youlass

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

I've been trying for three days to try to start a piece about what happened in our last Curse of Strahd game and tbh, it's killing me that I'm struggling so hard to have a good angle to start from because I'm SOOOOO thrilled by the exact way that things shook out and I wanna!! talk about it!!! but in writing form so there's CONTEXT

[words-writ-in-starlight]

day 22: "demon"

It’s not the kind of magic he was taught to do. It’s—sloppy. That’s what his teacher would have called it. Wizards don’t do blood magic. They’re better than that. Blood magic, soul magic, is a slapdash combination of bargaining and luck, and wizards don’t do it.

Bren thinks, with a huff of humorless laughter, that he’s barely a wizard anymore, anyway. He doesn’t have his spellbook. He doesn’t have any components, not even paper. He has the knowledge still contained in his memory, after eleven years of dust and fog were cleared out, but nothing else.

And his memory is not enough.

So here he is, with a knife and only the vaguest idea of what he’s doing, but a very clear and specific idea of what he wants.

The ruins of his home are nothing but overgrown stone, by now. Most of the charred wood is even gone. His parents are buried somewhere nearby.

He hasn’t been able to bear to go find them. Just standing here, in what should be the kitchen, with the scrubbed table standing on its four sturdy legs and his mother with her hair tied up in a cloth to keep it out of her face, makes his stomach roll with—grief? Madness? Something between?

Rage, maybe.

Bren takes a breath, trying to steel himself. The air tastes like ash and cooking meat, even though it’s a clear autumn evening with the sun setting in red and gold, and before, when he was walking up the road with his head down, the wind tasted of nothing more sinister than the apple orchard apparently still thriving to the north. It sticks in his throat, and he starts coughing, choking on nothing. The only reason he isn’t throwing up, he’s aware, is that he hasn’t eaten in probably about four days, by now.

His hands are trembling so hard that the tip of the knife shakes, when he brings it up.

Bren drives the point of the knife into the skin of his forearm, the vulnerable inside of his elbow, and drags the blade ruthlessly down toward his wrist. It’s a very sharp knife. It cuts through skin, muscle, and scar alike, leaving blood free to spurt in a brilliant red arc and splash on the circle he drew in the dirt. It hurts. Bren can’t really bring himself to notice.

The attentive student in the back of Bren’s mind notes, clinically, that he’s going to die if this doesn’t work. The blood is too red, too quick—he’s cut all the way down to an artery. If someone—something—doesn’t find the offering of blood and desperation tempting enough to come investigate, Bren is going to bleed to death.

He wonders, watching his blood drip from his fingers, if the town will know who he is, when they find him. Maybe. His hair is still red, under the dirt. They might remember his father’s bright blue eyes. They’ll think it’s—tragic, the orphan fallen on hard times, coming back to die here.

The idea makes Bren’s stomach revolt again. He should have written a confession, if he was going to do this. He can’t bear the thought of the town finding him and casting him as the victim of this story, rather than a willing protégé of the villain. He doesn’t deserve that. His parents don’t deserve that. He’s—

He's too dizzy to stand, suddenly. Bren hits his knees clumsily, still holding his open arm over the circle, then leans onto his side, supporting himself on his intact hand. He’s breathless, suddenly, like he’s been running. There’s a lot of blood pooling around him now, filling the little trenches of his circle, and still more gushes from his arm, surging with every beat of his racing heart. Black spots are beginning to dance in his vision.

Bren’s hand sinks as his strength dwindles, untl his fingertips are resting on the edge of his circle. His arm doesn’t really hurt anymore—he’s just cold. Cold to his bones.

“Please,” Bren mumbles, closing his eyes. “Please.”

A hand reaches out and grips him by the jaw.

Bren’s eyes flash open, and he stares up at the figure standing over him.

“Good evening,” the figure says, still holding Bren’s jaw in an iron grip. He has an accent Bren can’t quite place, and a smooth light voice, the kind of voice that suggests the speaker might have a nice touch for poetry. “Next time, you might like to address your letter, so to speak. What do you want, little one?”

Once, Bren prided himself on his quick tongue and confident handle on any situation. That was a long time ago, now, but it was also just yesterday, and he can’t imagine where that gift is hiding when he needs it so badly.

“Who—are you?” Bren manages to get out. His voice is a little mangled from the figure’s hold on his face, but, he notices in some surprise, it’s strong and solid, not weak from blood loss like it was. He can feel his fingers again.

“Who am I?” The figure releases Bren and straightens up to his full height. He could very plausibly be offended, but the cock of one eyebrow looks almost bemused. “The question is, who are you, and, as I asked, what do you want from me?”

From where Bren is crumpled on the ground, the figure looks enormously tall, cloaked in a mantle made of such dark purple that it’s nearly black. The mantle stops about six inches above the blood-drenched circle, falling all the way down to hide the figure’s feet where they must be floating there. His hands are hidden inside the cloth, now, and Bren has to crane his neck to see his face—a fine-boned and elegant face, not at all what he expected, snowy hair cropped short on the sides, with pointed ears dripping silver and jewels. He looks passably like a drow, actually, except for the eyes. Bren should be too far from his face to see the details, but something about those eyes, empty black plunging away into the dark, ringed with only the thinnest corona of white light, makes him feel a twist of vertigo, like he’s just been pushed off a cliff.

“My name is Bren Aldric Ermendrud,” Bren says, shakily pushing himself up to his feet. Standing, he discovers that his arm is not healed. Instead, the blood is frozen in mid-fall, as if somehow time has simply—stopped, all around him. He looks away from the wound that will probably kill him, and back into those awful, vertigo-inducing eyes. “And I want to make a deal with a demon.”

The figure smiles, a little, as if amused. “Well, tragically, I am not a demon. I am a Hand of the Nine Hells, though, will that suit your needs, Bren Aldric Ermendrud?” He rolls the name off his tongue slowly, feeling each syllable, and it rings like something newly minted in that foreign accent. Bren gives a stiff nod. “How fortunate. And what do you want from that deal? Riches? Power?”

Bren closes his fists. The arm he slashed open is a little sluggish to respond, but he manages it. “I don’t care about riches,” he says, spitting the words like poison. “Or power. I just want to kill Trent Ikithon, and anyone who helped him do this.”

The Hand of the Nine Hells—blinks. Then he’s leaning in toward Bren. Strangely, he’s not much taller than Bren, even floating off the ground like this, but he moves like a viper, so quick and fluid that Bren doesn’t even have time to realize he might need to dodge before that iron grip has him again. Then the Hand is forcing his face up higher, looking into his eyes as if seeking Bren’s thoughts. His other hand drops down and grabs Bren’s intact arm, and it’s only then that Bren realizes that, on instinct, he’s still holding the knife. He drops it before the Hand can make him do it by force, and tries valiantly not to start retching with the wrenching nausea of looking so long into the Hand’s eyes.

“Interesting,” the Hand says, releasing him. “Why not use your own magic to hunt down this—Ikithon?”

Bren’s mouth twists into a grim smile. “I am not powerful enough,” he says plainly. “I have no natural gift, except to learn quickly and well, and wizards must be taught.” He makes a vague gesture with one hand. “When my old teacher is one of the most powerful men in my kingdom, directly supervising the only magical academy—where do I go for that teaching?”

“Most wizards consider what you’re doing here to be no better than cheating,” the Hand says, still studying Bren with an expression that looks like sincere fascination.

“I did what I was told was the right thing, in the right way, once.” Bren swallows, forcing down the memory of smoke, and barely manages to resist the urge to stare down at his feet like a convicted murderer making a final confession. “And I destroyed—everything. If I am cheating now, to fix it, then—so be it.”

The Hand makes an attentive hm noise. “So, to review. You wish for help in killing an archmage. In order to achieve this lofty goal, you were prepared to bleed yourself to death on a summoning circle that you failed to even address to a specific fiend, so you are either fiercely determined or outrageously reckless, very possibly both. If I give you the help you desire, what will you give me in return?”

“Anything,” Bren says. “As long as you collect after Ikithon is dead.”

That eyebrow shoots up again, higher this time. “Have a care, Bren Aldric Ermendrud. Offering anything in these deals is how people become bound to something they don’t much care for.” The Hand is already smiling, though, a thin, close-lipped smile of satisfaction that Bren knows, knows means that the deal is all but closed.

“My soul, then,” Bren says. “You give me the power to kill Ikithon and his collaborators, and I give you my soul, and any services rendered that you might want, before you collect. And,” he adds quickly, “if I die before Ikithon does, the deal is void. I have to live to kill him, or you get nothing.”

“Clever boy,” the Hand says in a pleased murmur, and holds out one elegant hand, which Bren sees, now, is tipped with long silvered claws. “Those terms are acceptable to me.”

Bren reaches out on instinct to shake the offered hand, holding out his wounded arm simply because it matches up correctly. Instead of taking his hand, though, the Hand moves in another one of those impossibly quick lunges. His clawed hand grips Bren’s bare arm at the elbow, and all the numbed nerves in his lacerated arm scream. Bren screams along with them, helpless to do anything else as the Hand of the Nine Hells drags his palm down the wound, pouring pure pain into his blood.

Bren is still screaming as the darkness begins to close over his vision again, and he feels a strong arm wrap around his shoulders and lower him down to the ground.

The pain starts to ebb as the Hand lays him down on his back among the ruins of his home. His ears are ringing too badly to hear if he’s still screaming, but he can hear a voice ringing through his skull, as if speaking directly into his ear.

My apologies, the Hand’s smooth poet’s voice murmurs, but I’m no healer by nature, and perhaps it will help encourage you not to call on me in such a drastic way a second time. To make up for it, I’ve given you something that will help you hide, if you’re planning to assassinate a member of the Cerberus Assembly.

Then the Hand is gone.

The man who used to be Bren Aldric Ermendrud opens his eyes, and stares up at the first stars appearing overhead.

“Caleb Widogast,” he says, turning the words over on his tongue the same way the Hand had turned over his old name. They don’t ring. They aren’t strange. It’s a name that fits him as if he was born to it, grew up with it, molded himself to it every step of the way to this place.

It's a strangely generous gift, from a denizen of the Nine Hells.

Caleb looks down at his arm, where every scar and blemish from his training has been stripped away. Instead, a long, straight knife mark runs from the crease of his elbow to the bend of his wrist, already old and worn, as if he’s had the scar for years, maybe even decades.

He runs a finger down the scar, fascinated, a little numb with shock.

Then he stands up, dazed, and walks outside, and points at a tree across the road.

Caleb Widogast has no spellbook. Caleb Widogast has no components.

And yet, a mote of purple-black energy leaps from his finger and explodes against the tree with a thunderclap.

The tree topples with a crash.

Caleb puts out a shaky hand to the last standing wall, stones still clinging grimly to their mortar after all this time.

“Mother, father,” he whispers. “I am going to make him pay.”

And then Caleb Widogast turns his back on his home, and walks away.

[rogue-durin-16]

LIFE-SAVING SHARPIE

Summary: Despite being a muggle, Y/n's mother was an expert in divination. She tried to teach Y/n, who saw it as a mere muggle game. But, oh, what a powerful weapon a muggle game can become in the hands of the right witch.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Genre: angst (w/ a good ending)

Tags:

Fred Weasley: @whiskeyn-rain @lumos-solemn

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog

Warnings: injuries, death(ish)

A/N: I'm not saying I'm incapable of writing an angsty ending for a Fred Weasley story, but I'd rather not do that, so here comes a stupid story that occurred to me this morning, enjoy <3

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

"Y/l/n!" I sighed. "Is it true?"

"Your mom is into divination?" George question made me throw my head back in desperation as both twins made their way through the Great Hall to meet me.

I knew that day would be a bumpy one the moment we entered in the Divination classroom. The fact that a muggleborn aced a new subject since class one was strange.

I knew I would have to give some explanation to my friends after. Ron was particularly shocked by the fact that my muggle mother had taught me —against my will, may I say— lots of Divination-related things. I knew Ron, being Ron, would surely tell every soul that would listen about his discovery, but I had hoped for him to wait until the third period at least.

"Secrets spread like wildfire here." I said.

"Are you secretly a soothsayer?"

"Yes, Fred. You see, I have the Sight." I ironically stated, and, seeing this as a perfect opportunity to get closer to the boy I fancied, I added "Want me to read your palm?"

They shared an amused look, fully aware that I was joking. Even in the Wizarding World, divination wasn't something to believe in.

There were supposed to be people able to see the future, such as professor Trelawney, but no student had seen her predict a thing, so she wasn't the best example.

George was the first one to sit down. "Predict my future, oh, you who were gifted with the Sight." I snorted as he laid his palm before my eyes.

I picked his hand on mines, "Hmm..." Fred hovering over my form from behind wasn't ideal for me to concentrate. "Okay so..." I felt one of his hands toying with the clasp of my necklace, brushing my nape. "Will you stop touching my necklace and sit down?" I demanded.

"Yeah Fred, sit down." George reprimanded his brother. "She's trying to see my future." I heard Fred chuntering before he plopped down on my other side, leaning on a tad too close for my liking. "Alright, fortuneteller, is there a love line?"

Of course he would ask about that. "Let's see..." I traced said line, unable to remember to the T what my mom had tried to teach me. "So, the heart line is arched... Which means..."

"That you can't tell a thing?" I slapped Fred's arm.

"Which means he's balanced." I corrected him. "You're able to realize when you need to take care of yourself, and when you should let a someone in." George seemed invested. "You'll have just one serious partner, but they'll be the right one."

"Well, that doesn't sound half bad, huh?" He looked at me with a content smile.

"My turn." Fred spoke, smacking his brother's hand away and replacing it with his left one. "The line of life or whatever." He scooted a bit closer and I felt my heartbeat pick up. "What's my fate?"

"Are you left-handed, Fred?" I questioned with an eyebrow raised, already knowing the answer. "I need your dominant hand." Oh well, that came out wrong.

"Straightforward, are we?" George snorted at his brother's remark as he exchanged hands, turning to straddle the bench to be more comfortable. "Alright, what do you see?" He had leaned on to the point where he only needed to tilt his head down a couple of inches to rest it on my shoulder.

"A hand." I deadpanned, which earned a playful push from him. "Okay, okay— I see..." A puzzled frown took over my gaze. "Wait—" I turned to George. "gimme your hand."

"What?" Fred questioned, shifting his position ever so slightly.

"Uhm..." The frown grew bigger, and I had to remind myself what I was doing was a joke. "You... don't have a lifeline?" I dubiously informed. "I mean— it sorta... Starts? but then it fades away." I widened my eyes and froze, remembering what that meant.

I saw Fred tilting his head slightly. "Is it so bad that you won't tell me what it means?" He asked jokingly in order to lighten my distraught mood.

"It— well, it means that you'll die at a young age." My eyes met his and, despite the amused smile that always danced on his lips, fear slipped out of his orbs now, too.

"Wait what?" George propped himself on his forearms to see his brother's palm. "Can't be. Check mine?"

"I just did, you git." George wasn't even smiling. Maybe he did believe it. "Yours is fine."

The three of us stayed in silence for an instant. Even if none of us believed in divination, the fact that Fred had no lifeline was rather unsettling.

"It's fine." I cleared my throat, turning to my bag and leaving Fred's hand over the table on the process. "Apart from seeing the future, I can fix lifelines." They looked at each other when they saw me grab a sharpie. "Don't move." I demanded, holding down Fred's right hand before tracing a black line where the lifeline was supposed to be. "There. A long, healthy life."

When I looked back at the twins' faces, I saw them ready to laugh. Distress had already left them, and that helped my own evaporate.

"Merlin, Y/n!" Fred dramatically exclaimed. "You've just saved my life!"

"She sure did." George agreed, patting my back.

"Now go and tell Ron to shut up." I didn't want to imagine what would happen if people started to believe I could actually predict their future; the twins were sceptic and even they had somehow fallen for it.

I was so focused on George getting up that I didn't even notice Fred's hand flipping and wrapping around mine.

A soft kiss was placed on my cheek and I felt my face heating up even before meeting Fred's proud grin. "Figured I'd give my savior something in repay." His eyes seemed to flicker to my lips for a second; it's just my imagination, I thought, unaware of Fred's thumb caressing the back of my hand until he removed it in order to stand up.

Four Years Later

FRED'S P. O. V.

One second I was laughing at Percy's joke, and the next one everything was black; not only visually, everything was pitch black in every fucking sense.

I heard nothing, I couldn't touch anything, my voice was gone.

My mind was completely blank, until a thought slipped in my brain: 'you'll die at a young age'.

My head was spiralling now. I was dead. That's what death felt like? Nothing?

Y/n's words kept going on and on, frying my brain. How ironic it was that the voice I would have forever in my mind belonged to the girl I had been in love with since I was fourteen, and the words were what we thought to be her silly prediction.

I had no idea how long it had been, but suddenly I felt it; a tear running down my cheek. A flaming hot tear, burning its way off my face. Then I felt something else, some sort of rope wrapping tight around my right hand and wrist, so tight that it made my pulse speed up.

My pulse.

It dawned on me that my heart was beating fast against my chest. It was beating.

I needed to breathe.

"FRED!" Someone forced my eyes open; It was Percy. I couldn't see him right away because the lights were blinding to my eyes, but I recognised his voice. "FRED SAY SOMETHING!"

"Y/n..." I couldn't hear my own voice, but I felt her name going through my vocal cords.

"HE'S ALIVE!" Ron cried. "you're alive-" my sight was blurry but I could pick out my younger brother's crown in front of me as he sobbed over my chest.

"We gotta get him out of here right now!!" Of course it was Hermione who got everyone moving. As both my brothers managed to pick me up, I felt my eyes closing once more. Not even the fear of not waking up again stopped me from passing out.

READER'S P. O. V.

I had volunteered as Healer to help Madam Pomfrey during the Battle, that's why it was me who received two Weasleys practically dragging a third one into the improvised infirmary.

I recognised him from his jacket. "Fred..." At first I thought it was his corpse, that's how bad he looked.

"Y/N!!" It was only when Fred seemed to tilt his head up due to Ron's cry that I reacted, rushing to help them. "Keep him alive!" I only nodded, taking Ron's place as he took off.

With one of his arms over my shoulders and the other over his brother's, we managed to carry him to one of the stretchers; his painful weak groans went directly into my ear as we moved him, triggering the tears I was holding to fall.

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

FRED'S P. O. V.

"—alive, somehow." Y/n's voice, though it sounded far away, let me know she was close. "No, don't wake him up."

"Listen, you gotta get him to St. Mungo." It seemed George the one talking, but his voice was too shaky to tell. "in an hour this is gonna get really ugly, I want him out."

"George, we're besieged." Her tone was hopeless.

"Look at him, You said it— It's a bloody miracle he's still breathing." my brother's voice shattered; all I wanted was to get up, hug him and say I was okay, but I felt my brain spinning once more. "Bill and I will escort you out of the castle so..."

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

The next time I opened my eyes, terror inundated me; everything was dark again. I gasped for air and propped myself up, instantly regretting it. A stabbing pain attacked every part of my body, triggering a shocked cry out of me.

"What are you doing?!" Y/n whisper-shouted, before placing both her hands over my chest to push me back to the bed again. "Are you mental?" Her fingertips moved out of the way a bandage that covered my eyes. "Oi, listen," when she noticed my shaky hands desperately trying to reach my face, she took them in hers. "You're safe."

I tried to say something —anything—, but my throat was sore, and the only thing that was able to leave it was her name.

"Shhh." She hushed me, letting one of her hands travel to my face. "You have to rest." I would have sworn she was crying, but I couldn't tell. "Everything'll get better." Her thumb stroking my cheek was the most soothing thing I had ever felt, so it wasn't difficult for me to close my eyes, this time willingly, though I was equally scared. "I'll stay by your side." The reassuring squeeze her hand gave me, made me aware that she had noticed my fear.

Before drifting off, I felt Y/n's lips placing a chaste kiss on my forehead, making my heart hammer against my chest.

I was still alive.

A Month Later

READER'S P. O. V.

It was Ron who sent me an owl the moment Fred finally got out of the hospital. He informed me that, instead of going to the Burrow to rest a few days—as planned—, ha had gone straight to the shop.

That's how I found myself the next morning inside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, which was not-so-surprisingly full of people again.

Due to the huge amount of customers, it was relatively difficult for me to spot the twins.

Apparently, I turned out to be easy to spot.

"Y/n!" I turned in the stairs' direction to be met with a very enthusiastic George who, before I could even greet him, engulfed me in a hug.

"I see you can't catch a break." I observed, pulling away with a big smile on my face. That place really made the trick to bring joy to everyone.

"You can't imagine." He replied, his gaze wandering around before pulling my hand. "Oi, Fred! Look who dropped by!" He shouted over the hubbub, leading me to the till counter, behind which I saw the reason why I had come in the first place.

Just as Fred's eyes noticed me, he attempted to rush out of the till. I left George's side as soon as I realized that he, in fact, couldn't really rush out.

"Merlin's beard!" Despite he had just had to grip the counter in order not to fall, he tried again. "Take it easy, will you?" I scolded him, steadying him by his forearms and helping him step back to rest against the till. "Do you want to go back to the hospital?"

"If you're the one taking care of me, I wouldn't complain." The first time his eyes fell on my lips, I missed it because I was still securing him. The second time it was impossible to miss. "You know? Your sharpie saved my life."

I snorted at his nonsensical words. "You're delirious, Weasley." My hands finally left his forearms, just to be picked up on his. "Still suffering from the concussion?" I joked, trying to deviate my own attention from my fast heartbeat.

Another glance at my lips.

"I should get going." George spoke behind me.

"I was going to visit you tomorrow." Fred stated, his gaze now focused on my eyes.

"Sorry to break it to you, love," I pointed out, motioning at him with our hands still held. "But you can barely walk."

"Yeah, but I needed to see you." He looked somehow sheepish; I doubted I had ever seen him like that before. "I'm gonna be as clear and concise as possible—" He cleared his throat and forced himself to look at me. "I'm pretty much in love with you." I didn't know my eye could go as wide as they went. "Thing's I've known for a good couple of years now." He shrugged. "Telling you scared me, but then this happened." He gestured at himself. "And now not being able to tell you scares me even more." His eyes scanned me before looking around. "This wasn't the ideal place to tell you, but I didn't want to wait any longer."

I gulped, trying to process it as fast as possible.

"For Godric's sake, Y/n," he gently tugged my hand. "Say something, please." Fear started to take over him, even if he tried to keep it at bay. "It's alright if you don't feel the same, we can still be friends, I promise—"

"How do I kiss you without hurting you?" I questioned, already feeling the heat on my cheeks.

I could tell by his face that, out of everything I could have said, he was not expecting the answer I had given him. "Ever the caring one." He let go of my hands to cup my cheeks. "Just kiss me," he sounded so happy, it was contagious. "I'll deal with the pain later."

I listened to him and, holding onto his blazer, stood on my tiptoes and crashed my lips against his— only because I had been wanting to kiss him for too fucking long.

I got lost in the kiss and my brain completely dismissed that an entire wall had collapsed over the boy before me just a month ago; my hands went up to his neck, pulling him closer and, consequently, earning a painful groan from him.

"Shit! sorry." I was quick to let go, suddenly very aware of our surroundings, too.

He just shook his head and pulled my back to him, this time by my hips. "I said I'll deal with it later." He spoke against my lips before going in for a second kiss.

I was more gentle now, careful not to cause him too much pain.

To our dismay, we were interrupted.

"You said love confession!" George snapped us out of it; this time the groan Fred let out was from annoyance. "not snogging session in front of our customers! Get to work!"

He huffed, unwillingly separating from me. "If you stick around until lunch time, we can resume this."

I pretended to think about it. "I guess I can find something to do until then." My smile was as wide as his, and it grew wider when he pulled my into a hug, placing a kiss on the crown of my head. "I love you too, by the way."

His laugh reverberated on his chest. "Good to know."

"Freddie! Now!" This time it was me who groaned at George's demands.

"Help me out, love." Fred requested, pulling away from me so I could help him move behind the till counter. "See you in a couple of hours?" I nodded, pecking his cheeks and walking away from the shop.

It was when I started to walk down the Diagon Alley that it clicked.

His lifeline.

The sharpie.

"OH MY FUCK—"

[fanfics4all]

Malfoy Manor

Request: Yes / No 

Requests are closed <3 Have a nice day/night

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Diggory!Reader 

Word count: 3024

Warnings: Being torchered, brother dying, I believe that’s all 

Y/N: Your Name 

A/N:  Bingo card made by @slyttherins​

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you! 

Masterlist 

(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

“The Hogwarts champion…” Dumbledore called and a piece of parchment flew from the flame. 

“Cedric Diggory!” He said and everyone cheered. I was cheering the loudest, I was so proud of my older brother. 

“Excellent! We now have our three champions! But in the end only one will go down in history. Only one will hoist this chalice of champions, this vessel of victory the Tri-Wizard cup!” Once again people cheered, but the goblet glowed red once again and another singed parchment flew out. Everyone quieted down as Dumbledore grabbed the parchment and read it. 

“Harry Potter.” He said in a hushed tone, but everyone could hear because of how silent the room was. 

“Harry Potter?” He called louder. 

“No...no!” Hagrid expressed. 

“Harry Potter!” Dumbledore shouted. Everyone watched in shock as Harry slowly walked up to the front. Dumbledore gave him the parchment and people started shouting in anger. 

“He’s a cheat! He’s not even seventeen yet!” Someone shouted. My boyfriend Draco was very upset by this. He couldn’t believe Harry was once again being the center of attention. However, he wasn’t the only one. Everyone seemed to be upset that Harry was also a champion. This obviously pleased Draco. 

As much as I liked Harry and he was my friend, Cedric was my brother and I was going to fully cheer for him. The first challenge was to retrieve a golden egg from a dragon. Each competitor was getting a different dragon and I hoped with all my heart that Cedric would be alright. I watched as they brought out a Swedish Short-Snout with the golden egg in place. A cannon went off and everyone watched to see who was first. Cedric walked out and everyone from Hogwarts cheered, just about the whole school was cheering for him. I watched my brother take in his surroundings and he smiled at me. The dragon screamed which brought his attention back to it. He thought quickly and used a Transfiguration spell to change one of the rocks into a dog. The dog barked and brought the dragon’s attention away from my brother. Cedric went for the egg, but the dragon was smart and moved his attention back to him. The dragon shot fire towards him and it hit him in the face. 

“Cedric!” I shouted, fear clear in my voice. Draco pulled me towards him and held me tightly. Cedric didn’t let that stop him and he retrieved the egg. Everyone cheered and they got the dragon under control. Cedric was taken to the hospital wing and Draco and pulled me along to see him. 

The second task was after the Yule Ball, which was a break my brother needed after being burned. Luckily he was alright, but I realized how dangerous these tasks really were. All four of the champions stood at the edge of the platform on the Black Lake. They were told they had to retrieve something that was stolen from them. All four of them jumped into the lake and none of us could really see what was happening beneath the surface. Cedric returned first with his girlfriend Cho. Hogwarts students erupted in cheers when he raised above the water. The two swam to the platform and were pulled up onto it. I hugged Draco and rushed down to my brother. He was first and safe! 

Like the second task, no one knew what was happening during the final task. All four champions had to go into a maze and one would return as the Champion. Cedric and Harry both got a head start since they tied for first last task. The cannon rang and they were off into the maze. 

“Go Cedric!” I cheered as he jogged inside. He turned back to me with a smile as the bushes closed behind him. It wasn’t long before the other two champions joined them in the maze. However it felt like forever until someone returned with the cup. It turned out to be Harry and people cheered. I also cheered for my friend, but my cheers died in my throat as I noticed what he was hunched over. 

“Cedric?” I whispered, catching Draco’s attention. Tears formed in my eyes and I ran down to see my brother. Our Father pushed his way through and he cried, falling to his knees beside him. 

“Cedric?” I asked, also dropping down next to him. I gently shook him, denying that he was dead. 

“Ced? Come on, this isn’t funny!” I cried and shook him a little rough. 

“Y/N, love, he’s not asleep…” Draco said quietly, trying to pull me away. 

“N-No… No! He can’t be!” I cried. 

“How did this happen?” I asked, turning to Harry. 

“Voldemort, he’s back. He killed him.” Harry cried and my eyes widened. That monster killed my brother… Draco pulled me to him as I cried harder. 

I knew that was the start of the war. That wasn’t the year it really started, but that was the year people’s fear really set in. The real start of the war started the summer before year seven. After Cedric died Harry made sure to watch after me. He told me it was my brother’s wish to watch after me. The first few months I didn’t want to be near Harry, but I realized it wasn’t his fault. That’s why when I found out Draco had taken his mark, I ran right to Harry. He became very protective of me after that, but I never actually broke things off with Draco. I still loved him, despite the choice he made. 

Harry took me with Hermione and Ron on his quest to find all the horcruxes. A task given to him before Dumbledore was killed by Snape. Harry told me about how Draco was meant to do it, but couldn’t. I wanted to send him a letter, but that would put us all in jeopardy. However, after a scary meeting with Luna’s Father we apparated somewhere safer. 

“They’ve kidnapped Luna because he supported me. He was just desperate.” Harry reasoned. No one said anything as we all got off the ground. 

“I’ll do the enchantments.” Ron said, taking his wand out. Hermione stopped him, her eyes glanced at the trees and her breathing stopped. The three of us looked the same way she was and our eyes widened. Snatchers came from behind the trees and had smirks on their faces. One of them had Hermione’s scarf around his neck and smelled it. 

“Hello, beautiful.” He said, it was Scabior. All four of us started running, splitting off from one another hoping we wouldn’t get caught. I was unfortunately clumsy and tripped on a tree root, which led to me being caught. The man roughly pulled me to my feet, took my wand, and dragged me with him. We entered a clearing and I was shoved to the ground. Ron was pulled along and also shoved to the ground by another snatcher. Hermione and a messed up looking Harry were already there, now surrounded by snatchers. Scabior took their wands. 

“Don’t touch her!” Ron shouted and Grayback punched him. 

“Stop it!” Hermione begged. 

“Your boyfriend’ll get worse than that if he doesn't behave, lovely.” Scabior said, painting her face with the light from his wand. He turned it towards Harry, it made it really clear how messed up his face actually was. 

“What happened to you, ugly?” He asked. Harry felt his face and now realized what happened. 

“What’s your name?” He asked. 

“Dudely. Vernon Dudley.” Harry answered. 

“Check the list. And you, ginger?” He asked Ron. 

“Stan Shunpile.” Ron lied. 

“Like ‘ell you are. We know skinny Stan. Try again.” He said and Grayback, who was holding Ron down pressed his boot into his neck. 

“Weasley… Barney Weasley.” He strained out. 

“Weasley, eh? Wouldn’t be related to that blood traitor Arthur Weasley, would you?” He asked. 

“Piss off! Arthur Weasley’s ten times the wizard you are!” Ron growled. 

“Worth ten times you if I can find him. Wasn’t you that tipped him off, was it?” He asked. Ron said nothing and the man turned his attention to me. 

“How ‘bout you? What’s your name?” He asked. 

“June Hazel.” I lied. 

“Pretty name, but don’t fit your face.” He said and turned to Hermione. 

“Penelope Clearwater. Half-blood.” She answered. He took her hair in his hand and sniffed it. 

“You smell like vanilla, Penelope. I think you’re going to be my favorite.” He said. 

“I call this one. She smells like strawberries.” The man that grabbed me pulled me up and sniffed my hair. I gulped and held my breath, tears brimming my eyes. 

“There’s no Vernon Dudley on ‘ere.” Another snatcher said. Scabior turned his attention to Harry. 

“Hear that, ugly? The list says you’re lying. How come you don’t want us to know who you are? Hm?” He asked. 

“The list is wrong. I told you who I am-” Scabior put his finger to Harry’s lips, stopping Harry from continuing. His want was probing Harry’s face. 

“Change of plans, boy. We won’t be taking this lot to the Ministry.” He said after a moment. Each one grabbed us, taking out stuff from us as well. They apperated us and suddenly we were at Malfoy Manor… 

Scabior and the others took us past the yew hedges. All of us were scared about what was waiting for us inside the dark looking house. We started slowing down as we neared the gate. Bellatrix, Lucius, and Narcissa Malfoy were on the other side. Scabior grabbed Harry by the arm and pushed his face up against the iron bars. Bellatrix stepped closer. 

“Show me.” She said. Scabior reached up and pushed Harry’s hair off his forehead. Bellatrix pointed her wand, illuminating his face. Slowly a creepy smile appeared on her face. The four of us were taken inside and Bellatrix took Harry. She pushed him down to his knees and waited for Narcissa to return with Draco. He walked into the room with his Mother and my heart clenched. His eyes widened when he saw me. 

“Draco!” His Aunt called, snapping both of us out of our haze. Draco walked towards his Aunt and she pulled Harry up by his hair. 

“Well?” She asked with a hopeful smile. 

“I can’t be sure.” Draco answered after a moment. 

“Look closely son, if we are the ones to hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything would be forgiven, all would be as it was, understand?” Lucius said and you could tell they were all scared, but especially Draco. 

“Now we won’t be forgettin who actually caught him. I hope, Mr. Malfoy.” Scabior said. 

“You dare to talk to me like that in my own house!” Lucius shouted. 

“Lucius!��� Narcissa scolded him in a whisper and pulled him away from Draco. 

“Don’t be shy, sweetie. Come over.” His Aunt grabbed his hand and pulled him towards Harry. Draco kneeled in front of him and I bit my lip. Please don’t give him up Draco… 

“Now, if this isn’t who we think it is, Draco, and we call him, he’ll kill us all. We need to be absolutely sure.” Bellatrix said. 

“What’s wrong with his face?” Draco asked after a moment of studying Harry. 

“Yes, what is wrong with his face?” Bellatrix asked Scabior.

“He came to us like that. Somethin’ he picked up in the forest I reckon.” Scabior answered. 

“Or ran into a stinging jinx. Was it you dearie?” Bellatrix asked Hermione, walking over to us. 

“Give me her wand, we’ll see what her last spell was.” She said. The three of us looked worried and Bellatrix laughed. 

“Got you.” She said and turned her attention to the snatcher with our wands. 

“What is that?” She asked when she looked at him. 

“Where’d you get that from?” She asked him, referring to the sword. 

“It was in that one’s bag when we searched her, reckon it’s mine now.” He said pointing at me with a smirk. Bellatrix went crazy and started choking the snatchers, making them let go of us. She took the sword as everyone looked on confused and scared. 

“Out! Go!” She shouted at them letting her spells fall. The snatchers ran out, fearing for their lives. 

“Sissy, put the boys and this one in the cellar! I want to have a conversation with this one! Girl to girl!” She shouted and grabbed me. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were dragged down to the cellar by Narcissa and Wormtail. She pushed me onto the floor and got on top of me. 

“That sword is meant to be in my vault in Gringotts. How did you get it?” She hissed.

“What else did you and your friends take from my vault!?” She shouted. 

“We didn’t take anything! Please!  We didn’t take anything!” I begged, crying. 

“I don’t believe you.” She said and moved to my arm, carving something into it with her sharp knife. 

“No! Please! We didn’t take anything!” I screamed in pain. 

“Stop it!” Draco shouted and they turned to me. 

“She said she didn’t take anything, leave her alone!” He said. 

“Draco?” His Mother questioned with a kind, yet waring tone. 

“You care for this one, don’t you?” Bellatrix asked with a smirk. 

“Please, just stop.” Draco begged, his eyes never leaving me. 

“Who is she?” His Aunt asked. 

“She’s my girlfriend…” He admitted. 

“Is she-” 

“Yes, she’s a Pure-blood, please let her go.” He begged, cutting his Father off.

“What’s her family name?” Lucius asked. 

“Diggory.” He answered. 

“A Hufflepuff? Are you Mad? She-” 

“Let her go Bellatrix.” Narcissa said, cutting her husband off. 

“But they were in my vault!” She shouted. 

“Question the goblin then, let her go.” She said, standing her ground. Bellatrix got off me and Draco rushed to help me up. He pulled me off to the side with his parents and sat me in one of the chairs. 

“You’re alright, love.” He whispered as he held me. Ron, Hermione, and Harry suddenly came up the stairs and got Bellatrix’s wand from her. The three of them started fighting with the Malfoys. Bellatrix grabbed me and held her knife to my throat. 

“Stop!” She shouted and everyone looked our way. 

“Drop your wands. I said drop em!” She shouted. The three dropped their wands and everyone was still staring at us. 

“Draco, grab em.” She said and he did as he was told. 

“Well, well, well, look what we have here.” She said, walking closer with her knife still at my throat. 

“It’s Harry Potter.” She said in my ear, but it was loud enough for everyone to hear. 

“He’s all bright, and shiny, and new again.” She said as Harry’s face turned back to normal. 

“Just in time for the Dark Lord.” She said. 

“Call him.” She said, but no one moved. 

“Call him!” She said again, but louder. Draco stayed in his place, so his Father stepped up and revealed his dark mark. He went to call him, but an odd squeaking started happening. Everyone looked up and Dobby was sitting atop the chandelier undoing a screw or something. It suddenly dropped and she pushed me as she ran back to avoid getting hit. I fell to the ground as Ron grabbed Hermione and Harry went to get their wands. Once Draco lost the small battle with Harry he rushed over to me. 

“Are you alright?” He asked as Lucius was shot back by Harry. 

“I’m fine…” I whispered. 

“Stupid elf, you could have killed me!” Bellatrix shouted. 

“Dobby never meant to kill. He only meant to maim or seriously injure.” He said. Narcissa went to shoot a spell at them, but Dobby snapped his fingers and her wand was then in his hands. While everyone was distracted by what Dobby did, Draco pulled me up and out of the room. He took me up to his room and sat me on his bed. 

“Let me see your arm, love.” He whispered. I showed him and saw she had carved ‘Blood Traitor’ into my arm. Tears welled in my eyes as I noticed the blood still falling from my fresh mark. 

“Hey, look at me, it’s not true.” He said, gently caressing my face. 

“But it is though, you know it is.” I whispered. 

“No, not here it isn’t. You can’t let them see that side of you. If I want to keep you safe I either have to let you go or ask you to do something you might never forgive yourself, or me for that matter, for.” He said, his voice breaking. 

“B-But I can’t bear to let you go again. I thought I lost you when I told you the truth…” He whispered. 

“W-What do I have to do to stay?” I whispered. He looked at me with wide eyes. 

“You’d have to take his mark…” He whispered. My heart stopped, but I didn’t know where Harry and the others were. It was either stay with Draco or go out alone…

“If it means I get to stay with you then I will…” I answered. 

“Love, this is serious. I can get you out of here without anyone knowing all you have to do-” I cut him off with a kiss. 

“I can’t lose you again either. I thought you were dead this whole time, I can’t go through that again.” I said, resting my forehead on his. 

“You’ll never forgive me…” He said, letting his tears fall. 

“I’ll always forgive you. I love you Draco Malfoy.” I said. Draco pulled me in for a gentle and loving kiss. Something we both desperately needed. 

“I promise, when all this is over I’m going to get you a ring and give you the perfect life you deserve.” He said and I smiled. 

“As long as you’re in my life, it is perfect.” I said and pecked his lips again. No matter what happens, as long as I still have Draco still in my life everything will be alright. He was the only thing I had left. He was the only one I really needed.

Tag list: @les-bio-lie​ @tashy-bear​ @ashwarren32​ @hollie-blogs-blog1​ @schisbro87​ @lover-of-books-and-teas​ @nerdygaloresposts​ @teenwolfbitches2​ @genius2050​ @drw0301bieber​ @lady-of-lies​ @ravenmoore14​ @ravenempress101​ @cillianchamp​ @rowanthomasknapp​ @rachelxwayne​ @in-slytherin-we-trust​ @accio-rogers​ @sambucky8​ @bruisedfists-and-splitlips @answer-the-sirens​ @andreasworlsboring101​ @vanessa-kom-skaikru​ @impulse-anchor​ @dracoswhvre​

[honeyheartsandkisses]

Best friend’s brother

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Gryffindor reader

One shot, 3k word count.

Summary: You have been best friends with Ron, Harry and Hermione ever since your first year in Hogwarts. But lately you’ve been feeling a little different about Ron’s older brother. You, Hermione and Harry have been invited to spend the last week of the school holidays at the Burrow. Could anything possibly happen between you and Fred?

“Oh welcome dear!” Mrs Weasley chirps, rushing out the door to greet you as you heave your heavy luggage out the trunk of the cab. “Leave your luggage dear, I’ll get the twins to bring them in for you.”

“Thank you for having me Mrs Weasley! I can’t wait to finally have your signature pumpkin juice again.” You give her a big hug before pulling away. Mrs Weasley erupts into a fit of giggles. “Oh you’re too kind dear. Come on in, Harry and Hermione arrived over an hour ago and Rons been wondering when you’d arrive.” 

As if on cue, your three best friends burst out of the front door, sprinting in your direction. Before you knew it, you crash down to the ground by the impact, the wind knocked out of you. The four of you burst out laughing, laying on the ground out on the lawn.

“You’re finally here!” Hermione says, before getting up to dust the dirt off her jeans. You follow suit, looking over at the boys still wrestling on the ground. 

“Did you guys miss me?” You tease, playfully kicking Harry’s leg.

Ron was the next to stand up. “I think ‘miss’ is a strong word. We simply wanted you to reach earlier because Hermione wouldn’t stop talking about the latest book she read.” He says with a goofy smile on his face.

Despite all the playful banter, you couldn’t be happier seeing your closest friends again. Your parents are muggles and you didn’t have anyone to talk to about the wizarding world. “Well, you can tell me all about your book Hermione. Its not your fault the boys are uncultured barbarians.” You say, rolling your eyes at Ron.

“Hey!” Harry protested, but only earned himself a playful slap on the shoulder from you. 

Just as the 4 of you were about to head back into the house, you see Mrs Weasley dragging Fred and George out into the lawn by their ears. The twins groan and protest, but fail to struggle out of their mother’s iron-like grip. “The two of you better help y/n with her luggage. After causing all that mess in the kitchen with your pranks, it’s the least you can do!” With that, she throws them out the front door, slamming it shut behind them.

For the first time of the day, your heart does a little backflip the moment your eyes fall on Fred Weasley. He's wearing a maroon sweater and black jeans, his hair in its usual messy state. Nothing has changed since the last time you saw him other than his left ear which was a little redder than the right from where Mrs Weasley pinched it. “Merlins beard that hurt...” He groaned, rubbing his ear. 

Your crush on Ron’s older brother was no secret to your three best friends. Your feelings for him surfaced just over a year ago when you were doing your final exams in the great hall and the twins flew in on their broomsticks, setting off fireworks in the great hall. Ever since that faithful day you couldn’t stop thinking about him. Be it bumping into the twins in the Gryffindor common room, or sitting near them during mealtimes in the great hall, all these small encounters made your heart skip a beat.

“Hey y/n! Great seeing you again.” George greets you with a big smile and the two of you exchange a friendly hug. “Ill grab the small trunk. Fred will handle the heavier one.” He smirks mischievously while his other twin lets out a loud sigh in defeat. You laugh at this, “I’ve missed you George.” You watch as he grabs the smaller trunk and hurries back into the house.

Fred, who is now standing in front of you, clears his throat loudly. “Ahem”

“Well, we’ll be inside waiting for you y/n! See you back inside!” Hermione chirps, steering a very confused Ron and Harry towards the house. You sent her a thank you message mentally. Right now, only you and Fred were left standing on the driveway, out in the cool evening air. 

You subconsciously run your hands through your hair, attempting to comb out any tangles from the earlier tussle with your best friends. “Hey Fred. Its great seeing you again.” You smile up at him.

“Not going to say you miss me too?” he bends forward, bringing his face closer to yours. This makes your breath catch in your throat. You lean backwards a little, feeling nervous and confused all at the same time. But this only makes him lean forward even more. Before you could catch yourself, you feel your weight shift and you lose your balance, falling backwards. In that split second, Fred grabs you around your waist and pulls you forward into him, allowing you to regain your balance. Your face now inches away from his, you freeze completely.

“Breathe y/n. You’re turning blue.” He laughs. Only then do you realize you had been holding your breath for the past few seconds. You quickly took a deep breath, before slapping his arm. “That was completely unnecessary!” Fred flashes an innocent smile, nearly making you hold your breath yet again. 

“What was?” 

“Oh you know exactly what i mean Fred Weasley. You complete arse!”

Fred continues to laugh, the most adorable sound you’ve ever heard. “Alright alright come on, lets get you out of the cold.” He says, swiftly lifting your massive luggage off the ground before leading you towards the house with one hand on the small of your back.

When you step into the house, you’re greeted with the glorious smell of Mrs Weasley’s cooking. She’d already started preparing dinner. You see your three best friends sitting on the couch, Ron and Harry at a game of chess while Hermione had her head buried in a thick book. You could hear the sound of laughter coming from the back yard and you assume George is out there playing with his two older brothers Charlie and Bill. 

“This way y/n. You’ll be sharing a room with Ginny and Hermione.” Fred says as he lugs your trunk up the stairs. 

“Right...” you reply, following him up the stairs.

Fred stops climbing the stairs and turns around to face you. “You sound rather disappointed y/n.”

“No not at all. I just—“ 

“Would you rather stay in my room?”

You stare at him for a few seconds, expecting him to burst out laughing or show any sign that this was a joke. But it never came. “Oh um... well it’s really kind of you offer but—”

“Ah bummer.” He says, before turning around to resume climbing up the stairs. Did Fred Weasley just flirt with you?

You reach the third floor and walk past a few other rooms as Fred leads you to the one at the end of the corridor. In one of it you see Percy hunched over a messy desk, scribbling away on a sheet of parchment. “Hey Percy! How’s work at the ministry—“ before you could finish, Fred pulls you away from the room. “Trust me, you wouldn’t want to get him started. We won’t hear the end of it.” He says, drawing circles with his index finger in the air next to his ear. This makes you laugh.

Soon you two reach the last room at the end of the corridor. Fred places your trunk in the corner of the room, right next to Hermione’s. “Well this is where you’ll sleep for the next few nights.” He says, taking a look around the room. “Trust me when i say it’s much cleaner than mine. George always leaves our room messy.”

“So George is the ONLY one messing things up in this house. You’re the obedient one.” You say sarcastically, knowing full well the two of them were always up to no good.

“I am, and always have been.” He winks at you, dropping down onto the mattress on the floor. The one you assumed was going to be your bed for the next one week. “Actually y/n there’s something i need to tell you—“ before he could go on, George pokes his head through the door, smiling mischievously. “Dinner is ready lovebirds!” He immediately disappears, laughing gleefully running back down the stairs.

You looked at Fred, raising an eyebrow as if to ask ‘What was that all about?’ He simply sighs, running his hands through his fiery red hair. “Um... we should probably go downstairs.”

Sitting at the overcrowded dinner table with Harry on your right and Ron on your left, a little part of you was dying to tell Hermione about what George said a little earlier. All this time you thought Fred only saw you as his little brother’s best friend but so many things have happened today, making you think otherwise. The dinner table is flooded with a feast whipped up by Mrs Weasley. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, green peas, and of course, pumpkin juice. 

You take a long swig of pumpkin juice. “Thank you for the feast Mrs Weasley!”

She waves it off. “Oh don’t mention it dearie! Help yourself to the food everyone.” With that, everyone starts digging in. Mr Weasley passing the potatoes over to Percy, George using his wand to summon a plate of yams from across the table, everything was loud and messy. But this was what you loved about the Weasleys. 

Amid the chaos, you catch a glimpse of Fred, sitting right across the table from you, and your eyes meet. You feel your heart do yet another backflip, and you quickly direct your attention into scooping a lump of mashed potatoes onto your plate. 

“You feeling alright y/n?” Ron asked, giving you a weird look. “You've gone all red.”

“Yeah I’m fine.” You quickly say, hoping no one else noticed it.

Ron ignores you, pressing his palm on your forehead to feel your temperature. When this doesn’t work, he cups your cheeks. And when this doesn’t work, he feels your neck. “Seems fine to me.” He finally says.

“Look if you really need to check her temperature use one of these. Do you really have to put your hands all over her like that!” Fred explodes, magicking a thermometer from a cabinet across the kitchen. The whole kitchen goes silent, staring at Fred. His sudden outburst shocked everyone, even you. The playful, carefree boy had never exploded like his before. Fred looks around the table at all the eyes staring at him, turning a little red.

George is the first one to break the silence. “Well brother dear, it looks like you’ve finally let the cat out of the bag.”

Mr Weasley diverts his gaze from Fred to George. “What do you mean son?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Fred has a crush on y/n!” Bill says, laughing hysterically. 

“Good for you brother!” Charlie stands, shaking Fred’s hand. “Who would’ve thought our little Fred was capable of love!” This makes George howl with laughter, causing Fred to chase him around the kitchen trying to get him to shut up.

For the first time ever, Fred looked embarrassed. He’d played so many pranks in Hogwarts and received all sorts of punishments, but never once did he look embarrassed. This was a first. 

You couldn’t  help but laugh too. The entire situation was so embarrassing for Fred but it was so adorable at the same time. Harry leaned over and whispered in your ear “Should we tell him?” 

You shake your head. “I want to be the one to do it.” To this he nods, smiling gleefully. Hermione overhears this and gives you two thumbs up. You couldn’t possibly feel any happier than you do in this very moment. A million thoughts race through your mind. Fred likes me back? When did it begin? I can’t believe this!

“Now settle down boys! Leave him alone!” Mrs Weasley says, shushing them. The twins return to their seats, Fred as red as a tomato. He looks across the table at you, clearly searching for a reaction. Anything at all to signify you liked him back. You feel his gaze see right through you and your silly smile. Theres no way that boy doesn’t know you like him back.

After dinner Mr Weasley and Mrs Weasley do the dishes with a few swishes of their wand while all the children spread out across the house once again. Percy was back in his room busy at work. Bill, Charlie and Ginny watching a movie on the couch, though Bill was already half asleep. Fred and George were hiding away in their room doing God knows what. The mischievous twins were always busy planning their next prank. You, Harry, Hermione and Ron decide to sit on the benches out in the backyard, enjoying the cool night breeze. There under the blanket of stars, the best friends talk about the dinner scene. 

“Oh you have to tell him y/n!” Hermione jumps up and down, buzzing with excitement. “Its not everyday you find your crush likes you back!”

Ron folds his arms defiantly. “I still think y/n has bad taste when it comes to guys. I mean, of all people it just had to be Fred. The boys a fool!”

“Well why are you going to do y/n?” Harry asks, looking over at you. 

You keep your eyes fixed on the mesmerizing night sky, as though searching for an answer. “I really don’t know. I thought we’d talk about this after dinner but he’s hidden away in his room.” You let out a huge sigh before turning to look at Harry. “Maybe it was just a joke?” This made your heart sink. Your friends stay silent, all deep in thought. 

Hermione finally breaks the silence. “Well theres only one way to find out. You have to ask him.”

“I’d rather not find out.” You quickly stand up trying to shake the dreadful feeling threatening to consume you. “It’ll kill me to find out it was all just a joke.”

Just like that, sleep fell over the Burrow. Everyone tucked away under their blankets in their overcrowded rooms. After everything that happened you found it hard to fall asleep. Tossing and turning on your surprisingly soft mattress didn't seem to help and so you pull on your robe and decide to head on downstairs for a warm glass of milk. You quietly close the door behind you, careful not to wake Hermione and Ginny. When you turn to head on down the stairs you see Fred sneaking out of his room, gingerly closing the door behind him. He completely freezes when his eyes fall on you. Feeling slightly self conscious, you pull your robe tighter around yourself before quickly making your way down the stairs and into the kitchen. 

Pacing back and forth, you try to utilize the last 5 seconds you had before Fred joined you in the kitchen to brainstorm something to say. Anything at all. You turn around to pace the other way only to come face to face with Fred’s chest. “Hey there.” He says.

You tilt your head up to meet his eyes. “Oh hey. What are you doing out here?”

He grabs a pitcher of milk from inside the refrigerator, pouring it into two tall glasses. “I could ask you the same thing.” He slides one glass across the kitchen island to you. 

“Thanks.” You take it and swallow quickly, allowing the cool liquid to sooth your throat that felt like it was closing up.

“Truth is I couldn’t sleep.” He says, looking straight into your eyes.

“May i just ask you one thing?” You blurt out before you could stop yourself.

He nods, walking around the kitchen island towards you. “Ask away.”

“That thing that happened earlier... was it a joke?” 

He take a long sip and sets the cup down on the table before answering. “That depends.”

You frown. “What do you mean by that?”

“Did you want it to be a joke or did you want it to be real?” He looks down at you, taking one step closer. Your heart pounded in your chest.

“Why should that matter?” You say, taking a step back.

“If you wish it was a joke, its a joke. If you wish it was real, then its real.” He says, once again taking a step closer to you.

“You’re such a pain Fred Weasley. If you didn’t like me you should’ve said so. This is a pure act of cowardice.” You say, turning around to leave. But before you could make it two steps away from him, he grabs your arm, pulling you back with force. This makes you lose your balance and stumble backwards straight into him. His arms wrap around you from behind, leaving no escape. 

“Um... Fred?” You manage to say, your voice barely a squeak. Your heart raced. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. You guys were close but you’ve never been held like this before. 

He kisses your cheek, before slowly loosening his grasp allowing you to turn around to face him.

You touch your cheek where he kissed you. “Wha... what was that for?”

“I like you y/n.” You stare at him, in a complete state of shock. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you ever since we first met at platform 9 3/4. I’m sorry about dinner. That wasn’t the way i hoped you’d find out but it’s true. Everything you do drives me crazy. When you went to the Yule Ball with Ron it wrecked me.”

“You know we’re just friends Fred. There’s nothing going on between Ron and I.” You take his hands in yours and bring them around your waist. “I’m already yours.” 

His face twists into a smile, pulling you closer burying his face in the crook of your neck. He kisses your shoulder, then neck, and finally crashes his lips with yours. Your lips move in sync, and you feel yourself go lightheaded. The most wonderful feeling in the world. He lifts you up, placing you on the kitchen island and you wrap your legs around his torso.

“Wait!” You say, pulling away just before things could get too heated. “Can we take it slow? I just don’t want to mess this up.” Still sort of breath from the lack of oxygen, you place a hand on your chest to regain composure. 

He brushes away a lock of hair that fell over your eyes before cupping your face with his large hands.  “Anything for you darling.” 

“Darling?” You couldn’t help but let out a giggle. “I didn't think you had it in you.” You always imagined Fred wasn’t the romantic kind but it appears you were wrong.

He lifts you off the kitchen island, carrying you bridal style. “Oh you have no idea.” He walks all the way to the couch, setting you down. The two of you spend the next few hours talking and laughing by the warm fire, only falling asleep an hour before daybreak.

[marauderssequels]

“’...her mother Andromeda was my favorite cousin,’ said Sirius, examining the tapestry closely.” (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix)

in 1953, the second little Black girl was born. two-year-old bellatrix peered into the crib, chin already learning how to hold itself in the haughty manner her mother’s did. later, the tiny form in the cradle would learn to toddle about behind bella, following her as faithfully as her sister would ever follow voldemort.

bellatrix was her father’s daughter, and narcissa was her mother’s, but andromeda felt always caught in-between. she did not have the fair hair and dainty features of narcissa, nor the strong chin and determined build of bella. the day she stopped following bellatrix around, she learned that loyalty sometimes comes only so long as mindless obedience follows. without her little sister constantly admiring her and doing whatever she asked, bella’s proud little smile turned to a smirk whenever andromeda was near. they remained friends still for a long time after, but andromeda’s place in bella’s heart had fallen, and it would never find such high purchase again.

narcissa followed neither, imitating instead everything their mother wished her to be. andromeda could not remember a time her sister hadn’t worn gloves, mindful always of her pretty little palms. she acted out occasionally, it was true, but her fits of temper learned from her father’s stern gaze, and she became a little lady instead, spoiled and proper and everything their aristocratic family could have hoped for.

bellatrix was a leader; their father claimed he’d known it from her first wail, for even then her tone had been commanding. she led andromeda and narcissa through all matters, teaching them (though neither kindly nor patiently) how to size up one’s enemies and social prey, which families were to be associated with and which were to be ignored, who could be preyed upon and how to get away with it. narcissa practiced eagerly the subtler arts of the social games they waged against other children, while bellatrix wielded their family name as her brash blade. when that was not enough, there was always her anger, which crackled out of her like fireworks against anyone who dared challenge her. andromeda was never sure if bella meant to use her magic, or if it was like the times her own untamed magic sometimes shot out without warning.

in 1959, a little Black cousin was born. andromeda’s aunt named him sirius, and he was every bit as willful a child as bella must’ve been, once upon a time. when a screaming regulus arrived two years later, however, sirius took the mantle of brother more willingly than bella had of sister. he protected that little baby as watchfully as any two-year-old could, and andromeda loved them both.

bellatrix went marching off to school, but she did hug her sisters tightly before boarding the train. she squeezed andromeda’s hand and gave narcissa a small trinket, though she said little at the time. they watched the first of their little band ride off into a new beginning, and the two sisters went back home to tears in the night that neither would ever speak of.

bella changed, but in many ways, she stayed the same. andromeda sometimes wondered how everyone else was always so surprised by her later. the darkness in her sister had lived there forever; it blossomed, of course, but not from nowhere. she was no more unkind than she’d ever been to her sisters, not yet, but ambition was raking its iron claws through her embers and stoking up a fire.

a four-year-old sirius told andromeda she was his favorite. she laughed but hushed him, listening always for the creak of the floorboards beneath her aunt’s heels. one never knew where walburga might lurk in that ancient, miserable house.

two years later, andromeda no longer had to be left behind. she bought her school things and chose a pet and bounded up the train right behind bella.

a cold hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. a flash of black eyes, cold calculation and irritation- and then bella relaxed slightly, as though nothing had happened at all.

“we don’t sit together,” she said, releasing her grip on andromeda. she showed her sister what people she should sit with, and she was gone.

another two years passed, with bella’s attention clearly no longer so focused on her as it had been before hogwarts. but that was fine; andromeda made a few friends and learned to be a good slytherin, though already the Black name had begun to chafe up against her. narcissa joined them, and it seemed as though she became the most popular girl in her year overnight. bella had her gang of slytherins that whispered already of dark marks and vengeance, and though bella had made the invitation- several times- andromeda had no interest in joining.

eventually, bella left school and entered into the lestrange family. andromeda was the maid of honor, and for the first time in years, bella looked at her like she loved her. both knew bella did not love her husband, but for a few minutes at the reception, bella and andromeda whispered to each other at a back table, and all felt as it had been before.

sirius would be making his own trip to hogwarts before long. already, he clamored for every detail he could wring from andromeda. pranking bella and narcissa had its fun, but he loved most the stories andromeda spoke of in her letters. they’d sent her owl back and forth since he was eight, and soon, he told her, it would be his letters going to her from hogwarts.

it was her seventh year before she knew it, and a muggleborn named ted finally put the feeling she’d had as long as she could remember into sharp focus. she knew her family was wrong, but she had a reason to fight now- and she did.

1972, the last time she saw her sisters; it was the night before her wedding. the tonkses were kind people, and it was to be a muggle marriage- she’d slip smoothly into his life and his world and his family, if only her own would let it go uninterrupted. she hadn’t seen bella or narcissa since graduating hogwarts, for she’d returned to ted’s home rather than her own after that. it had been a peaceful year, and the couple had since moved out into their own flat- nothing fancy, but ted’s job was steady and her own work felt worthwhile, and they were happy. she and sirius sent their letters, and he seemed happy too, finding his own home within the gryffindors.

still, it felt like she’d been waiting to hear that crack! in the next-door park ever since she’d left. andromeda stepped out into the night and watched two figures approach, and it felt to her that no time had passed at all.

both clutched tightly the wedding invitations she’d sent them, though bella’s had clearly been through more wear. a dark ruby glittered on her ring finger, so dark it was almost black, as her knuckles whitened.

“dromeda,” narcissa breathed, as they reached her. for a moment, andromeda thought her sister would embrace her, but she remained by bella’s side.

“this is enough,” bella snapped, her harsh whisper barely an effort to be courteous of the neighbors. “this has gone on long enough- come home, andromeda.”

andromeda steeled herself- but narcissa spoke again, gentle. “I’ve spoken with Father- all will be forgotten, if you’ll only come with us. they’ve been telling people you’ve been abroad-”

“no, cissy,” andromeda said, firm. “I have not been abroad, and I am not coming ho- going back.

bella glared. those eyes could burn holes into ordinary wizards, but andromeda was not just any witch. she had seen the fury behind those black eyes and knew all too well the harsh consequences of their direction, but she stood taller than them now.

the invitation was thrust into her hand, but the bony hand seized beyond andromeda’s palm to clutch around her wrist, just as it had all those years ago. bella jerked her sister roughly forward, revealing to her and narcissa the engagement ring gleaming against her skin.

“a common sapphire?” bella laughed; it grated against andromeda’s ears. “this is what you leave us for? a pauper mudblood and his-”

“let go, bella.” controlling herself, andromeda shook off her sister.

bellatrix’s face knotted up; she did not give second chances lightly, and andromeda knew already that she would never be given a third. instead, she turned to narcissa.

of course cissy cried. cissy always cried. it was easy to get her way like that, round blue eyes filling up and that perfect little pucker- but andromeda knew her too well. that night, however, cissy did not cry as she did for their father. she simply stared, tears flowing down her cheeks as she took no notice.

too soon, bella was gripping narcissa’s arm and turning on her heel, never breaking her glare for a moment until she’d vanished into the night.

she did not tell sirius. he wrote of regulus and three wild young friends, and she spoke of the wedding he had not been allowed to attend and the baby that arrived all too soon the next may. he promised to find a way to meet little nymphadora, but she gave stern warnings against it. in the Black family, one was not allowed mistakes simply for being thirteen and foolish.

he did meet dora eventually, and loved her as easily as he’d loved regulus. she was delighted by the dark waves of hair falling around his face, and promptly changed hers to match.

he came to visit for easter holidays every year, telling his parents he was staying at hogwarts. she heard about his separation from the family when he sent an owl from a friend’s house. it stung for a moment, that he had not come to her, but it was easier to drag an unruly heir from a disgraced relative than a family like the potters. what surprised her was that they never tried; firstborn sons were not an investment that pureblood lines gave up easily. things at home must have been far more dire than he’d ever let on to her.

their uncle alphard’s death gave andromeda and sirius each a small inheritance. finally, andromeda felt that she could breathe, not having to worry about securing nymphadora’s magical education. sirius had the means to move out on his own, and he chose an apartment not far from his cousin’s.

he told andromeda in quiet words what had happened to his brother. he never spoke of regulus again after that.

she watched him and his friends join the war. she and ted couldn’t risk it, not with little dora needing them, but she checked up on sirius every week in disguise. the times were dangerous and she could no longer bring nymphadora to visit, and he used his animagus form rarely, not wanting the death eaters or the ministry to make the connection. in the short hour-long visits they snatched up, they spoke over tea of the years they would spend after the war.

it had taken their siblings from both of them. as far as blood went, they were the last real family they had to each other, and they clung to futures where sirius could take nymphadora shopping for sweets and magical trinkets.

november of 1981, remus lupin turned up at her door. the war was over and voldemort had fallen, but the headline of the paper he gave her with shaking hands told a story she could not comprehend.

the sunrises of those tea-steeped futures died that day. sirius was locked away, and nymphadora grew up with only her father’s family.

at hogwarts, dora was fed the myths and lies of the traitor sirius black and his whole death eater family. she was taught to hate every single one, and andromeda did not know how to tell the story of the cousin who had railed against them all until the day he hadn’t.

in 1974, ted called from the garden, amused by something he’d found. she squinted through the window, peering through the evening’s darkness.

and standing among the peonies, a large black dog stared back.

[thetravelerwrites]

DuMont (Part 3) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Female Elf Ranger/Male Tiefling Barbarian Additional Tags: Exophilia, Tiefling, Elf, Kobold, Half Elf, Human, Rogue, Bard, Barbarian, Ranger, Mage, Wizard, D&D, Dungeons & Dragons, Sex, Third Person Perspective Words: 3839

Kharis seems dissatisfied with DuMont's... performance, so DuMont intends to ask for advice from Rupert. Things don’t go as planned. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

“Why do you do that?” Kharis asked as she and DuMont lay in their bed of straw and furs together.

They were sheltering in a run down barn on the outskirts of the nearest town. Rupert, Sanoh, and Norman were at an inn, but DuMont was too large to fit through most doors. Kharis decided to stay with DuMont instead of enjoying the comforts of the inn, which usually meant she was feeling frisky.

“Do what?” DuMont asked, looking over at her in confusion.

She sighed. “Ask me if I’m okay every time I make a noise when we have sex? And you’re always so gentle, like I’m made of glass and you’re scared you’re going to hurt me.”

“I am scared of that,” He replied, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at her. “I could injure you very easily if I’m not careful. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Kharis sighed discontentedly and reached up to scratch his chest absentmindedly. “It’s not that I don’t like the gentleness. It’s sweet. But I wish you would lose control sometimes, take charge, be spontaneous. Just grab me and fuck me senseless without even saying anything. I’m always the one who tells you what to do, and trust me I love giving orders, but I’d love it if you told me to just shut up and suck your dick once in a while.”

DuMont grimaced. “I don’t think I’d feel right, saying something like that.”

“That’s kind of my point, darling,” She said, sitting up with a slight chuckle. “You’re too pure for your own good sometimes. It’s growing up in that church that did it, it must be. What did that caretaker of yours tell you about sex?”

“That it was mostly a trap set by women to steal a man’s money. He was rather bitter about some woman in his past, I think, though he never talked about it.”

Kharis snorted. “That tracks. Look, it’s not like I want you to treat me badly or be cruel to me. It’s not about being gross or vulgar or wanting to hurt me, it’s about being aggressive, feral, demanding. Using my body to get what you want. When that’s done the right way, it’s so sexy. And I’m giving you consent to do it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“But I don’t know how to do that without hurting you,” He said, mildly frustrated.

Kharis sighed again. “I know, angel. It’s alright, don’t worry yourself too much over it. We’ll figure it out.” She rolled into him and snuggled against his body. “Get some sleep. We need to be up and moving before dawn. Love you.”

“Love you,” DuMont echoed, curling his body around hers and making sure she was as warm as he could make her.

Kharis fell asleep pretty quickly, but DuMont was unable to fall asleep for some time. He replayed the conversation with Kharis over and over in his mind, trying to parse what it was she wanted. Did she really want him to hurt her or be violent with her? That couldn’t be right. When he was violent, he killed people. He didn’t even mean to kill people sometimes, it just happened. He was still trying to gauge his strength and he often failed. How could he be forceful with her and not end up injuring her, or even killing her?

Maybe he could ask Rupert or Norman. Rupert and Sanoh were… very active… almost as active as he and Kharis were, but they both had more experience than he did. Norman was known to hire companions frequently, so he had different partners often. Norman and Rupert might be able to help.

The next day, the five of them came upon something that they hadn’t encountered in their travels: a proper bathhouse. It was lavish and resplendent and wildly out of place in this little town.

“Oh! Look!” Kharis said, pointing excitedly. “Look how big the doors are! DuMont, you’ll fit! We should splurge a little! We made a ton of gold from our last job and I haven’t had a bath that wasn’t in a cold pond in ages. Please, let’s go!”

“I’m totally down for this,” Sanoh said. “My scales have been so dry and itchy. I think I’m getting ready to molt.” She grimaced and scratched at her arm, which did look a bit flaky. “I hate molting. I’m out of commission for a solid week. It’s such an inconvenience.”

“How often do you molt?” Norman asked.

“Once a year. The good news is, once I’m done we can sell the skin for a good price. People grind it up and use it as a wound paste.”

“That’s actually fascinating,” Rupert said. “I wonder what magical properties your sheds might have.”

“Yeah, that’s great and totally not gross at all, are we doing this or what?” Kharis said impatiently.

“Sure, sure,” Norman said. “As long as we’re not spending all our money, it’s fine.”

The four of them started forward toward the building, but DuMont hesitated. Kharis doubled back.

“You okay, big guy?” She asked, patting his arm.

“Are you sure you want me to come in with you?” He asked apprehensively.

“Of course!” Kharis said. “Have you ever had a proper bath before?”

“I don’t think so,” He said.

“Then this could be an opportunity for you. Come get pampered with us. It’s fun.”

DuMont groused uncertainly, but he allowed Kharis to drag him into the bathhouse.

DuMont felt very out of place inside the pastel walls of the parlor, looking around at the delicate figurines and statues with discomfort and attempting to make himself smaller. The hostess, an elven woman, looked at him warily but greeted them all brightly.

“Welcome to the Rushing Waters Baths. Will you be needing separate rooms or a communal room this evening? The separate rooms are more private, but also more expensive.”

“One for the boys and one for the girls?” Rupert asked.

“Sounds good to me,” Kharis said. “Do you have one big enough for my sweetheart here?” She patted DuMont’s arm.

The elven woman looked him up and down appraisingly. “Unfortunately, I think the only bath that will fit him is the public bath. However, we have no other customers at the moment, so he will have it to himself.”

“Oh, that’s great!” Kharis said. “You’ll get to stretch your legs and soak for a while.”

DuMont grunted. “Thank you,” He said, addressing the hostess. His deep, low voice rattled the shelves slightly.

“We also offer laundering services,” The hostess said. “Simply leave your clothing on the shelves at the exterior of the bathing rooms and a silver for the service.”

DuMont looked down at himself and the simple loincloth he wore for modesty’s sake. He also donned a simple coat that Kharis had fashioned for him out of some large drapes for when it started getting cold. She wasn’t a great seamstress and the coat was a little haphazard and slapdash, but DuMont had treasured the gift and rarely took it off.

He had money now for the first time in his life, but there wasn’t many places that made clothing in his size. He could commission something, he supposed, but considering how often he ended up covered with dirt and blood, there wasn’t much point.

“You will need to leave your… weapons,” She glanced at the massive church bell tied to a post that DuMont used as a bludgeon. “At the door, of course. They will also be cleaned.”

“This is a strange place to be in the middle of such a small town,” Norman said.

“We’re a resort town, actually,” The hostess replied in a chipper tone that made Kharis roll her eyes.

“A what?” DuMont asked.

“It’s a town rich people build so they can pretend to be simple country folk while looking down their noses at them at the same time,” Kharis said in an undertone. The hostess frowned at her.

“How much for two private rooms and the public bath?” Sanoh asked, redirecting the hostess’s attention.

“The public bath is only two copper, and another copper for soap,” The hostess replied, still eyed Kharis while disfavor. “For two private baths, it’s six silver. Soap and towels are provided.”

“Do you provide companionship?” Norman asked.

“Wait until we get to the inn, Norm!” Rupert said. “I don’t want to be in the room with you when you have your fun!”

“Prude,” Norman sniffed.

“We actually own the inn, as well,” The hostess said. “You can book your rooms and companionship here for later, if you’d like.”

“Good, let’s do that,” Norman said.

It took a few minutes for them to iron out all the details while DuMont stood in the back awkwardly. He then waited while his friends were led to their own bathing rooms.

Before he could be taken to the public bath, he asked the hostess, “Could I visit my friends’ room? I’d like to ask their advice privately.”

“Of course,” The hostess said. “Right this way.”

She led him to one of the rooms, in which there was a flowery perfume smell. Steam emanated from under the door.

“They are undressing in the side room,” The hostess said. “You are free to wait for them.”

“Thank you, miss,” He replied. She nodded and excused herself.

DuMont stepped in and lowered his massive body into a squat-sit position, waiting patiently. The door opened after a moment, and to his dismay, a very naked Sanoh walked through. DuMont slapped his hands over his eyes.

“I’m sorry!” He exclaimed. “The hostess must have brought me to the wrong room! I meant to go to the mens’ bath!”

Sanoh laughed. “It’s okay, big guy!” He heard the sound of her slipping into the water. “Feeling a bit lonely? Did you want to bath with the guys?”

“No,” He replied, still covering his eyes. “Well, yes, but no. I wanted to ask their advice about something.”

“Oh?” She said, her voice piqued with interest. “Maybe I can help. What’s the problem?”

“Oh…” DuMont hesitated. “Well… It’s private.”

“It’s about Kharis?” Sanoh hazarded.

“Yes,” He responded.

“Is it about sex?” Sanoh said shrewdly.

“Yes,” He said, almost dropping his hands in surprise. “How did you know?”

“Because Kharis and I talk, sweetie,” She replied. “Look, you can lower your hands. I’m not all that shy, honey; ask Rupert. Besides, if you want to know what a woman wants during sex, you shouldn’t ask a man. Why don’t you get in and sit with me and we can talk. Kharis is getting a drink, so she’ll be a few minutes.”

DuMont slowly lowered his hands and was relieved to see that Sanoh had sunk beneath the bath, which seemed to have a cloudy, pleasant smelling mixture in it that obscured most of her body. He carefully stood up and climbed into the bath, raising the level of the water by at least a foot. He took great care not to crowd her, looking much like an oversized dog crouching in a box too small for him.

“Alright, so what’s the issue?” She asked.

“Kharis wants me to be more aggressive,” DuMont said, hanging his head. “But I’m worried that I might hurt her.”

“I see,” Sanoh said, leaning forward a little. “I mean, I like a little bit of pain during sex, but I imagine it would be difficult for you, considering your size and strength.”

“That’s what worries me,” He replied anxiously.

“Well, there are plenty of ways of being assertive without hurting anyone,” Sanoh replied. “What about just ripping her clothes off the next time you feel frisky? Ooh, with your teeth! That would be hot.”

“But wouldn’t I make her mad if I ruin her clothes?” DuMont asked, cocking his head.

Sanoh shook her head. “Trust me, do it right, and she’ll be putty in your hands. Besides, we’re flush with cash right now. Kharis can buy new clothes. Kharis is also a little bit of an exhibitionist, so she’d probably like some public sex.”

DuMont balked at this idea. “That’s indecent! And also illegal, as far as I know!”

“I don’t mean do it out in the open! Although, knowing Kharis, she would probably love that,” Sanoh muttered thoughtfully. “No, no, somewhere public adjacent, like a rooftop or just beyond a tree line, somewhere you have the potential to be caught.”

DuMont frowned uncertainly. “Alright. What else could I do?”

“You could snarl at her when the two of you are getting in the mood. Some women really love that primal, feral energy. Love bites could be good, too. I do love it when Rupert puts his teeth to my scales.”

“But…” DuMont ran a finger over his exposed fangs. “I don’t know if I could do that. What if I actually bit her?”

“Drawing a little bit of blood might be alright, just don’t go very deep.”

DuMont grimaced uncertainly, but didn’t say anything.

“Honestly, honey, I think you’re really overthinking things. You’re just a big sweetie pie! I don’t think you could hurt Kharis, even if you tried to.”

“That’s patently incorrect,” DuMont protested.

“Just try it, big guy,” Sanoh insisted. “It’s called experimenting for a reason. If it doesn’t work out, then you don’t have to do it again.”

“I suppose,” DuMont replied slowly.

“Either way, Kharis should be here soon, and you should go take your bath. First rule of being a freelance mercenary: never let something you paid money for go to waste.”

With some difficulty, he climbed out of Sanoh’s bath and headed back for the public bath. It was fairly large; he was able to stretch out, still clothed, and soak his whole body with relative ease. He swam around the bath a little, using the soap Kharis had bought for him to wash his body and clothes.

In the warm water, he mulled over the suggestions Sanoh had given him. Feral, huh? Like… maybe hunting? The only time he really let loose is when he was hunting, though his intent was usually to kill. Perhaps he could modify it and turn it into a game? Would Kharis like that? He could try it.

After only ten minutes, he rinsed himself and got out of the bath, sloshing water all over the floor and walked dripping back out into the foyer, the hostess glaring at him as he exited the bathhouse. Should he try now? It certainly would be unexpected. He wanted to be more spontaneous, like Kharis suggested, and take her by surprise. She might like that.

Hide. He needed to hide. There was a grove of trees near the bathhouse, an orchard likely belonging to the inn. The trees weren’t especially dense, but the sun was setting and it would be easy enough to hide in the dark.

It was over an hour before Kharis came out of the bathhouse. She was alone, thankfully, and looking around with concern, likely for him. It was understandable; DuMont usually stuck close to Kharis in unfamiliar places.

“DuMont?” She called. “Where’d you go?”

DuMont purposefully snapped a twig, catching Kharis’s attention. She spun around and looked into the orchard, squinting, and moved away from the lantern light.

“Is that you?” She asked as she walked forward.

DuMont let a low, quiet, guttural snarl issue from his throat, shifting his weight carefully. Kharis’s brow furrowed and she laid a hand on the hilt of her short sword. DuMont moved forward slowly, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He had to admit, this was kind of fun.

“Show yourself!” She said. “I’m armed!”

DuMont snarled again, a little louder this time. Kharis started backing away, beginning to draw her weapon.

Now.

DuMont rushed out of the shadows of the orchard, snatching Kharis by the waist and throwing her over his shoulder, making her squeak in surprise, and began to scale the tall bathhouse building, digging his claws into the stone.

“DuMont!” She shrieked, smacking his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

DuMont didn’t answer, just continued to climb the wall up toward the roof. As he pulled himself up, he dropped her unceremoniously, pulling rope from his waist pack. Kharis watched in confusion as he tied her hands up, behind, and down to her legs.

“DuMont, what are you doing?” She asked, a slight smile on her face.

“Taking your advice,” He replied, a deep growl to his words.

Her eyebrows raised, intrigued. “Well, I’m glad, but how are you going to get my clothes off if I’m tied up like this?”

He took hold of her tunic with his hands and ripped it open down the front, exposing her breasts to the air. Her skin smelled of the rose and cardamom soap she had used.

“Oh,” Kharis said. “Well, then.”

He put her on the ground and sniffed down her body, growling low like an animal stalking prey. She bit her lip and squirmed a little. DuMont pressed his nose in between her legs and took a deep breath before taking the fabric in his teeth and ripping it, tearing a ragged hole

“Oh, fuck,” He rasped. “That’s so fucking hot.”

His tongue came out and licked a large swipe up and down, and she strained against the ropes, squealing. She was swollen and pulsing against his tongue, and he could tell she was enjoying herself.

With one hand, he picked her up and carried her to the ledge, where there was a large decorative gargoyle looking down over the courtyard. He placed her face down on top of it, so that she could see the courtyard. The way the light was directed by the lanterns, she could see down, but people couldn’t see her. Probably.

Holding her down with his hand, he plunged his tongue inside her and contracted it over and over, in and out, up and down. She moaned loudly, and DuMont answered with a snarl. The entire lower half of her body was inside his jaws, and while he knew he wouldn’t hurt her, he had to admit that the hint of danger was thrilling.

Her hips moved in time with his strokes until she lay her face down against the stone and just whimpered in pleasure. Before she could recover, he withdrew his jaws and lined himself up with her entrance, thrusting in hard.

She howled, making as much noise as she could, reveling in the feeling of him inside of her and the idea of being overheard by anyone down below. She’d always loved the idea of being almost caught.

She began to quiet down to a faint whimpering, and the interior of her body flexed and contracted as she climaxed around his cock. He slowed to let her draw out the orgasm, and then sped up again, thrusting so hard that her body rocked to and fro on the back of the gargoyle. He pulled out, flipped her onto her back, and pulled her up against him, holding her in the air and pumping into her, moving her on him, using her body as she told him to. He granted her, it did feel amazing.

Her head was thrust back and she grunted with her teeth clenched, her eyes closed. Her face was flushed, a vein bulging in her neck, and she was sweating all down her body.

“Are you--” He began, but she opened her eyes and snarled, “Don’t you fucking dare ask if I’m okay,” and he shut his mouth.

He thrust and thrust vigorously, with more force than he normally used, until her body went completely stiff and she was gasping for air, then went limp in his arms. He slowed his movement to a crawl, giving her a moment to recover, before driving himself back in again, full-speed, not giving her a chance to regain speech. She strained against her restraints, not as though she wanted to be free of them, but in a manner that suggested she was trying to contract and stretch with pleasure, the muscles in her stomach and legs rigid and hard. Her face was red with exertion and sweat poured off her body.

“Cum,” She grunted at him. “Cum for me. Do it.”

He snapped his hips against hers faster still, the rise of ecstasy building in him quickly, and he roared as he released inside her. He had to be careful not to drop her as he felt himself pop finally, gushing and shooting into her. As such, he did manage to lay her down before collapsing. As exhausted as he was, he used his claws to snap the ropes free and let her body completely relax under him.

“Is that what you wanted?” He asked breathlessly.

“Shush,” She replied faintly. “Let me bask in the afterfuck.”

They lay there together on the cool bricks of the roof, the evening air blowing lazily over their flushed, overheated skin.

Eventually, Kharis pushed on DuMont’s shoulder and he rolled off and lay next to her. She sighed contentedly.

“Yes, to answer your question,” She said. “That was undoubtedly the best lay I have ever had in my life. I didn’t think you had that in you, but I’m pleasantly surprised.”

“I wasn’t too rough?” He asked.

“No, not at all,” She said. “It was perfect. Just what I needed.” She rolled on her side and looked up at him. “You weren’t uncomfortable with doing it, were you?”

“No,” He replied. “I was uncertain I was doing what you wanted and worried I was hurting you. Did I?”

She shook her head. “I think if you had gone any harder than you did, you might’ve, but it was great.”

“Good,” He said, satisfied. “The hunting and stalking part was really fun, I enjoyed that very much.”

She laughed. “You startled me, certainly, but it was fun. Next time we’re camping in the woods, we should have ourselves a nice game of hide and seek.”

“I would like that,” He said.

“Well,” She said, hopping to her feet. “I’m starting to get cold, and my clothes are…” She looked over at the shreds of her tunic and trousers. “Well, unwearable. Can you give me a lift down to the ground?”

“But you’re naked.”

She shrugged. “I’ve got spares in my bag downstairs.”

“But you’re naked.”

She snorted. “It’s not the first time I’ve walked nude through an inn before and it likely won’t be the last. Just get me down.”

He obliged, lifting her onto his back and scaling back down the wall. Kharis drew a lot of stares as she made her way through the common area of the inn. Like normal, DuMont was too large to get into the inn, but he watched Kharis from the door to make sure she didn’t run into trouble.

Norman, Sanoh, and Rupert were sitting and drinking, staring at Kharis as she strode through the room, though Sanoh caught sight of DuMont at the door and smirked, winking at him.

If he ever needed advice in the future, he definitely knew who to ask.

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Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 19- Exhaustion

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU and Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

On their way to lunch, the hermits are attacked. Jealousy rages within the guilds that are losing, but the hermits are unable to fight back. Will they even make it to the event in time? 

___________________________________________

“We make a great team, that paper birdy didn’t even know what happened to it.” Tango laughs, grabbing Grian into a headlock and playfully nuzzling his fist into the golden locks. His body aches, and he feels weak, but prideful. The other hermits around them chatter excitedly, walking down the smooth, clean roads of the noble district. Even the canals of swampwater are tiled and cleaned of dirt and debris. Streets Mumbo knows well- he grew up here. So of course he took the chance to go to his favorite cafe. 

“I’d say I’m happy with bronze, but I really wanted to beat that Mitch guy. Plus, pirates always love gold.” Cleo hums, looking at the medal around her neck. Of course, she’ll always take beating some 30 other guilds to get this medal, their moans and complaints of being beat in the wrestling challenge. She rubs her wrist, wincing. “Though I’ll admit, I haven’t felt this burnt out from magic in years. It’s like that one event sucked it all out of my body.” 

“I feel that way every time I step into the ring.” Tango states, earning a nod from Grian as well. “After day one, I could hardly get out of bed. I felt like a dragon was sitting on my chest.” A few others murmur agreement, and the conversation stops. Not for long, thanks to Grian.

“Scar, Mumbo, are you two ready to show everyone your skills?” Grian grins, fluttering to the front of the group. 

“I was born ready for the creative event. I’ve been dreamin’ about this since I was a boy.” Scar sighs, feeling giddy. He’s already got an idea in mind, building and creating within his own head. 

“I...I’m not so sure. Can’t someone else step in for me? I don’t think I can get my magic to work well enough, much less to beat the others like you all have.”  Mumbo’s terrified. He wishes he had the confidence that Scar just exudes. He has no clue what he’ll build. He’s not even sure if his magic will appear today. 

“You’ve got it, man.” Doc appears beside him, patting his shoulder. “Don’t doubt yourself, otherwise I’ll take control and make you believe.” Mumbo freezes, smiling weakly. He’s not sure if he should be comforted or not by Doc’s offer.

He turns, eyes glimmering upon setting his gaze on the cafe. He came here all the time when he was younger, before he joined the hermits. He would come here to study, to relax, sometimes just to get his favorite tea from the shop. Being back here is strange, the nostalgia mixing with nerves. What would his friends think of this place? Are they out of the normal? Doc and Grian definitely are. 

Mumbo reaches out, grabbing the door’s wrought iron handle. His hand goes right through the metal, iron warping and wiggling like air in the summer heat. “What in the…” 

The ripples cascade out, across the air and townhouses. The mosaics shatter before reforming, and the entire street is empty. But the hermits aren’t alone. “You freaks think you own this place, don’t you? That you’re anything like us? That you can just waltz into the noble district because you’ve won the past two days?” 

Doc immediately summons his magic, ready for a fight. More than a dozen other mages appear from the illusion. Torn shoulder pauldrons, glistening with gold spikes, announces them being from the Guild of Gedeon. A council guild. Behind Doc, he can hear other hermits drawing their circles, blues and yellows shimmering off the illusion they're trapped in. “Let us go, you’re messing with the wrong guild.” 

“Ohoho, win a couple of events and suddenly you think you’re a guild? No, no.” A burly man with feral eyes stares down Doc, shoving him and Cleo towards Scar and Mumbo. “You’re messing up everything. I don’t know why Magistrate Dolios let scum mar such a prestigious event.”

“Maybe it’s because he realized ‘scum like us’ are better at magic than you. Didn’t want the crowd to get bored of the same old dopey outfits and subpar spells.” Cleo’s words have hardly crossed her lips before fists collide with them, sending her splayed across the ground. Doc needs no further initiative, activating his circle and taking control of the mage that struck his friend. His eyes close, and open again looking at himself. Ugh, this body smells. He turns around, meaty hands instead crashing into the Gedeon’s own guildmembers. Three fly out of the illusion, out of the bubble that traps them where no one can watch the fight. Beneath another, the ground opens up beneath her to reveal hellfire. The flames claw at her feet, dragging her into the open chasm. Swallowing her up. 

Doc is thrown out of his puppet, head spinning and blood pooling from his own nose. Grian’s shout rings in his ear, making his head spin and splinter. He looks up, seeing the magical bludgeon disappear like a ghost from a Gedeon member. “You’re gonna regret messing with us. Messing with the order of things. You don’t belong here, none of you do.” 

The illusioner stoops low, snapping his meaty fingers and nodding the gang forward. “And we’ll show you why you don’t mess with the Council. The wrath of  the Guild of Gedeon is not something you walk away from.” 

The fight is intense. Six hermits against about a dozen combatants. What’s worse, the Guild of Gedeon is an offensive group. When the arcane guard can’t do a job, when a strongarm is needed, the Gedeons are the first in line. Cleo holds her own, blood boiling under her dead green skin. Her sword doesn’t back down from a fight, and neither does the poltergeists she summons to aid in the attack. She’s exhausted, but that doesn’t stop her from being in the middle of the battle. Doc jumps from person to person, tapping into their magic and turning it back onto their own teammates. Scar does his best to protect Doc in the process, throwing up walls of rock only for them to be crushed by a volatile spell shot their way. 

But they aren’t winning. Cleo and Doc’s attacks aren’t enough to stave off the fights and fragments of magic flown their way. Tango’s magic is all but gone, sapped from his body. Where did it all go? He had it all this morning, and the bird chase event couldn’t have been enough for him to lose it all! Even worse, Grian’s magic sputtered and died halfway through his attack. Mumbo peeks out from behind Scar’s barrier, hissing with pain as a bolt of hot rock is flung against his forehead. “Grian, what in the world is going on with your magic?” 

“I...I don’t know, Mumbo!” He flicks his wrists, but nothing happens. His arms snap in a quick dance, and he does manage to summon his spell. The wind is hardly more than a summer breeze in his hair. “It’s not there, I’m drained of magic, of energy! But how, I hardly used anything!”

“It’s like you’re me!” The four hiding behind the wall are crushed as the rocks collapse. Trapped, unable to fight off the onslaught. Scar can only block the worst attacks, but bruises and cuts blossom across the hermits.

Until the bell of the capitol building tolls a single time. As quickly as the fight started, it stops. Scar lowers his walls and arm, brushing the blood from his cheek. Immediately, he searches for his friends. Doc struggles to his feet, ready to fight. But Cleo, Grian, and Tango look like they’ve been fighting for hours. They’re completely out of magic, skin pale and eyes glazed with weakness. Something is very wrong. Is there a suppressor mage here? No, that would affect everyone. Mumbo scrabbles backwards, wrist hanging limp. “Good luck getting to check in for the rest of the events, freaks. We’ll see who’s in the labyrinth event now.” 

The illusion drops, and the busy street returns. Bustling crowds, horse-drawn carriages and carts passing by the hermits. As alone as when they first arrived at the cafe. People step around them, glancing at the battered group but never offering help. Scar gasps, wobbling to his feet. “The competition! Mumbo, we’re going to be late!” He pulls Mumbo to his feet. 

“You guys go ahead.” Doc growls, sitting down on a pile of rubble. He rubs blood off of his cheek. “I don’t think the others can get up. They’re too weak.” 

“What caused that? How could Grian not use his magic?” He’s an S-Class, he has ultimate control of his magic. But he acted like he was...well, Mumbo. And now? Now his friends are hurt. They lost the fight- no, they were thrashed. And he wasn’t even able to do anything. 

“I don’t know, but I have a sneaking suspicion who the dark mage is now.” Doc waves the two off, before snarling. “Go! I’ve got the others!” And he’ll be sure Gedeon’s leader, that monster Sidero, gets a taste of what he just did to his friends. He must be the dark mage, trying to stop them. 

But as Doc watches Mumbo and Scar flee, and he helps Grian, Tango, and Cleo to their feet, he’s only made them angrier. 

_____________________________

“How am I...gah, how am I supposed to take a giant cat statue and make it move?” Mumbo hisses, looking up at the relief. Scar’s winning sculpture for the creative event was incredible. He could practically see every hair and whisker of Jellie, carved from stone using her owner’s terraforming magic. Even her wings are feathered, each barb as thin and interlocking as the real thing. It’s easy to see why Scar won the creative contest, hands down.

And here he is ruining it all with his own magic. The council really outdid themselves, pulling a twist like this. His magic falters, and the redstone dust collapses to the ground. Mumbo’s chest feels heavy, lungs pressed and heart clenching. His head feels dizzy, and his magic is nearly impossible to tap into. Surely this is all just nerves? But even Scar looked exhausted, like he was struggling to breathe, to stand after his magic. Exactly what Grian and Tango looked like. 

What’s happening? He can’t help but look over his shoulder. Other guilds are working on the creations their teammates created. Whatever was before them, they had to automate. And from what Mumbo can see, most others are well ahead of him. Especially Ian, deep in the bowels of the contraption Sky had built. He can be heard swearing, the conductive gold making his machine move when he doesn’t want it to. At least Mumbo doesn’t have to worry about that. 

But that doesn’t mean he can do it. The redstone dust falls apart, showering the ground beneath him. He’s going to disappoint everyone, he’s going to ruin Scar’s wonderful statue. He’s going to be the only wizard in this event that can’t even get the thing to move! He falls to his knees, the pressure mounting in his lungs. Making it hard to breathe, crushing in on him. And he’s exhausted, even though he’s barely used any of his magic. He can’t even get it to appear. Like always. All this work, all his hopes to win, will mean nothing if he can’t get his magic to summon. He’s a multi-mage, but he can never prove it. He can never show off his powers, and it’s exactly why he could never join any guild. Looking around, he can see all the guilds in the field he applied to. All of them said no, laughed in his face and ridiculed him when his magic failed to show itself. And now here he is, proving them all right. Making a laughing stock of the Order of Hermits. 

“You can do it, Mumbo!” He picks his head up, looking around. He doesn’t recognize that voice. It takes him a moment to realize it’s not coming from any of the hermits. The voice is loud, echoing over the crowd’s low roar. It’s Ecto, one of the wanderers. Beside her, the other two teammates are cheering him on as well. Red’s practically bouncing in his seat, about to fall over the railing as he yells as loud as possible.

More voices join them. He can hear Iskall, shouting for him to breathe, to remember his training. He can hear some sort of soliloquy being written across the sky, intertwined with Joe’s voice. Zedaph and Impulse are holding up a sign, nearly knocking False and Wels with the board. Even the rest of Team Crafted was cheering for him. TFC is watching Mumbo, blue eyes gazing through silvery hair. He gives a small nod and a smile, his own way of showing his encouragement.

All of the hermits are his family, the family he never had. A family that would support him, help him, be with him no matter what. That never gave up on him. And TFC was like the father he never had, with a calm voice as smooth as obsidian and as strong as diamond. Someone he could go to with all his fears and faults, and know he wouldn’t be ridiculed or put down. That TFC would listen, and offer sound advice. Advice he can hear echoing in his head now. “It isn’t about the amount of times you fall down, Mumbo. It’s about how many times you get back up.” 

So he gets back up again. He brushes the sand and dirt off the black fabric of his trousers, ignoring the physical pain in his chest and the unwieldy way his head spins. He closes his eyes, hand outstretched. In his mind, he can see his magic circle. The ninety degree turns ending in dots, the petal-like curls from the center. His hands move unconsciously, following the pattern of motions he created. It’s like ramming open a door, trying to find his magic. Trying to connect to it. But once he’s in, it washes all over his body. 

He opens his eyes, his circle cast and the redstone moving to his bidding. Climbing up and ingraining in the pores of Scar’s stonework, following lines weathered through the rock. Lightning shoots through the circuits, from his fingertips and breathing energy into the cat. The haunches of the massive statue move, toe beans uprooting from the sand as Jellie comes to life. Redstone dances across her granite tail, flicking side to side. Mumbo can’t help but laugh, knocked over into the sand by a giant stone cat head rubbing into his chest. Scar’s incredible creation, brought to life with his redstone magic. Given energy through his lightning. 

Statue Jellie opens it’s mouth to meow, but no sound comes out. She turns her head, gazing across the crowd surrounding her. Her eyes stop at the crown seat, where the Council sits in awe. Redstone turns on all across her body, his magic branching out onto each hair as it rises and her back arches. “Whoa, what’s all that about?” 

Mumbo has never seen Jellie hiss at anyone, and even if this stone statue is just a version of her, his magic seems to have brought her to life. And her eyes are as thin as paper, ears turned back and hissing as she faces the Council. Mumbo runs over to the massive kitty, trying to calm her down. Lightning spreads across the redstone, forcing the stone statue to calm. For a second, Mumbo swears he can hear Magistrate Dolios’s voice, though his head is swimming from exhaustion. “Well done, boy. What i wouldn’t give for such...raw power. Soon.”

[sorceress-coffee]

Of History and Kisses

I want to give a special thanks to @moonkatt for all the support and kindness she’s sent my way! Your love for RoA has really inspired me and I’m truly grateful to everyone who takes time out of their day to read my fanfiction. As promised, this should be the first of five original chapters regarding River’s development, her family, and the Trollhunter’s time between episode 13 and 14.

AO3 Link

Blinky’s P.O.V.

As the celebrations came to a close, and our young Trollhunter and Sorceress slipped away with the young Tobias, I went off in search of Vendel. During their first months in Trollmarket, Vendel had quickly become attached to the young Sorceress, Lady River. Though their lessons were sporadic as she and our Trollhunter, Master Jim, learned to balance their human duties with their new magical destinies, she and Vendel have made great strides in her training.

 There was much we learned of Lady River throughout her lessons however, such as having no information about her family. Her mother, Lady Ganieda, was presumed dead nearly a thousand years ago, after the battle at Killahead. Trolls, wizards, and all manner of magical being hadn’t seen nor heard from Lady Ganieda, all trace of her erased from our world. That is until River showed up with our Trollhunter.

 Once Vendel learned of this, he came to ask me for help. He asked if I could locate any tomes, books, and scrolls with any information I could find on Lady Ganieda. During Jim’s time at school, I scoured my brother’s books high and low, searching for anything containing even a footnote about Lady Ganieda, but I could only find one, other than the book Vendel had given to Lady River.

 I rushed through the market, book under one of my four arms as I tried to find the old goat. He needed to see what I had found on Lady Ganieda. What I had found, there is a lot River doesn’t know, and with what I’ve seen with NotEnrique and Eemeli, she takes after her mother.

 Spying Vendel’s staff in a crowd, I took off towards Bagdwella’s shop, who in celebration of our victory over Bular, was giving away socks for the night. As I reached the middle of the crowd, I found Vendel, speaking fondly to trolls of our Trollhunter and Sorceress, saying he expected great things from them. His overly cheery demeanor most likely the result of his few too many drinks tonight. I quickly grabbed his arm holding his staff, gaining his attention.

 “Blinkous!” Vendel smiled as I spun him to me, “How can I help our Trollhunter’s trainer?” He asked whacking the top of my head with his staff.

 I grinned, holding the book up for Vendel with all four hands, a slight bounce to my posture as I thought of its contents, “What you asked me about, I finally found something!” I told Vendel quickly, watching him sober a bit as what I found sunk in.

 “This, has information on her mother?” He asked, taking the book carefully. I nodded, opening it in his hold, flipping to the section on Lady Ganieda, “It’s right here, detailed information on who she was, what she did, and why we believe she disappeared,” I stopped short at that, letting out a sight. “You know the stories as well as I do old friend. I thought you should present this to Lady River. It’s the only thing in my brother’s collection that contained any information on her.” I explained, knowing this was the only connection Lady River would have to her mother.

 Vendel nodded, chuckling as he skimmed over some of the passage, “Shall we find our young Sorceress then?” He asked, heading out of the crowd to the stairway the younglings ran off to. I grinned, following after Vendel to find Lady River. As we drew near the younglings, we found Draal, waiting near the top of the stairs, watching over them.

 Vendel paused to speak with Draal. “Draal, how are the younglings?” He asked, curious as to why Draal was watching over the stairway instead of finishing off the celebration with the other trolls.

 Draal nodded, peering down the steps as he spoke, “They’re exhausted but in good spirits,” he explained, smiling softly. “River’s ankle is still badly damaged and I doubt our Trollhunter and To-bee, will be able to help her back up the steps.”

 I frowned, recalling Nomura’s attempts at dragging Lady River into the Darklands. “Better her ankle than being pulled into the portal.” Draal only hummed in response.

 Vendel clasped his shoulder, showing him the book. “Blinkous managed to find something on her mother, we were planning on sharing it with her.” He told Draal, “I believe she’ll want you present.”

 Smiling, Draal headed down with us to the younglings. As we approached, we could hear them discussing fair Lady Claire’s missing brother, and what awaited in the Darklands.

 River’s P.O.V.

“Not to mention we’d be walking directly into Gunmar,” I spoke up, worried for Enrique now that NotEnrique was useless to the Gumm-gumms.

 “We’ll figure it out,” Jim shrugged, smiling at us. “We always do.”

 The clearing of someone’s throat caused Jim and I turn quickly as Draal, Blinky, and Vendel joined us on the steps. Jim nervously scratched the back of his neck as Vendel eyed him, the mention of Gunmar automatically setting the old Troll on edge. “River,” he turned to me, lifting a book to my line of sight. “I had Blinkous look for information on your mother, would you like to go over it in private?” He asked, glancing at Toby and Jim.

 An overwhelming excitement took hold as I stared at the book, knowing what it contained. “If they want to stay, I don’t mind. She’s Jim’s aunt after all, even if they never met.” I smiled at Jim; family had always been an awkward topic for us.

 Jim smiled but stood, grabbing Toby. “I think you should hear it first, she’s your mom.” He hugged me quickly, stepping back with a grin. “Besides, it’s getting late, if you’re staying, someone has to cover for you with mom.” He chuckled, dragging Toby away with the promise of a Diablo Maximus.

 Draal lifted me carefully, settling me in his lap as Vendel and Blinky sat on either side. Laughing, I settled down fairly quickly, keeping my ankle up on Draal knee as Vendel opened the ancient book carefully.

 “Lady Ganieda, born half-sister to the Wizard Merlin. A Sorceress in the time of Camelot. She served her kingdom alongside her half-brother and his two apprentices. During King Arthur’s reign, was broke out between the humans and those of magic. It was said that Lady Ganieda, friend to human and magical creatures alike, was torn. She had a duty to her kingdom, but her hurt bled for those born of magic.” Vendel read through, history sounding more like a fairy tale as he dove deeper into the legend of Lady Ganieda.

 As Arthur’s madness grew with his Queen’s untimely demise, he began imprisoning innocent magic born creatures. The result was a rise in Gunmar’s hatred for humans and the impending war between humans and magic itself. Lady Ganieda stood against King Arthur for his wrongful imprisonment of magical creatures, she stated that he was to imprison every single one, then that would include Merlin, his apprentices, and herself.

 As a show of mercy, and for her years of service to the crown, King Arthur banished Lady Ganieda into wild woods, where he believed the Trolls would kill her. Only taking her ruby staff, she left. She wondered through the wild woods for days. The spirits were kind to her, sensing the magic that flowed through her veins.

 Spirits led Lady Ganieda deeper into the woods. Bringing her to a small village of Trolls. Upon seeing a human, panic ensued. This was Dwoza, a village thought to be hidden away from Gunmar, the trolls residing here had wanted nothing to do with the Gumm-Gumm war. Using her staff, Lady Ganieda called to the forest spirits, showing the Trolls she was more like them than the humans seeking to destroy them.

 Once the panic had calmed, the leader of Dwoza greeted the young sorceress, offering her shelter and any aid the trolls could lend. Lady Ganieda was grateful to the Trolls, but she couldn’t stay. She didn’t want to cause more panic for others who would seek asylum in Dwoza. The forest spirits were against her leaving. They used all manner of tricks to keep Lady Ganieda in Dwoza.

 Growing weary of the forest spirits, Lady Ganieda confronted them, refusing to trade a man-made cage for a spirit-made one. The spirits, realizing their error, led Lady Ganieda back to the forest, allowing her to venture deeper into the wild woods.

 Continuing her journey, Lady Ganieda was unaware of the darkness that followed her. As night fell in the woods, Trolls in night-colored armor appeared before her, surrounding the sorceress. Lady Ganieda was terrified but kept a calm demeanor as the Gumm-Gumm soldier captured her.

 She was brought to Gunmar, only to learn that her oldest friend, the Eldritch Queen, had sided with the Gumm-Gumms. The Eldritch Queen asked for Lady Ganieda’s assistance in infiltrating Camelot. She brought her to a group of young trolls and humans. Confused, Lady Ganieda waited to see what her friend had in store for the younglings.

 Using ancient dark magic, the Eldritch Queen bound the souls of the humans to the Trolls present, changing the Trolls and cursing the humans. As the human fell into a deep sleep, the Trolls were able to take their forms. Lady Ganieda was horrified, the Eldritch Queen had created Changelings. Trolls now bound to her and Gunmar’s will.

 Lady Ganieda made it clear to the Eldritch Queen that she wanted no part in her plan. Gunmar ordered for her death, but the Eldritch Queen stopped him, saying that in time, Lady Ganieda would recognize their power, and use it to bring the Eternal Night.

 With her life secured, for the time being, Lady Ganieda was taken to the Gumm-Gumm dungeon to rot until she died, or chose to help the Eldritch Queen. During her imprisonment inside an iron cage, a youngling female was charged with looking after Lady Ganieda. As the youngling guarded the cage, she spoke of how some of the Changelings were terrified of their new abilities. Having been stolen from their homes as whelps, most wanted nothing to do with Gunmar’s rule but were too terrified to stand up against him.

 Lady Ganieda, sensing the truth in the youngling’s words, devised a plan to break out of the Gumm-Gumm prison. With the youngling’s help, she would get as many Changelings away from Gunmar as she possibly could.

 Close to sunset, as Gunmar’s troops were readying to march to Killahead, the youngling snuck into the Eldritch Queen’s quarters and stole Lady Ganieda’s staff. She headed into the dungeon, breaking open Lady Ganieda’s iron cage. With her staff returned, Lady Ganieda and the youngling tore through the Gumm-Gumm base, finding as many Changelings as they could, breaking them away from the marching troops.

 As the freed Changelings took off into the woods, Lady Ganieda turned for Killahead. She had an Eldritch Queen to confront. The youngling refused to follow the Changelings, vowing to fight as Lady Ganieda’s champion the need arose. Lady Ganieda recognized the fight in the young Troll’s eyes and agreed. They headed to the battle of Killahead and found the Eldritch Queen locked in battle with Merlin. The youngling rose to the challenge and attacked the Eldritch Queen. Their battle grew fierce, stone crumbled in their wake. Merlin injured, pleaded with his sister to flee, losing her once to King Arthur’s rule.

 The youngling was struck down by the Eldritch queen. Lady Ganieda refused to back down as she called her to fight. The witch and the sorceress locked in battle, as the witch destroyed everything around, the sorceress tried to heal what was wounded. During their final moments, their magic clashed causing a massive explosion.

 As the dust settled, only the Eldritch Queen remained. Lady Ganieda was no more, fighting to protect everyone. Humans, Trolls, and Changelings. There remains a statue of the youngling and Lady Ganieda in Camelot. A Gumm-Gumm soldier and a Sorceress who wanted nothing more than peace. Those who were willing to die for it.

 As Vendel finished the story all eyes turned to me with worried expressions. I was clinging tight to Draal’s stone hand as wetness trailed over my cheeks. Was I crying? I scrubbed at my cheeks, trying to rid my face of the tears. “I’m okay, I just… Did she die? Then how am I here?” I asked, more confused about my existence.

 Draal nuzzled the top of my head, trying to comfort me, “The book said she ‘was no more,’ it’s possible the clash of magic threw her into a different realm.” He explained, carefully using his mechanical hand to wipe my face as more tears spilled.

Blinky nodded quickly at Draal's suggestion, “That is true! I’ve something similar before. She had to have survived to have you. There’s no doubt that you’re her daughter!” he argued. Handing Draal the Troll equivalent to a hanky, really a dishrag, to wipe my face with.

 Vendel smiled as he watched Draal and Blinky fuss over me. “I remember Lady Ganieda, we met once, briefly, but she always put the lives of others before her own. She was like daylight itself. She could warm one’s soul.” Patting my head softly, he continued. “You are here, which means she survived the battle. Though we don’t know where she is now, we do know she survived the Eldritch Queen’s wrath.”

 As the tears slowed to a stop, I smiled softly in thought. “I take after her.”

 Vendel chuckled, “This is obvious. You’re a worrier, refusing to back from a fight. You have a talent for healing, a type of magic she held dear. You’re also extremely stubborn and bull-headed when it comes to helping others, especially Trolls and Changelings.”

 Blinky smiled, clasping my shoulder, “You may not have met her, but you have so much of her with you.”

 Nodding, I put my hand over the closed book. “Thank you for finding this Blinky.” I hugged him tight before hugging Vendel, “Thank you for looking after me, Master Vendel.” Vendel returned the hug carefully, keeping an eye on my injured ankle. When I finally pulled away from the hug, I looked up to Draal, nuzzling under his chin. “Thank you for staying,” I spoke softly.

 Draal hummed, standing with me in his hold. “I believe it’s time we headed home. The Bar-bu-rah will worry if River’s gone for too long.” He reasoned, nodding to Blinky and Vendel as he turned to leave.

 I waved goodbye over Draal’s shoulder, snickering once we were out of earshot. “Didn’t Jim mention he’d be covering for me tonight?” I asked, wondering what Draal was up to.

 Chuckling, Draal adjusted me in his hold as he exited Trollmarket, into the canal. “Did he? Are you sure?” he teased, heading to the edge of town, and up to our billboard. “I thought you could use a break, or talk if that’s what you needed.” He smiled, settling us facing the woods.

 Humming softly, I curled up against him. “I think I have more questions than answers now,” I explained, playing with his mechanical hand as I tried to form my thoughts. “How did she know this Eldritch Queen? If they were friends, why would she try to kill my mother? Who was the Gumm-Gumm that helped her? Where did the Changelings go? What happened during the fight?” I rambled off as each question rose to the front of my mind.

 Draal frowned, “I’m not sure. I remember the panic her entrance to Dwoza caused, but I never saw her once she left.” He spoke up, having been there when everything happened. “I never saw her or this Eldritch Queen at the battle of Killahead.”

 Smiling softly, I nuzzled up under his chin. “When the battle was over, and there was relative peace, did you visit Camelot? Did you see the statue?” I asked, wanting to anything I could about my mother and the youngling.

 Draal nodded, “When we needed supplies the humans traded for. I did see the statue a few times. If it was accurate, the youngling was small for a Gumm-Gumm soldier. She didn’t look like a Gumm-Gumm for that matter.” Tilting his head in thought, Draal tried to recall the statue. “Strange armor though.” He spoke finally.

 I snickered, “This coming from a Troll that doesn’t wear armor,” I teased him, knowing his skin was too hard for most weapons to pierce.

 “That’s because mine is built in.” he snarked back grinning down at me.

 Laughing I kissed his cheek, grateful that after everything, Draal was here to help me smile again. “Thank you.” Draal smiled softly before smashing his face against my cheek, causing me to burst out in laughter. “What are you doing?” I managed to get out through my laughing fit, trying to push his nose away so I could look at him.

 Draal stubbornly kept his face smooshed against my cheek, even as he spoke, “Is this not the human ‘kissing?’ The smashing of faces?” He asked, pulling back finally as he looked down at me in confusion.

 My face bled scarlet, realizing he was trying to kiss my cheek, “Oh!” I floundered, trying to think of how to explain kissing. “Well, what did Jim tell you? When he explained his fears about the kissing scene?” I asked, unsure of what Jim could have told Draal that involved ‘smashing’ faces.

 Draal brought up his hands, making duckbills and smashing them together. “When two people like each other, the smash their lips together. The more they like each other, the longer the smashing lasts.” He explained. “When I said you did something similar, he explained it could be done on the cheek, forehead, nose, and hand. I think.” He frowned, trying to remember his exact words.

 I smiled nuzzling his jaw, “So you tried smashing your face against my cheek.” I giggled, “I’m assuming kissing is a human thing?” I asked, my face falling as I thought back to the night before. Kissing him in the museum. “Wait, but I…” Mortified, realizing my reflex at seeing him alive may have been unwanted.

 Draal chuckled, watching my face turn darker shades of red, “I’ve never seen a fleshbag turn so many different colors,” he teased, gently nuzzling his mouth against my cheek. “Your gesture is not unwelcome.”

 As my brain overloaded, I let out an indignant squawk, grabbing his face to give him a stern look. “Teasing isn’t helping!” I snarled, my face on fire.

 Draal stared at me in shock before melting into laughter, hugging me tightly. “Then don’t make it so easy.” As his laughter died down, a grin plastered itself over his face. “I think it’s what the fleshbags refer to as ‘cute’.”

 Grumbling, waiting for the red to drain from my face. “If you weren’t my mate, I’d throw you into the frickin forest,” I mumbled against his chest, curling up against him.

 “It’s a good thing we’re courting then.” He snickered, “I have no doubt you could throw me that far.” Leaning back against the billboard, he hummed in thought. “Are human females the only ones to initiate this ‘kissing’?” He asked, wondering if he messed up a weird human social norm.

 My voice was muffled as I kept my face hidden, “No, I just wasn’t expecting it since you’ve never done it before.”

 “Unexpected, not unwelcome?” He asked, startling me enough to pull back, looking up at him incredulously.

 “Why would it be unwelcome? It’s just kissing,” I asked, now the confused one in this conversation.

 Draal grew quiet, deep in thought as he went over what Jim had told him, “Is kissing something all humans do? Jim mentioned friends and family do this as well.”

 I waved my hands, trying to figure out the actual question. “Well, no. I mean, I’ve kissed mom and Jim on the cheek. But you’re the first person I’ve kissed in a… romantic sense I guess.” I tried to explain, hoping he’d understand.

 Nuzzling against my jaw, Draal let out a huff through his nose. “Courting sounds easier.” He ground out, processing what I told him. “So, there are different types of kissing, on the cheek is family, sometimes friends… and smashing mouths together is with a mate or… the boy or girlfriends, yes?” He asked, having to talk through his thought process on what Jim and I have both explained about human relationships before.

 “Exactly!” I grinned up at him. “But kisses on the cheek, forehead, or nose can also be used in a romantic relationship. It really depends on the two people involved. For instance, with us, I don’t mind whatever you’d like to do, but if someone I knew from school… let’s use Steve as an example. If Steve tried that, he’d get a broken jaw at least.”

 Draal snarled at the thought, pulling me tighter against his chest, “I’d snap him in half before he had the chance.”

 “I guess it’s just something I don’t mind as long as it’s you,” I shrugged, snuggling in his hold. “Doesn’t feel weird.” I yawned out as the sun began to creep on the edge of the horizon. “Looks like I’m officially out of energy.”

 Draal smiled softly, recovering from his little bout of jealousy over the thought of someone else trying to kiss me. “We both need actual rest after that battle.” He quickly got up, staying in the trees as he headed for home. “I think there’s a nest calling our names,” He yawned as we reached a sewer entrance near the house. Climbing down quickly, Draal headed to his door into the basement. As we finally entered the room he crashed back on the nest, keeping me curled up on his chest.

I lazily reached for the blanket I kept near the nest. Draal grabbed it quickly, tucking me in against him tightly. “Good morning,” I drawled out, slipping into a warm dream.

 My dreams were filled with memories, figments of my imagination fueled by the story of my mother raged through my mind. I felt as if I was there, I could see the wild woods, Gunmar, my mother. The dark figure, surrounded by green magic, I had dreamt of since I was little was yelling at my mother as the shadowed figure covered in gold, that haunted my nightmares, attacked her. The rest of the night, my dreams were shrouded in darkness.

[theprodigypenguin]

Can you do 204. “Is there any reason you’re wearing my shirt?.” With jegulus?

I can indeed my dear anon but you will have to forgive me because this fic went WAY out of my control. The majority of this fic is some well deserved Regulus/Sirius brotherly love and bonding, and the Jegulus bit doesn’t come in till the last tiny part. I hope ya’ll don’t mind I got really into it oof. I almost wanted to make it LONGER but this is supposed to be a mini fic. No idea how long it ended up being and frankly I do not intend on finding out any time soon, yeet. Enjoy!

204. “Is there any reason you’re wearing my shirt?”

Mr. and Mrs. Potter were on holiday for the next three weeks, that’s what Sirius had said the night before, but even if they’d been there they would have welcome Regulus inside with open arms.

“Mum probably would have scooped you up and started crying, actually,” Sirius had said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and Regulus stayed silent in the chair he’d taken, deciding not to comment on the way he called Euphemia “mum”.

It was a long time coming, Regulus told himself, keeping his eyes closed as he remembered the events of the previous day and night. It had been one of those rarely seen blistering hot days where the clouds were missing and Regulus was trying to survive summer alone at Grimmauld Place with Kreacher his only companion. His mother and father were busy with their own things as Regulus wandered from room to room, stopping to stare at photographs and ancient paintings, always finding himself standing in front of Sirius’ old bedroom door. A hand lifted as he traced where his full name was set against the wood in elegant lettering, dropping it to tap his fingertips against the doorknob but turning away after some thought.

That happened a few times, stopping at his brother’s old room and contemplating if he should go in or not. Eventually he did, but he didn’t realize it would lead to so much happening all at once. He wanted to step inside the bedroom, flick on the light and stare at the still messy sheets on the four poster bed canopy bed and the Muggle posters pinned on the walls. There was still clothes on the floor, dropped there with books still open, even his desk was still a cluttered mess. Regulus wandered over to it, automatically trying to tidy things up, straightening papers and quills and righting ink wells that had spilled and dried over the wood.

There was an old photograph tucked in the corner of the desk that Regulus narrowed in on, reaching out to trace the edges as he watched a much younger version of Sirius hugging a younger version of Regulus. Back before Hogwarts, back before Gryffindor, back when they were still brothers. Regulus would never admit it, but he missed Sirius. He was nineteen now, if memory served him. Regulus was seventeen and had just graduated from Hogwarts, suddenly feeling the crushing weight of loneliness and wondering what he was supposed to do next.

Death Eaters were coming and going from his house like party guests, there were at least three there every day, and every time they saw Regulus they would smile with menacing intent. Regulus hated it. He didn’t know who half these people were, but they looked at him like he was fresh meat. Especially the Lestrange brothers. Especially Rabastan. It made Regulus physically sick when the older wizard would wrap a slow arm around him, leaning close and grinning.

“You’re growing up so fast, Reggie! About time you join the ranks soon!”

What was he supposed to do about it? Say no? Regulus knew it was coming, knew they were planning to talk him into joining the Death Eaters. He was already a “supporter” like his parents, but he’d yet to go on missions, he’d never spoken to Voldemort or even seen him in person, and his forearm was thus far clean of any mark. The longer he was there, exposed to Death Eaters and pureblood maniacs, the more he started to realize he didn’t want to be part of it. Yet what was he supposed to do? Run away like Sirius? Where was he supposed to go? He had no friends, no one who would take him in. The Potter’s would never. James would never. Sirius certainly wouldn’t.

James. Regulus had to lift his head and stare out the window in front of him, out into the backyard, as his mind inevitably wandered to that infuriating bastard who stole his brother. He’d always had some interest in the Gryffindor, ever since the first time (the only time) Sirius wrote to him from Hogwarts. “His name is James Potter and he’s my best friend!” Who is he?

Regulus’ curiosity and intrigue grew when he was in school and met James, saw him for the first time, and even more when he started playing a Seeker in Quidditch. Every time they were in the air playing Gryffindor their eyes would meet across the Pitch, James would grin that cocky little smile of his, and Regulus would feel a million different things jolt through him that pushed him into wanting nothing more than to do better than James, to win the game just so he could hold the Snitch and give James Potter a smirk of his own.

It seemed after all these years, even though he hadn’t seen James since their graduation, the intrigue was still there. What made James Potter so special? Why did Sirius love him and cherish him so much? Because he was funny? Because he fed Sirius’ need to rebel? Maybe because he could protect Sirius? That’s what he was doing after all, that’s what he’d done the summer Sirius ran away and went to the Potter’s. James had been protecting him ever since. Regulus hated him for it, hated them both.

I want to be protected too.

“Regulus!” his mother’s voice came up the stairs and Regulus shut his eyes before turning towards the door, stepping out into the hall and down the stairs to meet her.

He didn’t remember most of the conversation, perhaps he hit his head too hard, but when Walburga set a hand on his shoulder, manicured nails digging in, saying, “I think it’s time we call the Dark Lord to initiate you as an official Death Eater,” his vision went white in shock.

Everything after that happened in a blur, the conversation of “six month trial to see if you’re worthy to take the mark” and “we’re so proud” before he felt his lips trembling apart with a cracking, “I won’t do it.”

Then yelling, confusion, screaming, a wand at his throat, Walburga cried and Orion grabbed him by his arm and shook him so hard he jarred Regulus’ shoulder. Then the first hit. Regulus didn’t know what he’d said to entice the attack really, but he did remember thinking about Sirius, so he probably brought him up. Regulus didn’t know what damage had been done to him, just remembered curling his hands around his wand, the taste of iron on his tongue as Walburga shrieked.

“You have nowhere to go! Regulus, reconsider! You’d make us so proud, this is the right path!”

Regulus had felt so betrayed with those words, so done, spitting blood and snapping, “I make my own path.”

His mother sobbed. “You sound like-! You sound just like-”

“Sirius,” Regulus breathed the name, lifting his wand. “I know.”

Then a crack and his vision blurred as he disapparated from 12 Grimmauld Place. When he landed he was disoriented, legs giving way and sending him crashing onto the earth as he panted hard, eyes wide and staring off to the side, his cheek against the dusty ground. His arm was burning, his body shaking as pain tingled at the end of every nerve. The Cruciatus curse spat at him by his mother, the fists and flat hands that had beaten bruises into his face and chest by his father, exhausted but in too much pain to sleep.

What had he done? He’d defied his parents, rejected the Death Eaters, rejected Voldemort, rejected the mark. Why? In a spur of the moment feeling of adrenaline and anger? He was an idiot, and now he had no idea where he was or where he was supposed to go, bleeding out on the ground and breathing in dust.

He tried to figure out where he was as he struggled to his knees, wand still in hand and staring dizzily around the area. After a moment he looked down to check his injuries, noting that his left sleeve was soaked through with crimson. His right hand trembled as he reached over to check what had happened, his stomach rolling when the sleeve came away sticky. It hurt too much to pull it down over his arm, so he just peeked down the sleeve to see a chunk of flesh had been taken out of his forearm. Splinched mid-apparation. He coiled forward, clutching his stomach and vomiting as his entire body shook and tears forced their way down his face.

He couldn’t stay there on the ground, someone could find him, so he wiped his right arm over his mouth and staggered to his feet as he cradled his left arm against his stomach and stumbled to the sidewalk just paces away. He seemed to be in a cozy little community of cottages and houses, squares of light shining from windows and the sky pitch black above. If it was already night, he’d probably argued with his parents for a long time.

There was a house across the little street that Regulus squinted at, finding himself drawn closer to read the nameplate in the dark and lighting his wand with a hitching breath. Potter. This was Potter’s place. Sirius was there.

Regulus only doubted that he would be allowed in for a moment, the pain blinding any sort of fear of rejection as he fumbled to open the gate and staggered through, letting it shut as he dragged himself up the walkway and to the front door, vision blurring a bit before he managed to make out the wildly pretentious lion knocker staring him in the face. He used it, banging it a few times before stepping back and nearly falling off the front step, clinging to his left arm and staring at the gold and red Welcome mat at his feet.

For half a moment he was worried no one was home, that he would end up blacking out there on the front porch leaning against the door, but after a moment he heard the distant sound of muffled steps, then the lock disengaging. Regulus silently reprimanded whoever it was for opening the door without checking first to make sure it was safe, they were in a war after all, but he lost the nerve to speak when he lifted his head and his eyes met mirrors of his own.

Sirius looked good, healthy, older than he did last time Regulus had seen him, staring at Regulus with wide, shocked eyes, like he wasn’t so sure what he was staring at. Regulus thought he’d never say anything, he’d frozen in place and would be a statue forever, but finally he opened his mouth.

“What the fuck?”

“Sirius,” Regulus’ voice was rough, for a moment he wondered if he’d been screaming. “I… do you by any chance have bandages in there? Or a healing tonic? Possibly some Dittany?” Sirius just gaped at him, and Regulus squinted when his vision blurred again. “Preferably now before I pass out, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Sirius let go of the door and reached out to steady Regulus, and though he wasn’t exactly gentle, his hands didn’t hurt or bother any of the injuries as he brought Regulus into the house, helping him stumble over the door jamb before shutting and locking the door behind them. He put an arm around Regulus, which was unexpectedly comforting and intimate, leading him down the eerily silent hall and through a door that lead to a washroom.

Sirius kept the bathroom door open as he lead Regulus to sit on the closed toilet, then pulled his wand and cast a silencing spell around them, sticking it behind his ear once he was done and reaching for the cupboard under the sink. He seemed to be moving on autopilot as he started pulling out vials and packages of bandages and gauze rolls.

“Take your shirt off. Where are you bleeding?”

“Where’s Potter?”

“Sleeping. Take your shirt off.”

Regulus had to move slowly as he started undoing the front buttons down his white shirt. Now that he was inside under lighting he could see how much blood was on him, his entire left sleeve was scarlet, and he hissed through his teeth as he shrugged the silky fabric from his shoulders, pulling his right arm free before starting to slowly peel it down his left. Uncontrolled tears spouted from his squinted eyes, his hands shaking as he managed to get the fabric halfway off his arm before his vision blurred again, the edges going black so he had to swing his right arm to the side and cling to the side of the sink to keep from slipping off the seat, panting and dizzy.

“Let me.” Sirius dropped what he was holding and stood in front of Regulus, crouching and taking his left hand, giving a firm squeeze, maybe to keep his arm in place, before pulling his wand from behind his ear and muttering a quick spell that unglued the sleeve from the gaping wound that spilled fresh blood when the covering was gone. “Bloody hell, Reg,” Sirius grit out roughly, squeezing his hand tighter and reaching for one of the vials he’d put on the sink. “What did this?”

“I… splinched, I splinched myself apparating.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be better than that?” Sirius asked, unscrewing the top of the vial and drawing out a long glass dripper.

Regulus winced from the pain as he started dripping Dittany directly onto his arm, his stomach roiling again when the missing chunk of flesh started to rapidly regenerate. Regulus turned away, clinging to the sink counter again and hiding his face in the crook of his right elbow, begging himself not to throw up.

“I didn’t think you’d help me…”

“So why’d you come here?” Sirius asked sharply, he seemed completely unaffected by his brother showing up beaten bloody.

Regulus swallowed, tasting bile. “I had nowhere else to go.”

“I highly doubt that,” Sirius scoffed. “I’m certain our precious parents would have seen to your every whim had you come home like this.”

Regulus took a breath. “Where do you think I’ve just come from?”

Sirius paused, as if not expecting the question, giving Regulus’ hand another firm squeeze that he held as he spoke softly. “They chased you out?”

Regulus shook his head. “I left.”

“You left? You actually left?” Regulus bobbed his head in a weak nod. “Why?”

Regulus pressed his lips together. How much could he even tell Sirius? They weren’t close, not like they used to be. Hell, had they ever been close? He felt out of place there, everything made no sense, he was scared. He’d run away from a choice his parents were making for him, one he didn’t want. He ran like a coward instead of facing what he was so afraid of, but he was still afraid.

“They wanted me to join the Death Eaters,” Regulus finally managed to speak, forcing the emotion out of his voice despite how his entire body was still shaking. He blamed it on the extensive blood loss.

“So you ran away?” Sirius sounded skeptical, and Regulus felt suddenly infuriated.

After everything he’d been through in just a few hours, on top of all that his brother was going to sit there and patronize him, not take him for his word, when he could be hunted down by their lunatic cousin with a hard on for Voldemort and slaughtered where he stood simply because he rejected the Dark Mark?

“Yes, I ran away,” Regulus snarled, turning his head to seeth at Sirius. “Cowardly Slytherin Regulus Black ran away, let’s laugh at how fucking pathetic he is!”

“Easy, I’ve finally gotten the bleeding down, don’t break the skin again!” Sirius snapped, moving his hand from his brother’s fingers to instead grab his wrist, pinning it straight so he could get a few more drops of Dittany on Regulus’ arm. “It’s going to be tender and fragile for a while, you hit it too hard you’ll start bleeding again!”

When it seemed like Regulus wouldn’t be jerking away, Sirius released his wrist to return the Dittany onto the sink counter, then wet a rag under the sink faucet to clean the rest of the blood off Regulus’ arm.

“I didn’t want to,” Regulus said in frustration, without prompting. “I didn’t want to join them. I don’t want to torture or kill or rule over Muggles, I want to be left alone!”

“Regulus,” Sirius draped the cold rag over Regulus’ arm, squeezing it and meeting his little brother’s eye. “You did fine.”

Regulus felt speechless for a moment, confused. “Fine?” His head was pounding, and there was a painful tightness behind his eyes and in his nose.

“Yes, fine.” Sirius turned his head back down and continued to clean off the blood. “Tell me what happened, without screaming. I put up a charm but you might still wake James up.”

Regulus was far too tired to argue about James, shoulders sagging as Sirius moved his attention to washing the blood off his face, one hand holding his chin to wipe the rag over his chin and lips, gentle against the already scabbing cut in his lip.

“Mum and dad called me downstairs and said it was high time I join Bellatrix beside the Dark Lord. Something about her pulling strings to get me closer to his inner circle and get the Dark Mark.”

“And you said no?”

“Yeah…”

“Then what happened?”

Regulus stared past Sirius blankly. “I don’t remember,” he admitted. “I remember bits and pieces, but I think I hit my head, or I blocked it out because I just… had to, to protect myself.”

“Mum crucioed you,” Sirius said, checking the red marks left over on Regulus’ chest and down his ribs.

“Don’t tell me you’re surprised.”

“It made sense when she went after me, but you?”

“It was a natural reaction to her son saying no to her will.”

Sirius looked furious at that, grabbing Regulus by the arm again. “Regulus, look at me. That woman is our mother, and a mother does not hurt her children, she does not torture her children like she did to you, to both of us. A mother protects her child.”

Regulus felt immediately uncomfortable, and he wasn’t sure why. “She did protect us-”

“She was happy to ship you off to Voldemort like a present with a red bow, all those two wanted was for you to be perfect so they could get on that monster’s good side,” Sirius interrupted, reaching out to a particularly nasty bruise on Regulus’ side, hovering a hand over it to heal it. “If those two beat you for saying no, that is a problem, and you need to understand that. This is messed, Regulus. This isn’t right. They did this to you.” He leaned back on his heels, looking up at Regulus. “But I’m proud of you. You said no, and even if you said no for your own self interest, you still said no. I didn’t think you had that in you.”

“Because I’m a coward.”

“Because you’re young, you were raised in a prejudice house and didn’t have anyone there to guide you towards the light where you belong.”

“And whose fault is that, really?” Regulus asked, wanting to smack Sirius. “You know there’s only one person who could have influenced me more than our parents. I wonder where they were when it actually mattered?”

Sirius looked angry for all of four seconds before exhaustion and shame took over, reaching forward and leaning up just enough to wrap his arms around Regulus’ shoulders, one hand against the back of his head, completely unexpected. “I’m right here, you little bastard. I’m here when it matters.”

“Only after I’ve spilt blood for my cowardice,” Regulus said after the shock of embrace had worn down.

Sirius just squeezed Regulus tighter, then shook his head as he stood up. “Take a quick shower. I’ll go get you some clothes to sleep in.”

Regulus felt startled. “I’m staying?” He asked, watching Sirius move towards the door before stopping and looking over his shoulder.

“Got nowhere else, right? If you can depend on me for anything, it’s this.”

“This isn’t even your house.”

“Mum and dad are on holiday for the next three weeks, and James won’t mind. Just try and relax, you’re safe here.” He grabbed the doorknob on his way out and slowly closed it, sticking his head in through the crack and waving his hand. “Go, take a shower and get the rest of the blood off. I’ll grab you clothes to sleep in and bandage you up.”

“Fine,” Regulus agreed, his voice shaky, waiting for the door to shut fully before looking down at his arm where the splinched chunk of flesh had been healed for the most part. The bit of skin there was now scarred and noticeably paler than the rest of his skin.

He tried not to think anymore, getting to his feet and shucking off the rest of his clothes before stepping straight into the shower and turning the water on to the hottest it could go. He was rough as he washed his hair, scrubbing soap over his body to get the flaking blood off, flinching every time he hit a bruise or an open cut or scratch. Maybe he cried a bit under the water, maybe he didn’t, and when he stepped out of the shower to dry off, there was already a pile of folded clothes waiting for him.

He found Sirius waiting for him in the living room that was a little too homely. It was notably lived in, books still open on seats, old cups filled with cold tea that hadn’t been taken to the kitchen yet, and clothes draped over couches. Sirius was on the couch with vials of medicine, tins of ointment, and packs of bandages on the coffee table in front of him.

“Take a seat.” Sirius waved beside him, tearing open bandages. “I’ll wrap your arm up and such, then you should eat and drink something and lie down.”

It was long and silent as Sirius spread ointment over the tender scar on Regulus’ arm, then wrapped it carefully before bandaging the rest of Regulus’ cuts, scratches, and deep bruising before bringing him a mug of tea and a hastily made sandwich.

“I brought down a pillow and blanket, unless you want to sleep in my room with me?”

“What for?”

“I just figure after a night of getting your arse kicked,” Sirius quirked an eyebrow instead of finishing, but Regulus just glared at him, turning and grabbing the blanket before yanking it up. Sirius just sighed and set everything down, turning. “Suit yourself, but don’t blame me if James traipses down here and wakes you up at six in the morning.”

“Bitch!” Regulus yelled, throwing the blanket back and standing up. “You’re sleeping on the bloody floor!”

“S’my bed, Reggie, you can have the floor. Bring the tea at least.”

Regulus cursed as he grabbed the blanket, pillow, and tea, stumbling after Sirius and trying to keep his mouth shut as he followed his brother up the stairs and into a bedroom just at the top of the steps. Sirius cast another quick silencing spell, but kept his voice low regardless.

“James’ in the room down the hall to the left, the loo is on the right, don’t get those messed up or it’ll be strange for both of you.”

Regulus just glared at him, walking over to the right side of the bed, not stopping even when Sirius gave a noise of protest.

“I normally sleep on that side.”

Regulus threw his pillow down and set the still untouched tea on the bedside table. “I’ve just been beaten into the dirt by my own parents, you’re really going to whine over what side of the bed I take?”

Sirius grumbled in irritation but said nothing more, shuffling to the left side of the bed and flopping onto his back, leaving the covers off while Regulus dragged the sheets and duvet up over his head. For a while they were both quiet, until Sirius sighed and rolled his head to the side.

“Reg, look… I’m sorry for leaving you there. You know that, right? I’m not trying to make an excuse to make you forgive me or anything, I just need you to understand that when I left you I… I didn’t like it, okay? I don’t hate you, you’re my brother, and if there’s anything in my life I regret it’s the way I just abandoned you, and I am sorry.” There was no response, so Sirius huffed. “You’re already asleep, aren’t you? Sod you, then, sod my apology.” 

He rolled onto his side, turning his back to Regulus and punching his pillow into place before flopping into it. Regulus, despite what Sirius thought, was actually awake, peeking out from under the duvet to stare at the wall and urge himself not to cry. It took longer than he wanted, but the anxiety finally faded and the exhaustion had him gratefully passing out curled up under the covers and feeling almost safe.

Sirius was still fast asleep snoring into his pillow the next morning, but Regulus barely spared him a glance as he struggled to sit up. Though it was the morning after getting smacked sideways, it was like he’d just been beaten. His entire body hurt, he felt as if he’d been struck by the Hogwarts Express, and standing up almost had him falling onto his face, but he managed to limp his way to the door, fumbling into the hall and dragging himself towards the loo, freezing when he lifted his head at the same time as James, who was wandering towards him from the other end of the hall, hair sticking up from his pillow and glasses lopsided, eyes bleary with sleep and yawning as he rubbed his shoulder.

Regulus found himself completely stuck to the spot, staring at James, who was shirtless with dark red pajama bottoms hanging low on his hips. Regulus’ cheeks burned as James met his eye, pausing and squinting, not so much angry as confused, like he didn’t recognize Regulus at first. After a moment, though, his eyes seemed more awake, sweeping over the younger wizard curiously.

“Is there any reason you’re wearing my shirt?” He asked, and Regulus gaped at him before lifting a hand to grab the front of the shirt he was wearing, looking down at it and feeling absolutely petrified when he realized it was an old Quidditch jersey with the name Potter printed on it.

“I… Sirius…”

“Gave you my shirt instead of his? Ah, maybe grabbed it from the clean laundry. That’s what I get for not putting my clothes away.” He was acting a little more casual and friendly than Regulus expected, and he nodded at Regulus. “What happened to you, anyway? How do you know where I live? What’s with the excessive bandaging? Get in a fight?”

Regulus still felt speechless and confused, trying to figure out how much he could say despite his anxiety twisting in his stomach. In the end he managed to speak, because this was James’ house after all, and if Regulus was going to be hiding there, at least until he knew what to do next, then he deserved to know what was going on. Regulus was nothing if not polite and respectful when he needed to be.

“I… last night… got kicked out.”

James looked dumbstruck, eyes as wide as saucers. “Are you serious?”

“No I’m Regulus.”

It was an immediate response that Regulus didn’t think would have any effect until James threw his head back laughing loudly. He strode forward once he’d gotten a hold of himself, reaching out to squeeze Regulus’ shoulder, gently and barely touching Regulus as if he was afraid to hurt him.

“Oh yeah, you’re fun. You can keep the shirt by the way, looks good on you.”

He passed Regulus once he was done, and Regulus continued on to the loo as James knocked roughly on Sirius’ door behind him.

“Alright, Pads, wake up, let’s make breakfast! We’ve got three to feed and I’m not eating that Muggle oat pudding crap Remus sent us again!”

Regulus shut the door once he was in the loo, pressing both hands flat against it before backing away, looking down at the shirt again and curling his fingers into the front of it, just under the name. It was odd, but somehow through his pounding headache Regulus got the idea that Sirius absolutely gave him this shirt on purpose.

Send in prompts: Dialogue Prompts | Miscellaneous Prompts

[lurafita]

Avenging Santa Claus

Got this prompt some time ago, that I was really rushing to get written before Christmas. I hope you like it! 

Original prompt: here

There are Alphas and Omegas, but there is NO gender oppression whatsoever. Children call their Omega parent Mom/Mother/Mommy, and their Alpha parent Dad/Father/Pops, you get it. 

Avenging Santa Claus

 The shopping mall was a bad place to be at the 21 of December. Christmas songs that were sure to get stuck in your head for hours on end, were blaring everywhere; stressed people were running around in a perpetual sour mood, to get the last of their gift shopping done; the smell of gingerbread was inescapable, and it was crowded enough to make anyone feel claustrophobic.

One had to be absolutely mad to be in such a place, at such a time.

Or married to the most wonderful Omega in the world, who had given him the most precious son in the world, who had used all his four years of experience in being cute, to convince his parents to take him to the mall to see Santa.

Tony and Peter Stark, together with their little son Ben, had been standing in line for a full 45 minutes now. Any attempts made by the billionaire to bribe their way forward, had been met with a reprimanding glare from his husband, and so Tony had grudgingly stopped reaching for his wallet, and instead joined Peter's efforts to answer all of their overly excited son's questions.

“Do you think Santa's sleigh is invisible? I didn't see it in the parking lot. Oh no! What if another car drives into it because they can't see it?!”

“I'm pretty sure he parked his sleigh on the roof, buddy. More space for Rudolph and his friends up there.”

“Those two elves with Santa are so tall, I thought elves were s'pposed to be smaller.”

“Scott lent them some of his tech so that they can help Santa better while they are here.”

“Can Santa's sleigh go faster than you, Daddy?”

“Pft. As if some magical reindeer could-” cue Peter's pointed elbow jabbing him in the ribs. “hrmh, I mean, his reindeer are magic, right? And Santa has to make it all around the world in only one night. So his sleigh could probably out fly Iron Man.”

“How does he get all over the world in one night?”

“Google maps and stardust propulsion.”

“We don't have a chimney! How will Santa get in, Mommy?”

“Don't worry. He has magic portals.”

“Like Dr. Wizard?”

“Yeah, exactly like those. Just that Santa's portals look like snow and ice crystals, instead of Stephen's gold ones.”

“How does Santa know if I have been good? Is he a super spy like auntie Nat?”

“He is the one who trained auntie Nat.”

“Whoa!”

Finally it was Ben's turn, and the four year old didn't hesitate for a second to run up to the sitting Santa Claus and scramble into his lap. Peter and Tony, like all the parents before, waited patiently at the side, as they watched their son tell the bearded man all about every item on his list.

Tony was just happy that they would be out of the place soon, when he caught the deepening frown on Peter's handsome face.

“Something the matter, sweetheart?”

“Ben is reciting his entire wish list.”

“Yeah, so? Isn't that what kids are supposed to do when they meet Chris Kringle?”

But Peter shook his head.

“He said he was gonna tell Santa his super secret Christmas wish first, to make sure he would put it on the top of his list. I was hoping to listen in, so we could get it for him. Unless it's a pony.”

“I mean, it's not like we don't have the space-”

“He is not getting a pony, Tony.”

“Oh my god, that rhymed. I'm gonna have that stuck in my head for the rest of the day now. Pony Tony, Tony pony.”

Peter muffled a laugh, and Tony pat himself on the back for having managed to relax his husband a little bit. While Tony was definitely annoyed by all the smells and noise of the mall, he couldn't imagine how much worse it was on Peter's enhanced senses. The omegan superhero had incredible control over his abilities, but maintaining that in such a stressful environment could not be easy, and even Peter slipped now and then.

He took the shorter man's hand and brought it up to his lips to press a loving kiss to his knuckles.

“You good, Pete?”

“I'm good,” Peter gave him a quick peck to the corner of his lips, then suddenly smirked up at him, “Tony Pony.”

The Alpha smirked right back.

“If this becomes a pet name, I expect you to ride me every time you use it.”

It was astounding, that after 8 years of being in a relationship, 5 of which they have been married, and having a child together, Peter still blushed so prettily whenever Tony mentioned their sex life.

The swift whack to his chest in reprimand was worth seeing his husband so flustered.

“Insatiable.”

Tony smirked wider and winked at the omega.

“You love it. So, how's eavesdropping on our son and the Coca Cola mascot going? I bet Benny wants a cool Iron Man suit like his dad.”

Peter shook his head, eyes locked on their son.

“He hasn't said anything so far that we didn't know about and haven't already gotten him. For the record, I still think you went overboard. No four year old needs that many toys.”

“Ah, come one. I'm allowed to spoil you and Ben on Christmas. It was in our vows.”

This earned him a sweet kiss on his cheek.

“You spoil us all the time.”

The billionaire looked down into the beloved, brown eyes.

“Not nearly enough.”

Tony had never thought of himself as someone so disgustingly mushy and besotted, but Peter just brought it out in him. Peter and Ben. The two most precious people in his life.

God, he was a sap.

He was just about to lean down and give his omega a deep, toe curling kiss, when Ben jumped off Santa's lap and came running up to them.

“Mommy, Daddy, quick, come quick, this way!”

The little boy grabbed both his parents hands and pulled them with him as fast as his short legs could carry him. More than a little surprised, Tony and Peter stumbled along.

“Whoa there, what's up, buddy?”

“Ben, is something wrong?”

When the four year old had dragged his parents a sufficient distance away from the winter wonder land, he released his grip on their hands and turned around to stare at them with big, frantic eyes.

“That Santa has a fake beard, and he doesn't smell like milk and chocolate cookies like he's s'pposed to! He is an inpo.. interpolter... imposter! He must have kidnapped the real Santa! But there won't be Christmas without the real Santa! Quick! You have to call the other Avengers and assemble and save Santa!”

As the two super heroes looked first into the gleaming with unshed tears eyes of their son, and then at each other, only one thought ran through their minds.

Oh boy.

-- 

 "I'm sorry, you want us to what?"

Tony rolled his eyes heavenward. One would think from Sam's incredulous tone and expression that he was asking something completely ridiculous from his friends.

"Could you please not be so dramatic? All I'm asking is that you all get into gear, get out to the north pole, stage a battle against some kind of evil scoundrel, save Santa Claus in the process, and watch your language while doing it, because Benny will be watching via Friday's live stream. I don't see which part of this you have a problem with."

Unbelievably, this earned him even more disbelieving stares from everyone currently in the living room. (Which was Steve, Sam, Bucky, Natasha, Clint, Scott, Bruce Rhodey and Hope. Thor was currently traveling with the Guardians of the galaxy, but had promised to be back by the 25th.)

Steve sighed and rubbed his eyes, as if he was dealing with someone unreasonable... which was just uncalled for.

"Tony, you know we love Ben. But don't you think it would be better to tell him the truth, instead of all these theatrics?"

"Sure I do. But unless you manage to convince Peter of that, we are going to the freaking north pole and save Santa."

Hope's eyes widened in surprise.

"Wait. This is Peter's idea?"

Peter was usually the one to reign in Tony, whenever the genius came up with something completely ridiculous. But Tony only nodded solemnly.

"He said, and I quote: 'My baby is going to believe in the magic that is Christmas and all it encompasses for as long as super-humanly possible. And anyone who so much as breathes a word that might destroy his beliefs before he is ready to let go of them, will find themselves in a web cocoon hanging outside the tower.' End quote. Ben being in a constant state of almost crying ever since he discovered the 'fake' Santa, until Peter finally got him into bed with the promise that the Avengers would free the 'real' Santa as soon as we found out where he is being held captive, certainly didn't help. After that, Pete told me to get you all up to speed, and left for the Sanctum, to see if he could convince Wong and Stephen to help."

This left everyone in a little bit of shock, but far more willing to go along with Tony's request. There were few things scarier than Mama bear Peter.

Rhodey just shook his head, bemoaning the fact that he had chosen to get to the tower early, instead of on Christmas eve, as he had the previous years.

Bucky got up, grumbling about finding warm socks to go play make believe in the fucking arctic.

Scott grinned, trying to entice Hope into building a snow castle and taking pictures for Cassie while they were there.

Clint asked if his kids (the oldest of which was 8 and didn't believe in Santa Claus anymore, but would play along for the younger children's sakes), could watch the stream with Ben, because saving Santa Claus two days before Christmas was sure to get him 'Best Father of the Year' award.

Bruce was questioning whether the Hulk would even be needed for this, which Tony quickly shut down "You know Hulk is Ben's favorite, Brucie. He can't not be there to give Santa's kidnapper hell."

Steve sighed the sigh of the beaten, and went to inform Fury of tomorrows 'mission'. Sam followed as moral support.

Natasha, unflappable super spy that she was, just nodded.

"Well, I guess it's not the worst mission I have been on. I'm in."

Tony crossed his arms over his chest, a self satisfied smile on his lips.

"You better be in. Ben would be very disappointed if his auntie Nat didn't come to her super-spy teacher's rescue."

"... my What?!"

  --

 The next day, after Peter had distracted Ben long enough from his worry about Santa to get some breakfast into the boy, Natasha came striding into the room to inform them that they had found the whereabouts of Santa and his kidnapper. Ben gave her a big hug for being the best super-spy (after Santa), in the world. She was smug about it.

Clint followed shortly after with his pregnant wife, fellow four year old daughter and eight year old son. The kids and Laura would join Ben in watching the life stream of the Avengers heroically saving Santa Claus. Lilah was just as anxious as Ben was, Cooper, who had been told about what was going on, just smirked as he watched all the grown ups running around to get ready for their mission.

Scott and Hope had roped teenaged Cassie in to help the highly pregnant Laura keep an eye on the three younger kids (though Cooper would loudly disagree that he needed a babysitter), and help sell the whole thing to Ben and Lilah. (Neither May nor Pepper had been able to change their working schedules on this short notice to lend a helping hand, and Happy had taken his first vacation in forever and fled the cold weather to spend two weeks on a tropical beach)

Both Stephen and Wong (though the older monk would already be waiting for them at the destination) had thankfully been scared into agreed to help the Avengers with their mission, which made getting to the north pole a lot easier.

When Stephen arrived through one of his portals, everyone was fully suited up and ready to go. All the adults quickly hugged the children (Steve even saluted them, the dork), and to the encouraging shouts of "Kick evil butt and save Santa!" (and the barely repressed snickers from Laura, Cooper and Cassie), earth's mightiest heroes stepped through the magical portal into the blazing cold of the north pole.

Antman wrapped his arms around himself immediately.

"Why exactly isn't Santa being held captive in Florida?"

Iron Man and Spiderman quickly looked at each other, a little stunned.

"Oops."

  --

 The rescue mission had, unsurprisingly, been a complete success. Wong and Stephen had created some truly fantastical illusions of shadow creatures for the Avengers to fight, and Hulk to smash. (Nothing too scary looking though. Peter would web them up if Ben came out of this with nightmares about dark, red eyed monsters)

Spiderman and Iron Man had then taken on the evil kidnapper himself (One of Stephen's clones, that had been transformed to look like that Pitch Black dude from that pixar movie Ben couldn't get enough of)

It was Natasha who had broken Santa Claus (a magically disguised Wong), from his iron cage not far from the battle field. She had even bowed to her former 'teacher', and teased him about eating too many cookies and losing his edge in his old days. 'Santa' had shook the hands of all of the Avengers and then waved into Iron Man's suit camera to the kids at home, and promised to deliver all their presents on time. He thanked Ben especially, for figuring out his fake doppelganger. Back in the tower's penthouse in New York, little Ben was screeching with joy.

  --

 It was six a.m. on the 25th of December, and Tony and Peter Stark were enjoying what would surely be the last few minutes of peace and quiet they would have that day. The team and their assorted friends and family were scheduled to come to the penthouse for Christmas brunch and gift exchanges in a few hours, and Ben was sure to wake up any minute now. Rather than have their overly excited son jump onto their bed to wake them up because "It's Christmas, it's Christmas, wake up wake up wake up!", the two had gotten up a little earlier, had made each other their favorite coffee (dark roast for Tony, and a latte for Peter), and cuddled up together on the couch.

The room was dimly lit, most of the light coming from the brightly and colorfully decorated Christmas tree in the center. It was rather beautiful, and even the early hour couldn't mar the contentment the couple felt right then, lying in each others arms. 

"How much time do you think we have left?" Peter asked, taking a sip from his cup.

Tony squeezed the arm he had wound around his husband a bit, and planted a soft kiss on Peter's temple.

"Probably not much longer. I'm actually surprised Ben hasn't-" Which was the exact moment that a joyfully shrill, childish scream echoed through the floor. Tony chuckled. "-woken up yet. You ready, sweetheart."

Peter looked up at his husband with a smile.

"Merry Christmas, Tony."

"Merry Christmas, Peter."

They shared a sweet kiss, just before their little bundle of joy came running into the room.

"Mommy, Daddy, look, look! Santa brought me my super secret wish, even though I didn't get to tell him! Look, look!"

And right there, cradled clumsily in his arms, Ben was holding a little puppy. An actual, life, puppy. As in, tail wagging, tongue lolling, alive. Peter was just able to hide his surprise and pull his son plus wiggling puppy dog into a warm hug. 

"That's great, Benny. Do you have a name for him?"

Ben nodded with so much enthusiasm, that the brunette worried for a moment he would get dizzy.

"Imma call him Ninja. Cause Santa got him for me, and Santa taught auntie Nat how to be a super-spy. And Ninja's are like the greatest super-spies."

Tony grinned and scooped up both the four year old and puppy to give Ben a loving hug and ruffle his hair.

"That's a great name, bud. How about you and Ninja take a look at all the gifts lying under the tree, while your mom and I make some breakfast and find something for your dog to eat."

Ben couldn't shimmy out of his father's lap fast enough, and as soon as his feet hit the ground, he sat down the puppy and the both of them ran to the large Christmas tree.

"Remember that you can only open one before breakfast, young man."

"Okay!"

Then the two adults quickly got up and walked into the adjacent kitchen. Peter pinned Tony with a scolding look.

"I thought we had decided that Ben is too young for a dog."

Tony scoffed.

"Yes, we did. So why did you get him one?"

Peter faltered.

"I didn't... I thought you did."

But Tony shook his head.

"Not me... Wait. If you didn't get him a dog, and I didn't get him a dog..."

Peter's eyes widened.

"Friday, show us the footage of Ben's room. Who brought in the puppy?"

A small holographic window appeared before the couple, showing Ben sleeping in his bed. Then it looked like little ice crystals glittered in the air, and formed the shape of a tall, slightly round, person. When the glitter disappeared, a man in a red coat, with a white, but rather short beard, and likewise short and white hair was standing before little Ben's bed. He did not have the figure of the classic Santa Claus from the story books. No big, round belly, for one. The clothes fit, and he certainly looked old enough, but he was wearing big sun glasses? (Actually, the man reminded Tony of Hugh Hefner) In his hands was a sleeping little puppy (Ninja), that he carefully deposited next to the sleeping boy. Then the man stepped back from the bed, and closer to the camera in the corner of the ceiling, and looked right into it. 

"Thank you, Peter and Tony, for everything you have done for the people of this world. And for working so hard to keep your son's faith alive for a little longer. You know, my friends call me Stan. Merry Christmas."

Then the man (Santa? Stan?) was enveloped in the little ice crystals again, and vanished in the next second. The hologram continued showing a sleeping Ben and an equally sleeping puppy.

Peter gaped. 

"Was... was that..."

"Friday? Why the hell didn't you wake us when some stranger entered our son's room?"

"My sensors have not detected any foreign presence in the young masters room. I'm afraid I don't know what you are talking about, boss."

Now Tony was gaping.

The sound of their son's happy exclamation when he unpacked one of his many gifts brought both parent's out of their stupor, and they looked first back to Ben, then at each other, still not quite willing to believe what they had just seen.

"... So, Stan, huh? Do you think that puppy is magical?"

Peter couldn't help it, he burst out laughing. Tony joined in soon after. 

God how he loved them. His husband and his son. And his (possibly magical) puppy. 

____________________________________________________________

The End

 MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE! 

(Okay, I know it's still quite a few days until Christmas, but I hope you will all have a wonderful and magical time with all your loved ones!)

[irpnow]

Tay’rethsh

Beneath an ornate hood, inky black eyes with depths of a million colored stars stare out at the town of Sandpoint. Seeing unnaturally well in the darkness, the creature channels all within her teifling being to seek out if this will be the location of her undoing. She knows she is being chased, and the one who seeks to find her is both a formidable foe and one fueled by a rage she knows well. Her own act of requital sparked theirs. By her own moral code, her actions were justified, her only failure a miscalculation of her opponent.

Her memories begin as a small child, screaming as her arms were branded by the mark of her slave trainer, the rage and fiery contempt she knew well enough to have called them her friends screaming alongside her. If only her companions would allow her to channel their power, she would have destroyed all around her then, even if it meant her own life as the price. They laughed at her screams, the slave trainer and the men holding her down, even the woman with the searing hot branding iron - all immune to the smells of burning flesh or the screams of the creatures they deemed as less than human. She does not have an age or a name, she has always lived here, purchased or stolen or bred to be a slave to profit her owners. “Freak” they tease her, telling her of the many hopeless paths her life will take, “Better learn to obey or we’ll chain you to a wall and sell you to the highest bidder every hour, and your beastly bastard babies will take your place here in our care.” “Creature, maybe you’ll get lucky and some lord will let you scrub his latrines and take the beatings for his heirs.” Always with laughs of delight at her anger, usually with whips just for the sake of watching her helplessness to escape them. She was not the only child, but there was no camaraderie in this place for it’s property, the only interactions they had were to compete or train each other. For such a cruel place, a great amount of care and staff were in place to assure none of it’s stock was ever in a situation to kill themselves, escape, and that all received enough to survive or compete with each other but not any more, and that they knew well their purpose to only ever be used by their future masters however pleased the purchaser.

She is seven, by her own determination, when she is thrown into the wagon to be taken from town to town with many other wares. She can remember how weak she was - four days without being fed and the same since an especially wicked whipping that despite her best efforts to hide their effectiveness, caused her to scream in pain as they threw her against the sturdy iron bars of the merchandise cart. The familiar faces flashed with satisfaction and joy at her agony one last time before returning to the dismal and dark warehouse - the only place she’d ever known. It was bright to her eyes, and the world seemed too big and open. The sky seemed to go on forever, She would later learn it was just early dawn, the sky continuing to brighten as the day waned on until she thought it would simply destroy them all - the first peaceful thought she recalled ever having. She was by far the youngest creature in the cart. Huge male half beasts with broken spirits and dead eyes, subdued and accepting of their fate sat around her. Females at various ages of puberty and every race and mix she could imagine, clearly being brought along for one fate alone, in a range of apathy to sobbing dread clung to the bars or crouched where they could. With a chill, Tay realized that she fit much closer with the second group than

the first, and suppressed the terror that threatened to rise up, refusing to give it space within her.

They traveled for more than a week, given enough terrible quality water and food to survive, filthy and covered in filth. They were cleaned and redressed like the cattle they were - cheaply but sanitarily enough to present goods deserving of a price. The females were brought out for display, her small child self with them, supplemented by extra hired guards to keep them from having thoughts of escape. She can remember vividly the men leering at each of them so openly she willed herself to either burst into flame or die. Her wish did not come true. She was presented third, and as she scanned the crowd she had been relieved at most seemed to be taking the moment to busy themselves, her childish frame or repulsive blue tiefling skin and horns unappealing to the buyers. Her hopes of delaying her fate were brief, however, as she saw a huge dark human man scrutinizing her with definite intent and assessment in his eyes. When she flicked her eyes away from him, she saw another man - possibly a Dhampir, if the imaginations of her childhood were true, with hungry eyes and nauseating aura. A half orc looked both terrifying and filthy, showed a high level of interest. Panic and hopelessness were pointless exercises Tay rarely indulged herself in, but this had been one exception. She does not remember how the bidding went, and even in the moment was so lost to her emotions she did not know which fate awaited her as the guards dragged her away to be paid for and transferred to her new owner.

The towering man was a blacksmith. She spent many of her first weeks at his shop hoping his huge bristling black beard would catch fire and then she would escarpe. The forge was oddly comforting, it’s great heat felt appropriate to the child of anger and rage. He talked as he worked, telling her of himself or what had happened in town. She crouched behind his large wagon, or large hammers and iron pots, trying to guess what doom this large man had for her. Tay knew better than to trust anyone, her training had included many lessons on what happens when you let your guard down and believed in kindness. She had scars both physical and emotional to prove it. So she waited, eating the food he set for her at his table when it was hours old and his back was turned, or drinking the water after he had consumed half of the pitcher himself. She slept as little as possible and watched him work. Eventually, her curiosity drew her closer to his work, prepared for new burns as her reward. They never came, and she began to learn his craft as the years went by, never letting him in and always awaiting the coming doom. He called her Tayr’eshth, and she accepted the name - she knew it was the right of every master to name his property. She became as skilled as her owner, taking over the fine craftsmanship of the more ornate or delicate pieces as he grew older. He often left her at the shop alone as he travelled to sell his wares, and frequently went to the mountain village two days’ ride away to bring items to a Wizard for their crafted wares. Tay’s long awaited reckoning came when she was twenty eight, twenty one years after her master had purchased her. He had gone to deliver one of their most intricate orders to the wizard the day before, and as evening fell she found one of the abyssal bloodiron throwing knives, perfectly balanced and forged with intricate ornate designs. The wizard had ordered five of them, as well as metal clips shaped like dragon’s claws. Tay set out as the sun set on a “borrowed” horse from a neighbor’s

stable, at top speed and determined to reach the owner she had begrudgingly grown fond of before the man could arrive without his full order. She reached him just as the distant city came into view, and explained her presence. “Tay” he said, “You should not have come. You must head back.” Tay’s rage seethed silently, and she smacked the stolen horse on his flank, sending the creature galloping toward the home he had come from. As she stared her master in the eyes, she watched a myriad of things flash through them. He was proud, and frightened, and angry, and sad, and somehow far away. He secured his own horse near a stream, and the two began on foot toward the city. As they walked, he told her a story, and after twenty one years together, it was a surprise for her to hear a new one. The old man told her of his mother, a woman whom he bore no resemblance to but whom had raised him alone. “Tay - she was a teifling. My mother had beautiful, glowing gold eyes and skin that was just red enough to not fool any human into accepting her as their own. I was twelve when they killed her. Her name...was Tayr’ethsh.” Tay walked silently, digesting the shift in her paradigm. He had given her his mother’s name. His mother was a freak like her. He had chosen her. Not as a slave, but as someone to care for and honor with his own mother’s name. Even as she was digesting it, they reached the city, the sky dark and the moon high above them. “Pull your hood forward” he whispered hastily, and she did, her cheeks flushing in shame at her beastly appearance.

She might’ve known that’s why he told her to leave. The inn lies at the entrance of town, and he knocks. After a few moments, the door opened to an unhappy face. “Kept us up waiting hours past when we were expectin’ ya. And who be this?” A voice that made Tay cringe and sink back further into her hood abrasively demanded. “My daughter” came the reply, startling and awaking unfamiliar emotions within her. “Come in then, and be quick with ya. Some of us like to sleep.” As they stepped into the light, Tay shrank into the hood and struggled to walk amongst the swimming of her mind and heart. They went up a staircase and found a small but tidy room behind a simple door, two beds that seemed clean and sufficient for a night’s sleep. “Tay, you must stay out of sight until we can leave. This town is not welcoming for any they do not understand.” Still reeling from the events of the evening, Tay took in his words as well as the peculiar art of strange dieties on walls, and simply said “I understand.” They slept, and when she awoke he had already left to meet the wizard. A note quickly scrawled explained as much, saying he would return for the full set of knives after delivering the clips and collecting payment. Tayr’ethsh hummed an old tune the man had hummed over the years, sorting out the words she would have for him when he returned. She heard a familiar laugh outside, and stole a peek out the curtains - he stood there, laughing at something a tall man beside him had said on the street below. The man’s eyes flicked up and his face quickly was overtaken with rage as he caught sight of her before she could disappear behind the fabric again. Yelling began, first the tall man and then her owner. No, her father. She had decided to call him that, allowing herself to see that had been his hope from the beginning. More voices joined the uproar, all raised and angry, and she struggled with what to do. The choice came to her quickly, and she grabbed the sheathed throwing knives and her hood, stepped into her boots and sprinted out the door and down the stairs. She pushed through the growing crowd and came up behind him, softly speaking his name as she reached him. “Resh’ta.” She was oblivious to the hush that the mob had taken as she approached him, her hood having been pulled down as she rushed to him, the townspeople taking on an angry silence. “Demon blooded freak” someone spat, and

Tay was five again and her scarred skin braced for fresh splitting. Resh’ta grabbed her by the upper arm firmly, pulling her out of her flashback and toward the edge of town. “We leave you and will not return!” He yelled, and tossed the bag of his freshly collected coin over the group on the far side of the townspeople. They turned, many rushing for the rather large smattering of coins that escape the bag on it’s impact, and Resh’ta pulled Tay into a run away from the town and toward his horse and their home. As they ran, Tay heard the sound of the air breaking at what seemed like the same moment it hit him. She turned, in horror, to see him fall on his face. A single arrow protruded from his back. Her relief was palpable - one arrow, it might be bad but he could be saved. “Resh’ta get up!” she commanded. He didn’t respond, and she went to him and tried to help him. “Resh’ta. Father! Get up, we have to keep moving.” As she lifted his mass, he did not respond. His skin was quickly taking on an awful color and he felt unnaturally cold. Tay continued to try and lift and drag him, scanning the road they’d come from for the attacker, but none of the townspeople were visible anymore. She could not lift him. In desperation she looked at the arrow, tearing away the clothing around it only to see a spreading blackness from the arrow across the skin. Her old friends rage and anger swelled within her as she felt for his pulse. He was dead. She grieved for three days in the woods, singing over his body and feeding her hunger for revenge.

She danced with her lifelong friends, rage and flaming anger, and they used his horse to bring him to the center of town, and then burned the town to the ground as they slept, watching to assure there were no escapees as the flames danced in her eyes. His glorious burial was the only gift she could give to him, even her opening her heart to him happening too late for him to know. After the ashes had cooled, she walked through the ashes, cursing the ground and the parted souls of her father’s murderers. A shocked gasp echoed across the rubble, and her eyes caught a teenage boy - quickly followed by the blade of her throwing knife. She rushed to her victim, who was dying much more slowly than her father had. “Why are you here?” she’d demanded. “The wizard needed some of his scrolls.” the boy said, clear voiced despite his clear pain. As she looked him over and weighed the full impact of his words. The wizard was alive. The whole damned reason her father came to this wretched and hateful place. Her eyes caught familiar metalwork on the boy’s belt. “Your belt - my father made those clips.” Her black pool eyes flashed, as he paled. “Where is the wizard?” she asked him, determined to hunt down the final piece to complete the sacrifice Resh’ta’s death demanded. The boy showed shocking strength and determination, grabbing the knife that impaled him and pushing it further in, finalizing his fate. Tay let out an angry cry, ripping the belt off the boy and mounting her father’s horse, urging him into a gallop in the direction the boy had come from.

She searched for a year before any progress was made, wearing the belt and the last knives her father and she had created before his death. She did not find the wizard in the next city, or any of her travels. She learned to disguise herself - true, her horns, nigh-sky eyes, and blue skin set her firmly as a teifling, but she still managed to portray separate identities, to melt into shadows and become so unnoticable that she may as well have been invisible. She learned of the wizard, well known and employed for their crafting abilities throughout the region. It

seemed the harder she searched for the survivor, the less was known of them. She discovered that they had trained in teleportation, but that the escape had been coincidental more than magical. The wizard, following the exile of Tay and her father from town, had gone to finish crafting the very belt she now wore, obtaining the leather and then using some sort of crafting magic on it. She was in a large city, acting as a beggar when she overheard the reason for her difficulty in locating the wizard. She had assumed, wrongly, that she had been seeking a man, when in fact the wizard was a woman. The diners at the table near where she was “begging” were discussing the wizard, and her new quest - to find the teifling who had murdered her apprentice. Tay lingered, hoping they would reveal more about the wizard’s location or identity, but the conversation shifted away and never returned. In the following months, Tay discovered small pieces here and there, the only truly useful information being that she had left her knife in her victim, and that the wizard now carried it in hopes of using it to locate Tay.

For the first time, Tay found herself identifying with someone. Her enemy was also the only being she had understood in as long as she could remember. The moral code that she carried weighed those she had killed a fair tribute for what she had lost, and now she was being hunted to repay such a debt. And so Tay shifted her methods, and decided to await being found. She joined The Circum de Tenebris (Circus of Darkness) to give the game more interest. The constantly moving group introduced new skills to her repertoire as she prepared for the battle that would determine her end or her new beginning. Until then, she amused herself in learning acrobatics, and experimenting with new weapons, finding that any manner of whip seemed to respond to her well but still preferring throwing knives and stars. The travel fascinated her, having spent her entire life in very small worlds. The circus hosted many races and skills, all of which she studied with much interest - with the exception of the ancient teifling oracle. Whether that was because she was worried the seer would see the past she knew or deeper into her unknown beginnings even she didn’t know. She made up new stories for each inquiry into her life before the circus, and generally nobody cared. There were a large number of teiflings involved in the group, and she enjoyed adding the illusion that there were more by practicing her disguise skills and presenting as different people.

The girl with nothing to live for awaits her fate as the circus settles into the outskirts of Sandpoint, oblivious to the Oracle seeing her lost beginnings; an infant, hours old rushed in secrecy to the icy shore by her mother - filled with disgust and rage. A chance meeting by a slave trader along the way, making a more lucrative offer. A past the teifling will never know.

[starship-squidlet]

Kurta’s Moving Castle: Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: Leorio meets the inhabitants of Kurapika's castle, including the wizard himself (officially, this time). He finds out about the Spiders, an infamous gang out to get Kurapika, and gets an idea about who it was who cursed him.

Word Count: 2,374

Disclaimer: Kurta’s Moving Castle Preface

Original A/N: I just want to take a moment to say a HUUUGE thank you to @princeasimdiya12 for their kind words on the past two chapters of this fic!!! I hope you enjoy this one too!!! =^.^=

Previous chapter: Chapter Two

Next chapter: Chapter Four

Inside, the castle truly was incredibly toasty, at least in temperature. Leorio did his best to ignore the absolute mess that covered just about every inch of the… kitchen? Dining room? He couldn’t quite tell what he had stepped into, but based on the large wooden table covered in detritus, the fire burning in a large open hearth, and the precarious stacks of dishes and provisions in an alcove off to his left, he was fairly certain that the room served one of those functions. He grabbed one of the chairs from the table and dragged it over to a clear spot in front of the hearth. The seat had a low, flat cushion that made it just comfortable enough to settle himself into. He propped his feet up on the hearth, wrapped his wide scarf around his shoulders like a shawl, and leaned back in the chair.

“Wow.”

Leorio’s eyes popped open and he searched the room frantically for the search of the voice.

“Down here, grandpa.”

Leorio’s gaze finally settled on the hearth in front of him. The fire, which had been burning low and orange when he sat down, had perked up into a bright white blaze, the tendrils of which almost seemed to flicker with… lightning? A pair of brilliant blue eyes peered out of the bottom part of the flame, unblinking and bored.

Leorio nodded to himself. “A talking fire. Looks like I really have gone crazy.”

“Hey! Watch it, old man!” the fire snapped, roaring a little higher towards the chimney. “Oh… wait a minute… Huh. That’s quite the curse you’ve got on you.”

“How could you tell?”

“I’m a fire demon. I could sense a curse like that in my sleep.”

“If you can sense it, can you break it too?”

“Ummm… No.”

“Oh. I guess you’re not a very strong demon, then,” Leorio yawned and leaned back in his chair.

“Hey!” the fire snapped. “I meant I can’t do it right now, not that I can’t do it at all.”

“Oh?” Leorio opened an eye to peer at the talking flame.

“Look, I’m in a contract with the wizard of this place,” the fire sighed. “As long as I’m in that contract, I can’t help you, unless Kurapika tells me to. But, if you can get me out of the contract before Kurapika gets me killed--or gets himself killed, either one’s a possibility with that guy--I’ll break your curse.”

“I don’t know,” Leorio sighed. “I don’t know how I feel about making a deal with a demon…”

“This isn’t a deal!” the fire said hurriedly. “It’s more of a… you scratch my figurative back, I scratch yours. Look, I don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna be… that for forever. We can help each other out.”

Leorio yawned. “I guess when you put it that way it makes sense… But I don’t even know your name!”

“I’m Killua, the fire demon,” the flame grinned wickedly. “And you?”

“Leorio. Leorio Paladiknight.” He yawned again. “Nice to meet you. It’s good to have a friend in a situation like this…”

In seconds, Leorio was snoring--loudly. Killua glared at him. “You better not turn out to be useless, old man. I may not be an evil demon, but I can be vicious when I want to me. If you don’t get me my freedom, I’ll turn you into something worse than just old.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

Bangbangbang.

Leorio woke confused. Melody doesn’t usually knock that loud… he mused briefly. When he cracked his eyes open and looked up at the unfamiliar ceiling, he immediately remembered where he was.

Bangbangbang.

There was a clatter of footsteps down the steps at the back of the room, and Leorio immediately slumped further into the chair and began mock-snoring loudly.

“Who’s this, Killua?” a child’s voice called.

Bangbangbang.

“Port Zaban door!” the talking fire sang out.

“Right,” the child chirped. “Everyone ready?” There was no time for an actual response before the door open.

“Good morning,” the child’s voice was now falsely-deepened.

“Good morning, sir,” came the polite voice of an actual adult. Leorio craned his neck to peer towards the door.

That’s not the wastes.

“Is this the residence of the wizard Jenkins?”

“It is, but the wizard is not in right now. However, I speak in my master’s place.”

“I was asked to pass this message along to the wizard.”

“I will make sure he gets it.”

“Thank you. Have a good day.”

By the time the boy—clad in an oversized cloak and enormous fake beard—closed the door and turned around, Leorio had given up all pretense of sleep and was staring slack-jawed through the portal.

“Who are you?” the boy asked eagerly, bounding up the stairs and throwing his hood back--the beard disappeared when he did.

“Uh, I’m Leorio,” he stammered.

“Killua, where did he come from?” the boy asked, tossing the cloak over a chair.

“He wandered in from the wastes last night,” the fire replied with a sigh.

“From the wastes! Are you sure he’s not a witch?” the boy stared at Leorio with an expression that suggested he wouldn’t really care either way.

“Like I would ever let a witch in here,” Killua scoffed. “He’s basically harmless.”

Knock knock.

“Swaldani door!” Killua sang out.

The boy grabbed the cloak and swung it back over his shoulders. When he pulled the hood up, the fake beard reappeared to obscure his face. Leorio watched as he hurried over to the door, turned the knob—a colored dial on the wall turned too, finally settling on the color red—and then pulled the door's handle to open it. A whole new city was visible outside, along with a tall, skinny man with long, silky black hair.

"From the magician, for Pendragon," the man said in a bored tone, flicking a piece of paper towards the disguised child in front of him.

"I will make sure to pass the message on to my master." The boy's tone was once again artificially gruff.

The man shrugged and turned away, and the boy closed the door behind him. Leorio stood up and walked over to the window. "Isn't this… the capitol?" he peered out the window, marvelling at the sights outside.

"Yes, and?" the boy sighed. He had thrown back his hood once again and hopped up onto a precarious stack of books to stand beside Leorio.

"It's just… I came in from the Wastes. How did we get here? And what about that other city from earlier?"

"Magic castle, remember? Powered by a fire demon? That door can lead any number of places at once." Even though he didn't have shoulders, a bored shrug could be heard through Killua's voice.

"Anyways, I'm hungry. Do you want breakfast?" the boy hopped off the stack of books and Leorio took a moment to look him over. He was all elbows and knees, dressed in a smart green vest and shorts, although his disheveled black hair contrasted with his neat clothing. "I'm Gon, by the way! What's your name?"

"You mean we can't just call him old man?" Killua smirked in the fireplace, ignoring the dirty look Leorio shot him.

"I'm Leorio," he replied, extending a wizened, knobby-jointed hand to the boy, who shook it. Leorio grimaced when they pulled apart; some sort of sticky residue had transferred from Gon's hand to his.

"Do you want breakfast, Leorio?" Gon called over his shoulder, bounding towards an overflowing cabinet that seemed to serve as a pantry. He fished out a loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese and headed for the table.

"Don't you want something hot to eat?" Leorio asked, peering into the mess. "There's bacon and eggs here! Why don't we have that?"

"I'd love to, but Master Kurapika's not here," Gon sighed, shoving the mess on the table back and away so he could set the bread and cheese down.

"That's fine, I can cook," Leorio waved a hand dismissively, scooping up his ingredients and a long-handled cast iron skillet before heading towards Killua.

"It's not about knowing how to cook, it's that Master Kurapika is the only one who can control Killua!" Gon explained. He watched in fascination as Leorio began to wrestle the skillet onto the fire.

"He's right, you know!" Killua sang out, flaring up to push the pan away with a surprisingly physical force. "Not to mention, I'm a great and powerful fire demon! I don't cook!"

"Oh, well, in that case," Leorio narrowed his eyes and grinned wickedly, "maybe I'll just tell Kurapika about our little bargain and see what he thinks about it."

Killua's blaze dropped so fast that the skillet slammed into the embers, sending sparks skittering across the ash-covered hearth. "You wouldn't dare," he spat, tongues of blue and white fire licking up and around the sides of the pan as Leorio dropped the first piece of bacon into it.

"I don't know," Leorio shrugged. "I'm an old man with nothing to lose. Who knows what I would or wouldn't dare to do."

"Then here's another curse for you: may all your bacon burn," Killua flared up into white flames one last time before settling into a low blue simmer.

Leorio smirked and stirred the bacon around, using the grease to season the pan before adding anything else in.

He was reaching for the plate of bacon when, with a click of the latch and a whoosh of gentle wind, the door opened and the wizard himself blew into his castle. Leorio glanced at him and his jaw nearly dropped. Striding up the stairs was the blond who had saved him the other day! He was dressed in the same smart blue and gold jacket as he had been that night, and his golden hair was just as disheveled. He almost looked like he had swept straight off the Forger's balcony and through the castle door.

"Master Kurapika! You're back!" Gon cheered, leaping off of his chair and hurrying to the top of the stairs. "You have two notes from Hisoka, via messenger."

"Did you read them?" Kurapika asked, his voice tired.

"No way! Hisoka just has his symbol on the outside." Gon fished through his pockets and handed the two pieces of paper over to Kurapika, who skimmed them quickly.

"Who is this?" Kurapika barely glanced at Leorio as he joined him at the hearth. "How did he manage to get you to cooperate so well, Killua?"

"He BULLIED me!" Killua roared, flaring up again into a spark-ridden white blaze that shoved Leorio aside.

"That's not an easy thing to do," Kurapika smiled. "Allow me," he took the pan from Leorio. "Pass me two more strips of bacon and six eggs, please. Gon! Put the kettle on for tea, would you? Now, who are you?"

Leorio gulped. "Uh, why don't you just call me Grandpa Leorio? I guess I'm your new housekeeper. Killua hired me to start today. He's ashamed at what a state this place is in."

Kurapika laughed musically, cracking the last egg into the skillet and tossing the shell to Killua. "I guess that's alright. Just don't get too carried away with your cleaning."

While Kurapika finished cooking breakfast, Leorio helped Gon clear more space at the table and find clean dishes to set it with. The latter task was the most difficult of the morning. Finally, they sat down with three mostly-clean plates and cups, two spoons, and a fork. Kurapika gave them each a slice of bacon and two eggs, along with a slice of bread from the loaf Gon had fetched earlier, and said a brief grace before they dug in. Leorio arched an eyebrow as he watched Gon scarf down his food. The manners around here are as bad as the mess.

"So, Leorio," Kurapika's soft voice snapped Leorio out of his thoughts. "What's that in your pocket?"

"Huh?" Leorio's brow furrowed. He reached into his pocket and found, sure enough, a folded-up square of paper. How did he even know that was there? he wondered as he passed the paper to Kurapika.

Kurapika unfolded the paper, but jerked his hand back as it burst into flames. It fluttered down to the table, leaving behind a scorch mark on the tabletop. "That can't be good for the table," Kurapika murmured, swiping a hand over the scorch mark. It vanished, and Leorio let out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"What was that? Something else from Hisoka?" Gon peered at the spot where the scorch mark had been.

"No," Kurapika sighed, standing up and carrying his plate over to the fire. "A message from the Head Spider."

Gon nearly choked on his food. "The Head Spider???" he squawked. "What did it say?"

"Oh, just another of his threats," Kurapika sighed. "He's still angry about what I did to Omokage. No matter. He can't find us here." He scraped his breakfast into the fire, and Killua snapped it up eagerly. "Killua, make hot water for the bath, please. And move the castle a few kilometers; you be the judge of where we'll be safe."

Killua grumbled to himself as he flared up, reaching flame-formed hands, tipped with flashing white sparks, for a log stacked on the edge of the hearth. "As if moving the castle wasn't enough, I have to heat water too," the demon grumbled.

"Gon, who's the Head Spider?" Leorio asked.

"The Spiders are a gang of evil wizards," Gon said grimly. "Their leader is called the Head Spider. Master Kurapika has sworn to wipe them all out, and he and the Head Spider hate each other. I don't really know why; Master Kurapika doesn't like to talk about it."

Leorio nodded, thinking back to the man who had cursed him back in the infirmary. Was that the Head Spider? Or one of the others? Why come after me?

"Hey, Leorio?" Gon's voice was soft, timid. "You don't… you don't work for the Spiders, do you?"

Leorio smiled kindly down at him. "Absolutely not. I would never work for someone like that." He took a bite of his now-cold food. "Eat up. We have a lot of work to do today."

[writeawaytrain]

Can You Take Me Back?

A/N: Hullo, this fic was inspired by @thelexidylan (super cool and amazing, thank you for the idea hun!). This is also my first fic on tumblr, so I hope y’all enjoy! Also if you would like to request a story, click here :D

W/C: 1,898

Warnings: Mention of drugs/brief use, throwing up, a lil’ swearing.

It was a cold December night in New York City, and I trudged through the streets, not really caring where the road was going.

Could be the secondhand high from all that weed from the Bob Dylan concert, but I kept drifting alone through the streets. I didn’t think it stupid at the time, but never imagined that it would actually lead up to something.

I somehow ended up in Central Park, and I came across the Strawberry Fields. There was no one around, besides the sounds of the trees and the stars smiling down. I felt a sense of peace, either from the weed, or something, and walked around for a bit.

I spotted an old woman sitting on a bench. She looked well on in her years with the lines of time etched onto her face. She had a little cart with flowers on it, and an orange Persian-ish looking cat that stood on her shoulders.

Without thinking, I pulled out my wallet and asked her something that she probably thought as crazy (but who am I to judge), “Ma’am. This might sound weird, but I need some flowers tonight.”

She turned to me in and smiled in an odd way, “Well honey, lucky you, I’m selling—“ 

Her cat meowed.

“Oh yes, that’s right.” She turned to me, “This is Tim. Don’t pay him any mind, he’s a real sweetheart.” She then moved her cart and took out a crystal ball, filled with what looked like a dark liquid. “Now, before you buy anything, I need you to tell me what you see.”

She held up the dark orb, and swirled it in her hands. After a few seconds, I peered inside and inner smoke cleared, showing a small galaxy spotted with dewy stars and a single red rose drifting through it all.

When I told her what I saw, the lady’s cat looked at me with a Cheshire smile and hopped from her shoulder to head bunt my legs. The lady laughed and added, “Ahh. A very special someone indeed, Tim?”

Whether it was referring to me or something about the orb, I didn’t know. Regardless, she rummaged through her cart and brought out a bunch of small blue flowers.

“These are Forget-Me-Nots,” she said handing them over. “I think this is what you’re looking for, dear.”

Suddenly, a large rustle came from the tree behind me and I looked and saw it was a small barn owl. It hooted for a few seconds, and flew off into the night.

“Sorry,” I said turning back, “There was—”

I looked at the spot where the woman was, but she disappeared. Her cart was also gone, and the cat was nowhere to be seen. I was still awkwardly holding my wallet, and started on my walk when I saw a small glimmer of light where she was. On the bench was a small seashell with the letter J carved into it. I picked it up, and traced the letter, which was shining bright green. 

I sat on the bench, shell in hand and flowers in the other, and stared at the night sky. Was the woman real? Was anything real? The stars still swirled around, but I heard no answer. Returning back to the flowers tied in a red ribbon, I came up with an idea.

I looked around to make sure that no one was watching me, and sat cross-legged on the Imagine mosaic.

“Hey John,” I whispered, softly placing the flowers in the center, “It’s me again.” I looked up towards the sky, “Y’know, I just met someone real special today. Guess who?”

An owl hooted in the distance. Classic.

“I don’t know her name, but it was a lady who had a flower cart and a cat,” I sniffed, then laughed. “And she had a glass orb, y’know, like from a wizard shop.”

I wiped my nose and pulled out the seashell. “She disappeared before I could pay her, but she seemed really sweet. This seashell was all that’s left. Maybe you know her?”

The wind whispered, wiping my tears and ruffled my hair. 

“I’m guessing you do, huh?” I sniffed again. I was quiet for a little while and heard the rustling of the trees. I tried looking at the moon, but my eyes welled again.

“I know I should stop crying, but… I…“ I took a deep breath.

The stars twinkled in response.

I closed my eyes and sang: “Can you take me back where I came from, can you take me back? Can you take me back where I came from, brother can you take me back? Can you take me back? Can you take back where I came from? Can you take me back?” 

That sacred and haunting melody traveled through my whole being, and I could feel a chill running through my spine. I felt a warm feeling in my hands and opened my eyes to stare at the seashell in my hand.

The shell’s green J was glowing brightly, and I caressed it with my thumb. However, it only seemed to get brighter and hotter, to the point where I dropped it since it scorched my hands.

“Frickin’ OW!” I started at my hands and they were red, as if they were sunburnt. As far as I knew, weed couldn’t do that.

I started back at the shell and it dropped onto the center of the Imagine mosaic. 

It then rose mid-air and still shining, I heard a lady’s voice, “Would you really like to go back?”

“Uh, sure?” I stammered, both out of shock and wondering if I’d truly gone mad now.

“Very well then.” It eerily sounded like the woman in the flower cart.

Suddenly, green sparkles from the shell gathered in a swirl and surrounded me, spinning faster and faster. I felt sick and my mind spun.

“Wait-!” I was caught off inhaling sparkles, which effectively silenced my voice.

As the air became more thick, I was clawing at my neck, waiting for the torture to be over. After a few more seconds, I fell on the floor, blacking out on the mosaic.

—

When I awoke, I felt sick, and hurled onto a toilet. Wait.

I held myself up for a shaky second, and saw that my baggy sweatshirt was gone, and instead was wearing a blue sleeveless dress and a string of pearls. I even had heels.

“Oh, god,” I whispered and panicked, “Oh, god—!”

I heard a knock on the door and heard a girl’s voice, “Hey, you alright? Want me to call a taxi?”

Odd, she has accent. 

I saw the green dust that I vomited into the toilet. Without thinking I said, “No, I’m alright.”

“Gear. Be careful and get a coke next time, okay?” She tossed a coat and purse over the stall door. 

Even curiouser, 1960s slang.

She went on, “I’ll be at the bar if you need me, the boys are about to start.” Then her heels clicked away.

“Okay,” I stared at the coat. It looked like something my gran wore.

Head still spinning, I flushed the toilet and looked around the stall. There was writing and graffiti in a language that I didn’t even knew. Giving up trying to read it, I slipped on my coat and headed towards the sink. I checked myself in the mirror, and saw that my hair and makeup were really done differently too. Heavy makeup around the eyes and flat-ironed hair with straight bangs, with a beret to top it all off. 

“Is this really me?” I stared through the looking glass, “Am I dreaming?”

I pinched hard myself, and bit back a swear since my hands were still raw, “Nope, definitely real.”

I opened the door, and immediately felt the atmosphere of rock, beer, and sweat. I was facing the side of the stage, and saw the large crowd of people cheering the people onstage at the end of the song. I couldn’t see the performer’s faces in the dingy lighting, so I decided to go to the bar instead.

I found a seat, and feeling wasted, ordered a drink, “Coke, please.”

“Die Cola?” said the bartender.

I nodded, that sounded like coke. Fully realizing that the bartender spoke very little English, I wondered how I ever got drunk, if throwing up magical sparkles didn’t count. He slid me a glass, I reached into my purse to pay. 

...Except my wallet wasn’t there.

I sat there turning red, and I heard another voice, “Ah, I forgot to give you this back,” It was the same girl from the bathroom. “I’d thought I keep it for safe keeping while you were away.”

She was very pretty, she had bright brown eyes and was blonde. Somehow, looked like someone I knew.

She’d also gave me a four pills and turned back to the stage, “They’re gonna take all night, aren’t they?”

I nodded, but returned to the pills, small and unassuming, and pocketed two. With the leftovers, I just turned them around my hands, and hadn’t had a vague inkling of what they were.

I saw that one of the musicians came down from the mic and gave the blonde a kiss, “Oi,” Another kiss. “What’dya think?”

Rascal was sketched in sweat, and you could smell his trouble from a mile away. His face was masked from the shadows though, but his voice…

They broke for air, and he petted her hair whilst getting a cigarette, “Got any more prellies, love?”

She shook her head and looked away, “Didn’t you have enough already? You’ll be bouncing mad like last time,”

He took his time lighting the cig with a small dot of flame. He lifted her chin gently.

“But love, I feel like a drag,” He breathed in the smoke and accented the last word, puppy eyes and all, “Just a few more, alright?”

“Can’t. Gave my last.“ She turned to me, but also gave me a pleading look that said: “Please, don’t give him any.”

Without a beat he looked at my pills, “You gonna take those or what?” He puffed a ring in my face and I coughed. What an ass. 

I stared at the pills, and without much thought, downed the two with a sip of cola. Out of spite, probably. God knows how I’ve survived purely out of spite. 

I slammed my coke with a hard stare, “Does that answer your question, jerk?”

He looked dumbfounded, but recovered without missing a beat, “No need to have a stick up your arse,” His face was red, evidently not getting his way, and decided to saunter somewhere else. 

The girl’s eyes went as large as dinner plates, “Never thought that anyone would stand up to John. Much less any girl, ‘specially here,”

“Well, someone needed to shut him up,” You rolled your eyes. “He was puffing a train down my throat,” And asking for a fight, didn’t he?

She laughed. “Well, he can be nice sometimes, even though his aunt hates me,” She took a sip of her drink, “Ever since he was a ted, he’s been well known in Liverpool, yeah.”

Someone called out across the bar, “Hey Lennon! Need an upper?”

I spat out my drink, “Wait, you mean—?”

Oh, shit. I just pissed off John Lennon.

[thetreeshavenotongues]

Gajevy Week ‘19: Day 1- Music

I’ve never posted anything on tumblr so hopefully I didn’t mess anything up, this is also my first ever offering for Gajevy week, so here we go...

Sing Me A Song

“Thought you were staying at Fairy Hills tonight,” the words were thrown idly over Gajeel’s shoulder by way of greeting. The soft thump and click of the front door closing came as his response.

He had been fixing a snack in the kitchen when his apartment door creaked open, and while the arrival of his unannounced guest didn’t stop him, his hands did slow as he focused on her movement through his home. He had grown to love the little sounds she made. Of course, his favorites were more lascivious in nature, but he had a particular fondness for the sounds created when she just moved around - the light pat, pat of her bare feet on the wood, or the tap of her fingers against the table, the shuffle of pages as she read – it was all proof that she was well and truly there.

He had cataloged her little noises over the years, and without glancing he could easily track her progress through the apartment. The chuff, chuff were her feet sliding out of her flip flops, then came the thud of her bag sliding from her thin shoulder and landing on the floor. She would be rolling her neck now, as she always did when she finally put down her bag, and the contented sigh that drifted his way made him smirk at her predictability. Fabric rustled, and he knew she was pulling off her jacket - there was a pause and his smirk stretched into a grin, he had thrown his jacket over the coatrack when he arrived home earlier and he could just imagine her frowning at the small but if chaos. The heavier cloth of his jacket whooshed as she readjusted it, then came a gentle swish as her coat found its place on a hook. Soon, the light taps of her footfalls were heading his way and he wiped the grin from his face – he adored her, but he’d never go around grinning every time she was near like those two idiots who followed her around.

He didn’t turn when she came into the kitchen, bringing her scent of ink and parchment and that lavender lotion he loved with her. It wasn’t until she had hoisted herself onto the opposite counter of his galley kitchen that he finally faced her.

“You don’t seem surprised.” Her hands were pressed onto the countertop with her little fingers curled around the edges as she swung her bare feet and smiled sweetly.

His lips pulled up into a smug smirk before he took a step to the side, revealing two sandwiches on the countertop behind him. “Tch, yer predictable, Shrimp.”

Levy rolled her eyes, but happily took the plate he lifted her way. “Is that it? You’re sure it has nothing to do with an open living room window and a dragon-slayer’s nose?”

“My nose ain’t tell me you haven’t eaten since breakfast.” The words came with a frown and she blushed lightly.

“I was planning on picking something up on the way, but,” she paused and shifted uncomfortably, her fingers playing absently with a slice of bread, “I forgot about the evacuations and –“

“Yeah, yeah ,” Gajeel waved her off, “just eat, Shrimp.” Levy grinned but hid it behind a bite of sandwich, she knew him too well to be offended by his gruff tone - she actually found it pretty cute that the only way he knew to show concern was with a rude remark.

It was a little known fact that, for someone who preferred noshing on silverware, Gajeel was surprisingly adept in the kitchen, and as Levy happily munched away at the delicious sandwich she was brought back to their days at The Council and the countless nights she spent watching the crude Custody Enforcement Captain in an apron worrying over a pot of sauce. Of course, she had been sworn to secrecy about his culinary ability, not that she was in a rush to tell anyone anyway – she treasured the feeling of being one of the only people to know little tidbits like this about the iron dragon-slayer. In fact, she doubted anyone knew about his penchant for cooking outside of Juvia and –

“Where’s Lily?” She threw a cursory glance over her shoulder, as if expecting the Exceed to be lurking around the corner.

Gajeel shrugged, “told him you were on yer way and he flew off. Said somethin’ about makin’ sure the other Exceeds were outta harms way. M'surprised he didn’t sprain a wing with how fast he flew outta here.”

Levy giggled. “Not very subtle, is he?”

Gajeel snorted and continued eating his own sandwich, until “so, ya gonna tell me why you came all the way out here, Lev?”

She finished chewing and gave him a cheeky smile, “just wanted to make sure you weren’t scared.”

“Real funny, Shorty.” He rolled his eyes, “you shoulda gone home.”

Levy’s brows drew together at that, “is it a problem that I came over?”

Gajeel snorted and reached a hand for her empty plate, “ya know that ain’t it, Lev,” he moved from her for a moment to place their plates in the sink, but when he turned back his expression had rearranged into a frown, and Levy could almost feel the air get heavier from it “I’m happy to see yer key get some use, but ya shoulda gone to Fairy Hills – it’s closer to the guild. And honestly, ya look like shit.”

Levy wanted to be annoyed at the coarse words, but instead, a chuckle bubbled past her lips – she was positive that she did in fact look like absolute shit. Since returning to Magnolia she doubted she had had a single night of more than four hours of sleep, and the past month had probably been the worst of all. From running to the Council to drop off their paperwork, to catching up with Gajeel’s group then heading to Blue Pegasus and rescuing the Master, she was beat. Then, after all of that there was Mavis’ revelation, the impending war with Alvarez and the ensuing planning – which was why she had been at the guild since before daybreak researching and working with Warren and the Masters, subsisting on half of a fruit bowl and two and a half hours of sleep. All in all, she was well and truly exhausted, but even still, the thought of making her way to her empty room at Fairy Hills, knowing what would begin in the next twenty-four hours, was much less appealing than dragging her feet halfway across town to spend the night next to this man.

“I feel like shit,” she conceded before releasing a sigh that seemed to deflate her entire being.

Gajeel’s large hands came to rest on her knees, and with a gentle push he spread them enough for his body to rest between her thighs, “C’mon, Shrimp,” his fingers made their way up her legs before reaching around to lightly squeeze her bottom, “let’s get you showered and into bed.”

He lifted her easily, and she folded into his hold with a comfortable sigh. Her head found a familiar spot on his shoulder and she contented herself with placing chaste kisses on the exposed skin of his neck as he walked them across his apartment to the bathroom. He kicked the door shut behind them and untangled her legs from his waist so she could stand as he turned on the water.

She rolled her eyes when she noticed him pulling his shirt over his head, “I don’t need help showering, Gajeel.” The Slayer ignored her and hooked his fingers along the waistband of his shorts before pulling them down – an act which still caused a flare of red on her cheeks. “I’m tired and your “help” isn’t going to get me to bed any sooner.”

He pulled her towards him, his deft hands quickly sliding her shirt up and over her head. “I’m here because yer tired, ya know, just in case ya don’t have the energy to get all the nooks and crannies.” His smirk was devilish as his fingers slid along the band of her pants.

Levy rolled her eyes again, but couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the edges of her lips, “I’m serious, Gajeel, we need to get to bed.”

He mumbled a distracted “yeah, yeah,” and pushed her shorts past her hips.

“Pout all ya want, I didn’t hear any complaints in the shower.”

 Levy paused from rummaging through the clothes she kept at Gajeel’s apartment to throw a half-hearted glare at the shirtless man stretched out on his bed behind her. “I wanted to be in bed an hour ago.”

Gajeel shrugged and lifted his arms behind his head - his red eyes followed the little wizard’s moves intently as she pulled on a pair of panties and a tank top. “Stop complainin’ an’ get in bed then.”

Levy feigned a glare, but when he pulled back the comforter for her, she couldn’t help but giggle – it was comical to see this man with his hard lined face and scarred, muscular body laying under the bright green, star specked blanket she had gotten for him as a joke.

She slid into the bed and pulled up the sheets, his arm snaked around her in a familiar embrace, pulling her small frame closer to his. She snuggled in, throwing her arm over his chest and placing a quick kiss on his collar bone, and attempted to fall asleep, but as the minutes ticked by in silence she found that sleep eluded her.

“Gajeel,” her voice was soft and he opened one red eye to look at her. “Will we be ok?”

“Shrimp-“

“-I know,” she interrupted, sounding almost exasperated at her own worry, “we’ve faced plenty of challenges before… but this one is so much bigger.”

Gajeel snorted, “so what if it is? This guild is made of tougher stuff than they are – hell, I don’t think anyone here even knows how to lose.” He rolled into his side to face her and even in the dim light, Levy could make out the warm glint in his red eyes. “You of all people should know how strong Fairy Tail can be. Don’t doubt yer family, Lev.”

“Yeah” she smiled, “you’re right.”

 He rolled back onto his back and pulled her with him so her head rested on his chest, store grumbling “can we go to sleep now?”

Levy giggled and pushed herself up to place a chaste kiss on his lips. Her fingers came to rest on his cheek and in the momentary silence that followed the parting of their lips the weight of what was coming settled heavily over them. Her thumb brushed his warm skin and her smile slipped a fraction. “Sing me a song, Gajeel.”

His eyes widened slightly, and the arm he had slung over her waist stiffened; she was scared and those words were proof.

The first time she had said them was over a year ago, during their travels after the guild had disbanded – she was plagued with nightmares those first few nights, and had given up on sleep altogether after a while and instead spent the night time hours staring at the sky. It didn’t take long for Gajeel to notice and soon his nights were spent sitting beside her offering a quiet comfort he knew he never could with words. This went on for days, until one night, about two weeks into their travels, when she turned to him with her large, sad, honeyed eyes and asked him to sing her a song. “You’re not very good,” she had said with a grin, “but I love hearing you sing. It reminds me of those days, you know. Before Tartaros, before this. When things were simple and we were all laughing together.”

So he sang her a song, and that was the first night she slept in peace. From then it became a habit, whenever the nightmares came or sleep eluded her, she would find her way to his side and ask him to sing her a song. Things had settled after a while, they found their way to The Council and while she still sought out the comfort of his presence at night, the song requests had all but disappeared. But now she was looking at him again with those large, sad, honeyed eyes that shone with a fear he hadn’t seen in them in over a year, and he knew he couldn’t deny her.

He nodded and her hand left his cheek, her head returned to his chest. He cleared his throat and snapped his fingers.

“She’s a tiny lady,

Shoo bee doo bee

A very tiny lady

Shoo bee doo bah

So small ya gotta squint-“

“-Gajeel!” He laughed at the light slap delivered to his chest.

“But she’s a feisty little Fairy,

Strong inside and out…”

Gajeel's song continued for a while, and before long her low, even breathing drifted to his ears.

He looked down at the head of unruly blue hair on his chest and ran his fingers through the soft strands, she sighed in his sleep and a smile tugged at his lips.

“She’s my little fairy lady,

Shoo bee doo bee

And I’ll protect her with my life,

Shoo bee doo bah,

And one day, when this is over

Shoo bee doo bee

I’ll make that little fairy my wife,

Shoo bee doo bah.”

[armstrong-senpai]

Alone...

"I'LL PROVE ALL OF YOU WRONG!" 

Those were the last words I said in a normal voice.

I sprinted to the hangar, the voices of my so-called Fireteam echoing in my ears.

“You're not serious about being a Hunter, why do you bother?”

“You never pay attention to your surroundings; you're going to get us killed!

“Maybe you should just stay at the Tower...”

The sadness and betrayal I felt fueled my rage as I transmatted into my ship and sped away from the Tower. Blinded by my emotions, I chose an area with the highest concentration of enemies: the Dreadnaught. As I approached Oryx's floating crypt, I didn't even bother to slow down. I jabbed the auto pilot and opened the ship's hatch. As the auto pilot corrected to avoid a collision, I threw myself into space and flew toward the Dreadnaught like a comet of death. The first wave of Hive didn't even know what hit them. I landed and sliced through them without loosing any momentum. The second and third were just as unlucky, but the fourth finally noticed me; not that it helped them. With each enemy I felled, my anger only grew; 'Who's taking the job seriously now?' I thought as my knife seperated a Knight from its arm. A trail of limbs and bodies lay behind me and still I lusted for more blood when an odd sound caught my attention. My curiosity overpowered my rage for just a moment and I sought out the source. I made my way to the Court of Oryx and there was the source of the sound: a Hive ritual performed by a Wizard and I recognized her. Crota's mate who sought to bring her beloved back from beyond the viel.

'This will prove to them that I'm serious' I thought to myself.

I came at them from high above and threw two knives. They imbedded in the back of a Knight and it fell forward, dead. The Knight to its right barely had time to notice before I landed on it, cracking its spine under my weight. The other four Knights and Wizard all turned to face me. They spoke in their shreiks and growls and even thought I didn't speak the language, I knew what they were saying.

“How dare you defile our sacred ritual! We'll rip the Light from you and gorge ourselves on it so that we may become more powerful” Or something like that anyway.

The Knights advanced as one, each swinging their massive swords. I easily dodged their slow attacks, but then the Wizard launched her attack. A couple of her blasts hit me and I leapt behind a rock for cover. I barely had a second to breath before the Knights pulverized my cover and I was forced to move. I chucked another knife, but it only put a chip in the bony armor of this Knight. It chuckled

and managed to grab my cape. I scowled as the other three Knights raised their swords, but they suddenly vaporized in wave of Arc energy. The very ones that had driven me on this crusade were here. The Titan that had just slammed tackled me as the Warlock appeared, launching a Nova Bomb. I braced for impact, but the Wizard flicked it away easily. She cackled madly at us as we got to our feet. We each stepped forward to attack, but then our Light was gone.

For the first time on our lives as Guardians, we were powerless. We couldn't believe it and even the Wizard seemed confused as we tried to activate our Light. Reality dawned on us and we began to slowly back away while firing, but the ritual prevented all damage. The Wizard cackled again and shot at us with reckless abandon. We all tried to dodge, but there were too many blasts. I cried out in pain as they hit me and my legs collapsed under me. They were numb and completely useless. I reached out for my fireteam's aid and while my Warlock partner tried to help, the Titan pulled her away.

“She'll only slow us down. We'll die if we try to save her!” He cried as he dragged the Warlock away. The pity in his eyes only served to rekindle the hate in my heart. The Warlock cried out an apology and then they were gone.

The Wizard glided over to me slowly, deliberatly and regarded me with an odd expression. She'd never seen Guardians act this way and this one wasn't healing. The expression changed, as if she made a decision and raised her hand with finality. I don't know how I did it, but I manage to toss the last Smoke Bomb I had and in that brief moment of invisibility, I dragged myself away and hid. The Wizard searched for me for what felt like hours, screaming the whole time. Finally she must have assumed I escaped and returned to the depths of the Dreadnaught. I finally relaxed and without the adrenalin to numb it, the pain of my injuries washed over me and I nearly cried out. I clenched my fists and only then did I realise I'd been holding something: my Ghost! I almost got mad at it for not healing me, but then I noticed it's eye was out. My Ghost was dead. I knew at that moment that I was going to die my final death. I turned myself best I could figure towards Earth and awaited the soft embrace of that eternal sleep.

That sleep was interrupted though. It started small, just on the edge of my senses, but I heard a clear voice calling for me. The voice was familiar and try as I might, I could not call back out to it. With the last of my strength, I tossed my Ghost out of my hiding spot. Thankfully the person searching for me saw it and next thing I knew, Cayde-6 was lifing me into his arms. His expression was grim, but he still tried to make me smile with his jokes.

Time lost meaning to me as I moved in and out of conciousness. I was at the Iron Temple and Rose was at her wits end. She was arguing with Cayde but he was calm. I could hear the words they were saying but most of it made no sense to me. All I understood were 'anything...can do?' and 'make...Exo'. I managed to move my head which immidiately got their attention. They spoke again, but I couldn't make sense of the words. I tried to smile and choked as I said, 'Do what...have to do. I'll...fine'.

I woke up what seemed like decades later. Somehow I knew that was innaccurate but I ignored the feling. I opened my eyes and things kept going in and out of focus; I blinked a couple times and it went away. I heard Rosey's voice first, "Rhea?" I slowly turn my head toward the sound and see her. She looks like she hasn't been sleeping properly again. "Oh thank the Traveler it worked!"

I blinked a couple times confused, "What worked?"

That's when I hear it. A robotic voice that was a pitch higher than my own. I felt my face and the soft flesh had been replaced by metal. I felt panic rise in my chest, but then Cayde stepped in. He gave me a calming smile and explained what happened: In order to save me when the Light vanished, they transferred me into the closest Exo body they could find. I felt like crying but I had no more tears to shed. Cayde leaned over and put his head against mine as if to try and calm my unease.

"I'll help you through this..."

After the incident Cayde and I became more than friends. Zavala was uneasy of course, but was happy to know Cayde would keep out of trouble now that he had a reason to stay in the Tower.

"What do you mean you're going to the Reef?" I asked as I sat on his desk eating a piece of cake.

"All that sugar is gonna rot your teeth you know." He says as he packs a couple more things.

"I don't have any anymore thanks to somebody” I said playfuly, “Now stop avoiding my question." I say as I poke his chest.

"Look honey, Petra needs my help. The prisoners are getting a bit rowdy and she needs help with the drop in patrols." He said with a sigh. He puts his head against mine, our way of kissing, and mentally reaches out with his Light to touch mine.

"Dont worry babe, I'll be back before your birthday."

(had to repost this cuz Tumblr is bein a butt)