in, offer him a spare bedroom, lend him some of your clothes. But just when you started questioning your decision, you wobble on your legs and lose your balance.

There’s a feeling of emptiness around you, so precipitous that your knees bend and you close your eyes with an exclamation. The man reaches out, catching you before you fall to the floor, already unconscious…

For those who gaze into the tide, May find their hearts with dragons tied. But heed this warning, lest you fall, The sea’s embrace will claim you all.

[readychilledwine]

Hi, I would like to begin by saying that your writing is amazing and I love your works. I would like to make a request. Reader and Eris are friends that secretly crush on each other. The night before Eris' birthday, reader takes him to a fancy restaurant and surprises him with a birthday celebration there. Reader brings Eris to her home and gifts him but he tells her she's his favourite gift and the Reader is shook aghhhhhhhh then you can continue it however you want with fluff or 🔥.

I had a short piece similar to this in my WIPS. With some love, time, and adjustments, I kind of made a middle ground between the two!

Always Been Yours

Summary - After Beron decides to trap you in the Forest House, you are still determined to make Eris's birthday special.

Warning - implied smut towards the end, mentions of Beron controlling reader a little

The moment Eris laid eyes on you at his 5th birthday celebration, he began to believe in love.

At that tender age, he had never seen a female who had the grace and kindness to rival his mother, nor whose laugh made his stomach feel like he was about to throw up at any second. Plus, you were pretty. You were Lady Autumn pretty. And young Eris knew he could make you Lady Autumn.

The feeling was mutual. You found the young lordling charming, funny, and kind of cute for someone who definitely had coodies. The two of you spent the night dancing, consuming too much sugar, and running from the grownups together.

That childhood infatuation turned to teen tensions quickly when you both grew and aged together. Countless stolen moments and glances had the heir absolutely hooked. You were shy, while he was bold, and you hid that crush from him so well. Oftentimes causing the heir to wonder if he was alone in how he felt.

But none of that truly mattered, you were his first love, his only love, and Eris, in an irrational and dangerous decision, made the choice to show you that when you two first become adults. He tracked you down one night after a hard fight with his father, a bottle of wine and two glasses in hand, and took you to his chambers. You haven't left them since almost 200 years later.

Marriage to Eris was not easy. Beron was constantly a wedge between you two, causing small fights, pushing buttons you hadn't even known you had until becoming his daughter in law, using you to push buttons Eris prayed wouldn't cause him to try to execute his father before he was truly prepared and ready.

In those chambers, though, your marriage and making chambers, there was no Beron, to war, no duties, no obligations. There was only love, burning passion, and emotional understanding. There was only the two of you.

You stood checking your dress in the mirror one more time. The red velvet clung to every curve, the open neckline would give him a peek of two of his favorite parts of your body, and it hugged your waist so tightly you looked like the hourglass he kept on his office table.  You had curled your long hair, allowing it to fall freely down your exposed back, and accessorized it with the golden leaf shaped hair pins Eris had given you for your 16th birthday.  You looked stunning, you felt stunning. 

You moved to the table for two you had asked the staff to bring in, setting it to perfection as you added the food to the center and opened his favorite bottle of red to allow the wine to aerate. You had the kitchen prepare his favorite. Rabbit stew, fresh baked rolls, apple pecan side salad, and pumpkin pie. 

All of this for his birthday. His 505th birthday, you smiled to yourself. All of this to not only celebrate him, but to celebrate the now 500 years you two have known each other.

You had planned more hoping to take him out to a restaurant in the Night Court and spend a weekend away in the cabin you two shared, but after the run in with Koschei and the mortal queen, Eris wanted to keep you here. Beron may have been a vain male, but he was not stupid. He would not allow harm to come your way in his home for fear it would make him look weak. You adjusted the many presents from yourself and your friends on the separate table, smiling as you stepped back. 

Everything was perfect. Just absolutely perfect.

You lit the candles, setting the ambience in the room, and lowered the fae lights before staring at the clock out of nerves. Right on time, the door handle twisted. "My love, you will not believe who.." Eris trailed off, eyes locking on you before studying the room. "What is this?"

"Happy birthday."

"Y/n, dearest you did not have to do all of this." Eris set the reports down. Looking around the room. He paused, his nose sniffing the air. "You spoil me."

You walked to him, placing your hands on his warm chest. He brought his own warm hands to yours before leaning down to kiss you. "I had the kitchen make your favorites." Eris chuckled as he gave you another gentle kiss. "And there's presents."

He held your hand, pulling you to the table. "Sit," you commanded gently. You took the empty wine glass in front of him, pouring the aged Autumn Court Pinot Noir into the glass and setting it down for him before moving to serve him. 

You had not served Eris a meal since your mating ceremony many years ago. His father typically ensured you two ate with the rest of the family, thus allowing the High Lord control of your food intake. 

Eris was watching you, his eyes beginning to burn into your dress, wondering if you were hiding something pretty for him to bite and rip off underneath. 

Your love language, he quickly learned was gifts and acts of service. His was physical touch and time.

And Gods was he taking his time undressing you with his eyes. You felt your face flushing as you finished setting the food in front of him before serving yourself. "You look delectable, y/n."

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, feeling that flush deepening under his gaze. "Thank you, husband." He smirked. 

Years. Years has passed and he still gave you butterflies. He still made your hands shake and nervous. Years had passed and you still had a crush on your husband.

You two ate with your fingers laced together over the table, small twinned smiles on your faces as you spoke about his day and recent Court gossip. 

He helped you clear the table, summoning servants to take everything but the wine and the pie as you began to move him to the couch in front of where all the presents sat. "Those aren't the gifts I'd like to unwrap right now, dearest," hands found your hips, squeezing them softly. Eris leaned in, kissing the exposed skin of your shoulder and neck. 

You sunk into him, sighing as you exposed more of your neck. "But Er, there's so many good ones this year."

He grabbed your chin gently, turning your face and leaning to ensure you two were making eye contact. "My favorite gift has always and will always be you, y/n." He pulled you into him, turning you in his arms as he placed a heated kiss on your lips. "You would not deprived the birthday boy of the gift in the prettiest wrapping, would you, darling?"

You shook your head, "Never."

"Let me show you how much I love you," he kissed your wrist, "how I adore you," a a kiss on your collarbone, "and much I love this pretty little dress." 

The butterflies set in. The butterflies he had given you since you were little. The butterflies stayed as you two kept the romance, crushes, and desire burning so brightly it could have lit every hearth and warmed every home in the realm. 

Eris walked you backwards across the room, kissing you as his hands unlaced the dress, and lifting you as he felt it start to fall. 

"So beautiful. Now, spread your legs like a good girl and give me my favorite birthday treat."

[moonogre]

Hello T! I would like to write to you with good news, if I can remain coherent enough.

It’s another absurd summer Friday in Montreal. My cousin J touches down for the first time in the city after the sky bursts open with the heaviest showers from the season. When I see J at the bus terminal I burst into tears, which I am prone to doing when I am often overcome with positive emotions. We swap tales: J tells me about an eight hour pedestrian lay over in New York City that is a skin crawling fever dream of grimy labrynthian metros, super sized rats, and escape routes predicated on the kindness of random strangers. They had also narrowly avoided some manner of altercation at Jamaica Station involving panhandlers and cocaine. My story is that I hadn’t finished tidying the apartment for their arrival because a last minute first date had devolved into a tousled half day of bed pleasures. My latest lover had left and came back and I had mostly tried to flirt my way past the strange things I revealed about myself over sweet cocktails and hand rolled pasta in my neighbourhood watering hole: how I had moved around a lot as a child, how my family had succumbed to the strange collective hypnosis of a religious order, how they had came focus on my quirks to an abusive extent, how my mother had hit me for the umpteenth and final time before I had pushed her down the stairs, and how all that business had come to an end only after that. We had laughed and I tried to assure her that I’m more sweet than creepy and it works despite my knife collection, shibari paintings and preserved organ specimens.

B picks up J and I and we go to a place where we can drink cocktails from a golden swan. We holler and laugh over mounting absurdities: are we meant to dress in leather for a fetish party we had been invited to tomorrow? Is B having another threesome— his second in a fortnight— with a charming gentleman that looked the splitting image of Mac DeMarco? We drink tequila in B’s jeep which has been affectionately termed the “car bar” for the evening. We go to another location: a basement speakeasy filled with smoke and hot with all the dancers sweating it out to disco. Our bartender looks like a runway model and makes us drinks: B has a Rusty Prick, J has an Apple a Day and I ask for “a fruity cocktail that is perfect for a basic bitch,” which turns out to be something sweet and delicious. We dance and are joined by a gaggle of girls, and one makes eyes at me and tells me that we should twerk together all night and make men buy us drinks. I laugh and my phone is dead, as per usual, and I cannot take her number; which is a shame because of our escalating flirtations. Her friends take J and B and I to another hidden bar within the speakeasy that is a tiny affair and there are hundreds of eucalyptus bundles handing from the ceiling. We are five rounds of tequila shots deep when we decide that it’s time to call it a night: during our hasty exit we run into B’s threesome prospects and I bend over cackling from the enjoyable stupidity of the night. We can’t leave now, so we go back in and I tell B that I am here to babysit this threesome into existence. There is a man break dancing and waving around a cane. Another man moved to me on the dance floor and holds me in his arms and whispers that he thinks I am the one for him and that I won’t ever break his heart and I laugh and agree despite knowing that none of these things are true: this is a ploy to get me, J, B and B’s potential bedfellows free alcohol. I am a lesbian and have no intention on remembering anything about this man past my letter to you. B sees this all unfold and laughs at me from across the room, and rescues me when my dance partner becomes too insistent in his necking, which may have been fine had I been awarded with the drinks I had asked for. But they never came.

B makes good progress getting to know the folks for the ménage-a-tois. J and I stumble back outside and I insist we retire for the evening. I abandon B to his machinations. J and I cackle the whole way home.

We miss you. We love you. We are happy! We promise 🥰

[undercover-ballerina]

A snippet from chapter 1 of Trailblazing & Stargazing

Voldemort was dead. Again. They had made it back to present day, safe and sound. The children had gone back to Hogwarts. The grownups, including none other than reformed Death Eater, former school bully, overall nightmare of their childhood Draco Malfoy, had spent a few hours at Grimmauld Place going over the latest events. Harry and Ginny seemed to have finally accepted that Albus was a Slytherin and Scorpius Malfoy was his best friend. They were going to have to deal with the ferret more in the future and were trying to digest that. Ron still didn’t like Draco one bit, but Hermione appreciated the fact that they had both been civil to each other. 

She dreaded the moment Ron would realize that Scorpius had a huge crush on Rose, and the feeling was probably mutual, although Rose herself didn’t seem to be aware of that just yet. She thought Malfoy had changed dramatically, long gone was the spoiled racist brat he had been in school. The war had changed him, just like it had changed them, and the whole tragedy of his wife’s blood curse and subsequent death had left deep scars on him. He was now a generous man and he was still trying to atone for his sins, most of society had forgiven him but he couldn’t seem to forgive himself. Scorpius was a nice kid as well, he looked just like his dad at that age but had a kind smile instead of a mean smirk. He’d grow up to be a good man, without his father’s traumatic past. Draco was a good dad, much unlike Lucius.

Hermione and Ron apparated back into the garden and walked inside their empty two-story brick house. When they had married they had chosen to live in a muggle town on the outskirts of London, similar to where she had grown up. They had muggle technology, like a fridge and a TV, and magical commodities such as floo connection and owl post. Both she and Ron had gotten driving licenses and the children had attended muggle primary school, together with the Potters, before going to Hogwarts. They had the best of both worlds and Hermione really wanted to make it easier for other wizarding families to do the same.

“I’ll make some tea. Are you hungry?” asked Ron, nervously threading his hand through his slightly thinning, but still very brightly ginger, hair. 

“Yes please! I’m starving, really! I’m too old for battling evil wizards, I’m afraid.” Replied Hermione sitting down on the sofa. 

Her hair was still wild, as if it struggled to contain her energy, but some strands here and there were turning grey and she had a few thin lines at the corners of her eyes. She was never one to care about glamour charms or muggle make-up. She showed the signs of her age proudly, she had earned every one of them through the pain, joy, loss and achievement she had gone through in her 41 years of life. Not that she was old, but society always expected women to look like horny teenagers and she would have none of that rubbish.

She picked up one of the many scrolls of parchment her personal assistant had left on the coffee table, as per previous agreement, for her to review. The wizarding world hadn't stopped while the Golden Trio was traveling through time to prevent history from changing for the worst, she had to keep up. She took her job as Minister of Magic very seriously, she was trying to change the future, thank you very much.

Ron handed her a steaming cup of tea and, not finding any room on the table, sat down balancing a plate of samosas on his knee. 

“You know I love you, right?” he said with a deep sigh while nervously tapping his fingers on a cushion. 

“Of course I do, I love you too Ron, you are my best friend.” Her eyes never lifted from the parchment as she replied and took a samosa from the plate. She took a bite, enjoying the spicy goodness within and then sipped her tea, still reading. 

“You are my best friend too ‘Mione.” He stopped for a second and swallowed air, his Adam’s apple slightly bobbing. “That’s why I think we should get a divorce.”

[buckybarnesdiaries]

my sergeant

© credits to the author, i found it on pinterest. if you are the author, please send me a message to add your @.

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Bucky breaks into your house to make you keep remember one thing.

word count: 1.352 words.

warnings/tags: nsfw, +18!!! clothes on, unprotected sex, hair pulling, language, cursing, sergeant!kink, praise!kink, mention of bodily fluids, a little possessive!bucky, and i don't know what else.

author notes: i'm not sorry for this scene turning me on af every time i watch it. reposted because it didn't show in the tags. none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

Your eyes snapped open, sitting up on your bed barely breathing. You were agitated after having another nightmare you couldn't remember once you were awake. At least this time, you weren't covered in sweat, but your whole body was on fire. Tossing the sheets away, you got up bare feet to head to the kitchen and drink a very much needed glass of freshwater. You drank it in one gulp, gasping while leaving it inside the sink. With both hands on the edge of the counter, you inclined your head back, putting your eyes on the ceiling. Those bad dreams would be the death for you one day, you knew it.

As you felt more calmed and recomforted, you turned around with the intention of going to your bed again. But that was left in the background at the moment you glimpsed Bucky sitting at the dinner table. He didn't scare you, not at all. You were starting to get used to find him there, waiting for you, in the middle of the gloom. He looked exhausted too. Deadly tired. He was reclined against the chair, legs slightly spread and his arm made of vibranium over the table. The soldier didn't utter a word, following your steps walking closer to him with his shiny blue eyes. He didn't even move a muscle when you sat on his lap and placed both hands on the sides of his neck.

Leaning ahead, you pecked his rough and dry lips slowly, taking your time with no rush. Bucky just closed his eyes, slipping his hands down to your hips, nailing his fingers there. He couldn't help but growl quietly the second your mouth trailed a path of short, ephemeral kisses to his jawline till reaching his throat, forcing him to toss his head back. Unconsciously, he urged you to swing your body on top of his. You dragged your incisors on his Adam's apple, causing him to swallow a soft gasp, feeling his digits grabbing your hips strongly —probably, that gesture would leave some marks on your skin.

“I've missed you”. You purred coming back your attention to his lips, as the bulge under the rigid fabric of his pants became bigger and harder because of your dance. You were aware that he looked for you whenever he wanted to put his feet on the ground, feel loved, desired. “My Sergeant…”

Bucky didn't open his eyes, sliding his cold palm to your lower waist and landing the warm one on the back of your head to tangle it in your hair. You groaned against his lips before they were hungrily devoured. The heat in your core grew by leaps and bounds when he repositioned you on his legs and his solid erection was placed under your weakest spot. You couldn't hold back a delicate, sweet moan. One of these that used to drive him insane. With his left hand, Bucky continued encouraging you to rock your hips against his crotch, rubbing it concretely among your folds covered by the soaked fabric of your panties.

You hated sometimes the control he had over you, over your body, over your mind. He could put you to beg with just one look. And he knew it. You were his, that was the absolute truth. And he wanted something else from you, as soon as you increased the pace. Bucky didn't care about your t-shirt, using both of his hands to rip it off from your body. Ruining it like he was going to ruin you. His hand of vibranium went straight to your breasts, giving you goosebumps because of the contrast of his cold fingers pinching them as he caught one of your nipples between his warm lips. You whined his name, securing your hands on his shoulders, out of the world while the sensitivity of your wet and needed cunt became more sensible to the firm rubbing against your panties.

“You want to cum, don't you, babydoll?” He hummed squeezing the nipple covered in his saliva using his thumb and his forefinger, bringing his lips closer to yours.

“Yes… Yes, Sergeant”. You pouted at him, nodding with your chin and looking at him through your eyelids.

“I knew you needed me… I knew my sweet girl needed her Sergeant to make her feel good, am I wrong?” Bucky's hoarse tone was pushing you to the seventh heaven, feeling the tickles borning within your lower belly, swinging your body faster over his rock-hard dick.

“No… No, you're… you're not”. You babbled this time, seeing him curling up the corner of his lips in that charming and breathtaking smirk of him. “I ne— need you inside me… I need you to… fuck me like you me— mean it, my Sergeant, please, I beg you”.

“I will, babydoll, I will… 'Cause you're a good, good girl”. Bucky affirmed unhurriedly, peppering your swollen lips, remembering how good they looked around his cock —sucking his soul out of his body— the last time he appeared in your house. “Open your mouth”.

You obeyed instantly, swallowing a loud whining, letting him tuck his cold thumb between your lips. You licked it using your tongue, giving him a whole show and noticing how a storm of darkness covered his pale blue orbs. When he decided it was well covered in your saliva, Bucky directed it to your panties, not pulling them aside. And he drew circles on your throbbing clit, pressing his fingertip enough to stroke it.

“Oh, f— fuck, Sergeant”. You sobbed arching your back, very close to being thrown above the edge of your limits.

“C'mon, babydoll… cum for me… Show me what only I can make you feel”. He whispered into your ear. A raspy voice that gave you shivers down your backbone. “You're so damn soaked I can feel it under my clothes… Good lord… what a dirty girl you are…”

“Only fo— for you”.

Your response came an instant before the fireworks exploded inside your belly, not being able to stop when the orgasm hit your soul crying his name, dancing your cunt onto his hard cock needed of him. Your thighs strained, your legs were shaking, hanging above the floor and you were panting nonsense words about your Sergeant.

Bucky stormed his tongue into your mouth, invading it with no mercy to dominate yours. Placing his hands back to your hips, he forced you to keep moving, stealing the less air inside your lungs. He was about to cum too, but it'd be a waste if he did it in his boxers; stopping you at the precise moment to push you back enough to undo his belt and zip. Bucky didn't let you time to react. As his cock covered in his own arousal broke free and he removed your ruined panties to the side, he lifted you sufficiently to impale your pussy down.

“Fuck!” You both hissed at the same time, closing strongly your eyelids.

Bucky made you bounce onto his rigid erection, once and once, keen to fill you up with his heated seed. You were a bundle of moans, sobs, and pleas, feeling his most sensible skin stretching your soaked walls and twitching between them. He didn't give you prior notice. Bucky just cum inside your cunt, pushing you down harder till his dick was balls-deep beyond your limits. He growled against your throat, pulling back your hair and your head, to nail his teeth in your sweaty skin.

“Oh, god, my Sergeant…” You gasped with a wrecked tone of voice, finding balance by gripping his jacket in two fists.

“You look like Heaven, babydoll… But you feel like Hell”. Bucky rumbled, making your whole anatomy shake again. “What a shame 'm gonna destroy you tonight…”

And by destroying you he meant you wouldn't be able to walk the next morning, not even to talk because what he has planned for you was to fuck every sweet, warm hole of you —your mouth, your ass, your pussy. Or rather, his mouth, his ass, his pussy. Bucky would make you keep remembering who you belonged to.

feedback is appreciated, please, leave a comment to let me know if you liked it.

and REBLOG!!! 🤍

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[taiyakiiwrites]

— angsttober day #14: crow

pairing(s): tokoyami fumikage x gn!reader

wc: 0.7k+ words

summary: tokoyami visits the park you and him would always go to and reminiscing ensues. he’s not alone in his painful nostalgia.

content: implied reader death, mourning, plain gosh darn angst

notes: this one is so poetic and fancy, but it only made sense since i was writing for everyone’s favorite emo birdie <33 enjoy!

⇉ requests are open!! || main masterlist || angsttober masterlist || rules

crows: a symbol of death and misfortune—some say the transformational process from the physical to the spiritual world. did tokoyami apply to that area? it was a question that plagued his mind a lot more now than it did before.

his hands rested in the pockets of his hoodie, sprayed lightly with what little of your fragrance product he had left. he knew he had to buy some more soon. the cool autumn air caressed him whenever he got too lost in his thoughts and the leaves fell slowly around him.

tokoyami walked around the park’s beaten trail. people passed by him and he paid no attention. it was the same people you two would see before on your walks together. have they noticed your disappearance? he sure had.

he did his best to take note of the world around him. you would point out every little thing around him on your walks. it was only fair that he continued in your stay. the sky and the amount of clouds around, the woodland animals scurrying on the floor, the sweet sound of silence—you noticed it all. it kept him grounded, hearing you state everything you could around you two. it didn’t work as well when he did it by himself. either way, he would continue to try.

halloween was coming up soon. under tokoyami’s poker face, he was genuinely excited to celebrate it with you. the costumes, the activities, the atmosphere that was the second best thing at making him feel not alone. you two talked about it plenty of times on your walks. he would mention apple picking almost every time and never noticed until you pointed it out. he remembered how the blood rushed to his face, but you assured him you didn’t mind. you promised you’d go with him when the time came.

when the time came.

his mind didn’t even process that he had arrived at the bench you two would always sit at until a few minutes. he let his hands brush against the aged wood underneath him. it felt like home. he sighed.

he relaxed against the back of the bench, looking up at the sky. above him was a muddy version of blue—one like the skies you’d see at a fall fair or at the end of a long school day. his hands clenched into fists for a moment. it seemed even the sky grieved the days you were still around.

a sharp poke on his legs was what reeled him back again. he looked down.

near his feet stood seven crows. some were mingling with the others, and the others pecked at him and the bench. you used to feed the crows with him. an idea passed that they were the ones that took you away from the world—from him.

after a moment of debate, his hands relaxed. no. he couldn’t bring himself to blame the crows below him. if he looked close enough, he could’ve sworn he saw the same mourning in their eyes as the ones he saw in the swaying trees and the dying leaves.

the same mourning he saw in his reflection every day.

he sighed again.

as he was distracted, one of the crows from the ground flew up next to him, a shiny object in its beak. it hopped onto one of tokoyami’s legs and dropped it in his lap. it barely shone with the sun hiding behind the clouds, but it caught his eye.

giving the crow a skeptical look for a moment, he picked the object up and examined it.

he stilled.

a tiny, golden locket rested in his hands. the loop on the top of the charm hinted at a chain, but there was none to be seen. it looked familiar.

hesitantly, he opened it with a click.

inside was a photo of you and tokoyami on the roof of the dorms at night. he remembered you taking the photo. you almost dropped your phone taking it and the sudden flash made both of you squint. however, you two looked… happy.

the moment was frozen in time and he almost thought he was too. he thought he lost this long ago. tokoyami took a breath, then nodded to himself, then at the crow that brought him the gift. “thank you,” he muttered. the crow cawed calmly in reply.

he closed the locket and gripped it tightly.

tokoyami could only wait for the day the sun shone as brightly as before when you were by his side, if that day ever came for him. he couldn’t help but think the world around him—the quiet parts of the world that you appreciated more than anyone—felt the same way.

[stuff-from-the-void-matron]

Laurel Wreaths & Animal Teeth (8)

(c!Technoblade x fem!Reader)

(Still no Tech this time, please don’t be mad! But hey we’re in L’manberg now! That’s pog right? Plus we officially meet Wilb and Fundy! But remember y’all, if this chapter doesn’t do well then I can’t write chapter 9! So show chapter 8 some love!! <3)

—————

MOAR ART!

I tried drawing Reader! -> She.

And xoxoyukixoxo-art-dump on here drew her too! She looks so SICK! SHE!

----

He’d been watching her for some time now. 

Not all day and night like some weirdo but he’d noticed instantly when she’d ‘logged on’ so to speak. The first thing to make him curious was him wondering how she arrived here in the first place, but when he tried teleporting to this new person it strangely hadn’t worked. He’d simply not gone anywhere, which was beyond puzzling. He should be able to teleport to anyone on this server. That little tidbit, the not being able to teleport to her, was the second thing to make him curious. So curious in fact that he spent a very long time just looking for her. When the ability to teleport to her was no longer an option he’d found searching for someone was much harder, but in the end he’d found her. And good lord was she a big one. Not taller than endermen or anything bigger but she definitely towered over the villagers she lived with.

He didn’t know how she ended up here since you needed an invite to be allowed on the server. And he knows she wasn’t invited, because he knows ALL the people who are invited. Hell, at one point he even tried banning her (an action which kicks players from the server) but… nothing had happened. He’d been hidden and watching her when he’d done it and she’d not even noticed, just kept on planting flowers around one of the villager’s houses without a care in the world.

He’d unbanned her and nothing changed again. Then he’d tried using other commands on her. Teleport, clear, give, and even Kill. Not a single one did anything. That made him nervous. He’d never encountered something like this before. It was unheard of. If this player decided to become hostile, or End forbid, GENOCIDAL… it would have very disastrous consequences for the other players on the server..

He decided then and there to monitor her deeply until further notice. 

Which turned into him popping up by her village and sneaking in to watch her and what she did day in and day out for a few months. And honestly.. She seemed pretty benign. 

All she really did was change up the village she lived in and decorate. When not doing those things she would do other hobbies like cooking and potion making. She’d also leave the village sometimes to just explore. He took those chances to go inside her home and snoop around. He also noticed aggressive mobs were pretty neutral towards her for whatever reason. That only ever happened if a player had a clear relation to a mob (aka a hybrid) or if the player had creative… Which it looked like she had. But she also didn’t look fully human.

“What a strange being you are..”

-0-

Before you knew it the next day had come, bright and early. 

You’d had to go back to the Overworld around sunrise to get ready to greet Tubbo. You’d explained to Azo that you’d try to come back as soon as you could but for now you had to go on a trip for a while. She was sad to see you go but said okay and to hurry back. Your heart broke all over again, feeling terrible that you had to leave her alone but there was nothing you could do. You’d bring her with you if it were possible but you knew her entering the Overworld would turn her into a zombie instantly. And that’s not a fate you’re willing to make anyone go through.

But you left her a chest with some golden carrots, some apples, and even some of the stew you’d made for Tubbo and Tommy. She liked the stew, so you left her a few bowls and even some juice to drink in case she got thirsty. You hugged her goodbye and told her you’d bring her a gift back. She nodded happily and then you sadly had to leave through the portal. Which you made sure to destroy after exiting it. Didn’t want anything wandering through. That would be a disaster. 

Once you were back in the overworld you went home and sat on your bed and just thought. More than anything you just wanted to step in and prevent Schlatt and Quackity from winning. But you didn’t know if doing that would have dangerous consequences or not. You’d seen so many movies where a small change in the past ends up having massive effects in the future. Damn butterfly effects. Stopping them from winning the election could end up causing a civil war within L’manburg. Or Tubbo, Tommy, or Wilbur could end up hurt or even lose a life. Or something even more devastating could happen. 

...But you hated the thought of Tommy and Wilbur getting exiled. It wasn’t fair or just. Especially while getting shot at and chased down like dogs. Schlatt and Quackity really pissed you off with that part. Seeing Ponk and Punz just instantly turn on the two original founders left you feeling utterly appalled. Schlatt hadn’t even been sworn in as president yet! He’d not taken an oath or anything! None of what he ‘decreed’ should have been taken as law! None of it was legal-

You pause. None of that WAS legal.. right? Did the citizens even know that? Were they aware that simply winning an election wasn’t the instant inauguration that Schlatt and Quackity made it out to be? Surely there was more to L’manburg than simply the bare bones parts that were shown on youtube in your original world. There had to be actual systemic structure for this whole ass small country. You wanted to believe there was, because the alternative made you facepalm. But at this point you honestly just didn’t know. You would need to have a discussion with Wilbur and Tommy (Wilbur more so since he was the adult in this situation).

You needed to talk to Wilbur asap.

-0-

Tubbo and Tommy came to get you bright and early, the blond looking more anxious than he was trying to let on. Seeing the usually so upbeat and grinning boy so nervous made your stomach churn. So you’d pulled him into a hug, not even letting him finish his greeting to you before you did. He went silent and was tense at first. But you took in a breath and said in as reassuring a tone as you could physically muster,

“Don’t worry kiddo. Things WILL be okay. I’ll make sure of it, alright?”

Tommy was silent, but you could hear the choked gasp of breath the boy took in, and you felt how his lanky body seemed to relax in your hold. He awkwardly put his arms around your back, seemingly not used to this, the whole hugging thing. At least not such heartfelt ones. He’s hugged Tubbo, Wilbur, and Philza but this one just felt different. It felt safer. Like if he stayed here nothing could hurt him. It was weird but.. nice. Part of the boy didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want to leave this new safe place. Here hugging you there was no fear of losing the election, no worries of wars with the DSMP, there was nothing bad. Just a pleasant warmth he felt like he could just fall asleep to.

But the bigger part of him knew he’d never hide away from his problems. It wasn’t who he was. He wasn’t some baby coward who hid behind mommy for protection when shit got tough. (missing how his subconscious referred to you as ‘mom’) He was a MAN! Nevermind he was barely 16! He was practically an adult (in his own eyes)! He’d fought in a war for independence! He’d battled for his and his countrymen’s freedom! There’s no way he’d cower away from this damned election! 

With a new fire in him, largely in part to the confidence you seemed to have for him and L’manburg, he eventually pulled back from the hug and gave you one of his signature bright grins. He said thanks but there’s no way he was worrying! Like you said, things were gonna be fine! You gave him an encouraging smile in return and agreed, then added that if anything DID go wrong you’d stick by them and make sure it all got resolved. The teens looked grateful for your support. But then you bid the villagers goodbye for now and told the iron golems to make sure to keep them all safe.

Then you three were off to L’manburg.

-0-

Walking into L’manburg was weird. You’d only ever seen parts of it via the videos you’d watched from the various minecraft youtubers. But being there in person was wild, seeing all the buildings and pathways was interesting though. Tommy and Tubbo changed into their ‘presidential attire’, which were just those vaguely old school British military uniforms they wore at the start of the L’manburg thing. You still ruffled their hair and cooed over them, saying they looked like official little men. They got all huffy and Tommy swatted your hand away, making you laugh. Tubbo suggested showing you around before the election began, which you thought was a good idea. So the pair escorted you around L’manburg, showing you the main places plus their houses and favorite spots. You gave Tommy a Look and asked him if he really lived in a dirt hut.

“It’s DIRT Tommy, not even cobblestone. Just a dirty dirt hut,” you said with a sigh.

Tubbo snickered while Tommy tried defending himself. But he honestly was just making excuses though thankfully he got cut off by Wilbur showing up. He was in the same uniform as both teenagers and you saw him giving you a wide eyed look as he walked up. You could tell he was used to not being around someone so much taller than him. Which you guess made sense since he’d been hanging out with teenagers, a girl, and his own son mostly. You think Dream is taller than him but you don’t know how often they’re around each other peacefully to notice height..

“Oh, hello, you must be Reader! Tommy and Tubbo have told me about you!” the brunet man said with a charming smile. 

You returned the smile and held your hand out for him to shake. He gave a firm handshake and you said he must be Wilbur and that the boys had mentioned him to you. He gave a sly smile to the two boys and asked if that was so, and said he hoped they’d said good things about him. Not liking his teasing tone Tommy cut in and said he told you about Wilbur being a bitch! You laughed and Wilbur punched Tommy in the shoulder, laughing when the boy loudly claimed he was abusing a child!

Wilbur rolled his eyes at the blond boy and asked what the occasion for you visiting his lovely country was. You gave a relaxed smile and said you just wanted to come out and support ‘big man’ and Tubbo on this exciting day! Wilbur smiled and perked up when Tubbo said they were giving you a tour of L’manburg. Wilbur asked why the shortest boy didn’t say so before and gestured for you to follow him, saying the best person to give a tour is always the president! You liked his charming enthusiasm but you could still see the nervousness just lurking under the surface for all three of them. You hated that their worry was justified. 

-0-

Wilbur took over showing you around, Tubbo and Tommy right behind him adding little comments here and there to irk him. You ohh’d and ahh’d at the polite times, even saying how cool the place was. You even got shown Wilbur’s ‘ball house’ and their extensive nether pathways briefly. You got a bit distracted in the Nether, wondering if Azo was okay. Though you supposed she was a tough kid, what with having survived in the Nether her whole life so far. But she was just a little kid, still a toddler. She shouldn’t have to survive. She should be living.

“And I guess that’s the whole tour! I hope we’ve given you a good impression of my country~” Wilbur said with a smile, thoroughly snapping your attention back to the present.

You were thankful they couldn’t see how your eyes widened when you realized you’d totally zoned out during the last leg of the tour. Instead of worrying you just gushed and said you’d been really dazzled! The trio grinned and you ruffled Tommy’s hair and said you could expect no less from the big man himself and sweet Tubbo. The pair were happy to hear you praising the country they’d worked so hard to have, with Tommy even playfully swatting your hand away from your hair and saying anything he helped with would be the best. Wilbur gave a very big brother reply of ‘oh really?’ that was dripping with doubt, which started to set Tommy off.

The two started going back and forth, causing you to roll your eyes. Yeah they definitely had the brother vibe about them. Though Wilbur lost interest in arguing when he spotted someone a bit aways behind you and Tommy. He perked up and waved, calling out ‘FUNDY!’ to get his son’s attention. You all glanced over to see a fox hybrid in a uniform that was the same as the boys around you, only the coloring was off. Fundy’s was more pastel colored while the others were darker/more saturated. Wilbur waved him over and you noticed the way Fundy’s muzzle scrunched up when Wilbur threw an arm around his shoulders, but you said nothing. Not really your place but from what you remember of the smp videos… Wilbur wasn’t the ideal father figure to his furry son..

“Fundy, this is Reader! She’s a friend of Tubbo and Tommy’s! She came to support us today,” Wilbur said with a smile.

The fox quirked an eyebrow at you and asked a mildly incredulous voice if your name was actually ‘Reader’. Tommy told him to shut up and pointed out that his name was ‘Fundy’ so he had no room to be criticizing anybody’s name. Fundy raised his paws in surrender and said fine, whatever, no need to jump down his throat about it. You chuckled and said it was okay, it was a rather odd name. And you liked his name, it was cool. Tommy actually boo’d you while Fundy smiled, glad at least someone stuck up for him. Though that reminded Fundy to ask Wilbur if he’d seen the ballots…

Wilbur’s mood darkened and he gave a clipped, “Yeah, I saw them.” His tone making the other L’manburg citizens feel uncomfortable. You spoke up, asking what was wrong with them? Had someone tampered with them or something? Fundy sighed and rubbed the back of his neck and said yes and no. Yes someone had changed them but it wasn’t really ‘tampering’, just altering to fit with the new campaign runners. She gave his upset father a side glance, his triangular shaped ears going back when he saw the way Wilbur’s eyebrows were furrowed and his jaw clenched. Seems the current president was still pissed off that his son and first lady had decided to run against him together..

“Well we had to change the ballots to include all the people running, and even an ‘other’ option… Yeah,” Fundy said lowly.

You couldn’t help the way you raised an eyebrow at that and said, 

“Isn’t that just the standard for ballots? Designing ballots to not show all the people their options would just be criminal.”

Wilbur didn’t seem to like your (in his opinion) unwanted input and said however L’manburg designed their ballots was none of your business anyways, especially since you weren’t even a citizen. You could feel yourself narrowing your eyes at the brunet, though nobody could see it, and replied that you didn’t need to be a citizen to point out that not putting all the names of those running on an ELECTORAL BALLOT was hugely unethical and borderline malicious hindrance to the citizen’s right to free choice. This little snit between you and the current president had dropped the mood low, with the three boys beside you looking more than uncomfortable. 

But thankfully Tubbo found his voice and before Wilbur could retort to your statement he turned to you and said the election and debate would be starting soon and that he’d sit in the audience with you. This reminded Wilbur that he needed to practice his speech and debate responses with Tommy so he straightened his posture and adjusted his coat before giving you a faux smile and then telling Tubbo they’d see him afterwards. You kept a polite smile on your face as the four led you to an open part of the village center where a large stage/platform had been built along with seating in front of it. Wilbur jerked his thumb towards the stage and told Tommy to come on and the blond boy said he’d be right there in a moment. The brunet looked put out but nodded and stalked off, leaving the four alone in the audience area.

Once he was out of earshot you turned to Tommy and gave him a disbelieving look and said in a hushed tone,

“Tommy, you and Wilbur weren’t ACTUALLY planning to tamper with the ballots were you?? That’s insanely unconstitutional! The people of L’manburg have a right to know and be able to choose whichever voting option they want. If they don’t have that option then it’s not a real election, it’s just the illusion of choice.”

The blond looked uncomfortable, sweating and avoiding eye lens contact with you. He felt ashamed because… well that HAD been the plan. At least Wilbur told him it had been before Quackity found out. He’d not been sure about the plan but he hadn’t done much to argue with Wilbur either. He’d convinced himself it wasn’t that big of a deal, but seeing how shocked and offended you looked that they’d even thought about doing that made him feel like a bastard. You saw how nervous he looked and sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing softly before reassuring him you weren’t angry.

“I’m not mad at you Tommy, I’m just disappointed that this was something you went along with. You have to know how wrong that was? Imagine you were a regular citizen and you voted in the election but later found out it was all rigged, you’d never had a choice regarding your country like you’d been led to believe. Wouldn’t you feel wronged?”

Tommy seemed to deflate at your words but gave a remorseful nod, neither of you noticing that your words seemed to have also struck a chord with both Fundy and Tubbo as well. You gave the blond boy a reassuring smile, saying that part of being a member of government was respecting the people’s choices. Even if you think it’s stupid and wrong. You have to let the people choose for themselves. The ability to choose is sometimes the only difference between merely existing on this bitch of a world and actually Living~

Tommy seemed to have taken your words to heart, making you smile at him before pulling him into a half hug and saying sincerely,

“I’m proud of you Tommy, Tubbo too. You’ve both done so much for this country. More than any child should ever have to. I wish more than anything that you’d not HAD to sacrifice and lose so much. But I’ll be here to support you both going forward. I just don’t want either of you doing anything unethical. You’re both better than that.”

Tubbo almost teared up and came over and let his face rest against your side in a show of affection. He’d never had anyone say they were proud of him before and honestly.. he didn’t know how badly he needed to hear it until you said it. Tommy leaned into your hug, close to tearing up like his best friend but he blinked rapidly until the tears faded.

None of them noticed the envious way Fundy stared at them, feeling jealousy bubble in his stomach at the way you seemed to care for the two boys. He felt childish for feeling that way but he couldn’t help it. You clearly cared about the two in a maternal way, that much was obvious. But you weren’t treating them like babies either. You were respectful and loving at the same time. Fundy wondered if that’s what it was like to have a mother..

“TOMMY! COME ON! THE RALLY STARTS SOON!”

They all broke away when they heard Wilbur yelling down at them from the podium. Tubbo sighed and Tommy straightened his hat before giving a cheeky smile. You told him to go give his best, and no matter what happened you’d be proud. This pumped the blond boy up and he gave a cheer before ruffling Tubbo’s hair and turning to the stage and running up around the side to get to the top, you and the brunet watching him go. That’s when you remembered the fox hybrid that was still standing close by. You offer him a calm smile and say kindly,

“So, Fundy was it?”

------

tagged folks: @salinesoot​ @lady-bee-fechin​ @kacchasu​ @putridjoy​ @lunawritesstories​ @galaxypankitty3030​ @paradigmax​ @zachariethememerie​ @killmewithafanfic @trinity-1002107 @hufflepuff-demigod @truthdaze @exorcisms-with-elmo @redbloodtea @heythereimhaylz @olyink @jackalopedoodles @nikkineeky @artsimatsu @hufflepuff-demigod @corpiet @beepa99 @anxiousnarwhale @bananaaddictmilkshake

[mm2305]

What Ethan & Olivia AU is this? #OpenHeartAU

An eventful encounter

Pairing : Ethan Ramsey x Olivia Valentine || Rating/Genre : Teen+/romance, general || Warnings / Words : none / 2.8k ||Setting : Alternate Universe - Regency Era || Disclaimer : all characters and pictures belong to the rightful owners

Summary : During one of her trips in town, Olivia meets the newly-arrived Dr. Ramsey.

A/N : Let me start by saying that this has been in my inbox for almost a month and I'm so sorry for the long wait. Secondly, this was something completely new to me, since it's set in a different time and universe, but still very fun to write! No beta, so all mistakes are mine. I really hope this comes out good enough :)

Enjoy!

My masterlist

-/-

Somewhere in the England of 1816

Olivia's pov

"Oh come on you little bugger", a young woman sighed exasperated, looking at her reflection in the vanity. She had been trying for the last twenty minutes to gather her long hair with some pins, but it was difficult to contain all of it in them. Finally, she got ready and rushed down the stairs of her home, Edenbrook Manor.

"Mrs Clarke? Where are you?"

"I am in the kitchens Miss Olivia!", the other woman replied.

Olivia followed the stairwell leading to the kitchen and greeted Mrs Clarke, one of the people who worked in her home. She was more than that to her though, since she was the one who practically raised her, her friend and closest confidant. Her father, Ernest Valentine, was a merchant, quite known for his successful business, but was away from home most of the year, coming only a few weeks at a time. Therefore, her mother, Anne Valentine, was left to manage most of the affairs regarding the estate and surrounding grounds they owned. Both did love her dearly, they just didn't have time for her. Since she had no siblings, she was left with no one's company but Mrs Clarke's ,who in her and her family's eyes had become a member of the Valentine family too.

"Do you need anything else from the market Mrs Clarke?"

"No Miss, that's everything we need. Are you sure you want to go, though ?"

Having grown up close to her, Olivia was always helping around the house in whatever ways she could, even though she wasn't expected or needed to do so. Of course, she didn't neglect her occasional music , embroidery and drawing lessons, even though her true passion was biology, anatomy and science. In another world she imagined herself being a doctor, but since that wasn't possible, she just made the best of the situation at home, doing many things to pass her time.

"Of course! It will be a great chance for me to get some fresh air since I have not been out for a while. I promise I will be careful."

"Alright dear. Then you had better go now, it's quite a walk to the market.Who knows, you may meet somebody worth going to a ball with today."

"Not likely Mrs Clarke. And besides, you know I have high standards."

With a slight wave to Mrs Clarke, Olivia took her basket and headed out of the Manor.

----------

After a long, refreshing walk, Olivia reached the local food market. Rows upon rows of products had filled the sides of the road, the smell of flowers, herbs and fresh fruit invading her senses. People moved at their own pace, some slow and others faster, with baskets of their own at hand and doing their shopping. The whole street seemed to have come alive on that warm, autumn afternoon, creating a charming, quaint picture.

In just a few minutes she had gathered everything she needed, her basket full of herbs, vegetables and fruit. Ready to go home, she turned around, towards the end of the market, not noticing the tall man coming her way and colliding with him, the force knocking her down on the ground.

"I am so sorry sir, I did not mean --"

"Forgive me Miss I --", they both started apologizing at the same time. Olivia noticed she was still on the ground and the stranger offered his hand and carefully helped her back on her feet.

Finally looking up at him, she felt her breath catch in her throat.

The stranger was the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on. He was tall with a strong physique. His hair was a dark mahogany brown color, just visible in his hat, leading to his piercing, ocean blue eyes. He had a sharp jawline with high cheekbones and she was sure that his smile would be just as beautiful as the rest of his face.

His warm hand was still holding hers, the gesture sending sparks through her body. The man, noticing he was still holding her hand, cleared his throat and dropped it gently.

"I am deeply sorry, Miss. I hope you are not hurt.", he said in a deep yet gentle voice.

"I am alright, thank you for your assistance Mr..?"

"Ramsey. Ethan Ramsey. And you are?"

"Olivia Valentine, sir, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"The pleasure is all mine. Oh! You dropped your basket!". He immediately bent down to gather the scattered apples, pears and whatever else could be saved.

"Please allow me, you need not do this…", she also kneeled beside him to gather the items, her hand going to catch an apple at the same time as Mr. Ramsey,their fingers briefly touching. They both locked eyes again, the movement making Olivia's cheeks redden in color. Did he feel that too? Looking away from his eyes for the sake of modesty and back at her now half full basket, she realized that she had to start making her way back home soon, if she wanted to make it before dinner. With a small sigh, she got up and dusted her dress,more than a little disappointed that she hadn't had the time to learn anything about Mr. Ramsey.

"Thank you once more Mr Ramsey. I sincerely apologize for falling onto you. If you'll excuse me, I need to return back home. I wish you a pleasant afternoon. ", she smiled softly at him and curtsied briefly before turning her back to him and starting walking. Hmm… I have never seen him before in town. Maybe Mrs. Clarke knows something about him. She decided she would ask Mrs. Clarke for more information when she reached home. Alas, she had not made it three feet away when Olivia heard him coming behind her.

" Ms. Valentine? "

" Yes? ", Olivia turned around curiously looking at him.

" Would you allow me to walk you back to your house? I… It's the least I could do for you after our eventful encounter", he asked with a hint of a smile on his face.

He really is handsome, she thought wordlessly. Was this her chance to get to know the mysterious man better? Was this a chance for a new friendship to bloom? Maybe something more? "Stop getting ahead of yourself Olivia. You just met this man! He may even be married!", The little voice in her mind warned her, but her heart, full of excitement at the prospect of getting to know him better, had already decided.

" I would love to"

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

Ethan's pov

Ethan was absentmindedly walking across the stone paved streets of the town he had just moved in. Or rather, his new residence was close to this town. Instead of taking his horse, he decided to take a walk from his house to the town, to get a feeling of orientation around this new place. Being prepared and feeling in control, made him feel more confident in himself, particularly since he was not good at social interactions. Being a man of solitude and always focused on his work, made him unwilling to make any meaningless acquaintances, the frivolous events he was often invited to, being of no essence to him. It was because of his work that he decided to move here.

Immersed in his thoughts as he was, he didn't notice the young lady that accidentally ran directly into him. The force of the blow knocked her to the ground, Ethan immediately apologizing and offering his hand to help her back up.

When the young woman looked up at him, he was left speechless.

This lady, whoever she was, was easily the most beautiful woman he had encountered in all the thirty years of his life. She had golden, blond hair that seemed softer than the most expensive silk and a spotless, alabaster skin. Her big, forest green eyes seemed to be able to see right through his soul and her rosy, full lips were in perfect harmony with her features. She was quite shorter than him, her head just reaching his shoulder and he could guess, even through the many layers of clothing, that she had a lean, feminine frame.

Her hand was soft and small in his and that's when he noticed he was still holding it. Clearing his throat to collect himself, he apologized again to her.

"I am alright, thank you for your assistance Mr..?", she asked him, her voice sounding like the most beautiful of melodies.

"Ramsey. Ethan Ramsey. And you are?"

"Olivia Valentine, sir, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Where have I heard that name from though? Catching himself being so entranced in this lady he just met, he allowed his eyes to wander away from her, when he noticed her basket, previously full of products, now scattered on the ground. He set down to gather whatever could be saved, knowing he must seem like a fool for doing what a gentleman would never probably do. All his thoughts flew out of the window, when he felt that spark again from both their fingers closing around an apple. Olivia's cheeks turned in a color close to the apple she was holding, making her seem even more beautiful than before. What is it that has me totally mesmerized by this woman?

To his great displeasure, their brief encounter would have to be cut short, since she had to return back to her house. Wishing him farewell, she began walking away but before he fully thought about what he was about to ask, his feet were carrying him towards her.

"Ms Valentine?"

She turned around, clearly wondering what he wanted to ask from her. "Yes?"

Taking a deep breath he gathered the courage to ask her what he wanted. "Would you allow me to walk you back to your house? I… -he staggered even though he never did before, looking for a reason to convince not only her but himself too as to why he was doing this for someone he just met - It's the least I could do for you after our eventful encounter", he added with a small smile.

For a few seconds that really seemed to stretch into hours, he could see the wheels in her mind turning, before she looked up at him and said the words he so much had come to want to hear.

"I would love to"

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

Olivia's pov

Ethan offered her his arm to take and Olivia weaved hers through it, her hand settled at the crook of his arm.

They began walking and for a few minutes no one said anything, a somewhat awkward silence setting over them. Neither of them seemed sure as to what they should say to break the ice. Finally Ethan, with a small cough, began talking to her.

"Do you live far from town, Miss Valentine?"

"My home, Edenbrook Manor, is about an hour and a half away from here."

"Oh! I actually bought a residence that is, apparently, close to your house."

"So you are the new doctor who bought Kenmore Park!"

"Indeed, I am"

"May I ask what made you choose to come here? I have the feeling you have been offered better and perhaps more, financially speaking, beneficial positions in bigger towns or cities."

He didn't hesitate to answer. "I was offered a position in this hospital and I was instantly aware that here, I could be more useful since there are not many doctors willing to work in a more rural area. Besides, I had missed the countryside. Has my arrival become such a popular issue here? ", he raised an eyebrow teasingly.

"Yes and no, Dr. Ramsey." she put emphasis on the Doctor, teasing him back too.

Ethan lowered his eyes, seeming a little sheepish. "Ah well… I could not find it in my heart to correct you, Miss. I am sorry."

Olivia chuckled, waving her hand dismissively. "You do not need to worry about it, I assure you."

"You see, this is a relatively small town and it is rare that something new happens. People have the tendency to talk. Or rather gossip, if I am being honest. But I actually learnt about you, from my maid, Mrs Clarke. I do not really get out of the house a lot."

"May I ask why?", Mr. Ramsey asked. Then as if considering how indiscreet he must seem, he sucked in a breath and turned to her. "I am sorry, Miss Valentine, it was not my place to ask."

For some reason, Olivia found herself not minding. Normally, she would not be interested in having a conversation with a man, knowing that at her age every move was scrutinized by potential suitors. That is why she remained unmarried at the age of four and twenty, much to society's disappointment. She just could not bind herself to a loveless marriage of interest. However, with Ethan, talking was easy and she felt surprisingly comfortable with this man she only met an hour ago.

"Well. I remain unmarried at the age of four and twenty and people like I said before, tend to talk. I find myself uninterested in what they say but it does make everyday life easier, since I do not have to hear my parents and Mrs Clarke trying to convince me to attend balls at every chance.", she rolled her eyes with what she felt was loving exasperation.

"I honestly could not imagine a woman such as yourself not being asked for her hand in marriage", Dr. Ramsey said, his face carefully neutral at her admission.

"It is not that I have not received any proposals, but it is I who refuses. My father is quite successful at his profession and those suitors were clearly interested in my family's wealth, not me."

"Then yours was a wise decision to make, if you allow me to say this, Miss."

Nodding silently, Olivia contemplated asking the question that had been in her mind ever since they began their walk. Oh just do it already Olivia. Before she could think further about it, she blurted out her question.

" How about you, Dr. Ramsey? Is there a wife waiting for you at home?"

"No, actually. Much like your case, I have no interest in people not caring about the important things in a marriage. That is not to say I stand against the institution. But, there has not been the right person in my life, so far."

A small, imperceptible smile graced her lips at his answer.

"I assume you are quite taken with your job, no? Since you moved to a different area, just because you want to help here…", Olivia changed the topic after a moment, her tone more cheerful and her heart longing to hear how life as a physician is.

"Indeed I am. Of course I owe all the skills I have acquired, to my mentor, Dr. Naveen Banerji head of Solomon's Hospital in London and professor at --"

"Edinburgh Medical School.",she finished with something that could only be described as wonder in her eyes.

" But how do you know?", he turned to her, surprised that she had heard of Naveen.

Olivia's eyes lowered to the ground, knowing that what she was about to say, would make him laugh at her.

"I… I study biology, anatomy and science whenever I can. I know it is something impossible for a woman in our times, but if I had the chance, I would love to take a proper apprenticeship and become a physician. Naturally, I cannot help but be informed about everything surrounding the medical world. And Dr. Banerji is one of the best doctors in the country. "

When she reluctantly looked back into the eyes that seemed to call for her, she saw an emotion similar to admiration in them. What for, she could not understand , but it made the butterflies in her stomach flutter excitedly.

" Miss Valentine, I've known you for just about two hours and yet, I can confidently say that your intelligence would make you an excellent physician. Please, do not hesitate to ask me anything if you have questions, it would be my pleasure to answer them for you.", Ethan assured her, his voice sincere and the opposite of what she expected to hear.

Olivia's face lightened up at that and she started excitedly asking him several questions, for the rest of the way to her house. It had been a long time since she had met someone not dismissing her love for medicine and even longer since she sincerely enjoyed talking to another person besides her family.

"Maybe this could finally really be the start of something worth exploring", they both thought, grinning happily for the rest of the way back, perfectly content in each other's company.

-/-

A/N : if you made it this far, thank you so much for reading!

Tags (let me know if you want to be added or removed and if you want to be moved to another category) :

Perma (all edits and fics) : @romewritingshop @codykosuckmytoe @sophxwithers @actuallybored @potionsprefect @ethansramsey @crystalwillow @gryffindordaughterofathena @kiara-36 @mrsethanfreakingramsey @writer-ish @panda9584 @genevievemd @jamespotterthefirst @queencarb @shanzay44 @nikki-2406 @starryeyedrookie @coffeeheartaddict @schnitzelbutterfingers @mysticaurathings @starrystarrytrouble @lsvdw-blog @izzyourresidentlawyer @silma-words @stygianflood @headoverheelsforramsey @maurine07 @natureblooms24 @a-crepusculo

Fics : @alina-yol-ramsey // Regency era fics : @princess-geek

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars • 06

Pairings: Sirius Black x [F]Reader, Remus Lupin x [F]Reader Content: Language, possible errors, music snob!Remus,  Author’s notes: song used: Come Together by The Beatles

BTW: I always try to use little to no physical descriptions for the reader insert but I did add that the reader has some sort of hair. I didn't mention hair texture or length (Sorry if ur bald). My taller readers, I only mentioned that you were shorter than Remus (no height was given)

Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 6: ABBA vs. The Beatles 

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

“Merlin’s beard! Binns is a sadist; torturing students must be his only pastime,” James yawned, taking his glasses off to rub his eyes.

Nothing could ever compare to the History of Magic. Today, lessons were dreadful and muddy. Professor Binns’ monotone voice filtered throughout the class, rambling on and on about various dates in history. Hardly anyone paid attention before he started calling on students. Annoyed, Binns would continue to reiterate his inquiry until the student(s) got the correct answer, no matter how long it took.

A sadist indeed.

Although Binns wasn’t the sole reason why the class was pathetic, but rather the lack of any practical work was simply a joke. The class only reminded Y/N of her short time in public school. Geometry? Utterly useless for any daily life interactions. To make matters worse, Binns surprised the class with a pop-quiz and two chapters of reading. Luckily, he had an ounce of mercy in his ghostly body and dismissed the class early for lunch.

James continued, “I would rather fight a dragon than — Woah! Your hair! “

She glanced to look at herself through the reflection in James’ glasses. Her hair, which originally was emerald green, was now turning into a golden yellow. The different colours clashed together boldly.

“You look like the banner for the Holyhead Harpies,” Peter said, striding up to James’ side.

“The Holyhead Harpies,” James said dreamily, “They’re probably one of my favourite teams.

Remus, who had been trailing behind Peter jumps in, “You only like them because they’re all women, you wanker.” He turns to Peter, his hand shooting up to the side of his head, massaging small circles into his temples, “Why’d you get him going?”

James became insufferable whenever someone or something mentioned Quidditch. Not only would he boast about his abilities as a Chaser, but he seemingly was a never-ending encyclopedia about Quidditch. It only worsened as November neared, the start of the new Quidditch season was approaching.

One time Y/N found herself stuck listening to him babble about Ireland winning the world cup for about thirty minutes. She didn’t have the heart to stop him, though. Nobody listened to his rants and he could hardly contain his excitement. How could she tell him she wasn’t interested?    

A monstrous smirk etched its way onto his face, “Caught me.”

“Be anymore of a predator would ya, Prongs?”

“Hey! That’s not the only reason why I like them. Did you forget their victory in 1953 against the Heidelberg Harriers? Their strategy was blood-fucking-brilliant. They’re legendary! My father was there to see it in person. Lucky bastard. He told me…”

His voice fades into the background as Y/N catches Remus’ eyes. A glint of mischief shined through them before he forced a fake pitiful smile. He mouthed a quick ‘sorry’ to her before looping his arm around Peter’s shoulder, discreetly leaving James’ side and out of the classroom.

That sly, slippery bastard.  

"— and did I mention that their seeker was one of the most sought out —”

“Wait, James.”

He abruptly pauses, waiting patiently for her to continue. She leads them out into the corridor and towards the great hall. “Sorry, didn’t mean to cut you off like that, but when is my hair going back to normal?”

Y/N instantly regretted mentioning her hair. There was no trace of a smile on James. His shoulders slumped a bit and his walking even staggered. “Godric, I know, I know and I’m sorry. I thought it would have returned back to normal by now. I’ve been creating reversal spells — even started asking Moony to help.”

“Moony?”

“Remus.”

“Another one of your nicknames?”

“It’s not a nickname! It’s a brotherhood — a pack!”

“Oh, sorry Prongs,” she drawled, a sarcastic smile on her face, “If I didn’t know you I would assume you were an asshole.”

“What? How?!”

“You go around calling yourself a marauder, the king of Quidditch and now Prongs. Seems pretty assholely.”

James’ mouth opens before closing again, repeating the process several times.

“Plus, you pull silly pranks every day.”

He chuckles, “Oi! You helped us with that itching idea!”

Her eyebrows raised in acknowledgement, “Touché.”

To this, James shakes his head, directing the conversation back to the Holyhead Harpies. Inwardly, Y/N wanted to whack him with a broomstick.

They were among the first students to reach the Great Hall, aside from students who had a free or were excused early by Professor Binns. None of the girls were there yet. Unfortunately, Marlene was held back by Binns, so Y/N was left to sit beside James who sat opposite to Remus, Peter and Sirius.

She had been trying her best to avoid Sirius whenever she could. It was clear he didn’t like her. He never laughed whenever she made a joke, he hardly noticed her, he never praised her, even if she tried to compliment him. He was just rude for no apparent reason. The rest of the marauders and girls knew this, although they preferred not to comment about the obvious, strained relationship (which they didn’t even know the reason for. Granted, Y/N wasn't quite sure herself. Was it the rejection, he just didn't like her or is just an ass?).

Although, ignoring and avoiding him proved to be extremely challenging. Y/N was glued to Lily’s hip ever since the Sorting Ceremony. It also didn’t help that if you were with one marauder, another one was sure to follow. She and James started to spend more time with each other, and by extension, she was obligated to be around at least one other marauder. With the addition of study sessions with Remus, it was inevitable.

Surprisingly, Sirius hadn’t made any snarky remarks, excluding dirty looks, he was being… nice — nicer to her. The action was a stark contrast from his previous behaviour and she speculated a few reasons why:

Most likely, James or Lily, she assumed the former, said something to him. Since his little spat with James at breakfast a few weeks ago, Sirius was tight-lipped ever since.

Maybe he was done being a prick, deciding to stop by himself after realizing he was a prick.

Went through something personal, it stopped, and his behaviour improved.

Minutes after the bell rang, students began to trickle in for lunch. The comfortable chatter rose as Y/N finished eating an apple. Everyone seemed pleased when James’ Quidditch lecture was interrupted as hundreds of owls streamed in, packages and letters dropping into the laps of students. She hadn’t expected anything considering her owl, Celeste, didn’t drop anything off since the first week of October. However, today she fluttered down between the bread and fruit bowls, dropping off several letters and a small parcel onto Y/N’s plate, pecking at the bread crumbs on the table. She tore the letter open, inside it said:

Dear Y/N,  

Are you still having a hard time with Charms? If so, perhaps I find some textbooks and send them over.  

Don’t slack off this year. Send me a letter whenever you have the chance. (Make sure to tell Celeste to be quieter next time. You know I can, and never will get used to the owls.)  

Mom  

Her mother finally wrote to her. A sense of joy flooded her body as she placed the letter back down on the oak table. A part of her wondered if Celeste was dropping off her letters to the wrong house, the one back in Toronto as her mother never wrote back. She opened the next letter, immediately recognizing the messy scrawl:

October 19, 1975  

Y/N! I thought you replaced me with one of your brits, but a false alarm, your letters just take a while to arrive. Must be tiring for Celeste to travel to and from Scotland then America and back. You know, whenever people see her fly in, they still recognize her.  

Are you doing anything for Halloween? We’re throwing another dance. Going to be alone this year now that I can’t force you to come. I guess I’ll just watch half the school dry hump each other while I smuggle in firewhiskey.

How’s it going over there? I heard from a few students, even read in the papers about the war. It’s getting pretty crazy over here. Teachers have been meeting and trying to prevent students and parents from losing their shit. My mom has been worried too, writing to me like a lunatic and I’m not even in the UK. The MACUSA have been keeping quiet but they were caught having meetings with counsellors from the Ministry of Magic. Even heard that Jenkins is stepping down. If it keeps getting out of hand here, I can’t imagine what it must be like at Hogwarts. I truly thought the war was dying down, I was wrong. Keep your wand close. Surely, you’ll get away with a hex or two.

Until next time

Matthew G.  

So engrossed in her new environment, her old life slipped to the back of her mind. There was a detachment from her reality compared to the one at home. A pang of guilt hit her, swallowing her up from the inside out until another pang hit, loneliness. If she easily forgot everyone, would anyone remember her? None of her old friends, apart from Matthew, had made a move to contact her since she left.

Often thinking about writing them first, she had to remind herself if they wanted to, they would. Especially with the knowledge that people still recognized Celeste.

Was she forgettable and if so, was it karma for forgetting too?

It put a mechanical vice grip on her heart, applying just enough pressure to be a constant reminder. With every beat, it tightened more and more.

Looking around the table, she saw her peers huddle in groups, familiar laughter ringing throughout. So noisy, so taunting. She may have been friends with Lily, Dorcas, James or even Marlene, but they had their own friends. Friendships that had years to develop before she came. She had only known them for less than two months.

Forgettable.

How hilarious, she thought.

“Hey,” a gentle voice cooed into her ear, “Are you okay?”

She hummed back absentmindedly.

James wore a concerned expression, his eyes knitted together, one raised higher than the other like it always does when he was worried. The look he shot her suggested he wasn’t convinced, although he didn’t press; instead opting to stir the conversation. “So, who wrote to you?”

“A friend and my mom —”

A snort so loud that it caused the rest of the marauders, random onlookers and even Lily (who had a look of pure disgust on her face) turned towards them. “What did you say?”

“I got a few letters?”

“No!” He bellowed, “Who sent you them?”

“My friend and my mom —”

Nearly choking on his sandwich, James clutched his stomach laughing. Laughing so hard he has to grip the table to prevent falling off the hall bench. "Haha! Mom?! MOM?” He mocked in a poor American accent, “What the fuck is mom? It’s MUM. Bollocks!”

“We say vitamin.”

“It’s VIT-A-MIN! Who says VIGHT-A-MIN?” Without a pause, James presses his entire body onto her shoulder, smushing her before grabbing the letter her mother sent her. His eyes scanned across the pages before hitting a certain word. “Back home? Maple trees? Where did you use to live exactly?”

“Canada.”

“Canada?! You don’t mean those snowy gits?” At this, Peter and Remus snort under their breaths. Even Lily had to force down a smile.

Staring deadpanned at him, in an unamused voice, “Really?”

“You are a bundle of surprises! I thought you lived… I’m not sure. I assumed somewhere like New Hork.”

“York,” Lily corrects.

“Tomato, tomato,” he jokes, playfully batting his eyes at Lily before biting into his sandwich, “You do live in London, right?”

“Right.”

James takes a moment, letting the conversation die down before he quickly glances at Y/N again. An undecipherable expression crosses his face before it’s promptly replaced with elation, “I take back anything negative I’ve said about Canada. They have an amazing Quidditch rooster. Have you gone to any of their games?”

A low grumble of sighs follows at the mention of Quidditch from James. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remus shake his head and sighed dejectedly.

“Nah, I’m a New-Maj, remember? My mom — “

“Mum —”

“ — sorry, Mum — hardly understands the wizarding world, let alone what Quidditch is.”

His eyes were wide, whimsical, as a hand flew to his chest dramatically, “Rubbish! Bloody ridiculous! You’ve never seen a real Quidditch game? One day, I swear I’ll bring you to one! Or you can bring me to Canada one day and we can watch a home game!”

As James continued to rant, Y/N’s mind slowly drifted back to the bitterness in her chest. Trying to distract herself, she borrowed Lily’s quill and a few sheets of parchment, scribbling down letters in response.

Mom,  

I’m fine with Charms, you don’t need to send anything. And don’t worry, I’ve been studying for my OWLs.  

Love you, write soon.

The next letter was addressed to Matthew:

Matty Matt,

Of course, I didn’t replace you… yet. 

Another dance? You would think the students’ protest last year would have influenced the professors this time. I guess it’s time for you to get wasted. I didn’t tell you last time but I think I’m going to a party. A friend of mine is throwing it and I know he’s going to force me to come no matter what. He briefly mentioned costumes and drinks. Plus, there’s going to be some kind of prank that I may or may have not been a part of? Sounds cool right?  

Yeah, I’d say it’s been bad up here. I don’t know much about what's going on outside of school, though. The professors are hiding it well. I didn’t even hear about Jenkins stepping down. Keep me updated.  

Until next time  

She sealed the letters before sending Celeste off again, “Be quieter when you drop off the letters, yeah?”

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

It must be her lucky day.

The ringing of the bell went off, signalling the end of class. Professor Flitwick asked the students to stay behind so he could hand out quizzes the students completed on Monday in preparation for their upcoming test on Growth and Reductor charms the following Tuesday.

It was never a good sign when a professor flips your test over to prevent other students from seeing their mark. Flipping it over at a downwards angle, Flitwick handed Y/N her quiz.

Turning it over nervously, a tight coil formed in the pit of her stomach. A large P was plastered on the top right corner in bold red ink. She studied hard for this too. Angrily, she shoved her work into her bag and left the class. This was the third poor she'd gotten in a row. She should have told her mother she needed those Charm books.

“I swear I’m going mad! Her brother is a complete cow! He even — are you listening?”

She looks at the girl beside her, Marlene. Her glossed over, doe eyes must have served as an answer before the blonde shook her head.

“Sorry, distracted,” she mumbles, before forcing out a fake-happy tone, “Continue your story! I wanna hear!”

“Hey,” Marlene says in a softer voice, “If something’s bothering you, you can talk about it.”

“No, it’s okay,” she replies instinctively. She felt bad spacing out during Marlene’s story but her mind was running through and under hoops. The last thing any fifth year student needed was to fall behind in their classes, let alone feeling like nobody cared about them.

At that moment, she wished she was wrapped away in red and gold blankets to wallow in her self-pity party, away from prying eyes. She could feel the burning sensations of tears building up.

Dammit.

Y/N looked out the window to her left. The sky was melting with the warm hues of reds and yellows while the other half was being slowly engulfed into a cloak of twilight. Even from here, she could feel the cool air seeping in from the windows making her tug on the sleeves of her robes.

She continued, “I’m just tired — been a long day. I’m going to take a nap before dinner. See you.”

Judging by the look on Marlene and Lily’s face, guilt riddles her body. They both look sympathetic. The pity only made Y/N feel disgusting. In all honesty, Y/N will care later. Right now wasn’t the time and she desperately needed some shut-eye.

Before she left the room, she overheard them talking.

“What’s up with her?”

“Dunno.”

Great.

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

Sleep did little to ease her thoughts.

The same uneasiness she felt on the train ride to Hogwarts settled deep into her bones again. She thought she was past this. The worrying about friends, missing home, feeling alone, failing class, stressing about her future. The rational part of her brain knew it was just one silly quiz (and old shitty friends), but knowing herself, if she were to continue to have this mindset, she would only fail in the end.

Dinner ended and Y/N belligerently climbed up the stairs towards the library to attend today’s study session. The Charms quiz threw her into a loop and it was better not to dwell on it, opting to rather use her time for something useful.

Her marks improved significantly since she attended her first session two weeks ago. The last couple of assignments and quizzes she handed in that she worked on during the groups were some of her best work, ever. Additionally, her ability to retain information was improving at astonishing rates and she found herself participating in lessons more often. Unfortunately, she started to doubt her abilities again.

There weren’t as many students as usual. Perhaps it was because of the Quidditch meeting for all teams tonight, or because nobody wanted to spend their time in a library Friday night. She assumed it was the latter.

Although, the same student with black hair from Slytherin was there; tucked away in his usual corner. He was always there. Whether it was the study sessions, another OWL or NEWT student or he simply just enjoyed the library, Y/N could always rely on him sitting there in his little nook.

In the far back, surrounded by tall bookshelves sat Remus. Another student, a first or second year, judging by their height, seemed to be asking him a question, rapidly writing down something on a piece of parchment whilst they walked away. Remus leaned back in the brown chair, his right leg was folded over the other as he stretched.

She spent over twelve hours minimum with Remus directly since the first session, minus the time he was around James and the girls. Perhaps she only started to notice afterwards but she swore Remus wasn’t around this much before. Now, he was everywhere.

In the past couple of weeks she’d gotten to know him, she made a mental list in her head of him:

1. Remus loves sweaters. They weren’t flashy, seemingly preferring to wear ones with small designs, stripes or a solid colour. He wore green the most. He also wore cardigans. Two, in particular, he wore the most; one was white and the other was a muted brown. They were big and hung off his loose frame, the pockets were often stuffed with books, rumpled parchment and his wand.

2. He’s a coffee addict. He drank it in the morning, the afternoon, at the study session and sometimes with meals at dinner. He loved to dump pounds of sugar, so if he only drank black coffee, it usually meant he was in a bad mood. James even joked that he became Sirius whenever he drank black coffee, because haha! Get it? It’s BLACK coffee!

3. He frequented the library whenever he wasn’t with the rest of the marauders. He enjoyed poetry, wrote post-it notes after post-it notes to annotate his favourite parts. He even slept there from time to time, not without having to persuade Pince to not give him detention.

As if Remus magically sensed her, he took a large inhale before he stopped stretching, opening his eyes to look at her. A small smile was plastered on each other’s faces. He stuck up a few fingers to wave at her, motioning her to come over.

“Hi Y/N. I thought you didn’t come on Fridays?”

“I don’t but I have a test, Charms, Tuesday.”

“Oh, well I’m happy to help.”

“Thanks for the offer, Professor Lupin, but just being down here will help me focus.”

A scarlet blush settled on his face at the mention of his tutoring. “Well come sit with me then.”

Pushing the chair out of the way, she sat down beside him, pulling out her cassette player and earbuds along with her notes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remus staring at the player curiously.

“Do you want to listen?”

“If you don't mind. I didn’t know you could use these here.” Picking it up, he turned the rectangular device.

“If record players work here, why not this?”

She hands him an earbud, alongside a small collection of other tapes she had on hand.

“Choose whatever you want to listen to.”

Without much thought, he pressed the play button. The upbeat tune of Waterloo by ABBA trickled into their ears. Y/N bobbed her head up and down before the song was suddenly stopped.

A sour grimace sat on Remus’ face before their eyes met, his nose upturned slightly.

“Why’d you stop it?”

“I hate ABBA.”

“What!?”

“I just don’t like their cheesy disco-pop-esk sound. They sound generic and random words are thrown in when they don’t add to the song.”

“Jeez— never met anyone who hated them that much.”

A ghost of a smile appeared before he flicked through her collection of tapes. He picked up Abbey Road by The Beatles. Opening the player up, he slid out Waterloo. With a click and the press of a button, Come Together played.

“So you hate ABBA but not The Beatles? Benny and Bjorn said they were influenced by them!”

“Keyword: Influenced; which is just another word for a shitty knock-off version.”  

4. Remus Lupin is apparently a music snob.

“Well, I think both are good.”

“Respectfully, I disagree with you.”

“Whatever you say, professor.”  

"I've been thinking a bit, why did you come to Hogwarts? Why not just stay at your old school?"

The sudden switch of topics threw her into a loop. “Wasn’t by choice. My mom’s a doctor and got a position here. It was too good to turn down. But it’s not bad. There’s less wizarding laws.”

He nods his head, "I'm assuming you have dual citizenship?"

"Mhm."

About a half an hour passed as she sighed for the umpteenth time before putting down her quill. Her chair scraped back noisily as Y/N’s hand balled up into a tight fist, feeling her fingernails bite into her palm. She’d been flicking through her notes, the words all blended.

At this rate, if History of Magic didn’t exist, Charms would surely be her least favourite class.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?”

She was at a loss, this was the third time Remus had offered to help and he was persistent. She felt horrible that she was taking up his time to help her on a stupid Charms test.

He continued, “If you think bothering me is an issue, it’s not. I run the sessions on Friday. It’s my job.”

“Fine, but there has to be something I can do in return.”

“Hmm,” Remus pondered for a second, “How about this, I tutor you in Charms and in return you give me your Potions notes? I'm dreadful at it.”

“Deal.”

“Great. Before we start, is there anything in particular that you have questions on?”

Silently tapping on the quiz she received today, Remus snatched it and quickly scanned over her answers and Professor Flitwick’s notes.

“I see what happened. You know, the curriculum taught at Ilvermorny is different. That’s probably why you can’t understand some of this shit.” He cleared his throat, “So as we know, the growth charm increases the size of your intended target…”

His voice, like a light switch, changed instantly. Instead of his softer deep, raspier voice, it became commanding and steady. He never stumbled over his words and articulated his points elegantly. She found herself enraptured by him, understanding why he was in charge of the study groups.

Eventually, Remus takes a pause, “Does that make sense?”

“Yes. You know, you’re really good at this. No matter how much I asked Flitwick or even Lily I could never get it.”

A large blush bloomed on the apples of his cheeks before he shyly rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes. “I’m not that good.”

“No time for modesty, Professor Lupin!”

“Okay, okay! So here, do you see what went wrong? There would be a reaction with those two spells if —”

A boy, small, most likely a second year, stood at the foot of the shared table holding a large red and gold book. His hair, dark ginger, similar to Lily’s, was cut short. He fiddled with his fingers as he continued to stare at the two.

“... Um, hi. You're Remus — right?”

“Yup. Did you need help with something?”

“Yes! I’m having trouble with the Transfiguration spell, beetle into button.”

A look of understanding passed through his face before Remus turns to look at her, “Duty calls. It’ll be quick.”

“Of course, take your time.”

It was not quick. Understandably, very few were successful at the ginger’s age to perform the spell, but thirty minutes passed and the second year still didn’t understand the basic concepts. No matter how many times Remus had reiterated his point differently, the boy couldn’t retain it.

“I just don’t get it.”

“You learned this last year, it's a quick revision. I’m not sure what part you’re talking about. Look, do not wiggle or twirl your wand left, direct it towards the right. You have to picture the spell in your head before saying the incantation.”

He guided the boy's hand steadily before performing the spell himself.

“I don’t understand!” The boy whined.

He sighed, “Then we keep trying —”

“It’s too hard. Why are they teaching this crap anyway?”

“Could you stop complaining?” He snapped, closing his eyes before he realized what he’d just done. “I’m sorry about that. I’m… just tired. I can’t help you anymore, though. You should ask someone else,” Remus said brusquely, his eyes unnerving as he stared at the child. As a result, he yelped out a ‘thank you,’ rushing off in the opposite direction.

The muscles in his jaw tensed under the soft glow of the table lamps. There was a pale red tint rimming his eyes and he looked visibly paler than normal. Irritated, he bounced his knee rapidly, up and down, before looking out the large window beside them. The sky was mostly cloudy. Only the peak of the silvery moon appeared. A sliver was missing before it was fully complete.

He closed his eyes, before breathing in. His posture once stiffened, completely relaxed before a flimsy smile reappeared on his face, returning his attention to Y/N.

“Let’s continue, shall we?”

“If you’re tired we can stop.”

“No, s’okay. I’m fine — really.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, adding to her list:

5. Remus was always so hard to read.

[mylkys]

ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ, ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴀ ʟɪᴇ

nanami kento x f!reader

MAJOR SPOILER WARNING. do not proceed if you’re not up-to-date in the manga.

a request from @daikon-dishes​. hope you all enjoy.

word count: 1,841

warnings: major spoilers for chapter 120. character death. angst.

Everything hurts.

Every part of his being ached and for release, and the only thing that could cross his mind was is this was she felt, in her last moments? Did it feel like her bones were seconds away from ripping out of her skin? Could she feel her heart pound uselessly in her chest?

An image of your smiling face came to his mind's eye. The sunlight filtered through the trees, the golden rays illuminating your shining eyes. The apples of your cheeks were sunkissed, and the gentle wind tousling your hair.

It was the day Nanami proposed to you. He could almost feel the weight of the ring box in his pocket, or how his heart was close to exploding in his chest as he watched you laugh at your own joke. Nanami didn't understand it, but he didn't mind. Your childishness was one of the things that drew him to you.

Nanami pulled the box from his pant pocket, and he could see you watch him with bated breath. You'd asked him what he was doing, but he simply answered by opening the box, revealing the ring. 

It was simple- a thin band with a single diamond- but it suited you. The simplistic design matched your simplistic beauty. Your eyes lit up as you slapped a hand over your mouth. You told Nanami that if it was a joke, it was a shitty one, to which he chuckled.

"Am I the type to pull pranks, dear?"

You cried as you lept onto him. Your arms held him in a chokehold as your bawled your eyes out, weeping a loud and shaky yes. Yes, I'll marry you.

Nanami guided you away from his chest and enveloped you in a kiss. But, he couldn't feel you. There was no pressure of your lips on his, no taste of your tongue. 

Nanami broke the kiss and looked at your face. He could see tears streaming from your crystal eyes, your kiss-swollen lips. You were beautiful.

Yet, it was... off. Unclear. Nanami could see you, but your face was lacking details. Like how one side of your smile was higher than the other, how one eyebrow was arched while the other was rounded. You were there but washed out. Your skin was off, your clothes were off, you were off. 

He was forgetting. 

Nanami couldn't remember the shape of your hands, the slope of your nose, the part of your hair. He remembered how you'd say your left side was your good side, and he remembered how he never understood. Now, he realized he couldn't, because he couldn't even remember what you looked like.

The scene changed, fading away to a dim phone screen. Nanami scrolled through the different necklaces, but none were catching his eye.

A hand clasped on his shoulder, and Nanami turned to see Gojo smiling at him. 

"Gift shopping for the missus?"

"Leave me alone."

Gojo pouted as he complained about Nanami being so mean to him. Nanami's chest ached when he noticed that Gojo's face was crisp, clear. How could he forget the face of the love of his life, but not his? Why would his mind let the details of you wash away, but let Gojo's remain?

Gojo bent over Nanami's shoulder and poked to the screen. "If I know Missus Nanami, which, I do, she'd like that one."

It was a thin silver chain, with a small starfish charm. It was simple, not too long or flashy. It reminded him of you.

Nanami remembered how you hated him calling you simple, how you would take it as an insult. You thought he was calling your ordinary or boring, but he disagreed. Though there was nothing wrong with extravagance, it was also complex and complicated. It took effort.

But with simplicity, the need for detail washes away. The additions and improvements are gone, and what's left bare is true and raw. Simplicity ignores the unneeded aspects, allowing one to just exist. That's how Nanami felt when he was with you.

Any time with you wrapped in his arms, all thoughts and worries of work and curses just... drifted away. In those moments, Nanami wasn't a sorcerer. 

He was a man in love. 

Nanami remembered Gojo's smug grin when he added the necklace to his chart, and he remembered ignoring it. When it came in, your face lit up like thousands of stars, and Nanami had to console you as you sobbed.

"It not even our anniversary!"

"It doesn't need to be a significant date for me to give you a gift."

Any time Gojo saw you wear the necklace- which was every time he saw you since you wore it every day- he would smirk knowingly at Nanami and would tease him about knowing his wife more than he did.

But that stopped after you died.

One thing that is guaranteed when you're a sorcerer, is dying with regrets. Nanami's was losing you.

By most standards, it had been a normal day. You had kissed him goodbye as he left for work, and he called you during his lunch break. If Nanami had known that would be the last time he spoke to you, he would have told you how much he loved you. 

But, it wasn't a normal day. When he came home, he could tell something was wrong. Your house was reeking of cursed energy, and he could see the residue of a curse creature trail to the front door. 

His heart pounded in his chest as dread bubbled in his stomach as he drew his weapon. He opened the front door, and the strong heady scent of blood overwhelmed him. 

Nanami screamed out your name, panic freezing his blood. He was frantic as he tore apart the house, looking for you. 

Maybe you fled, maybe you got away, he chanted in his head over, and over, and over again. You weren't a sorcerer- hell, you could barely even see curses- so there was no chance you could have defended yourself. Nanami prayed that your instincts protected you, got you away from the curse, got you safe.

His world crashed around him as he bolted into your shared bedroom. The smell of blood was strongest there, and when he pushed open the door, he almost gagged. The stench of blood and cursed energy was so thick, it made it hard to breathe, but what took his breath away was you.

You were lying upon the bed, curled up tightly on Nanami's side, your head buried deep in his pillow. The right side of your body was heavily mutilated, wounds and malformations bleeding profusely.

Nanami cried out your name as he ran to your side. He shook you violently, screaming at you to Wake up! Please, wake up!

He hated how stiff your bod- no, not your body- how still you were. How cold you were. 

Nanami could barely see through the tears, but he noticed how you had your hands cradled near your neck. He choked as he pried away your fingers to see what you were holding, and what little control he had left crashed when he saw that even in death, you protected the necklace he gave you. 

While the rest of your body was drenched with drying blood, your necklace had remained clean and beautiful.

Nanami looked to your face and saw the soft yet pained smile on your lips. He had pressed his mouth to yours and prayed he would feel your lips move against his, feel your hands cup his face as you deepened the kiss.

You never did.

Gojo found Nanami cradling you in his arms later that night. 

They held a funeral two days later. 

The casket was closed.

Gojo didn't joke about your necklace anymore.

A new memory, one with Itadori, came to mind. He had the necklace and a photo of you that he kept in his wallet.

"Who's that?" he had asked.

Nanami could feel his throat tighten. He had planned on scolding Itadori on snooping, but instead of doing so, he indulged him.

"That was my wife."

"Whoa! You're married? I didn't know you were married!"

"I'm not anymore."

Itadori paused. "Was? Did you get divorced?"

"No."

Itadori looked at Nanami, confused. "Then how...?"

Nanami felt tears burn his eyes, so he turned away. "She's," his throat closed a little as he choked back a sob, "she's no longer with us."

"Oh." Itadori wouldn't look at Nanami. The pair sat in silence for a few minutes as Nanami fought away his tears.

"What was she like?"

Nanami's eyes widened a bit, and he turned to Itadori.

"Kind. Gentle. Playful." He paused, trying to think of how to describe you. "Simple."

"She sounds like a good person," Itadori said. Nanami could see that he felt uncomfortable- not because he didn't like talking about you, but because he didn't know what to say.

"She was perfect," Nanami whispered to himself. Itadori heard him but didn't say anything.

Nanami turned to him once more. "She would have liked you."

Nanami could feel his body begin to fail him. He couldn't hear, and his sight was beginning to wither away. With what little will he had left, Nanami pulled his wallet from his pant pocket and took out the dainty necklace and photo. 

He could barely see your beautifully simple face or the shining necklace, but he could feel then. As his world faded to black, the last thing he wanted to see was you. 

Everything became dark as pain enveloped him, yet he clutched the necklace and photo tight. He refused to let go. 

It was hard to breathe, and Nanami began to panic. His chest ached for relief, for relaxation, and when that pain increased in intensity, he began to panic. Hot flames burned at his body, and if he could still hear, he would have heard his cries of pain.

It was unbearable now, and as Nanami walked the line of unconsciousness, he heard a small noise. It was far off, muffled, faint, he almost wasn't sure if he had heard anything at all when he heard it again, but loud this time. 

"Kento!" 

Nanami could hear it now, and the voice was so painstakingly familiar, he was confident he would recognize it anywhere.

It was you.

He tried to call out, but his voice wouldn't let him. The panic from the pain melted to the panic of you not finding him. 

"Ken!" you cried. Nanami was never fond of nicknames, but he adored anything you would call him. "Kentooooooo!"

A soft touch caressed his shoulder, and the pain washed away like the waves at sea. Nanami found himself able to move again, and he whipped around to see you standing behind him. 

You were dressed in the same sundress you wore when he proposed, ring on your finger. Around your throat was the dainty chain of your necklace.

Nanami whispered your name, to which you smiled.

"Hey, you," you giggled. 

"I missed you."

[stygianflood]

Like the Shoreline and the Sea (Ethan x F!MC)

Summary- Ethan is asked out on a date right after Miami in Book 1. Ethan’s PoV

Genre, rating, words- Angst, teen, 2k

Open Heart fanfic tropes- birthday, office.

March Challenge Day 13 prompt Someday; April Challenge Day 9 prompt Smell of the Rain 

A/N: nor’westers-  violent thunderstorms in northern plains of India, before the onslaught of monsoon.

Title inspired by Leonard Cohen’s Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye.

‘This will improve our understanding of adiposity and sarcopenia in this population, help identify thresholds predictive of metabolic risk, and ultimately prevent or ameliorate… ’

Better prevent than ameliorate.

‘...ameliorate the long-term impacts on health and…’ 

Twenty five years should be long enough.

Hers is a singsong voice, the warm, trilling kind. Mellow sun dances on the frills of her dress. The yellow one. 

The man at her side twirls her on the empty kerb. Dips and kisses her. Her laughter is all that is pure and golden.

A child follows them, embarrassed. She bends down to kiss him, and he is furious. 

The scene shifts.

The child is on the front porch, eyes set somewhere beyond the wild bergamot bushes. 

Tear tracks on pink cheeks mingle and dry with dust from his afternoon’s exploits. Something like a steely resolve troops in his eyes.

Ethan Ramsey has been staring at the same sentence for fifteen minutes now.

Whoever coined the term ‘nostalgia’ from the Homeric nostos and algos was speaking of anguish caused by an inability to return. But they failed to discern the inevitable tethering of reminiscence with habituality.

That is more or less the case with him. Louise Ramsey walked out on her husband, and eleven year old son some twenty five years ago right before his birthday. For a very long time now, home is not about apple crisps or kitchen gardens. 

About this time every year, a crevice in his mind he likes to call the amygdala dwells on the same days. 

Almost as a ritual. 

He is a scientist. A rationalist. And like every year, he reminds himself there is work to do.

Unless there’s a knock at the most unpleasant hour.

He never returns to the article. Never manages a come in. The distraction walks in, messy hair knotted with a pencil. Probably because she has lost another hair tie. 

He mustn’t be that aware. 

But she talks too much. 

‘Dr. Mukherjee.’ He sounds gruff. They’re supposed to be redrawing their boundaries, even if he is the only one making an effort. ‘I thought your shift ended-’

‘Two hours ago.’ Rigours of a sixteen hour shift mark her visage. Her smile is a little too conniving for his comfort. ‘I had work afterwards.’ 

She starts shuffling papers on his desk, permission be damned. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and manages an exasperated sigh. Since when have interns started walking into his office with… birthday cakes?

‘What do you think you’re- It’s not my-’

‘I heard rumours that Dr. Ramsey had to cancel a date.’ She sounds amused. He does not miss the split second glance she shoots his way before continuing. ‘On his birthday, too. Such a shame.’

He scoffs.

‘No one knows it’s my birthday.’

‘Oh, they do. They’re just too afraid to… ah, invoke the wrath of Dr. Ramsey.’

Of course, she is not one of them. She has absolutely no regard for the immutable drill he has observed for nearly four decades. And why must she, when her sole intent is to swivel the rusty axis of his life.

Ethan has never known the first shower of an Indian monsoon. It is sudden and torrential, just as it is feared and revered. It smells like summer, and mango blossoms. 

Ethan has never known one until this year.

‘I’m thirty seven, Rookie,’ He manages weakly. 

‘And I would’ve bought the candles accordingly if I knew that.’ 

The tealights she arranges look so much better, he thinks. The cake is a simple blue and white affair. Not the ones that have more icing than cake, he notes. Not the ones he disapproves of.

Happy Birthday, Dr. Terminator

‘I could’ve whipped something up without sugar,’ She rambles, suddenly starting to blush. ‘Or ordered one. But I only just came to know it’s your birthday. And there wasn’t a lot of-

‘Thank you, Apu.’ Tresses of warmth curl about his chest and the gravel of his voice.

Ethan has avoided birthday cakes for a decade now. Unless it’s Naveen’s birthday, he thinks with a pang.

In his time with Harper or his brief involvements in med-school, no one has ever convinced him to do birthdays. He checks himself. This is just an intern being kind.

But interns aren't kind to Dr. Ramsey, are they. 

She assures him the photos are not for social media. They settle on the couch, it’s his first birthday cake in over a decade. 

He is glad for an innocuous reason to look at her, laugh at jokes that in any other company would draw his scorn. She is oddly comforting. Unlike most interns who avoid his office at all costs, she moves about it as if she was meant to be here all along. 

He must have stalled birthdays worth twenty years only to spend it on a couch with her. 

The plates are disposable. It is nothing like the restaurants that come with his status, for there is an endearing simplicity about it. 

It almost feels like… home.

He steals occasional glances at her. It has been four agonisingly long days after their return from Miami. And for all his attempts to redraw their boundaries, it has been a non-return of sorts. 

Aparna drives him to distraction, flouts each and every one of his rules. Seeks him out in supply closets and muddled dreams. And every time he breaks her heart a little more, he finds himself floundering in his own squalor.

The German counterpart to the English ‘nostalgia’ is ‘sehnsucht’. Like ‘nostalgia’, it has the charm of what has been. But unlike it, it also has the enigma of what has never been. Miami will remain the swansong to an ideal that slipped through Ethan’s fingers. 

A surge of anguish ripples through him as he realises all of this is his for the asking, and he will have none of it. 

‘It wasn’t a date,’ He blurts out.

He wouldn’t tell her that if he wants her to move on. Not truly.

‘You don’t have to-’

‘She is Declan’s associate in Panacea. She suggested signing the contract with the Diagnostics Team over dinner tonight. So…  just business.’

Claudette Wilson is the most promising young face of Panacea, and Ethan needed less than a minute to know why. 

Sleek, dark hair styled at her nape played up her high cheekbones. The ruby of her pliant lips, almost risqué for a meeting such as this, always lingered a little longer on the rim of her coffee mug. Even the measured spoons of her laughter came with an all too enticing lilt.

Ethan has met the other type. Vacuous and synthetic. But the steely glint in her eyes came with a weighty intelligence. An unfaltering wit. And when a perfectly manicured hand brushed the contours of his cuff, he knew it was never meant to be just business. 

She was irresistible. And so was he.

That afternoon, the bitterness in his mouth had nothing to do with coffee. He learnt he would refuse Claudette even if her pay checks did not come from Panacea.

Aparna falls silent, almost as if discerning in his words everything he left unsaid.

They have run out of jokes and topics for a harmless chat. He is getting terribly comfortable with her again, he realises alarmed. And she is fidgeting with the ring on her finger.

She’s nervous too. He knows. He could define every twitch and turn of those fingers. 

Somewhere in their conversation they have edged so close that her knee juts into his thigh. The couch is surprisingly small for two people. Minutes pass, and despite himself, he does not want her to leave. 

His fingers rest on her flustered hands, it’s a deep-rooted reflex. Looking down, she weaves his hand in both of her own. Even as the adrenaline surging in his blood incites him to flee, the delirious part of him emerges stronger and more naive.

He thinks she is leaning in. Soaking up the mayhem in his eyes. The slight movement causes wisps of errant hair to slip from the messy bun. There’s new growth around her brows, a faded scar on her forehead. But it’s her eyes that still hold sway over him. 

They stroked him with a strange, silent awe on a balcony on the shores of the Atlantic.

She is nothing like interns that hover around him year after year. Sucking up for recommendations. Sometimes more. She can devour him, and just as easily cast him aside without batting an eye. 

And yet she is here. Snuggled in his office while her friends call it a night with cheap beer and rowdy escapades. 

But she is different tonight. The quiver in her eyes tentative, even wary.

His hand rises of its own accord, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. Inadvertently, it brushes her face, lingers a little longer against her cheek.

She caressed his face as the ocean crashed around him. It was like falling from the top of a precipice. Tumbling into the amorphous, a terrifying weightlessness. He waited.

‘It’s getting late.’

She smells like the hospital, muted shades of honeysuckle, and like herself. 

The cool breeze hummed a steady rhyme against the tumble of her midnight blue dress. Bits of the moon bounced off the dark curtain of her hair, plunging into her eyes. Ethan had never seen such fathomless eyes.

‘I should go.’ She leans into his palm, eyes fluttering close. 

‘You should.’ 

And then she caught him. It was the hollow of her neck. It was soft. Like the rest of her. 

Neither of them move today, silently imploring the other to charge. Or retreat. The battle drum in his chest is a dull ache. Throbbing and inconsolable.

The ridges of her collarbone bore traces of his ruin. Traces she covered every morning and stripped every night, like the rites of a godless liturgy.

His free hand is still laced in hers, the other drawing her face nearer. 

Her lips are inches from his own as he draws a languid finger across them. Her warm breath spills on his lips, warring and mingling with his own ragged ones. 

Her mouth was stained with wine. Numbing and inciting. He was battered, and bruised. Marooned at her side. And she was warm. So warm.

His hand traced the pummelling of her heart, kneading the softness of her chest. Her tongue jousted with his own as the ocean lapped at its shore. Tireless and persevering.

She was wild. Like her Gangetic nor’westers on a sultry afternoon. He was bewitched. She was doing something good to him.

Suddenly the air around them is ripped by the sound of his phone. 

It’s his father.

The two of them recoil to their own spaces, Ethan horrified that he let himself stray so far yet again. Silencing the still erring device, he faces Aparna bracing for another apology.

‘I know.’ 

Her smile is placid, all traces of vulnerability gone. He is vaguely aware of the gentle pressure on the hand still clasped in her own.

‘Happy Birthday, Ethan. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ 

She is gone before he can marshal his thoughts.

Ethan flops back into the couch, shivering and alone. The incandescent glow from the solitary lamp drenches the office in a soft, ethereal haze. She might not have been here at all but for the little things she scatters around him every time she forays into his life.

Today she leaves with him a caesura. It thwarts the cadence of a life he has been putting together since Miami.

After a minute, or perhaps a staggering nightmare, when he rises to pack the rest of the cake, he sees it. 

She must have forgotten her hair tie was in her pocket after all. 

It stares up at him from the floor, the silken, mute witness of his transgression. He gingerly picks it up, and turns it in his hand as though it houses some ancient sorcery. 

Laying it on his desk, he considers texting her. But scarcely does he scroll down to her name when he stops himself. And pockets it. 

Somewhere in the Atlantic, waves still crash upon the rocks, moistening, but never quite lingering. 

The waves are relentless. Someday, the rocks crumble into fine sand.

Thank you for reading this! Let me know if you’d want to be added or removed.

[hinac0lada]

I DON’T LIKE YOUR SHAMPOO

CHARACTER PAIRING | oikawa tooru x gn!reader

INFO | soulmate!au, fluff

WORDS | 1.9k 

NOTE | by the time i’m probably posting this, is one day before my beloved’s birthday FNKLFNGK ngl i’m pretty excited and i hope ya’ll are too (besides the fact that the manga is coming to an end but let’s not talk about that-) 

WARNINGS | NONE

more to see under the cut!

you live in a world where soulmate marks exist. everyone has different types of marks ranging from; timers, red strings of fate, roman numerals, half tattoos, etc. as you grow old, you watch people find their soulmates, and on some unfortunate occasions, lose them. 

each person had different views on the concept of soulmates, it wasn’t sunshine and rainbows all the time, but you stayed neutral after receiving every side of the spectrum that varied from the good side —  as well as the bad side of meeting their other halves.

you knew you were bound to meet your own soulmate either way, but you wouldn't get your hopes up just like that — until you received your soulmate mark on the morning of your 15th birthday.

it was a beautiful tattoo on your wrist. written were the words that your soulmate would say to you on your first encounter. your parents told you that the time and date of your encounter with them — along with their words to you, would turn golden as soon as you’ve said your first words to each other; just like how their soulmate mark worked. and although you were aware that every mark is different, you couldn’t help but raise a brow from confusion at the sentence that was permanently placed on your wrist.

‘well to be honest, i don’t like your perfume’

it read, an intriguing way to say to your soulmate, you thought to yourself. and that night, you couldn’t help but admire the pretty letterings on your wrist; rubbing your thumb against it, grinning from ear to ear like a fool. 

days went by from when you received your tattoo, you’d constantly wonder what your soulmate was like or when and how you were going to meet them. tracing your fingers along the tattoo turned into a habit whenever you’re bored or anxious about something. to add to that, the thought of their existence would sometimes consume you, and you’d be stuck in a loophole of questions and doubts. 

‘what if they don’t like me? or what if they don’t want to be my soulmate? what if they think i’m ugly? or a disappointment?’ 

regardless of the negative thoughts and worries you had in your head everyday, you were still eager to meet them — even if it takes a thousand years, a thousand hours, or maybe even if they are a thousand miles away, you can’t wait for the day that you’d get to meet them.

or what if it only takes a few months, or a few days? maybe even a few seconds? what if they were across the world? or just across the street? possibly next door? in spite of knowing not to get your hopes up, you can’t resist the anticipation of being face to face with the person you were promised to ever since the very beginning of your existence. 

and every day, you’d hold on to the wrist with your mark — the symbol of a promise to true love, hoping fate decides to take place sooner than expected. 

unbeknownst to you however, your true love was just within arm’s reach all this time.

it was the most awaited day of the academic year, the time where stressed out seniors get to relax for a whole day to indulge themselves in new sights and bond with their fellow batch mates before the dreaded era of finals — field trip day. 

everyone had their own plans, going to after school hang outs right after the planned trip, a handful bringing digital cameras to capture each moment , that one kid in class who has great taste in music providing the speaker, and the rest just going with the flow of today’s agenda.

while the majority of students did plan their seating arrangements on the bus, you, on the other hand, decided against it. in your opinion, it wasn’t a big deal. it was just a 2 hour drive to the destination so what could possibly go haywire? plus, it didn’t matter who was your companion on the bus, it’d open up the opportunity to get to know unfamiliar faces, being divided by classes and all, so what could possibly go wrong?

maybe, possibly everything.

who would’ve thought, out of all of your batch mates, you get to sit beside the grand king himself, oikawa tooru.

it wasn’t like his personality was completely intolerable, it’s the complete opposite, really. he was charming, greeting you with a close eyed grin before sitting down next to you. in the face of all the chaos his friends warned you the male would bring— plus the many chilling glares from his countless fan girls, his presence never shook you the wrong way at all.

you weren’t complete strangers, but you weren’t well acquainted either. you were in a different class and the only time you’d see his pretty face was when you’d pass each other in the hallways. but, what's there not to like about oikawa tooru? he was attractive, a gentleman, a charmer, a friendly being, and everything was as easy as apple pie.

“hey, just a heads up, shittykawa over here has a habit of sleeping on anyone’s shoulder. don’t be afraid to push his head aside when you’re uncomfortable.” iwaizumi hajime, his best friend and the hunk of aoba johsai, patted your shoulder reassuringly before taking his seat behind the two of you, alongside him was hanamaki takahiro and matsukawa issei - who were snickering at the flustered setter beside you. 

for some reason, you thought iwaizumi was just joking or he said that to make oikawa look bad — in which he failed. and so you didn’t take his statement seriously, disregarding it completely. and now you regret ever doing so, because it turned out to come true, eventually biting you back in the ass.

things took a turn when you suddenly felt the weight of the world on your shoulder  — idiomatically and literally.

it was exactly 30 minutes into the drive to your destination and you were on your phone to pass by the time, minding your own business when you suddenly felt pressure on your shoulder. you peered at your shoulder, only to be met with the sight of a sleeping oikawa, snoring lightly with his lips slightly parted.

you stayed still as a rock, not wanting to disturb his slumber - which he probably needed. although you didn’t plan to get him off your shoulder any time soon, you were clueless as to what to do if he doesn’t wake up. you glanced at his friends, who were expecting the whole thing to happen.

“do you need help with him?” hanamaki questioned, taking notice of your gaze at their trio. iwaizumi took your loss of words as agreement and got ready to shake his friend awake, until you stopped him.

“i-it’s okay.. i don’t mind really,” you reassured the three, giving a warm smile before focusing back on your phone, catching glimpses of the sleeping oikawa once in a while. you were far from annoyed. if anything else, you found it comforting for no apparent reason, his warmth that is. 

once you knew he was deep in rest, you shifted to a much more comfortable position for the two of you, one where you can almost smell his scent. which was a big mistake, because you remembered your allergies to this specific shampoo which was unfortunately the one he had right now. 

loreal shampoo.

oh the terror it gave you, you started to get war flashbacks to when you used it on your own hair as well, the horror of sneezing until your eyes were watery sent shivers down your spine at the cringe. 

and as much as you attempted to conceal your allergies, it backfired in the end and now you were left in a mess; sneezing profusely while scrambling to get your medications. you cursed your sensitive nostrils, seeing as you’ve woken up the brunette beside you, unaware of the situation at hand, his half lidded eyes looking around in a daze.

in the process of consuming your medicine, he asked if you were okay, rubbing the tiredness away from his eyes. 

“i.. don’t like your shampoo.” you managed to reply back in the midst of trying to calm down from the sudden attack of your allergies. oikawa, being clueless as to what you were trying to imply, took offense in your words. yet you couldn’t blame him, your answer was quite vague and it caught him off guard.

“well to be honest, i don’t like your perfume,” he retorted back with a pout embellishing his features, earning him an awfully painful smack on the back of his head from iwaizumi, accompanied with the eye rolls coming from hanamaki and matsukawa.

“dumbass, they have rhinitis. your shampoo triggered their allergies” iwaizumi explained to the setter, who was wincing in agony from the impact. You were on the verge of apologizing when the words that escaped his lips gave a sense of familiarity, as though you were accustomed to the sentence.

and then it both hit you. oikawa’s brown eyes dilated with realization, that look of his says it all. it was happening. how could you ever forget those words you were longing to hear, those words that you knew would bring you to your destiny someday?

it felt too surreal, you were immobilized with disbelief and shock. 

but then you felt an itch on your hand. and in a synchronized manner, you and oikawa looked at your own wrists, it was really happening. he was your soulmate. your promised lover. 

‘7/19/20.

2:20 PM’

the letters read in gold ink, a sight to behold. (e/c) irises clashed with one of chocolate brown, filled with bewilderment. your face heated up at the sight of his pink tinted cheeks. you’ve found your way home.

“what’s going on? they’re acting strange...” matsukawa whispers in hanamaki’s ear, baffled at the scene in front of him. iwaizumi then points a finger at their wrists, the distinct color of gold catching his attention.

after a while of literally staring into each other’s souls, a hearty laugh escapes your lips. the corners of oikawa’s lips tugged into a genuine smile, in which you reciprocated with one of your own. 

you were grateful that your first encounter was one of mediocrity - in a good way, of course. it was as if you were meeting an old friend, the warmth that his gaze holds gave you a sense of comfort. 

that smile of his was practically screaming ‘you’re home’. you’ve finally met your soulmate; face to face, and now your destiny rests in his hands, while his rests on your own.

the situation eventually calmed down and you two finally accepted the fact that you are soulmates. the bus was silent, light snores echoing, and everything was tranquil. you could see oikawa’s struggle from the corner of your eyes, his eyelids getting heavier for the nth time, trying not to repeat his mistake from earlier. 

“oikawa-”

“tooru, call me tooru please,” he corrected, a lopsided grin plastered on his face. his eyes fluttering, attempting to stay awake. 

“tooru, it’s okay, you can sleep on my lap instead,” you chuckled, hearing him mumble his gratitude, his head making its way to your lap. it was as if immediately, he was off to dream land once again, your hands gently running through his soft locks whilst trying to doze off as well.

“y’know, i think we should recommend each other products sometime.”

“good idea, maybe after this trip, tooru.”

“deal. well, good night.. my soulmate.”

“sweet dreams, my home.”

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[writesowhatnext]

with all due respect // remus lupin

Summary: Remus and the reader are best friends and that’s it and it’s so absurd that Remus keeps insisting that they’re anything more, right?

Request: hii! idk if you’re busy w requests, but if you’re not - i was thinking of a remus x gryffindor! reader where theyre best friends and they both like each other but reader tries to ignore her feelings since they’re both prefects and she doesn’t wanna need any distractions, but remus really really wants to be something more and it’s just him trying to get her to confess and the entire imagine is just built off of the line “friends don’t look at friends that way”

A/N: I LOVE this request ok & it took everything I had not to just say “respectfully, you’re full of shit” but I'm not completely sure if I like this

Reader: unspecified, prefect

Warnings: firewhiskey, swearing

The six of you were sitting in the boy’s dormitory with the sunlight of golden hour pouring through the windows just before it disappeared over the horizon, just laughing together. It was a Friday; the best day of the week for late-night conversations, playfighting and stupid dares. James was leading the charge that night, making sure none of you would forget the consequences of Sirius’ most recent romantic endeavour.

“So, he sees her coming up to him and he’s just beaming, right,” James began, directed mostly at Lily, who hadn’t been there at the time. He was thriving off of Sirius’ misfortune, as proper friends do, and enjoying his groans and Peter’s rambunctious laughter in equal measure. “But then, she stops right in front of him and just smacks him right round the face.”

“What did you do to her?” Lily turns to Sirius, a dry look in her eyes and a smile on her lips. You laughed at her expression, meeting Remus’ eyes across the circle. His smile widened and you found yours doing the same.

“I did nothing!” Sirius insisted, his hand smoothing over his cheek, a phantom bruise to his ego.

“He slept with her brother,” Remus said into his mug of hot chocolate, hiding his smile. His eyes crinkled as everyone laughed and Sirius shoved him to the side, muttering about not being able to keep a secret.

“Blimey, Pads, you’re sodding awful with girls,” James said, perhaps unwisely given his track record.

“Pot calling the kettle black there, Prongs, don’t you think?” Remus had a twinkle in his eye as he spoke and you couldn’t help the snort that left your nose at his words, biting your lip to hide your grin. The room erupted into laughter and cheering at James’ indignant protests. Everyone teased him as he pouted towards a completely unaffected Lily, but you found yourself distracted from the chatter, too busy staring at Remus.

All he was doing was sitting cross-legged opposite you, but you couldn’t deny how warm you felt. The sound of his laughter stirred something inside you and the way the light hit his face tightened your chest. You just sat there, admiring, struck by the unfamiliarity of the feeling. Your eyes trailed over the dusting of freckles across his nose and traced down his smooth jawline, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he laughed, peaking above the loose collar of his shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, a good look for him, and his Gryffindor tie was strewn around his neck. You followed the shiny pink scars up from his neck to his cheek, disappearing into his hairline, his bird’s nest. He was grinning brilliantly and as you made eye contact, your breath caught in your throat and your smile died on your lips.

For a second, you felt like it was only you and him in that room and even as his grin faded into something a lot less toothy, his expression pulled at your chest. The feeling made you weirdly nervous, something you’d never been with Remus, one of your best friends. His eyebrows drew downwards, knitting together as you stared at him and for a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. But then, you noticed Lily turning towards you from the corner of your eye and you swallowed, smiling at Remus again and casting your eyes to her. Judging by her face, she had no idea of what had just transpired, and you were glad for it. When you looked back Remus, all but a second later, he was already laughing with Peter and part of you felt oddly disappointed.

You’d forgotten all about that night by the time the Gryffindor Christmas Party rolled around. Repressed was a more apt word, but you were in the business of lying to yourself when it came to Remus. The party, which you had expected to be horrible, was full of students from other houses and presents and lights and, most importantly, firewhiskey. You cherished the warm thrum of it in your veins and as you looked around from the corner of the fireplace, it seemed like many others did too. You saw Remus over the crowd, on his own by the stairs to your dorms and a strange determination overtook you. As you breezed past the guests to reach him, for what you didn’t yet know, you slid past a few couples making out in the corner, Lily and James included. You rolled your eyes at them, smirking a little. Your distraction, though, appearing to be fatal as you rushed straight into a taller Hufflepuff student. He was apologetic at the decent-sized firewhiskey stain on your jumper, but you just shook your head with reluctant forgiveness. You’d just have to change.

“It’s okay!” you swore, walking backward towards the staircase, now out of sight from the party. With a sigh, you turned around, only to bump into someone else, Remus this time, the man you’d been looking for.

“Hey,” you breathed, a smile immediately growing on your face. He was surprised at first, his eyes wide, but then he relaxed as his hands braced on your elbows.

“You alright there, Y/N?” he asked, a smile playing on his pinked lips, amusement in his eyes. As you looked at him, you noticed the golden shades in the green of his eyes and the way his freckles were actually scattered all over her face, not just his cheeks and you bit your lip at the sight.

“You seem a little…” he trailed off, tongue poking between his lips. “Tipsy.”

“I’m excellent,” you grinned, happier still when he matched your expression. “I was looking for you!”

“Me?” he frowned a little, his lips still curved upwards. You nodded, suddenly very aware of how close you were. You were grateful at the firewhiskey for taking the edge off, not sure you’d be as carefree in this situation if you were sober.

“Remus, you’re very pretty.”

His eyebrows shot up at your words and his mouth, you were sure, you’d been staring, morphed into an ‘o’ shape. You smiled. Slowly and surely, you leant forward, close enough to feel his breath on your face, your noses centimetres from each other. You bit your lip, looking up into his eyes.

“I think you’re very pretty too,” he said softly, each syllable a breath of air on your skin. The shock had drained from his features and it left behind something else entirely, you thought, as you noticed the gentle curve of his lips and the strange look in his eye.

“I’d like to kiss you,” he said, his fingers curling around your elbows.

You opened your mouth slightly, leaning forward again, feeling all the confidence three shots of firewhiskey had given you.

“I wish you would.”

Your lips barely even brushed his when you lurched backwards, panting in shock.

“Mooney!” Sirius yelled, very obviously worse for wear. He turned to you, clearly unaware that he’d interrupted anything, and his smile grew. “Y/N! What are you two doing here?”

You licked your lip, blinking away whatever haze you’d been in, avoiding eye contact with Remus, who you felt staring straight at you.

“I just- I need to- I should change.”

With that, you disappeared up the stairs and into your room, not really listening to Sirius’ loud shouting as you slammed the door behind you and rested your back against it, huffing a little. You rocked your head back to rest against the wood and screwed your eyes shut. Had you been about to kiss Remus? Had he been about to kiss you?

Remus didn’t bring it up the next time you saw him, and you told yourself you were grateful; you were a prefect, and there was a war starting, and the last thing either of you needed was to be distracted by feelings you weren’t sure of. You hoped he’d forgotten about it, but when he ended up casually playing with your hair, you were hard-pressed to convince yourself otherwise. You’d been sitting by the Black Lake, soaking in the view of Hogwarts together before your Christmas holidays, all six of you in a circle. Somehow, you’d landed with your head nestled in Remus’ lap. Before the incident, that would’ve been a common occurrence, but now, now it felt different. Especially when, between long, delicate fingers, he started playing with the strands of your hair, plaiting them gently together.

Your eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, enjoying yourself far too much. When you opened them, though, Remus was staring down at you with an unreadable expression. His cheeks flushed at being caught but neither of you looked away. The familiar lump in your throat returned as you looked into his warm eyes and you realised that you wouldn’t have been able to say anything if you wanted to, the words catching on your tongue. He opened his mouth to speak and you felt a strange amount of dread; whatever he was going to say wouldn’t be good for your denial or your friendship. And so, you did the only thing you could think of. You sat up abruptly, heaving yourself to your feet and then you all but ran off, sending a half-hearted excuse to your friends behind you.

To say the whole situation was killing you would’ve been dramatic, but not actually an understatement. You sat there at a desk in the library, rubbing your eyes as you tried to concentrate on your Charms Through the Ages textbook. Unsurprisingly, your effort seemed to be proving futile. You just couldn’t shake the idea of Remus and you nearly kissing from your mind, or the way he’d looked at you by the lake. The chair opposite you dragged out loudly, quickly, and had it been anyone else, you would’ve been grateful at the interruption to your daydreams. Just your luck though, you looked up into soft green eyes and an almost frenzied expression.

“Why are you avoiding me?” he asked, forgoing small talk with a frown. You blinked.

“I’m not-“

“Ever since,” he blushed, “the Christmas party, you’ve been avoiding me.”

“That’s not true – we were on the grass together.”

“And then you ran away.”

You sighed at his deadpan look, rubbing your eye again.

“The party was a mistake,” you lied.

“No, it wasn’t.”

Your eyes snapped to his in surprise, watching his determined scowl closely. You weren’t used to Remus being so assertive; not to say that something didn’t stir at his direct tone.

“I thought it was to you,” he nodded, swallowing. “I really did, because why wouldn’t it be, I’m just your friend. But then, then, you look at me like that and I know you feel it too.”

The blood rushed from your face at his words. Were you really that transparent?

“Remus-“

You made the mistake of looking into his eyes and your mouth went dry. A shudder ran up your back as you coughed quietly, looking down.

“Remus, we’re just friends-“

He huffed, crossing his arms and leaning forward on the table.

“Respectfully, Y/N, and I mean this respectfully, that’s bollocks and you know it. Friends-“ he exhaled shakily. “Friends don’t look at each other like we look at each other.”

“Remus…” you pulled your top lip between your teeth, knowing he was right and not being able to stop yourself. “I don’t think of you like that.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“Rem.”

You bit the inside of your cheek.

“Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t.”

You thought for a second about things you shouldn’t do. You shouldn’t hurt your best friend. You shouldn’t distract yourself from your duties. You shouldn’t be talking this loudly in the library. You shouldn’t say what you were about to.

“I don’t like you, Remus. I don’t know why you think I would.”

To think, your heart broke at your words, and so you could only imagine what happened to his. An almost pained expression took over him before he resigned, nodding and leaning back. He clenched his jaw once and turned to face the side. Both of you knew it was a lie, but that didn’t matter. You’d already hurt him. He shot you one last look, a hurt glance before he stood up and walked out, leaving his chair out and you on the brink of tears. You let yourself sit there for a few moments, your chest uncomfortably tight, before you wiped your eyes and got back to your Charms textbook, not entirely focused.

Your logic, it seemed, had been monumentally flawed. Whilst being with Remus would probably be a distraction to your studies and duties, not admitting your feelings and losing your best friend was even more of a complication. The others probably knew something was up with you two, despite the façade of normalcy: you and Remus had always had an easy chemistry, a precursor, you guessed, to your feelings, and now it just sort of seemed empty. You talked to each other, barely, but there was none of the usual spark between you and it was slowly but surely draining the life out of you. The dynamic of the whole group had been thrown off and it felt like nothing could actually make you feel better. You’d been stewing on the catastrophe of your situation all day when you spotted him in the corridor, alone, no doubt preparing to leave for Christmas. Only after you’d shouted his name did you consider that maybe a plan would’ve been a good idea. You were tired, though, of planning ahead.

“Remus!”

He turned around, eyebrows raised and lips parted.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his face sinking when he remembered that ‘you and him’ weren’t actually ‘you and him’ right now.

“No, not really.”

You had no idea where you were going with it, but there was a burning sensation in your chest you needed to get rid of.

“You were right, actually.”

He frowned.

“We’re not friends.”

Not your finest word choice.

“I don’t know if we were ever friends,” you persevered, regardless. “Because I wake up, and I think of you. And I go to bed, and I think of you. And I thought telling you that would complicate things, but-“

You exhaled, grateful to be seeing a soft smile on his face.

“There’s nothing complicated about us. It’s always just been us.”

You swallowed, somehow both impossibly nervous and impossibly relieved at your confession. He didn’t reply and your stomach sank; your head flooded with ideas of missing your chance and your cruelness ruining things.

“Remus, I-“

You didn’t get to finish. His lips were suddenly against yours and your words were trapped in your throat as you tried to process just how right this all was. You relaxed into him, hands lifting instinctively to cup his jaw. He pulled away just as quickly as he’d leaned in, your lips following him to prolong the contact. He wet his lips as you felt him grin beneath your hands, his palms reaching forward to rest on your hips lightly.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he admitted, his cheeks turning rosy.

harry potter tag list:

@creator-appreciator

@loveisblindness​

@decadentwastelandtrash - it won’t let me tag you :(

@xinyourdreamsx​

@brainlesspasta​

@hariosborn​

[arthurmorgansleftlung]

Secret Cupid 2021 (Part 2)

This @rdr-secret-cupid is for @outlawsworld ! I’m so sorry about it being a little late. I really hope that you like this, I really tried to incorporate horses and your appearance the best that I could without being overbearing.

Sorry about any formatting issues, I’m on mobile!

Happy (belated) Valentine’s Day!

——————

The Way He Touched You

Arthur Morgan x Reader

Word Count: 2,350

Warnings: None really, but there is briefly some hostile words and behaviors aimed at the reader.

You were a successful seductress and thief. You were making hundreds, sometimes thousands of money from tempting big burly oafs. They always figured you were no threat, with your small stature and physique. And don’t forget about your oh-so-charming Southern Belle act! These men were fools, and you played them like a fiddle.

Your mistake was staying in the same town and seducing every man who lived there. You no longer had an audience. No bites. No money. Until one day, when a new man rode into town on the finest horse you’d ever seen. He was loaded. But he was big, and strong.

You seduced the man, tricking him into buying you two a night at the nicest hotel around. Once you made your way into the room, however, that’s where things went wrong.

You’d gotten to the point in your routine where you would normally incapacitate your victim. Normally you would find an object close by, like a candle stick or a boot that had been kicked off. Well, when you smashed a glass dish over the man’s head, he did not pass out. Rather, he started bleeding profusely and screaming at you. You bolted out of the hotel, bursting through the door and jumping on the first horse you saw: his.

With a quick kick to the sides the Arabian horse went into a full gallop, the sound of its hooves hitting the ground mixed in with the angry yells of the man you just failed to rob.

Pretty soon, the law and the townspeople were on you. But your stolen horse was faster than them. Eventually it seemed that they had given up. You couldn’t hear or see anything. You slowed the horse and dismounted, giving it a nice pat and an apple (which was also stolen).

You must have fallen asleep, because when you woke up to the sound of thundering hooves and angry men the sky was a different shade of blue. Luckily the horse you’d stolen, who you now recognized was a girl, was still nearby, grazing on the overgrown grass. Unfortunately, she was not a very camouflaged horse. She was the brightest shade of white with a pink nose and blue eyes. The mob found you easily.

You ran and mounted the mare, kicking her to make her go. The horse bolted, and you made decent ground, but the howling of nearby wolves spooked her and she threw you off.

“Fuck!“ You were panicking. You had no other means of escaping. Horse theft was punishable by hanging. Is this how you would go? Suddenly a horse skidded and stopped beside you.

“Those friends of yours?” The man asked.

“No! Can you get me outta here?” You were on the verge of crying. You didn’t want to die.

“I can try! Hop on up here, miss.” You hoped you could trust this man. With a prayer you hopped onto the back of the man’s horse, and after grabbing hold of his shirt you were off. His horse galloped faster than the Arabian had for you, perhaps he was a kind and tender man with his horse.

The man, whose name you had learned was Arthur, took you into a concealed part of the wilderness. You were scared of where he was bringing you, but more scared of what would happen if you jumped off. You saw the dim light of a campfire, the sound of people talking, horses snorting back and forth as they noticed a stranger approaching.

You found yourself in a camp full of people. Arthur lead you over to a tent, where a man with jet black hair and a mustache greeted you. You told him your story, and he laughed and recommended you become friends with a girl named Karen. Apparently she was in a similar “business” as you.

That was almost a full year ago now.

Now you were a dutiful helper around camp. You of course did the regular chores that Ms. Grimshaw assigned you, but you had also become the caretaker of the gang’s horses.

Except Arthur’s. He insisted on taking care of his mare. The one time he had found you taking care of his horse he didn’t talk to you the rest of the day! You found it strange but you respected his wishes.

Currently you were grooming Taima, Charles’ Appaloosa mare. You were running a brush through her black and white fur, giving her encouraging words as you went on. You had finished your other chores: washing and drying clothes, washing bowls for the evening stew; the same old routine. A calm breeze drifted through the camp, causing leaves to flap around and Taima’s man to flow, ever so slightly.

You noticed the sound of hooves alongside the rustling of the flora around you. Arthur was riding in. He had been gone a couple of days on a hit. His horse looked exhausted, covered in sweat and mud.

“Hey, Arthur.” You greeted him. He tipped his hat towards you. He hitched his horse and walked towards you.

“Would you mind givin’ my old girl a brush?”

“I thought you didn’t like me tendin’ to your horse.” He sensed the slight attitude in your voice, you’d been holding a slight, although stupid, grudge since Arthur went silent on you.

“Please, (Y/N), she’s filthy. I can’t tend to ‘er right now...” Arthur headed off to Dutch’s tent, followed by the closing of the flaps. You gave Taima a once over; she looked shiny and clean. You headed over to Arthur’s mare, who nickered in response to you patting her hindquarters.

You gently brushed her, caked mud falling off with ease. She would need a real bath to return to her solid black color. You cleaned her as best as you could. Although her white socks were still a beige color, she looked pristine everywhere else.

Arthur soon returned, letting out a low whistle at the sight of his horse. Of course he didn’t like that he didn’t do it himself, but he praised you on your grooming work.

“You wanna go for a ride, (Y/N)?”

“Why?” You eyed him suspiciously.

“Do you wanna go for a ride or not?”

Without another word you got up on Arthur’s horse and wrapped your arms under his, your hands resting on his shoulders. The mare trotted into the woods, and once you all reached the main road you took off towards Valentine.

When you arrived, Arthur hitched his horse up outside of the stable. Was he buying treats? You followed him inside the stable, where he was greeted by the owner who was eyeing you suspiciously.

“Whatcha think about that one?” Arthur pointed towards a palomino American Standardbred.

“That’s a fine horse,” you said quietly. You didn’t have the money for such a creature, which you voiced with Arthur.

“‘Scuse me sir, I’d like to purchase this horse for my wife!” Arthur gestured towards the golden horse. Wife? Wife? Your face flushed red with anxiety and embarrassment. Arthur paid for the horse, your horse. He got you basic tack as well, and made sure you were good to ride. You didn’t know what to say.

You began to leave the stable, but the owner called after you.

“Wait! Here’s a brush and some treats... for... you...” A realization had been made. “Why— sir! That ain’t your wife! That’s the whore that stole all the men’s money in this town!”

“Don’t you call my wife no such thing.” Arthur warned the man, his hand gripping

his holster. You were flabbergasted, both at Arthur’s new title for you and that you had been caught... again.

The man grabbed at the skirt of your dress, trying to pull you off of your horse. You kicked at him, “Stop it!” You hissed at him, glaring him down. You weren’t scary at all, but perhaps Arthur’s presence gave you a leg up in intimidation. He grabbed at you again, his dirty hand gripping your thigh through the fabric. Without hesitation Arthur drew his pistol and shot the man, blood splatter making its impression on your dress and skin. Now you were certain your dress was soiled.

“Let’s go.” Arthur grumbled. Arthur called for his horse and mounted up. You both calmly left the stable, but you felt like you were burning alive with all of the eyes on you two. You could hear a familiar voice, the sheriff. As soon as you and Arthur had made it close to the outskirts, you bolted. You made a detour and headed towards Emerald Ranch, to avoid giving directions to camp if somebody followed you.

The sheriff and his deputies followed you, but gave up easily. Your horse was kind to you, and easy to handle. But he began to spook. You held on tightly to the reins, causing the horse even more irritation.

“Let loose on the reins, keep your ass in the saddle!” Arthur guided you. You already knew this, but you tried your best to follow his directions. Your horse did calm down after a moment, snorting at you after the ordeal. Arthur smiled smugly at you.

“So I’m your wife now, huh?” You teased Arthur, who was flushed a crimson red. He hadn’t really thought about that.

“In Valentine you are.”

If only he knew how you felt about it. You didn’t push it. You thanked Arthur for your horse, who you’d decided to call Flavian, after his golden appearance. Arthur thought the name was weird, but didn’t question it. The two of you rode off towards camp, traveling through the oil fields to get back. It was a long ride, but a safe one. The hot sun burned your skin, turning you pink. You didn’t think you’d be in the sun for so long, you hadn’t really prepared.

In a daze, you felt something hit your chest. Arthur’s hat. You looked at him, his head already facing forward.

“You’re turnin’ red. Just wear it for now.” You put on the hat, the scent of him forcing its way into your nose and causing a familiar heat to rush to your face. You reached the wooded surroundings of the camp, just as the sun began to set.

After you’d arrived Arthur grabbed a bowl of Pearson’s stew and retreated to his tent. You grabbed a bowl as well and followed Arthur, you needed to give his hat back. When you got close enough, Arthur was sitting and holding his head in his hands, frustrated.

“Arthur?”

“Yes, Miss (Y/N)?” He seemed startled.

“Your hat...” You pulled the hat off of your head, reaching it out for him to take. He looked up at you, beet red. He reached for the hat and gently took it from your hand. “Are you okay...?” You stepped closer, into his tent. He seemed a bit concerned about this, his eyebrows knitting together.

“I’m fine, Miss (Y/N). Just tired. Confused.”

“Confused about what, Arthur?”

“You.”

“Well, what about me?” You kind of laughed, trying to conceal any nervousness in your voice.

“Well, I— It’s not important, (Y/N).”

You silently took a deep breath. You stepped closer to Arthur and sat down beside him on his cot. He recoiled a bit. Ouch.

“What, Arthur?” You were hurt at how repulsed he seemed to be by your presence. Sure, he bought you a horse, but probably because Dutch or Hosea told him to.

“The way that man touched you today. I didn’t like it.” He mumbled. He knew of your past, how you used to tempt men. What did Arthur mean?

The thought of you ever being touched by somebody filled Arthur with a quiet anger. He was jealous today. Jealous and protective and possessive. Over a woman that wasn’t his to begin with. He had been for months, and it worried him.

“I didn’t like him touchin’ you. I don’t like... I don’t like anybody touchin’ you!”

“Arthur.” You brought your small frame closer to him. This time he didn’t recoil. You turned your head to look at him, his eyes avoiding you. You brought a gentle hand to his forearm, his bright turquoise eyes met your green ones. “Arthur I’m in love with you... how could you not tell? Ever since you saved me...”

“You can’t be in love with me...” Arthur laughed with a hint of sadness. He turned to face you, your knees touching. He brought a calloused hand to your cheek, looking like he wanted so desperately to kiss you, but pulled himself away. He seemed ashamed.

“But I am. I am in love with you, Arthur Morgan.” You looked down at the ground, fearful of what he might respond with.

How could you be so vulnerable? How could you just tell him you’ve been in love with him for a year? What now? Were you going to tell him how every time he left on a mission that you’d be so sick to your stomach with worry that you were scared you’d vomit? How you felt a twinge of jealousy and then guilt when he interacted with any of the girls? How every time you saw him you’d try to take a picture in your mind, just in case?

Tears pricked at your eyes. Oh, great, you were crying now. Arthur lifted your head back up and wiped his thumb across your cheek, wiping your tears away. He smiled softly at you.

“We can talk about this later, (Y/N)... I can’t stand seein’ you cry.”

You latched onto Arthur, in the tightest hug you could manage. He brought his big arms around you, careful not to squeeze too tight.

You don’t remember much of anything after. Arthur had been right, you were both exhausted from the heat today.

The next morning you woke up, still encased in Arthur’s arms. It was still early, nobody else had woken up but you were sure somebody had seen the two of you. Arthur also seemed to be awake, and ran his fingers through your hair.

“I love you too, (Y/N).”

[finitevoid]

fairytales for children with no souls, an addendum: a requiem for genevieve grimhilde. read the rest here.

grimhilde pets evie’s black hair and whispers to her. whispers to evie about auradon, about princes and kings and golden bejeweled crowns and velvet-silk-cashmere gloves that reach your elbows. and grimhilde dresses evie in soiled clothes hastily cleaned in a bathtub full of old bleach because its the best they have, and she pets her black hair and cooes when evie pulls on her best pair of cotton gloves.

evie’s favorite person in the whole world is her sister genevieve. genevieve has dyed-blue hair and brown eyes that glitter in the gray light of the island of the lost and evie wants to be just like her someday. to be as graceful, as cool and calm and collected as genevieve. she calls her sister “jenny” and her sister calls her “eve” and they whisper the nicknames like a well-kept secret.

grimhilde pets evie’s dyed blue hair and tells her things. “men don’t like to feel intimidated,” she tells her. “you must keep your intelligence close to your chest, where they cannot see it.” she brushes evie’s hair well into the night and helps her dye it blue with berries and chemicals wasted from auradon. “a man must think you are easily swayed. that you are soft, malleable. able to be molded.” and grimhilde’s eyes glint silver in the light as she whispers, “you must never let him know that he is the one being molded by you.”

men hold all the power, she is told. she must allow men to think they have power over her, when in reality, they do not. she must marry a prince and turn him into a puppet-on-a-string. she will whisper ideas into his ear with such ease he thinks they were his own. she will be the one to order trade, to begin wars, to control the populace, all by pulling a silly man’s face close to her’s and effortlessly swaying him to her ideas. all the power with none of the glory. she must marry a prince, a powerful prince. so that when he is crowned ruler, the true king, controlling the kingdom from the shadows? is evie.

jenny never talks about princes or kings or riches and power. jenny always talks to evie about fairytales. she reads storybooks to her and points at the drawings waterlogged pages. but evie never cares about the drawings, no. she listens to jenny describe the perfect world of auradon, with its rich colors and thriving wildlife. she seems to spin the image of fields and fields of flowers in the air, uses her voice to create the picture of the richest of red apples, held to perfect lips and ineffably poisoned.

jenny has never met snow white, but evie can tell that she wants to. “she’s our sister, in a sense,” she explains. “she’s a queen now... living with her prince charming in auradon.”

“have you ever been to auradon?” evie asks, because she is still young and naive and thinks that such a thing is possible.

jenny’s laugh is like bells, but her eyes are drooping with sadness. “no, eve.” she continues to smile, despite the tenseness in her shoulders. jenny smiles through it all. whenever grimhilde rages at them, screams at her own reflection, jenny would hold evie close and hum a lullaby in her ears, smiling.

she smiles at the boy next door, who had sullen brown eyes and curly salt-and-pepper hair when he comes to their tower with blood spilt all over himself. his name is diego, and jenny would smile as she tended to his wounds. would smile as she cupped his face when traitorous tears fell, and that was always when evie left to go spend time in the garden, granting them privacy.

jenny tried so hard to keep up their garden. “we’re witches,” she told evie, once, a hand-woven basket hung over her arm as she stood over the meager flower bed. “it’s customary we keep a garden.”

it was mostly weeds, but jenny would stay out in the garden until late at night, pressing her hands together in fruitless prayer and desperately trying to call upon magic she didn’t have to make flowers grow. “we are supposed to be connected to nature,” jenny whispered, once. fell on her knees beside the flower bed, wiping tears as they fell down her cheeks. “we are supposed to be one with life.”

evie did not say that their mother was hardly “one with life” when she poisoned snow white with an apple. maybe we are cursed, evie thinks. cursed by nature to never grow another flower, for our mother’s sins. she forsook life, and so it forsakes her in return.

but her theory is dashed when, one day, a single flower peeks through the sea of weeds. it is white, and fragile, its veined petals swaying in the hot, garbage-smelling breeze. “you are like this flower,” jenny told her. holding her close, her voice was hoarse with something like terror, her chapped lips pressed to evie’s temple. “beauty among garbage.”

“if that is the analogy,” evie replied, conerned by her sister’s distress. “then you are more like this flower than I.”

and jenny began to weep, sobs shaking her shoulders as she cried. evie tried to wipe her sister’s tears, but they continued to fall, cascading down her face and plonking onto the white flower’s petals.

the tears watered the flower, and after that day, it grew another bud.

“who is the fairest of them all?” grimhilde asks, and it is a question she has asked a million times before, but there is something different, now. something metal in her voice, something cold in her eyes. genevieve has graduated highschool and evie has only just started it, and they stand at attention in the dining room like soldiers, their hands held behind their backs.

“you.” genevieve says, and there is a cruelty in the way she says it, rage hanging around her shoulders, a cold undercurrent in her tone. “it will always be you.”

grimhilde takes a step toward genevieve, and grips her chin in her fingers. “remember your place, girl.” she says, all haughty pride and cool rage. “i put you into this world, and don’t you ever forget that.”

“you are the fairest.” genevieve says. “i don’t want to be the fairest.” her voice breaks on the word ‘want’.

“yes,” grimhilde murmurs. “i will be.”

evie doesn’t remember what she did that night. but she woke up to the iron smell of blood. clouds and smog covered the sky outside her window.

jenny was covered in the iron-steel-tang of hot-red-maroon blood of her own throat. her own gore covered her nightgown and the bedsheets, staining them so thoroughly it would never wash out. her throat was- was cut, torn, shredded, destroyed. her throat was a gaping open wound, still oozing gore. a dagger sat next to her sister’s face, glinting in the candlelight. her eyes stared dully at the ceiling, unseeing. her face was purely and utterly blank.

diego de vil helps bury her, next to her flower bed.

evie does not weep. she is not wracked with sobs. she is not consumed with despair like the pretty perfect doll princesses of the storybooks.

she is filled with a white hot, all-consuming, vicious rage. she shakes with the force of it. it burns beneath her skin, lighting up her core like magma, like lava, like fire, slow-moving and murderous. the rage is agony, burning, powerful agony. it fills her from the inside, fills her up, up, up, until she cannot contain its burning, and it pours out of her from every angle like vomit. but instead of snarling and shouting, she smiles. she forces her muscles to tense into that of a disarming smile, never letting it fall, never letting it falter.

evie takes the dagger used to murder her sister and sets onto the town. she asks around, finds out who grimhilde paid to do the deed, and she finds him. in a backwater house somewhere in downtown, and she sinks his own dagger into his throat as he sleeps. he awakes with a gurgle, stares up at her in horror, and then dies in his own bed. covered in his own gore, his sheets stained so red it would never wash out.

flowers bloom over jenny’s grave, and evie spits on them. how dare they only bloom after jenny died covered in her own gore. how dare they ignore her prayers, her cries, her tears, only to appear over her corpse. how dare they take suffering so violent and disgusting and turn it into something beautiful. jenny deserved for the world to be bathed in the same suffering she felt in her last moments. parasites, the damn things are, evie thinks. feeding on her corpse for nutrients. sucking up what little is left of genevieve grimhilde.

there was no peace, no beauty. only agony. hot, burning suffering. evie would make the world feel her sister’s agony one person at a time if she had to. she would make herself feel the agony of her sister’s suffering. she would suffer, in her honor. in her memory.

(it was the least evie deserved.)

evie smears snow white’s storybook in red. she covers it in the red stain until evie can taste the iron and she sinks the dagger into the pages again, and again, and again. she slashes and rips and tears until nothing is left but puply, bloodstained scraps of paper. she dumps the mangled storybook over the flowers, and prays to any god that deigns to listen that it kills them.

it does not. the flowers flourish, the only garden on the isle. they grow high above the gore, absorb the paper and iron-steel-tang-hot-red-maroon blood into their veins and grow higher, and higher. they tower over evie’s reach, dancing in the breeze and reaching toward the sky. reaching for escape, in auradon. evie spits on them.

“who is the fairest of them all?” grimhilde asks, gray sunlight filtering in through the windows.

evie forces her face muscles to tense into that of a smile, hands clutched dutifully in front of her. “you, mother.” she tugs the smile a little wider, a little happier. “always you.”

grimhilde fixes evie with an appraising expression, until her wrinkled, aging face curls into a cruel smile. her face, stained permanently from bleach being smeared on it, stretches and tugs into a wicked smirk. “you hate me, darling.” grimhilde chuckles. “and you should. your smile is perfect.”

she pets evie’s dyed-blue hair as she passes, dress swishing around her ankles, her other arm flourishing. “nobody will be any the wiser, if you use that smile. you make a perfect grimhilde, indeed.” she whispers.