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antebunny · 4 months

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So there's a subgenre of fics in the Harry Potter fandom wherein a person conceived while one of their parents is under the influence of a love potion will become aroace at birth. The origin, afaik, are two insidiously awful decisions of JKR combining: 1) she reinvented date rape drugs/roofies aka love potions, without realizing it I guess, and 2) she said that Voldemort was asexual, because she's never seen a marginalized identity she didn't spit on.

Since Merope Gaunt (Voldemort's mother) used a love potion on Tom Riddle Sr. (Voldemort's dad) I guess people got the idea that what if love potions caused asexuality? And asexuality + aromanticism, of course, meant evil. Here's an excerpt from one of those fics in which Bill Weasley explains being aro/ace to Hermione:

[Image ID]

"No. I just dated because that was what you did. I never really felt anything for them. A few kisses, plenty of hand-holding. I made out in a few broom closets, and had one very uncomfortable make-out session up the top of the Astronomy Tower that I eventually ended by pretending I heard Filch coming past on a patrol. I even tried making out with a guy once in case that was it–nothing. I never told mum about that, of course. Good wizards don't shame their families like that."

"There's nothing wrong with being gay, you know."

He shrugged. "It doesn't apply to me anyway. I'm not gay. I wasn't anything, and I was trying to accept that and be content with it. It was good enough. Until I met Fleur." His eyes lit up with joy as he spoke about her.

[Second Image ID]

"Look, the point is with her allure from being part-Veela, I love her. Like I can never love anyone else. I don't want to lose that. You don't understand what it's like to go through life feeling nothing for anyone else. I've dated people I said I cared for, but I wouldn't have died for them. Well, out of logical choice I might risk my life, but not from love. But I would die for Fleur. Do you understand? She makes me a better person. I would do anything to make her happy. I'm not alone in the world anymore."

She nodded slowly. "I see." It wasn't so much him manipulating Fleur, as him permitting her to manipulate him. Into feeling. "I didn't realise it could be that bad." She still thought he should confess, but it didn't sound like he was hurting Fleur–he really did love her.

[End Image ID]

I read this fic years ago, and at the time I genuinely had not thought about my sexuality at all. I would've never called myself aro or ace. Still, reading this felt like being repeatedly punched in the face. I kept on waiting for Hermione to say something similar to what she said after Bill made a homophobic comment. After all, she went out of her way the first time, didn't she. Instead, what I got was essentially:

Bill: I don't usually feel romantic or sexual attraction. So there's something wrong with me.

Hermione: Yeah lmao. But there's nothing wrong with being gay!

I've been (reading) on Ao3 since 2016, and in all that time I've seen plenty of subtle racism, sexism, etc. But I've never seen anything as plainly stated as this. To this day I have yet to hear any aro/ace people describe the experience of being aro/ace in any of the following ways: "How could I forgive myself if we brought a child into the world to suffer the emptiness I lived with my whole existence[?]" /"You should be unable to love." / "You don't understand what it's like to go through life feeling nothing for anyone else."

I could not understand why Bill described it as "emptiness" or "feeling nothing." I still cannot find a single aro/ace person who would describe themselves as empty. The most I have ever heard is: "I wish I was normal" (meaning I wish I fit in, I wish to be accepted by other people). Historically, many aro/ace people married and had kids, conforming to societal norms, and I am sure many believed there was something wrong with them or hoped to grow out of it. I was one of them. On a very personal note, I suspect that my father is too. I am certain that he's never heard the terms asexual or aromantic in his life. But if you think I'll ever discuss his sexuality with him, you're out of your damn mind.

Now, I know it's really easy to find this fic from these quotes. I chose to include them anyways because I think it's important to show how blatant it was. My Tumblr blog isn't exactly a platform, but for the five people reading this: please, please do not go after the author. I truly believe that they had no ill-intent. In the comments of this fic, a few people bring up variations of "it sounds like Bill is just aro/ace" and the author is consistently understanding. Here are some of the author's comment on that fic:

[Image ID]

I very much understand what you're saying. It's a tricky thing for me to address, however. For the core idea I'm playing with is basically the evilness of "love potions". And part of that is exploring JKR's idea that Voldemort, being unable to love due to his mother using a love potion on his father, was a *monster* because of that. Perhaps that doesn't come across very clearly (there's a little bit more of it in the prequel), that it's one of the assumptions I'm trying to undermine. ("Love potions are funny/romantic", "Voldemort is a monster because he could not love", "Harry's power was that he could love - he's not a monster like Voldemort", "There's nothing wrong with selling love potions to teens/adults because it's not 'real' love".)

I feel like I'm already poking at the inherent problem of framing "people who cannot love" as "monsters/psychopaths" by showing Bill and Harry's struggles with self acceptance, and Bill finding a way to love (though do note he'd been making peace with the idea he wasn't attracted to anyone, prior to meeting Fleur). I really don't like the canonical take on love-redeems/love-is-the-best-power/the-loveless-are-monsters, so I'm messing with it a bit. Exploring other people than Voldemort, ones we admire, who are also dealing with being unable to love. Does that make sense? Now, that doesn't mean I'm doing a perfect job at it, but I'm trying my best to explore that theme around the edges of my Dramione story.

[End Image ID]

The author's intention was to show how other characters, made aro/ace via love potion like Voldemort, were not evil or sociopaths. I don't know why all the characters were so aro/acephobic, but sometimes fics get away from you and you don't address everything you wanted to. I don't know why the aro/ace characters had so much internalized shame and hatred when the term bachelor has been in use for centuries, but we fanfic authors love writing self-esteem issues and I would be a hypocrite to say otherwise. I don't know why the author never tagged acephobia or internalized acephobia, but no one HAS to tag anything.

I don't know if the author ended up writing that fic where Harry comes to accept his aro/asexuality. It's totally understable if they didn't; I have failed to write many fics that I really did want to write. Sometimes it's just like that. I really, truly believe that the author had the best of intentions and is not aro/acephobic, just severely misled on what that experience is like.

My beef is not with this author. I used their words to highlight a reoccurring and popular sentiment that I hate. My real beef is that this fic is popular. This is an entire subgenre of Harry Potter fics. I actually decided to write this post because some random person on the internet said, a few days ago, something along the lines of: "Remember when JKR invented a date rape drug that turned people into sociopaths? Yeah…" (And also because I was up until 3 am last night writing a dumb trash angst one-shot about it).

I'd wager that the vast, vast majority of people who write or read those fics don't feel the same way. But the condescension is baked into the very premise of that trope. "Oh poor you, it must be so hard, so lonely going through life without ever loving another person. You must feel so empty inside."

It's actually people who say similar things that make me feel isolated. Most of the time I feel free, like I've cracked this secret code, like I'm able to see things clearly that people so hung up over sex and romance can't. Other times I feel so left out I wish I was "normal." Mostly, being aro/ace is lonely, annoying, exhausting, and liberating.

It wasn't until last year that a friend told me that some people actually do have trouble speaking to someone they've never met before, just because they find that someone attractive. I thought that only happened in stories. But I don't want to get nervous meeting new people based on their looks, I don't want to treat people differently based on how much I want to have sex with them. I wish my friends in high school had never pressured me to come out as bisexual. I wish all the other similarly liberal, queer communities I've found since didn't insist on associating sex and dating with emotional comfort. I wish I could magically stop my parents from expecting me to ever get married and have kids.

But I can't.

Anyways, that's it for today. I'm not sure what the point of writing this was. I really don't want anyone to get hurt or attacked because of it. This is not a callout, or a hate brigade, or any sort of call-to-action. I don't want people to get up-in-arms about this. I'm just tired. I suppose I just wanted to put my feelings out there, and well, this is my Tumblr.

#asexuality #aromantism #aroace #acearo #aphobia #acephobia #asexual #aromantic #harry potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction

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sleidog · 1 year

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Learn about my OCs! post #3 Rui!

Rui's turn! my sweet, gentle flower boy who also happens to be, quite by accident my strike/raid/dungeon main

[ Name ] Ruisehart/Rui

[ Species ] Sylvari

[ Height ] 6'4"

[ Age ] 18-28 [36-46 by more normal age conventions]

[ Class ] Necromancer Reaper

[ Cycle ] Dusk

[ Gender ] Male, He/Him

[ Status ] Married

[ Orientation ] Demisexual

When Mordremoth appeared, he concocted a potion that was intended to put himself into a suspended state of animation for 5 years, hopefully, when the threat of the dragon would have long passed over, not wanting his advanced knowledge of minion creation and preservation to fall into the wrong hands. However, with the whispers already starting to creep into his thoughts, his ratios for his potion failed, resulting in his death through poisoning. Prior to this, Rui was a simple funeral director, skilled in making bodies presentable for open caskets, complete with deeply complex floral displays to honour the dead. How close he could work to a specification and how meticulous he can be are his biggest assets. He would also frequently handle pet burials and occasional taxidermy, which briefly led him to meet Slei during his rougher days.

After the events of Heart of thorns, Rui is found in his death state by Tai. Unwilling to see such a fate befall a well loved companion, despite it being extremely one sided, Tai shares their lifeforce with Rui, skirting the lines of the Necromancers code to not bring back the dead in the form that they died. Rui is led on to believe that his potion worked by Tai [who thumbed through his research notes] and doesn't find out the truth until much later. [LIKES & DISLIKES] ✔ Tea ✔ Flora ✔ Good manners ✔ Peace and quiet ✖ Loud noises ✖ Needless death ✖ Wastefulness [ A b i l i t i e s /p e r k s] Empathetic Rui is very well tuned to his fellow sylvari before his eventual loss of connection to the dream after he poisons himself. Mild mannered Able to keep a level head even around the most destraught greivers and in generally perilous situations, his even temprament tends to be quite infectious and helps others around him calm down. It's speculated that the delicate scent from his flower assists with this. Patient Rui is a funeral director and mortician, his work is slow and methodical and he has patience in spades! he's a very good listener as well. Speaks to the dead A more controversial thing that Rui can do, is temporarily raise the dead and speak to them about their cause of death [in the event that theres no witnesses and the resulting body from an incident is in fair enough condition to be reanimated and speak, similarly to the DnD ability!] or, in the event a body isn't claimed by friends or family, he'll raise them to make sure they get closure and the ceremony they would have wanted, free of charge. [Trivia] He has odd horns that stick out of the back of his head, they feel like thorns

He gets quite dry easily. He has a healthier glow and more color to his leaves after a drink.

He lacks a shine in his eyes that is hard to notice, post death. His general appearance in his hands, feet and general leaf shapes across his body are slightly reptilian in appearance, yet still textured like leaves. Rui shares some of Tai's power post resurrection and as a result he can no longer speak to the dead because they just stay reanimated and don't eventually go back to 'sleep'. He has only made this mistake once and is too scared to try it again because of the consequences. Despite being an absolute pacifist, Rui is a reasonably skilled fighter and the reason and origin of this is unknown. I cornered and unable to get out of a confrontation it's very likely to end badly for the aggressor. Rui's minions have little outfits, and names! They also have a mummified appearance and less fleshy than the standard GW2 minions. Buddy, flesh golem Buster and Georgie, bone minions Squiggles, blood fiend Ripley, Bone fiend sometimes he also has jagged horrors that assist him with things, however these minions are temporary and wither away too quickly for him to bother naming them. standing illustration of rui is by https://twitter.com/lohenwolfe

#gw2 #gw2 art #sylvari #gw2 screenshots #rui #ocs #worldbuilding #long post #sinigh

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thetwistedcryptid · 2 years

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(made in picrew, with minor edits) [twst styled pic/spite of him in uniform soon to come]

“Every weed is a flower - just trying to make shit work.”

School: Royal Sword Academy

[Hellēnikḗ] [the dorm was founded on the perseverance of Hercules]

Full Name: Hyacinth Kovidar

Nicknames: Cinthia, Hya, Persephone

Grade/Class: Year 1 (freshmen)/Class (No.1-B)

Birthday: November 1st - Day of the Dead (Scorpio)

Age: 16

Height: 148cm (4'10")

Race: Human (??)

Dominant Hand: Ambidextrous

Homeland: Kingdom of Heroes

Club: Fencing

Best Subjects: Alchemy and Defense Magic

Worst Subject: Flying

Hobbies: Gardening, potion brewing, herb collecting, taking late night strolls, and Kendo

Pet Peeves: Bright places, crowded places, people use mistreat the environment, and fire magic users

Fears: small/closed spaces, and deep bodies of water (if he can't see or touch the bottom, it's too deep)

Favorite Food: Croquettes

Least Favorite Food: Seafood of any kind

Talent: Gardening/Botany

Unique Magic: "Full Bloom" Incantation: Spring into it! [The user can make any plant grow extremely quickly by putting their energy into it. The user can accelerate and exaggerate the growth of plant-life and then manipulate it by substituting growth conditions with their own vitality. It can turn a tiny seed into a prosperous network of thick vines in an instant. Plants will revert to their original state if their roots are severed or burned. with enough energy/training, the plant can grow up to 50x its original size!]

Trivia: The ’flyaway’ hair/hair antennae that he has, is ‘animated’ based on his mood (excited/angry/surprised, sad, flustered/in love?, scared, etc) kinda how the two riddles’ work. Flowers naturally appear/bloom when he makes skin contact with earthy surfaces, and some even bloom from his head/skin when he's happy/excited/flustered - he has no control other than this, though.. And is annoyed by it more often than not, as it makes him unable to really hide its true emotions all that well. He specifically requested all of his uniforms to be of a bigger size then what he usually wears - confident that he’ll grow into them. Eventually.. He naturally smells like different kinds of floral fragrances.

———

Character Summary: "I think you're all so good.. But I'm nothing like any of you.”

Hyacinth was born as the middle child of three - one older sister and one younger sister, by two aristocratic parents, in the Land Of Heroes. He always felt as though he didn’t fit in all that well, not being as extroverted or optimistic as his family members or as anyone else in the country. He was always somewhat pessimistic on most aspects of life, and very introverted. Which lead him to be kind of an outcast by the other children in the city they associated with, being picked on by some of them. But usually those spoiled goody two shoes princey boys were convinced that they could “change him” and often tried to force him to play games with them, usually with him playing the role of the villain or damsel in distress. Which only really put on display how others saw him - either as someone weak and indeed of protecting, or someone who stood out from the crowd so much that they were considered ‘evil’. Plus they wanted to use his giftedness in nature magic and potion brewing for things like love potions for those they deemed as their ‘true loves’.or poision antidotes (princes are often targets of assassinations afterall).

He wasn’t ever that good at standing up for himself back then, so he just went along with it. At first he thought they did it because they wanted to be friends with him, and happily partook in those games and actually kinda liked playing the role of an antagonist as it made him feel some level of power/authority, but after learning they only included him for their own ends - he shut himself off even more then before. Often lashing out at those “friends”, which only spurred angry lectures from his parents and being grounded, along with those “friends” trying even harder to force him to become just like they were. Thinking that he just needed proper “guidance” to become the image of princlyness and heroism he needed to be. He always felt so weak.. And took up Kendo in order to tone up his body, and make it so he could fight back - non magic wise - if needed. Becoming rather skillful at it. though his parents often discouraged this activity, he still went through with it. often meeting in private with a tutor that he hired with his own allowance. his parents were always very controlling, deciding for him what to wear, eat, and who to talk to. usually just kids of other nobles whom they had alliances with. they also often compared him to his sisters - claiming he should be more like them, in terms of behavior. thinking of them as the pinnacle of what a 'hero' should be, as they always did as they were told and basically had no individuality apart from most others, besides their spoiled and snarky personalities. his parents often ignored him - middle child syndrome - in favor of paying the most attention to his sisters. leaving him to basically raise himself.

After a lot of begging he was homeschooled, which allowed him some sort of safety from those prior stressful situations. afterwards really only interacted with his parents/siblings/servants, occasionally extended family. Most of the time though, he liked to be alone - spending time in nature. Wandering the foods around their home, which was located on a forested mountain side, and just.. Finding solace in the plants and creatures that lived there. He often talked to the flowers and trees about his troubles or things that he liked. sometimes asking them rhetorical questions when he needed advice. them not being able to respond to him of course, but.. It comforted him in a way. Knowing that they were always listening, and that none of them ever judged him for how/who he was. Sometimes he felt as though they could understand him.. He even gives certain plants names if he has made a bond with them. Humanizing the non human.

Around this time RSA had sent him a letter of attendance - which was accepted for him by his parents, both happening without his knowledge, only learning it happened after his spot in RSA was cemented. He was furious, but couldn’t do much about it. He didn’t want to go to RSA! He was actually enamored by NRC, and wanted to attend that school. Feeling as though he fits in better with people who share this sense of humor, outlook on life, and morals. And based on all of the.. Less than nice things he’s heard about NRC and the people who attend there - he felt like that school ticked all the boxes. But he had no choice in the matter, and his complaints fell upon deaf ears. He was soon shipped off to the Isle of Sages to attend the school, his family barely communicating with him ever since, other than requesting him to send his grades and attendance to see if he's slacking or not.

Ever since joining he is constantly trying to convince the headmaster, Ambrose the 63rd, that he should be transferred to NRC, either ranting to him in his office in person about it or sending him many complaint letters. but is always met with the same answer, that his placement in RSA wasn’t a mistake and that he was always meant to be here. Something he is very openly salty about.

#Hyacinth Kovidar #Hyacinth #rsa oc #twisted wonderland #twst oc #disney twisted wonderland #royal sword academy #rsa #twst #oc

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twstoric · 4 years

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primal instincts

𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒚𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒅: Can I request headcannons for the Savanaclaw boys being in heat while dating m!reader? Preferably with breeding kink and primal play please, though no actual preg. Thank you in advance!!!!

𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: leona kingscholar x m!reader, ruggie bucchi x m!reader, jack howl x m!reader

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: an instinct running deeper than simple desires, you’re the drug to satiate these carnal cravings

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘(𝕤): heat cycles, breeding kink, face fucking, minor cock warming, minor overstimulation

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: [Headcanon]

𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: i’ve never written primal play so that was interesting! though i hope i was able to capture it correctly ( ╥﹏╥)ノ nontheless! i hope you enjoy!

Leona Kingscholar

You’ve discovered many things about Leona since dating him. He likes to sleep a lot (as everyone else knows) but what you’ve discovered is that he likes to use you as a personal pillow. His head nudges your palm when you caress his head and his ears twitch against your fingers; even in a state of sleep, he seeks your touch (though he denies it when you bring it up…)

So when he avoids you like the plague one day—you’re more than sceptical. You haven’t… done anything to upset him? You even bought him lunch the other day! Though his avoidance isn’t because he’s upset with you like you originally thought. Now you just get excited whenever he holes himself up in his room

Leona is such a prideful person—sometimes bordering in A-hole levels—but during this period of time, when he’s in heat, he’s so docile. Complying with every one of your wishes and allowing you to indulge him for once!

His mind is clouded over in a lustful haze, body telling him to breed but he’s truthfully never experienced heat with a proper partner before so his mind isn’t sure how to function properly but that’s fine... you’re there to take care of him after all

Once your fingers brush his hand just the slightest bit, something snaps in Leona’s mind and he’s pouncing on you. He’ll pin you down, hands hooked under your legs, and pushes your knees to your chest. You’re bent in half like this, face flushing as Leona’s cock, hard and heavy pushes into you so easily, his mind is screaming at him how you’re so perfect, made perfectly for him—the perfect mate

He fucks like a crazed man. His desires are so strong that he knows nothing else except to push in deeper, thrust in harder, breed you until you’re full. A shudder runs down his spine when he realises this position is optimal for breeding; he’s got you in a mating press

Leona growls, voice rough in his throat and every moan that spills from your mouth just drives him deeper to fuck you stupid. His skin burns, sweat dripping down your bodies as he drives into you harder. Leona will lean in closer, testing the limits of your flexibility, and he’ll whisper to you with a handsome smirk: “You’ll take all my cum, right, herbivore?”

He’s always honest during his heats. Face losing its composure when reaches his peak, coming deep into you with a final thrust; his cum painting your walls in heavy spurts. After that, Leona’s touch is gentle. His fingers will skim over every little bruise and he’ll lick your neck; cleaning you and marking you with his scent. His cock will stay plugged in your hole and his hands will gently curl around your cock if you haven’t cumed yet; bringing you to completion. Even as your body is spent, bordering on overstimulation, you can feel Leona’s cock twitch in you. That was just the first wave after all~

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie is a bright and confident person. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him without that easy-going persona but when his heat kicks in, it’s a different story. The stark difference is baffling the first time you’ve witnessed it but you’re always more than willing to help out

His face is painted with a permanent blush, ears flinching here and there; restless as he clutches at his clothes. He’s told you before that staying clothed when he's in heat makes him uncomfortable—the material of his shirt always clinging to his burning skin like a layer of dead skin. So you always take it upon yourself to undress him slowly, small whines leaving his lips at how sensitive his skin gets

Ruggie complains a lot when he’s in heat—something he rarely does on a normal occasion but his complaints are always about how his heats are the worst and he’s not acting like himself and how he wants to touch you so bad. Of course you always try to keep his mind off the negatives—you’re here now; he’s allowed to indulge in you all he wants

You try to keep him relaxed by offering to blow him; Ruggie’s ears pressing against his head in embarrassment but he mumbles a fine and you’re in position. You fist yourself when you take him in your mouth, Ruggie’s cock already leaking precum heavily into your throat and Ruggie grabs the back of your head, slamming himself deeper into your inviting mouth

He fucks your throat in wild abandon, as if he’ll die if he doesn’t and you take him the best you could but before Ruggie cums, he pulls your head away roughly, mumbling a small s’ory, and pushes you down. His breathing is ragged as he potions his cock to your hole and he’s frantically mumbling about how he has to fuck you, fill you up with his cum, make you full

His hips are so flexible; fucking you hard and fast. His fingers curl against your cock and your mind blanks, unable to do anything but take what he’s giving you. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air; moans spill without shame and Ruggie slams with all his strength, cumming with a heavy shudder. He falls on top of you like he’s lost all his strength, instantly pressing kisses on every inch of your face he can reach

His tail swishes happily after he’s done. His mind no longer as clouded during the first wave, Ruggie finally realises that he’s still inside you. He’ll flush brightly (somehow deepening the red colour already on his face) and he splutters out a few words before a thought strikes him that… he came inside you. His cum is still inside you and like a perfect mate, you’ve taken everything from him so well that..

Ruggie gets up and you think he’ll pull out but instead he starts to grind his cock into your ass. Of course he can’t really impregnate you but the thought is.. A lopsided smile settles on his face and he presses a kiss to your lips, hips bucking into you. “Let’s go again, yeah? Juuust to make sure~”

Jack Howl

When you started dating, Jack had pulled you to the side one day; ears twitching and turning from side to side to make sure no one is around before he tells you with an embarrassed voice: he’ll want to spend his heats with you. You may or may not have popped a nosebleed in that instance but you also remember feeling so touched that he would trust you in his moment of weakness. Now you’re determined to always make everything perfect when his schedule rolls by

Jack doesn’t always let the hazy feeling of lust cloud his judgement—he’s had perfect control over his composure; of course that’s before you enter the room, the air filling with your scent, Jack’s perfect composure crumbles. He touches in with his inner animal and ravage you until you can’t walk let alone stand properly

His tail sways in uncontained excitement, held high in the air as his arms snake around your stomach and he positions you on your knees. When he’s in heat, Jack doesn’t waste any time. His pace is brutal; mind only telling him to take, take take. Anything and everything you can give him. His hands will press against your stomach, teeth scraping against your ear and his voice is rough when he grunts: “You’re so full of me…”

And you are—filled to the brim and stretched to your limit by his cock always hitting your prostate. Your cock uselessly bounce against your stomach with every thrust, pushing you harder against the bed until your elbows give in and Jack still fucks you with vigour; holding your ass up as your cum spurts weakly over your stomach

When Jack finally cums, grinding down against your ass, it’s in heavy globs, making you feel absolutely full. He’ll slowly pull out of you and without his hands supporting him, your body collapses to the bed like a puppet losing its strings. But it’s not over yet

Jack will gently roll you on your back, his face flushing and you can see the desire in his eyes when he looks at you. Just when his cum would trickle down your thigh, Jack’s fingers would circle against your hole and he’ll plunge two fingers in; stuffing his cum back in your asshole

He’ll fuck his fingers into you—with the intentions of making sure his cum stays deep inside and you’re so sensitive you cum quickly just after a few seconds of him plugging your hole. Jack has this small smile on his lips as he watches you take his cum so well and you momentarily forget about the overstimulation

When his first wave of heat subsides, Jack will nuzzle his cheek against yours, nose burying in your neck to take in your scent. He becomes so domestic like this; arms secured over your waist and marking your neck with gentle bites. It doesn’t go past you the way his hand is always placed atop your stomach; rubbing the skin there with gentle caresses

#leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #jack howl #savanaclaw #twst x reader #twst n/sfw #twst scenarios #twst imagines #leona x reader #ruggie x reader #jack x reader #twisted wonderland #m!reader #request #twst leona #twst ruggie #twst jack

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doexoeyes · 3 years

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Of Finches & Firsts

Ok so here’s a fic I actually have on Wattpad and AOO3 but I decided to bring over here. On those sites I wrote a character for this story, but on here it’s gonna be Draco x Reader ♡ Only thing to note is that your last name in this story would be Finch (so to make sense of the title and some other little parts of the story) as well as you’re a Hufflepuff. Sorry to the other houses,I adore you all but Draco and a Hufflepuff is just to juicy to pass up (in the first book he literally say’s they’re the worst) so just trust me when I tell you that it’s all for the story. Anyways I hope you enjoy and if you’re interested in reading the original, here are the links:

Archive Of Our own link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26707513

Wattpad link:

https://my.w.tt/ZoUHpu1e59

Summary: "A Hufflepuff? Crushing on a Slytherin? Sounds like the start of a terrible joke to me, but ok." You’ve harbored feelings for Draco Malfoy since your first year at Hogwarts. Secretly, of course, and very much from afar. But when you’re finally taken out of your role of being a background character in his life, will it be what you always wanted, or what you wish you never knew?

Chapters

Chapter 1 ♡ Chapter 2

Chapter 1: The Firsts Of Many

The first time you ever saw Draco Malfoy was at the sorting hat ceremony your first year at Hogwarts. You thought he was striking upon first sight, with his silver grey eyes contrasting with his nearly white hair. You knew he would leave a lasting impression upon whoever looked at him, and you very much envied him for it. You felt like you were as plain a Jane as they came, especially when compared to him. You couldn't keep your eyes off of him for the rest of the night, drawn to, not just his features, but the mysterious aura that surrounded him.

When your name had gotten called for the sorting, you were incredibly nervous for many reasons:

1. For the house you were going to be sorted into that would shape your life for the next 7 years.

2. For the several hundreds of eyes watching you go up the steps.

3. For the white haired boy who you seemed to have developed the tiniest little crush on.

Thankfully, you made it up without tripping and making a complete fool of yourself and were pleasantly surprised to find out that the house you'd be sorted into was:

"Hufflepuff," the storing hat declared, and a thunderous applause followed suit.You smiled, looking towards the table with the yellow cladded students as they cheered and waved you over. You couldn't wait to tell your father, who was a proud Hufflepuff himself, that you were now one, too.

When it's Draco's turn to be sorted, you made sure to pay very close attention. A small silly part of you wanted to cross your fingers and hope that he'd somehow be sorted into Hufflepuff just like you.

Of course, that was a very optimistic wish.

"Slytherin," the hat announced, and all those hopes quickly came tumbling down because if there was one house you knew you weren’t going to be able to fit in with, it was Slytherin.

There went your chances of being potentially noticed by Draco Malfoy.

Letting out a sigh, you were able to manage a small smile as you clapped for the boy along with the rest of your fellow schoolmates.

You spent the entire year making new friends, learning spells, studying up for exams, and never having the opportunity to talk to Draco, your only regret of the year.

For Draco, his first year at Hogwarts consisted of him developing the reputation of being the school's bully. Most of his antics we concentrated heavily on Harry Potter and his friends, but he truly didn't spare anyone that wasn't a part of his Slytherin crew.

Still, this didn't lessen the small crush you had on him since the day of the sorting. Despite his actions, you really felt that the boy was much more than what he projected to the world.

The first time you ever got to talk to Draco Malfoy was during your second year, when you had accidentally run into him as you rushed to your potions class.

You were too busy worrying about making it in time to class, really not wanting a reason to make Snape chastise you, that you had forgotten to pay attention to your surroundings. A disastrous recipe for running into someone, which was exactly what ended up happening.

"Hey!" he said with a grunt as his books fell from his hands.

You, mortified, hardly even noticed it was Draco at first, as you immediately leaned down to pick up his books.

"Oh I'm so sorry! I'm a complete klutz. I should've been paying more attention, I just-" as you got back up from the floor, books recovered & in your arms, you froze as your eyes made contact with his striking silver ones.

"Yeah, you definitely should have! Next time, try not to run into your superiors, first year," he said in distaste, brushing off the sleeves of his robe.

You stood there, shocked into silence, feeling your cheeks warm and mentally trying to coach yourself through the moment.

Take a breath, don't sound so nervous.

"A-actually, we're in the same year. I...umm...I first saw you at the sorting, but we had History of Magic together. I sat a row ahead of you," you corrected, biting your lip.

He tore his gaze away from his sleeves and locked eyes with you again, a chill going down your spine.

"Really? Strange. I don't remember you. Then again, you Hufflepuffs are so forgettable," he stated with a roll of his eyes.

"I'll take those," he said as he grabbed the books from your hands and walked off.

Just like that.

No 'thank you', no apology. Not even an offer to walk you to class which you happened to share this year as well.

You watched him walk away, cheeks definitely as red as Gryffindor's robes at this point, feeling dejected and absolutely embarrassed. You always imagined what your first conversation with Draco would be, as pitiful as that sounded, but in your head it definitely never went like this.

You ended up late to potions class and got lectured by Snape in front of the whole class, including Draco himself and wondered if he remembered who you were, or if he once again erased you from his head and permanently labeled you as a 'forgettable Hufflepuff'.

The rest of the year went on as normal after that, nothing too special.

The first time you really understood what your feelings for Draco Malfoy were was in your third year, on the train ride to Hogwarts.

You watched from the window as the train passed through the lush scenery of grand trees & clear blue skies, hands fiddling with the sleeves of your sweater. Your best friend, Mauve Ambrose, was seated beside you, gossiping about potential romances ("I think Ginny is head over heels for that Harry Potter kid and everyone knows it. Except, you know, that Harry Potter kid.") and who was to have the 'biggest glow up' of their entire year group ("My money is on Longbottom. Remember that I called it, ok. I want a witness to prove that I said it first.").

Hearing the candy trolley pass by, you perked up and politely excused yourself from your friend, walking out of the compartment. Your eyes searched for the trolley, determined to make it to it before the last of the chocolate frogs were taken, and caught it making its way towards the back of the train.

When you approached the trolley, you waited for the attendant to continue on along with one of the students as they picked out a box of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans. Once the attendant turned towards you, you smiled wide, ready to request a chocolate frog, when you felt someone approach from behind you.

"A chocolate frog for me, yeah? And make sure it doesn't have Dumbledore's card. I have like 10 of that old bat," said a familiar, snarky voice.

You turned and your breath immediately caught in your throat; it was Draco Malfoy.

"You're in luck, there was only one left. Although, I can't really confirm if this one has a Dumbledore or not..." the attendant said, handing him the box.

You frowned a rather sad frown, disappointed. Perhaps one would blame the Malfoy boy for taking your turn (you did get there first after all) but in truth, he wanted what he wanted and he wasn't afraid to get it.

In your mind, all was fair in candy and war.

"Hey, aren't you the girl who ran into me last year? The Hufflepuff?" he asked, eyes looking you up and down.

You felt so small in his presence. Although you were both about the same height your first year together, he towered over you at this point in time.

"I...y-yeah. That's me. Umm...my name's Y/N, actually. And congrats on the frog. I came to get one but you managed to get the last one," you said, trying to keep it cool on the outside when on the inside you were a mess of nerves.

You really wanted Draco to like you. Not in a big, important way, no. Just enough to remember your name, at least.

He continued on staring at you silently, even when you finished talking. His gaze felt like a microscope on you and you could feel your cheeks heat up.

"You have weirdly shaped eyes," he says bluntly after a moment and you really wished you knew a spell that would have the floor swallow you whole.

"Umm...." you were unable to come up with a response.

You wish you were witty or funny or charismatic, but socializing did at times become quite difficult for you, and you weren't gifted with a quick mind or a sharp tongue.

"Anyways, I'm gonna go enjoy my frog now," he said as he walked away.

You were not surprised to feel the slight sting of tears forming in your eyes. You took a deep breath and tried to calm yourself down. You hated the fact that you were actually so sensitive. Your parents tried to make you feel better about it, stating that it just meant that you had a big heart.

“Well,” you thought, “if having a big heart meant it was easy for me to cry, then it didn't seem like a very good thing to have”.

Keeping your tears at bay (at least until you could sit down and put your sweater over your head so no one could see), you walked over to your compartment.

It was when you were nearly there that Draco's head popped out from his compartment's sliding door, startling you. You let out a small yelp, putting your hand over your mouth almost immediately after.

"Here, have this," he stated simply, as he reached his hand out towards you.

To your surprise, it was the chocolate frog box Your eyes widened, staring at it before cautiously retrieving it from his hand, switching your gaze back to him.

"I only wanted it for the card, and it's another stupid Dumbledore one" he claims, and before you could say anything, he slides the door shut, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the walkway, chocolate frog in hand.

It was then that you noticed that the box had its wrapping still in tact, meaning it was never opened in the first place.

Once you made it to your compartment and sat back down in your seat ("Nice! You got Celestina Warbeck," Mauve stated excitedly as she opened the box for you), You realized that your little crush on Draco Malfoy had turned into an actual one.

The first time you ever got to experience what it was like to fall in love with Draco Malfoy was in your fourth year at Hogwarts, a few weeks before the Yule Ball.

#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco imagine #Harry Potter #draco lucius malfoy #imagine #draco malfoy imagine #harry potter imagine #draco x hufflepuff!reader #hufflepuff #slytherin #draco x huff

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shyrose57 · 3 years

Note

Brothers anon back again. Heads up im going to be busy for the next week about so it may be a bit til I submit my next bit. I'll try to get something in though! Even if its just a bunch of incorrect quotes I have stored up or songs that inspired the story (or if you have questions you haven't been able to ask you can ask those, literally any question is fine).

1: Not particularly, but it does give him an advantage in everything basically. Cause he was taught how to survive in many different areas (like treating wounds and how to survive in a tundra when you have nothing), this teaching is what allowed him to live alone for 4 years, and is what gives him a strong advantage in the Pit because he's almost fully trained in fighting and has many different tactics for multiple scenarios. Ranbob was distraught and was sent into a depressive episode when he discovered that, almost his entire family was dead, and got even more distraught and sent into a state of hysteria when he found out he was the one who killed them. He acted much the same when he found out he killed his friends, Ran's friends, and every single mentor and leader that was there. Knowing full well he may of very well doomed Mizu, if anyone was still left alive of course.

2: Grievous remained salty for the rest of the day, and showed distaste in Ranbob as well. But the day after Grievous was back to being friends with and gently pranking Ranbob, forgiving him for yesterday's accident.

3: Eh? It depends I'll say. For life threatening situations and stressful situations, yes definitely. He doesnt last long before breaking down and begging Benjamin for help. But if its something like getting everyone to work toghere, giving directions, stopping fights, or even making calls in a very important decision, he doesnt get overwhelmed too easily. Benjamin is basically the co-leader of the group, only really leading when Isaac is unable too.

5: Yep! Just cause this is a mythical and fake world doesnt mean there can't be some real world attributes. Im trying to keep it mythical but also use real world functions and trying to show the change/mix in times (like how while some of the world is machinery and its slowly gaining popularity, it's still mostly midevil based)

7: If the person is in the arena he gets revenge. Though sadly he can't get it outside cause last time he did that he got banned from fighting for a month. But if he sees one of the people who made fun of Jackie in the arena he makes sure to go hard to them, pushing them to their limit, but not pushing hard enough to make them lose if that makes sense. He makes sure to fight in a way that's draining and causing pain for the person, but not draining enough to make the round end so he can drag it on until the person collapses.

8: He does! He's kept all of his books from his adventures and sometimes re-reads them to make sure he doesnt forget anything. And sometimes if the others beg, he reads them outloud to the group as a sort of bedtime story. He goes wack, he wacks Jackie when he's being a little shit, he wacks Grievous after a prank, he wacks Genevieve when she brakes a training dummy, he wacks Levi especially hard when he gives Jackie alcohol after he specifically told him not too. He watched the dressmaker, baker, farmer, fletcher, cleric, cartographer, and butcher! He learned all tricks of the trade and learned how to properly make clothes, map maps, how to take care of animals and what certain animals need, how to cook anything basically, how to harvest and preserve food, and how to make arrows and the basic necessities for a bow.

Ran does not necessarily make them often, he mostly only wrote them down so he wouldn't accidentally brew a potion of poison and drink it thinking it was a healing potion. Its considered no longer necessary to go into the nether, as the only thing really needed is netherwart and building supplies, but the building supplies are very rarely needed and every major city has a netherwart farm. Also cause I wanna add it, no one knows about netherite. Only a few adventures know about it but consider it a hoax, it's only Rans netherite sword that actually proves that it does exist. I actually wasnt planning on it at first but now definitely, I could do a lot of things with them in the SMP grounds. Weeks, it takes weeks for Ran to decide their ready. Because they need to pass whats basically tests about mobs of the nether and their habits, mine plenty of gold, learn about what to and what not to do around Piglins, learn about bastions and fortresses and areas to completely avoid, learn to be able to take multiple mobs on at once, and be able to withstand the heat there. Watson tries to get Ran to lighten up on the requirements but Ran is firmly sticking his ground and Watson ends up giving up and letting Ran do whatever. Though even with all of Rans training their not completely ready for the nether. The fishermen originally refuse to go through, but eventually go through, mostly to make sure Ranbob is safe, and because Cletus wouldn't stop whining about going.

10: I am very tempted to add angst here because their fighting against Dream after all. But I've made a lot of angst so far so I'll only do it if you want me too.

12: He does end up stepping in! He goes to Ranbob one night and says how he's noticed he's been stressed and always sad and asks how he can help. Ranbob brushes him off at first but is debating going to him again and asking for help one last time.

13: Yeah he's like a final boss. When you fight as a General your allowed to use your own personal weapons and whatever tricks or tactics you want, along with 3 potions of your choice. While when fighting as a typical gladiator, you have to use the weapons supplied (although unless specifically stated you can use any weapon given at any time), and have to use tatics and tricks specifically allowed in the rules. Though there are 2 more titles! Sergeant and Corporal. Ran and Watson are both Sergeants, they get to use personal weapons and mostly any tactic and tricks they want too. While Grievous is a Corporal and only gets to use his personal weapons.

14: Yep! The whispers disappeared gradually the futher away they got from Mizu, and even while he was moving away from Mizu Dream was asking, almost begging him at the end, to come back to Mizu. Saying how the futher Ranbob gets the lonier and colder he feels, and how he's sorrh, trying to guilt trip him into coming back to Mizu, or at least coming closer again.

15: It is!

1: Huh. What kind of things would people learn if they chose other idols, exactly? Also, ouch. Why do I keep asking questions I know will hurt me later on?

2: Gently pranking. I applaud his restraint. Is that how Grievous forgives people? Gently pranking them? Just joking with them in general. Also, who laughed at that little situation?

3: So Isaac’s good with everyday things, not so much high stress situations. Gotcha. Is there a reason Benjamin is able to remain calm where he can’t? Practice, experience, personality trait?

5: Very cool. Can’t wait to see what else you do with that, honestly.

7: Petty. I love it.

8: Aww, adventure bedtime stories! Also, him wacking people is so funny to me, thank you for that. And Levi gave Jackie alcohol? How did that go down? Did Jackie get drunk, or did Watson manage to keep them from drinking it? Watson sounds like he could probably establish a small village if he so chose, and honestly, good for him.

Dang. Does this mean like, everything from the Smp has been lost? So many of them had netherite armor and stuff, what happened there for people to not even know it’s a thing anymore? What happened in general, for so much of the past to be lost to history? How does their little Nether trip go? Anyone get hurt? Are piglin tribes around to trade with? Do they find anything cool, like a fortress or bastion?

10: It’s your AU, do what you will. I’m going to read it regardless, because for some reason, I enjoy breaking my heart like that(and the AU in general). Just give us some bonus hurt/comfort if you do, please? Just a smidge?

12: One last time? What does that mean, exactly? Should I be concerned?

13: Huh. So how many people know that Jackie’s the General? What kind of status does it give him? And how many people have managed to beat him when he fights all out? Would you say he and Ran are on par? How about him and Watson? And do the Sergeants and Corporals fight before the General, as like, mini bosses?

14:Oh no. Did it ever cause Ranbob to try and go back to him toward the end, or did the Fishermen manage to distract him long enough to get away from the whispers just about completely?

15: Yay!

#Brothers AU #tales from the smp #ranbob #ran #jackie #watson #the lost city of mizu

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evilbeanghost · 4 years

Text

Snapetober

Here is my participation #6: Day 14 Abandoned (Moonstone fix it part 1/2)

You can also find it on AO3.

So, this is a kind of fix it for my saddest OS "Moonstone". The original is available on AO3, but this can be read separately too.

Be warned: Moonstone ending is really sad. This is what I call the "happy-sad" AU ending ;)

It's in two part, using two prompts! Today is PART 1: Abandoned.

But before we start: thanks a lot to @ailec-12 for her support and help with this one! She helped with my motivation and my english, an impossible work indeed! She’s a star and also a very good writer who I admire a lot.

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It had been exactly three months since that weird trip to St Mungo with Snape and Sirius couldn't stop thinking about it; about the broken man he used to hate so much, about the fact that he hadn't been able to hate him that day, nor ever since. He just couldn't summon the old feeling anymore; that had been a surprise. Even weirder, Sirius was absolutely certain that Snape had felt the exact same way, he just knew; he had felt it.

He couldn't get over the strange sense of comradeship he had felt during the whole peculiar trip… a sense of belonging he had been missing for so long, kinship even. He wanted to say since Remus, but maybe even before that, before Azkaban… because even the few years he had had with his old friend in the end were tainted by a war and old scars that had needed more time to heal than what they ended up having.

Why was Sirius unable to stop thinking about fucking Severus Snape? He guessed his life had always been a fat fucking joke.

At first, he had tried to think of it as pity: what with the obvious pain and misery the other man seemed to live in now – if that day together was even a little bit representative of his life – and also what with the frankly brutal assault he had suffered as stoically as if it had been something normal for him when they were at that pub? The fucking cowards! Sirius still angered instantly at the thoughts of those guys thinking they were distributing justice by beating up an invalid four on one.

Harry had told him since that it was indeed quite usual sadly, and the reason why he had asked Sirius to take Snape to St Mungo in the first place when he hadn't been able to do so himself. Apparently, among other atrocious things Harry was able to tell Sirius, there had even been an occurrence of a street mob trying to hang the greasy bastard, what was wrong with these people seriously? Was that why they had all given their youths and sanity in a war? For the people they were trying to save to become the monsters themselves?

What a fucking waste. How could Sirius not be seething about that, about it all? Nothing was worth anything anymore and he just wanted to scream.

No, it wasn't pity; not only that anyway. Sirius knew now that it had to do with that sense of "we're the only ones left" that he had felt that day. Apparently, an old enemy from a dead, happy time could still be the only lifebelt for a very lonely man, the last of his kind, lost in a frightening new sea.

It was in this state of mind that Sirius ended up making quite an irrational decision. He just couldn't stay here, in his big London flat – so comfortable and well equipped and so fucking empty and cold whatever Sirius bought to try to warm it up – stewing in his thoughts, wondering, trying to understand the big shift under his metaphorical feet. He just needed to go and see the git, he needed to know that the man was still there, somewhere, well enough, that he still existed somehow. Sirius needed to know that he wasn't alone, that the oppressive loneliness that had been killing him since Remus, since he could take a minute to feel it, since the war had ended, that that crushing feeling he was fighting against every day, even in the presence of friends, of Harry, of all of James' wonderful great-children, could be lifted again, if only for one single day, one hour… just like it did that weird day three months ago. And damn it if it meant he had to go see if fucking Snape was alright.

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Severus was lying on his old uncomfortable sofa, on his back, trying not to move while the pain potion did its work. Unfortunately, the fact that he was still breathing was not sitting very well with the not moving part of his plan. One more thing to add to his pile of reasons why he should just have stopped the breathing thing as soon as that fucking snake had had a taste of him. How unfortunate, really.

Closing his eyes, he tried to empty his mind, not having been able to let go of the old habit despite not being able to occlude anymore, since the damn snake, again. It wasn't completely ineffective though, but when it had been a really efficient way to ignore anything from anxiety to physical pain for some extent of time in the past, it was now more a kind of soft meditation, helping with things, even if only a little, but definitely not as good as occluding was. He missed it very much.

The potions were helping a little less every day and Severus could sense his background panic rise a little more at each new progress of the pain. Every day he thought he just couldn't deal with any more than this, he just couldn't. And then, the next day was there and it was just that tiny little bit worse, and he endured it anyway. It wasn't good news. It was a growing despair in his very soul and Severus knew that he was near the end of his endurance, that he just needed it all to stop, that nothing was worth this and especially not his pitiful life. But the thing was that it just didn't stop, it kept getting worse and he was slowly losing his mind to it. Why couldn't it fucking stop? It wasn't fair. Well, life wasn't, right? His had never been anyway.

Severus jumped suddenly from his restless slumber. He had apparently ended up asleep when the potion had finally kicked in. It wasn't a surprise in his weakened state. Wondering briefly what had woken him up so suddenly, he didn't wait long before the answer came to him in the form of an insistent knock on his front door. Fucking great.

Grimacing, he sat down as quickly as possible in his current state, then he quickly threw a hair-slicking charm, and a cleaning spell on himself, before trying to soothe the angry wrinkles on his clothes in an attempt to appear somewhat presentable. He really needed a shower…Rubbing his eyes slowly, he was again interrupted by a firm "tap tap tap", his visitor having surely heard his moving around by now.

"One minute please, I'm coming", the sound of his grating broken voice startled him more than he would have admitted. He just didn't use it a lot these days. This was his first visitor in around two months after all.

At least Moonstone was quite content with his daily murmuring… his soft words, always delivered under his breath, being enough to get him a cuddle from her every time. He hoped she hadn't been spooked by the knocking… she tended to be spooked by a lot of things; cats were weird like that.

Finally on his feet, he dragged himself toward the door, using the walls to help him along the way. The unpleasant creaking of his front door made him grimace again – it was fitting somehow though.

And it was then that Severus got his second startle of the day.

"What are you doing here?", he asked bluntly, bewildered by the identity of his visitor. He knew he shouldn't have agreed to letting him know where he lived.

"Hello to you too Snape, I see that you're as pleasant as ever," replied the stupid man, smiling like the idiot he was.

"Don't fuck around Black, what are you doing at my house?"

"And here I thought we were pals, why are you hurting me this way?"

Taking his nose between two fingers in exasperation, Severus just took a side step, freeing the other's path into the house in a silent – if somewhat still hostile – gesture of invitation.

"Thanks! You took ages to open the fucking door Snape, I was starting to think that you didn't want to see me!"

Severus summoned all the strength he was still capable of before closing the door behind him. This was going to be a very long afternoon.

"Do you want some tea Black?" Severus asked, feeling compelled to play host despite himself.

"Why not? The one you offered me last time was quite good, I wouldn't say no to a bit more of that!"

"Tea it is – just sit down and don't touch anything."

Severus let his guest sit on the sofa he had just vacated to go make some tea in his derelict kitchen. It gave him a little time to process what was happening. Sirius fucking Black was waiting for some tea in his living room and he was actually making it. Surely the world couldn't take such a thing?

That surreal road-trip to St Mungo some months ago had definitely shook the laws of the universe. Him and Black… what was this new thing between them? Severus knew that it wasn't exactly friendship, but it definitely wasn't the animosity of their past either. It was… something else, something like the sense of belonging that soldiers felt in each other when they had fought a war on the same side.

Something that wasn't the loneliness that had been permeating Severus's entire life, the loneliness that seemed only to grow with his physical weakness those last few years, gnarling at his tarnished soul a little more each day, living that raising despair in its wake that was becoming unbearable lately. And everything that wasn't that was welcomed, even if it was in a Sirius Black shape of all things. Anything that didn't make him feel like the world had definitely abandoned him after he had tried so hard to save it, anything like that was nice – underserved since he was the one trying to destroy it in the first place, but nice. He didn't have enough will to protect anything of himself at this point, to do the right thing, he would take nice against painful any day. He didn't have any pride left anyway.

When he got back in the living room, Black was busy petting a furiously purring Moonstone. The cat was on the man's lap, showing her belly shamelessly. What a furry little traitor. Severus remembered then that she had acted the same way the last time too… He had apparently rescued the only cat in the world who was fond of stupid mutts – lucky him.

Black raised his head at his appearance, using his wand to summon the heavy tray from Severus's shaking hands without a word. It landed softly on the coffee table, not a drop falling outside the teapot, which was quite impressive from an unsubtle grunt like Black.

"Your cat is the cutest thing I've ever seen Snape, I swear, how did you endup with this fine specimen?"

"I found her," replied Severus, quite defensively. It made Black laugh for some reason.

"Well, she's adorable… if a little clingy."

"She's not clingy. She just seems to have horrible tastes in human beings," said Severus, including himself mentally in the statement.

Severus sat on the battered armchair, offering a cup of tea to his unexpected guest.

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Sirius was once again walking briskly through the depressing streets around Spinner's End, trying to reach the little hiding spot he had been using as an apparition point for weeks now. He really didn't like this neighbourhood, he felt like every person he passed on the dirty streets were out to mug him, or worse.

He couldn't believe he had been going to visit Snape at least twice a week for more than two months now. And the other man had let him in every time, to Sirius's surprise. Oh, he did protest a little at first, using the same old insults in a new way that seemed to take the worst of the bite from them. It was somewhat the state of their new relationship. They still did the old things, the name-calling, the mocking, the insults, but everything turned into a sort of warm banter that was way more companionship than sworn enemies. Sirius certainly was still completely baffled by it. So out of his comfort zone that he hadn't told anyone so far that he had been visiting Snape. Not even Harry… He wouldn't have known what to say really.

Turing left for the last time, Sirius finally reached the spot he had been walking towards. Looking around to be sure no muggle could see him, he took his wand from his pocket, frowning a little when it came out with a clump of dark fur – that damn cat! – before apparating directly into his flat.

Compared to Snape's, his home looked like that of a Prince – which was somewhat ironic now that he knew a little more about Snape's family. But despite the cleanliness, the costly furniture and equipment, despite all the stuff cluttering his nice and cosy home, it still felt lonely after an entire afternoon spent on Snape's uncomfortable sofa, just talking with the prickly git.

Sirius knew that he ought to apologize to the man for some things… he had tried a few times but in the end he didn't find the words that would have fitted their new found dynamic. They just didn't seem to have that type of relationship.

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It was around seven months after the initial disastrous road-trip, fourth months after his first afternoon tea with Snape, and Sirius found himself in front of that dingy front door once again, having fell into a Monday-Thursday-and-sometimes-even-Saturdays routine at this point.

Except that today the git was taking a very long time to answer the door.

At first, Sirius had shrugged it off, trying to make his knocking more insistent. After all, Snape sometimes fell asleep unexpectedly and it could take him a while to wake up and make his painful way towards the door. Sirius still remembered that first time, when he had been about to renounce when the door had finally creaked open, revealing a very rough-looking Snape behind. He had smelled a little rough too that day but Sirius had not commented on it. Now that he was thinking about it, his host had always seemed at least somewhat cleaner after that, if still rumpled around the edges. Sirius chose to think that it was because their new little arrangement was as beneficial to Severus's health as it was to his own. He knew he wasn't so far off, why else would the other man let him keep this up?

Knocking again impatiently, Sirius began to frown. It was getting ridiculous now, what was Snape doing? Taking matters into his own hands, Sirius knocked again loudly, adding for good measure:

"Snape, get your skinny, ugly arse to the door! It's freezing outside!"

When five minutes had passed and still nothing happened, Sirius started to worry. Severus had not been well in a long time and Sirius knew, even if they never talked about it – Hell, he didn't even know exactly what was wrong with him – that it was serious.

That's when he heard Moonstone. She was mewling behind the door in a distressed sort of way that he hadn't heard from her before. Really alarmed now, Sirius didn't think, he took his wand out of his pocket – thanks Merlin he was now included in the wards – and simply vanished the front door, immediately being greeted by what looked like a very distressed cat indeed.

Sirius took her with one arm, immediately petting her against his chest, enjoying her warm little body.

"Where is your human little cat?" he asked her softly, looking around for Severus.

The man wasn't in the living room, the sofa was empty and the room cold and dark. The kitchen was the same and Sirius didn't waste any time before revealing the hidden-staircase and running upstairs, his throat constricting painfully. Please please please.

The bedroom's door was ajar and Sirius let go of the wrangling cat when he saw that Severus was lying on his bed, pale and shaking, breathing heavily with his eyes closed too hard for it to be only with sleep.

"Snape!" called Sirius while entering the room hastily, kneeling by the bed, not knowing what to do.

When the lying man didn't answer, he touched his shoulder lightly. Snape was wearing a horrible grey nightshirt that was now twisted around his legs tightly, immobilizing him in what looked like a very uncomfortable way. He was drenched in sick-smelling sweat. He didn't react to Sirius's touch, apparently in the throw of some painful episode.

"Severus, please wake up!" repeated Sirius while shaking his friend a little more forcefully.

Snape's eyes shot open, before closing again, accompanied by a pitiful whimper. He shook his head slowly, as if to convey to Sirius to just let him be. Well, Sirius wasn't going to abandon him like that.

"Severus, please, tell me what's wrong?"

Snape's eyes opened slowly again, and Sirius was soon enthralled in the dark gaze he had once thought was empty. Sirius couldn't count the number of emotions he could now read in the other's eyes. Pain first, and despair, and sticky distress that smelled like someone in the process of giving up for good. But also "sorry" somehow, and "please go" coupled with a strong involuntary "don't leave me alone".

Understanding now that Snape was not just in too much pain to reach the door as he had been on a few past occasions, but that something was really wrong with him, Sirius didn't waste another minute. He took his thick outer-cloak off and hastily wrapped the thin man in it, atrocious nightshirt and all. Lifting him off the bed, he took him outside the house's wards, quickly transfigured the bin's lid into a basic replacement-door to keep Moosntone in until he could go back for her, and immediately apparated to St Mungo, hoping that the risk of it was worth it.

#severus snape #sirius black #snapetober #snapetober 2020 #snapedom #Moonstone #AU ending sorta fixing the sadness #but not completely!#part 2 tomorrow #I hope someone will be interested anyway #I hesitated about the two-parts thing #but it's so freaking long and it is using two prompts anyway #I hope it's ok that way #I will maybe reblog this later tagging some people who enjoyed Moonstone in the firstplace #just in case they are interested in this #This was HARD to write #I suffered a lot #but not as much as my punctuation lmao #but it was written quite fast too

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drawlfoy · 5 years

Text

Undertones

masterlist request guidelines please feed my inbox. she’s starving. requests are more open than ever!

pairing: draco x nonslytherin!reader

request: yes! thank you anon!

summary: non slytherin reader offers draco her scarf when she realizes he’s cold. he secretly wants to accept but he’s too afraid to ruin his reputation.

warnings: fluff idk. maybe foul language because *that’s me* but i write warnings before i write fics and i cannot foresee this going anywhere dirty

a/n: i’ve made spaghetti how many times? too many times. and yet every time i misjudge the amount of pasta sauce i need to heat up to match the amount of pasta. every single time. i don’t know what’s wrong with me but i can never fix this problem. i’m sorry this is random but i don’t think many people actually read this part so i’m kind of going off. the pasta is good tho, i’m eating it right now. reply with “pasta” down below if you actually read this

music recs: shoot i’ve been listening to alvvays tbh

also, last thing: Y/H/N means your house name, Y/H/C means your house color(s) :) also O/H means other house... as in not your house or slytherin!!

word count: 1,435

The wind was howling outside, cold and biting, as Y/N settled into the bench next to her “friend”, Draco Malfoy.

They’d only begun to be civil to each other that year after they’d been forced together in potions. At first, it had been horrible, but eventually, Y/N and Draco came to a truce. The merciless teasing about her house ceased and Y/N stopped reminding him how much she hated him every day.

And then there was Quidditch. You were both big fans of getting high marks in potions, but you were both even bigger fans of the game. Y/N was unfortunately rendered unable to play in 4th year, after a particular nasty crash messed up her leg, She was perfectly capable of attending games, however, and she was especially supportive of the Y/H/N team.

This particular Saturday, Y/H/N was playing O/H. It was the first time this year that Slytherin wasn’t playing, so Y/N had thought it appropriate to invite Draco along with her.

She was beginning to regret her decision as she watched the blond boy sitting next to her complain.

“Why does it have to be so cold out?”

“Uh, I don’t know, Draco,” Y/N shot back. “It’s wintertime, maybe that plays a role?”

He huffed and dug his hands into his cloak pockets.

“Y/N, please at least let me feel sorry for myself in silence.” He pouted, pulling his hands out of his pockets and blowing on them. “I never should’ve come. It’s too cold out for this.”

Y/N’s heart stung a little at this comment. They both loved Quidditch, and sometimes it was all they talked about. She was cold too, but the love for the sport kept her glued to the spot.

“Didn’t think you were such a wuss,” she grumbled, pulling her own down jacket tightly around her body. She’d abandoned their uniforms and had instead opted for her muggle winter gear--except for her Y/H/N scarf, which was pulled tightly around her neck.

“I prefer realist,” he shot back. Draco’s voice wavered just a slight bit, and Y/N cast him another glance. She was shocked to see that he was actually shivering.

“I’m cold too, Draco,” she retorted “But for some reason, I’m still here.”

No response was returned. Instead, comfortable silence between them rested as the yells of the other onlookers pulled her attention away from Draco.

After the first 45 minutes, Y/N felt positively chilled. A quick glance at Draco confirmed that she was not alone in this feeling. Both were ill dressed for the occasion.

“Hey,” she began, inching a little closer to her potions partner, “Do you want my scarf?”

Draco turned to look at her, eyeing her neck. He looked like, for a second, he was considering it.

“No,” he finally told her. “You need it more than me.”

“What do you mean, Draco?” Her voice cracked slightly from the cold air rushing into her mouth. “You’re just wearing a cloak. I have a full coat.”

“And you’re still shivering!”

“So are you!”

At this point, neither of them were paying any mind to the game in front of them.

“Even if I was...cold,” Draco told her, his teeth chattering comically, “I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a Y/H/N scarf. Y/H/C doesn’t suit my pink undertones.”

“Oh. My. God.” Y/N rolled her eyes so hard they nearly reached the back of her head. “You are such a diva. Do you know how many people die during the winter from hypothermia? And you’re out here, refusing a scarf because it doesn’t compliment your undertones?”

“You know that’s not the real reason, dimwit,” he told her with a hushed voice.

Y/N’s cheeks were no longer being bitten by just the wind--now they were red from Draco’s scathing words.

“No one really cares,” she whispered, her eyes falling to the ground. She knew that that was a blatant lie.

“You know they do,” Draco answered, sighing and turning his attention back to the game.

Y/N only pretended to watch the game. In reality, she was trying to get her cheeks to stop flaming red with embarrassment. Perhaps she could blame the sudden flush on the cold, but Draco had to know. He had to know that he had, in a sense, rejected her, proving that his reputation was more important than sharing a sweet moment between the two of them.

Without the heat of an argument, Y/N settled back into her chilly state, quivering slightly with every new gust of wind. Pins and needles began to rush into her bare hands, forcing her to resort to sticking them inside her jacket like some kind of deranged penguin.

“Are you cold?” Draco asked.

“Er....yeah? Duh,” she responded, turning her head to face him with an unimpressed expression. “I thought we already went over this.”

Draco swallowed. His hands were shaking, harder than they were before. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought he was nervous, but it was cold enough out to excuse the behavior.

“Give me your hands,” he demanded.

“Excuse me?” Y/N asked, bewildered from the sudden suggestion.

“You heard me. Give them here.” As if to prove that he was being serious, he stuck his own hands out expectantly,

Hesitantly, Y/ drew her hands out of her jacket and held them out to him. He grasped them, pulling them to his chest and rubbing his hands back and forth. She was pleasantly surprised with how warm his core was. (a/n: the word core is ruined for me because of smut and i promise that that isn’t what i was trying to imply)

“I thought you said you were cold.”

“I thought you appreciated my dramatic flair.” Draco exaggerated a frown, rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles.

This was new. While they were on better terms and had done a fair bit of things that friends did, one line they never crossed was legitimate physical touch. Y/N couldn’t say that she minded it, though.

Feeling slowly tricked back into her hands as they sat like that, Draco still stroking the outsides of her hands and Y/N standing ramrod straight in disbelief. Once her hands were no longer numb, she cleared her throat and shifted in her seat.

“Thank you,” she said awkwardly, withdrawing her hands from his chest and tucking them back into her pockets. “I can feel them now. I think I’m alright.”

“Ooooooookay,” Draco responded, raising an eyebrow in slight disappointment. “If they ever get cold again...”

“Okay.”

The tension between them only thickened as Y/N realized she’d made a horrible mistake. She was starting to feel positively frozen at this point, and to make things worse, the Y/H/N seeker had decided to hang out over the stadium seats where Y/N was seated. Every few seconds, she’d dive down and another rush of freezing wind would hit Y/N and Draco.

Within a few minutes, both were shivering messes. Y/N considered offering her hands back to him, but her pride kept her from going back to it. She withdrew them. She couldn’t ask for more again.

“You’re still cold, aren’t you?” Draco’s voice pulled her back from her plotting.

“Was it that obvious?”

The laugh Draco let out was small and involuntary.

“Well, I mean....” He sucked in a deep breath before meeting Y/N’s eyes. “You can....you can sit closer.”

“Oh?” The words left her mouth before she could revise them.

“Er.. yeah, come over here.” Draco patted the already rather small space on the bench between them.

Y/N cautiously scooted closer, closing the gap until their shoulders were almost rubbing.

How was this supposed to accomplish anything?

Draco answered her question before she could even voice it out loud, taking one arm out of the sleeve of his cloak. He draped it over Y/N’s shoulder so they were sharing the garment, pulling her close.

Y/N almost gasped but caught it just in time. Draco’s arm was now wrapped around her shoulder and her head pressed up against his warm chest.

She could hear his heart racing as his free hand slid under the cloak, taking hers and stroking them like he had done before.

“And what was this about being ashamed of my house?” she managed to quip, lifting her gaze upwards to meet his soft grey eyes. “You won’t wear my scarf but you’ll allow...this?”

He blushed, turning his fair pink skin an even deeper red as his thumb rubbed lazy circles on the back of her hands.

“I told you,” he whispered, dropping his head down so his face was mere inches away from her, “Y/H/C looks ghastly on me.”

final a/n: this kind of took a u turn from the original direction that was requested and i deeply apologize for that haha. i’m not the best at writing fluff, i’m a little better at writing build up, so i’m going to have to work on that. thank you for reading!

#draco #draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #harry potter #quidditch #hogwarts #dramione #hermione granger #ron weasley #lucius malfoy #narcissa malfoy #slytherin #ravenclaw #hufflepuff #gryffindor

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varricmancer · 4 years

Text

Lost And Found | 4

Also available on AO3

Pairing: Varric Tethras x OC

Summary: Instead of the nothingness she had craved, Crystal woke up in the world of Thedas. What had once been merely a story that she loved now seemed very real and she was right in the heart of it all. She soon finds a reason to live again and a love in the arms of someone as quietly broken as her.

A/N: Okay, a million years later and here is Varric's POV. It's a bit choppy, but I meant for it to be like that because it's, ya know, from his POV. It's not a retelling of events but simply a glance into his mind. Also, he's a man - and a horny bastard at that - so there's a bit of nsfw thoughts going on in this chapter. Lots of body appreciation. I love writing characters that are already whipped and can't figure out what that means lmao. You poor sod, you had no chance.I'll try to be faster with the next chapter, because I'm just as excited as you guys to see what's happening

A wave of relief spread through the party as the clanging of swords and crinkle of lightning were silenced. As one, they holstered their weapons and strode back to the waiting wagon and the rest of their traveling companions.

Varric spared a glance for one of the bodies lying still as he passed - an unfortunate young apostate sporting one of his arrows in his chest.

Killing never got easier, never mind what kind of bullshit he spouted. No matter that it was his life or theirs - he’d still be seeing the startled green lifeless eyes of a boy barely reaching adulthood in his dreams, along with all of the countless others that already haunted him.

He sighed wearily and climbed back onto his pony, adjusting his saddle sore ass as well as he could while he waited for the party to get back into position. The wagon of supplies and it’s guards were back into place behind him soon enough, with the Seeker and “The Herald” leading in the front.

The group of fighting Templars and Apostates were cleared from the road ahead which lead to their destination of a little hamlet called the Crossroads. By all reports, it was a tiny village barely worthy of even being called that, but due to its position (and that fact that Redcliffe was unreachable at the moment), it had become a sanctuary for refugees and the wounded.

A chantry mother had sent word to Haven asking for help with protection and supplies. Apparently, she’d even asked for the Herald to come himself. They’d all agreed it was an excellent chance to get word out about their newly formed band of do-gooders and let the people get a look at Maxwell Trevalyn, the freshly dubbed Herald of Andraste.

Varric wasn’t too sure if it was true, but he’d also seen too much shit throughout the years to rule it out completely. Regardless of whatever lofty title they were trying to burden him with, Maxwell still looked like a scared kid who just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. However, the way he worked hard and silently accepted leadership despite being completely out of his element reminded Varric of Hawke in their early days - if he were tamer and had been raised as a pampered nobleman, that is.

The point was, Varric had taken one look at the kid and known he wasn’t going to be going home anytime soon. This Maxwell was going to make a name for himself and spawn a tale for the ages, he was sure - if he had the right kind of people watching out for him. He was getting too old for this shit and wanted to go home, but he felt like this kid was going to need someone in his corner. And this whole situation felt off in so many ways that he’d probably feel guilty if he did try to leave.

So that's how he found himself traveling around the godforsaken Hinterlands - saddle sore, sunburnt and with a newfound hatred of bears - towards the beginning of their adventure. At first glance, this was simply a goodwill quest - show up and shake some hands, pass out food, kiss a few babies - but that group of apostates and templars that had been blocking the road were troubling. Sadly, he knew who to blame for it.

When the Crossroads came into view, he finally realized how much they were needed here. The chantry mother hadn’t mentioned how dire it really was or he suspected they would have sent help earlier. The people walking around were gaunt and dirty, many of them sporting bruises or missing limbs. They all looked severely malnourished, more so than the usual peasant. The moans and screams from the wounded were near-constant, adding to the practically visible cloud of desperation over the village. Add a bit more sewage stench and some unreasonably large rats and it would be just like good old Darktown.

They were able to spot the bright plumage of the chantry members working with the wounded and quickly made their way over to them. Villagers watched them with dawning hope in their eyes. A few of them started to cry and some of the children had even begun to cheer.

This. This was why Varric kept putting his own ass on the line all the time.

While Maxwell and Cassandra spoke to the chantry mother, Varric and Solas helped pass out the goods to the villagers. Soon enough, the pain in the ass bear that had attacked them earlier was chopped to bits and passed out among everyone to be cooked for the evening meal. Blankets and soaps, grain, and potions were all tearfully accepted by the people he handed them to. He may not be a very good man, but the joy he found in helping these people assured him that at least he wasn’t a bad one.

He was just handing off the last of the goods when Maxwell strides over, the weathered mother walking behind him imperiously.

“Everyone, this is Mother Giselle. She has some interesting news,” Maxwell grins, practically bouncing on his heels.

“Is it that everyone here is standing on death's doorstep? Because we noticed,” Varric drawled.

He was technically Andrastean, but that didn’t mean he let corrupt clergy off easy.

Her only tell that the words hit was a slight tick in her jaw as she nodded once.

“The situation here is deplorable, however, with the status of things we were unsure of where to ask for aid. I took a chance when I heard the hands of the Divine were involved in your “Inquisition.”

“And we are happy to help,” Cassandra stated as she rejoined the party. Her raised eyebrow towards Varric was something he’d long ago interpreted to mean behave .

“Yes, well,” Maxwell cleared his throat. “Mother Giselle says that another fell from a rift. A woman, no visible marks though.”

“An abomination perhaps?” Cassandra muses, standing straighter and placing a light hand on her sword.

“She appears to be a regular woman, free of magic or any signs of corruption. She fell from the rift and beyond a few broken bones and a few odd quirks here and there, nothing seems off about her,” Mother Giselle answers with a weary sigh. The way that she’d said ‘odd quirks’ like just mentioning them gave her a headache made Varric want to meet this woman very much.

The mother waved them away like annoying gnats soon after, with instructions to ask around for information on the area and what they could do to help. He supposed it was too much to expect her to already know that kind of (extremely important) information.

Thankfully, they found a soldier called Corporal Vale that seemed more informed and actually cared about taking care of the people there. Between him and a few others that piped in their opinions, the party discovered that what the people of the crossroads needed most right now was food and protection from the increasingly cold nights. They’d get a nice reprieve with the supplies that they’d brought from Haven, but that still wouldn’t be enough.

“I heard ye’re wanting to be put to work. I reckon I have a thing or two for ya,” a man called out as he strode towards them. They had just been discussing where to go from here, so anything was helpful.

“Of course, good sir. How may we assist you?” Maxwell plastered on his charming court smile, which seemed to have little effect on the man. Not that surprising considering the fellow looked as rugged and of the land as they come, and Maxwell reeked of privilege.

He grunts and looks over their little band as though he found them wanting, but good enough for now. His gaze only showed a sliver of appreciation when they landed on Cassadra (how original), then he seemed to meet Varric’s eyes straight on as though he assumed that he was really in charge.

“The goods that you brought us will help for a few days, but we’ll need more if we’re to recover enough to get back on our feet. Our lass Crystal says there’s a flock of rams over the hill. We’ve been unable to do any hunting what with the fighting all about so we’d appreciate if you brought in a few.”

“Of course,” Maxwell nods. “And you seem to know Crystal well?”

“Aye, I’m the mayor of this little corner. Know all my people. Whatever that daft old mother has been filling your head with needs to be ignored. Crystal is just a sweet and quiet lassie doing her best.”

“Oh, yes of course. We simply wanted to meet her.”

“After the hunting, if you please. She’s one of the ones that's been giving her rations to the little ones and I’ll not have her interrogated on an empty stomach.”

This Crystal must be quite the woman to inspire such loyalty despite her origins, Varric muses.

He can tell Maxwell has more questions, but with a few whispered words (orders) from Cassandra, they head off to hunt.

****

It was dark by the time they made it back and The Crossroads already appeared refreshed. There was a massive bonfire in the middle of the road where numerous pots and spits were working overtime to prepare the food they’d brought earlier. Kids were running around screaming and laughing as their parents watched with obvious relief. A few had even set up some rickety old instruments nearby to liven the place as they celebrated their newfound hope.

Several villagers rushed to greet their wagon and relieve them of the burden. They’d easily hunted down ten whole rams, stopping when it seemed like it would be enough to feed them for a few days and have enough left to preserve.

Varric wished there was more he could do at the moment, but he promised himself he’d write a few letters once they got back to Haven. A few favors called in and a bit of coin spread around and he’d have this little Hamlet healed in no time. And best of all, if he did it using the right channels, no one would know that Varric and his cursed bleeding heart was responsible for it.

Cassandra and Maxwell got pulled into a conversation with the Mother and the mayor (who had finally introduced himself as Giles) that Varric ignored as unimportant while he observed everyone else instead.

They already seemed in awe of Maxwell, sneaking glances his way with eyes shining with admiration. A few whispered words here and there would make today’s rescue seem more romantic than passing out a few slabs of dead sheep. It was always amazing watching the beginning of a legend be born.

His eyes flitted from one person to the next, all of them looking fairly similar as lower class humans tend to do. The sun-burnt skin, hunched backs, callused hands. The men smiling with three teeth left and the women looking haggard and drained after at least fifteen pregnancies.

It wasn’t until a couple of men moved to the side that he noticed the lone figure in the back.

At first glance, she was just as average as the rest. Peasant clothing without a shred of adornment anywhere. Injured somehow, as she had her left arm in a linen sling. Normal brown hair and eyes, pale skin, thin lips. But something was telling him to take a second look, so he did. And then he began to observe the little things. The way that her skin was free of marks except for a few freckles, no sun-burnt patches, and semi-clean like she at least made an attempt to wash up here in the wilderness.

Her hair was basically average brown and pulled into a no-nonsense braid, but it was so long it reached her waist and when it caught the light of the fire it shone with a fiery copper highlight, as though to hint at hidden depths. Her eyes glinted like amber, big and trained on his party with just as much wonder as the rest of them. He thought they rather reminded him of Halla eyes. He didn’t believe a woman would find that complimentary though, so he’d try to think of something else.

Her lips were thin but appeared soft and kissable (where the fuck did that thought come from?). She smiled a little when she looked at Cassandra, and he noticed she had some of the whitest teeth he’d ever seen, bright and straight. A full set, too. Even he was missing one after a brawl a few years ago.

And that body! Andraste’s ass, he hadn’t seen a body like that on a human female outside of brothels. He’d bet that before she’d been forced to essentially starve she’d been voluptuous , but even now she was a good handful. Peasants never had this much meat on their bones, so that was his first hint that she was not like the rest. She was short, boasting only an inch or two above him, but he thought that maybe added to the appeal.

Those tits looked like they were trying their best to burst out of that ill-fitting dress, and the backside wasn’t faring much better. And the way that her waist curved in before flaring out into hips made for a man to grab onto.

Shit.

He glanced down at his pants, grateful that between the darkness of night and the constriction of the leather, his growing problem shouldn’t be too obvious. He shook his head and went back to studying her.

Her most damning feature, however, was her hands. You could tell a lot about a person by their hands. His were callused and scarred, with ink permanently staining his nails. The average human peasant’s hands were even worse, usually the color of leather from their life working outdoors and short jagged nails were practical.

Hers were so tiny he could easily fit them both in one of his hands and have room to spare. He could tell how soft they were even from here. Pink and not a spot in sight, with nails that were long and rounded, with flecks of pink on them like they’d once been painted (something he’d only seen done in Orlais).

A lady. And despite her small stature, definitely a human. Why was she here?

He crept through the crowd, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible until he made his way to her side.

“It’s always us short ones that get stuck in the back, huh?”

He patted himself on the back mentally for such a smooth intro. She turned to him and he was struck by the emotion in her eyes. She was excited to see him ? She could be a fan, he supposed, but not many actually knew his face.

Up close, she was even more intriguing. He stood close enough for her breath to touch his cheek, and was amazed to smell clove and peppermint. Third hint that she wasn’t from around here, as human peasants always smelled like mead and rotting teeth.

He let his gaze travel over her, mostly to gauge her reaction and slightly because he couldn’t keep his eyes away from the massive mounds of flesh trying to burst from her borrowed dress. She blushed sweetly, making him feel like a lecher for a moment, but she didn’t seem to mind him looking.

Interesting.

Just as he was about to lay it on thick, Maxwell found them and drew her into a conversation. It turned out that his hunch was right and she wasn’t from around here. In fact, she was the one they’d been told about. The other “Fade Walker.” She didn’t seem to be touched by the experience like Maxwell had been, but the fall from the rift had been what injured her.

Her voice when she talked to Maxwell was quiet and shy like she wasn’t sure they wanted to hear what she had to say. Her body language was like she was primed for flight the moment one of them made a wrong step, even as she practically begged for their help. In fact, she reminded him of the injured dove that Fenris had rescued once. Dog had injured the bird’s wing and Fenris had taken it in and patched it up. It had been a timid little thing, jumping over every sound. But it was sweet and would trill and coo whenever Fenris spoke to it.

Varric frowned as he listened to them talk and stood at her side as Solas healed her fractured wrist, feeling a strange sort of protectiveness well up inside him. The feeling itself wasn’t unfamiliar - he was protective of his friends, of his dumbass brother, of Bia - her . But he barely knew this woman.

Maybe it was just that she seemed so...vulnerable. So soft. Every emotion played out on her face like she just wore her heart out for everyone to see. Anyone with decent skill in observation could tell this was the sort of woman that you protect from the world. That you keep safe behind walls filled with love and laughter, flowers in her hair and children at her feet.

It had been a long time since Varric had ever seen such a woman. Had he ever?

Even with the reveal of her “knowledge,” he could tell that she’d only held the rest back out of fear. Either that or she was literally the best spy in all of Thedas.

When they’d finally left that evening, he’d thrown her the sending crystal on a whim. He’d been holding onto that to give to Maxwell, and they were not cheap or easy to come by. However, he’d noticed her anxious gaze following him as they walked away and had again felt that urge to protect. Anything could happen and they’d be gone for an entire week. He sincerely doubted she knew how to even hold a knife, let alone protect herself with one.

The nightly storytelling was to reassure himself as well as her. He was sure letting Crystal hear them talk would ease any worries she might have about traveling with strangers. And when she silently answered and let him talk, he knew it was still in her possession and everything seemed fine. If something happened, he hoped that she’d be able to figure out how to use it and alert him. He’d have the apostate elf figure some way to get back quickly since he had the look of someone who knew more than he let on.

****

A week flew by and their party was growing increasingly hopeful about Crystal’s “usefulness” to the inquisition. Varric had to grit his teeth and clench his fist to keep from hitting Solas every time he used that word in conjunction with her. “Useful.” Like she was an item instead of one those that they were meant to protect.

Her notes that she’d shared had been really good, however. They’d managed to close down the rebel camps and clear the roads, took down a creepy green demon thing, and gotten a decent amount of horses to tide them over until they completed Master Dennett’s tasks.

Maxwell had declared the night before that they would take Crystal with them when they left for Haven. Varric knew that once they got there he’d have to watch out for the Nightingale, but at least he felt better about leaving her in a place surrounded by people he semi-trusted while he fought the good fight. Why he felt like that was his responsibility to worry about, he still hadn’t quite figured out.

It had become a little clearer, however, when they’d finally reached the Crossroads again and there’d she’d been like a ray of sunshine waiting for him. Maybe this protectiveness over her was 85% his cock’s fault, he thought, his pants tightening as she neared.

She looked a lot healthier since their last visit, obviously having made good use of the rations they’d left. Her eyes were bright and full of genuine happiness, smiling up at him. She’d let her hair free today, and it fell in luscious waves to her waist. Her clothes were once again borrowed and ill-fitting, but obviously the nicest she had. If it was possible, it seemed even tighter than the last dress, her modesty being miraculously saved by a worn strip of leather around the bodice.

It was strange how he felt like he could breathe properly now that she was in his sight. Had he been that stressed before? What was it about this damned woman? There hadn’t been anyone that had stirred him this much since...her .

And she was so easy to talk to. She spoke mostly only after someone else had spoken first, but she took his flirting in stride and offered witty responses. But every reaction to his touch and heated gaze seemed genuine and refreshingly honest. No practiced teasing he was used to.

And much later that evening was when he realized he was in trouble.

With a capital fucking T.

Because he’d been teasing her with the shirtlessness and letting his hair down, he’d admit it. If he was going to share a room with her for the night he wanted to play a little. Her reaction to him was flattering. So no one could blame her if she’d been trying to tease him back.

And that had been his first instinct when he’d turned to face her standing in front of the fire. That she’d finally shown her true colors and was asking for it. Begging for it. He’d been one step away from throwing her onto the bed and making her scream.

Until he’d looked at her face and seen the genuine innocent embarrassment of a lady. It had taken everything in him to calm down and let her run past him towards the bed. The damage had already been done to his mind, though, as everything the chemise had revealed to him was imprinted there like a tattoo. The dusky rose nipples firmed by cold, every inch of unblemished skin begging for his mouth, the strange nakedness of her mound.

He was sure if he played his cards right he could have her. Say a few things that women like to hear, promise a bauble or two, and she would let him fuck her. He wasn’t a saint and he’d done it before.

But there was something about the way she looked at him with such...admiration. Maybe even a little wonder and, yes, even a little attraction. He’s seen it all before, of course. He’s Varric Tethras - famous author, the right hand of the Champion, and heavy player in the underworld. Having people offer themselves for a night was a regular occurrence, and he was silver-tongued enough to get anyone else he might want.

With her, he just couldn’t do that. Couldn’t watch the trust and admiration fade from her eyes. She probably wasn’t as “innocent” as she seemed, but she certainly wasn’t one of his usual types of paramours. She was the type you kept, the kind that could wrap themselves around your heart so tight you couldn’t exist without them. He’d been there before and didn’t think he could survive that again.

****

Varric couldn’t seem to stop his gaze from straying to the newest member of their crew as he spun a (only slightly embellished) tale to entertain them for the evening. He was used to his audiences gasping in shock or staring raptly with excitement. Instead, she was watching him with a smirk that tilted her pretty lips, like she knew he was full of crap and was letting him spew it all anyway. But even more captivating was the look in her eyes - warm and fond, dangerously so. Like all he had to do was say the right words for her to tumble into his arms.

It was a look that he was growing increasingly familiar with over the past few days as they traveled back to Haven. And the idea of talking her into his bed was also becoming a regular thing. No matter how many times he told himself no, how often he argued with his own damn self explaining all the perfectly sensible reasons he shouldn’t, it still floated around in there.

Three days of taking up the rear of the party so she and her giant nug would be protected in the middle were beginning to take its toll. Because back there he had a perfect view of her.

He could see when she was amazed and cooing over some new sight. When she giggled because her stupid nug stopped in the middle of a trail to eat a flower. When she and Maxwell would chat about art, something she seemed educated on. When she tried so hard to fight off her exhaustion, yawning and stretching her arms until he thought her shirt would finally pop open.

And that damned shirt. It was his , and she had no right to look so appealing in it. She hadn’t had enough clothing with her so he’d tossed some spares to her and he’s regretted it ever since. The pants stretched over her legs like a second skin, cupping her ass and luscious thighs. The shirt was made with a purposely low v on the front since that’s how he liked them. On her, it was damn near scandalous. Her cleavage was out there for everyone to see. She looked incredible . And he was suffering .

“I said what do you think, Varric ?”

The louder than necessary yell near his ear jolted him from his thoughts. He turned towards Cassandra, the annoyance on her face comfortingly familiar.

“Pardon, Seeker. I got lost in the story. Did you need something?”

“You finished the story at least ten minutes ago. We were now discussing arming Crystal,” Cassandra scoffed, her disgust with Varric’s apparent lack of awareness evident.

“Arming? What for?” He tried for nonchalance, the thought of sending her into battle raising his hackles.

“Protection, dwarf. I only have so many eyes and if we get ambushed there’s no guarantee we’ll be able to protect her completely. She says she’s never handled a weapon before. What should we start her with? A dagger, perhaps?” Cassandra stares at Crystal in thought.

The woman in question scrunches her nose. “I suppose so. It’s small enough that I could handle it, I guess. But actually stabbing someone?” she shivers.

“A dagger is handy to have on hand, of course. I’d prefer you to be farther away from any combat, though. Take up the rear with me,” he suggests. He'd rather her be somewhere he could keep an eye on her, and right at his side seemed like the best idea.

“Like a bow and arrow? I know for a fact I can’t pick up that monster of a crossbow.”

Varric chuckles, suddenly warming up to the topic. He didn’t want her fighting, true, but it would be good for her to be prepared.

“I have a regular bow I’ve been holding onto. I was going to see if someone back in Haven wanted it since it’s decent. Hold on.”

He grunts and stands up, walking over to his pony to rifle around the packs. He pulls out a medium-sized bundle in leather, unwrapping it as he walks back to her. He pulls out a bow and hands it to her to look at.

“Its a Dalish hunting bow. I think it was made for a kid. Compact enough for you, though. Woods sturdy. I restrung it myself. And I think the carvings are just birds, nothing religious,” Varric explains, hovering by her shoulder as she looks it over.

“You’ll teach me?” she asks softly, the beginnings of a smile tilting her lips.

“Anything you want, little dove.”

The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them, his eyes meeting her’s as they wore matching shocked expressions.

She stared at him and he felt not for the first time that she could see every inch of his tarred soul...and somehow still felt like smiling at him?

Her grin was tiny and shy, but it was there, making him puff out his chest like a fool for pleasing her.

“You’re the best,” she said softly then turned back to coo more at her new bow.

He wasn’t. He knew he wasn’t the best. He wasn’t even good.

But she made him want to try.

****

Some questions you probably have now:

1. Why do you keep writing Giles like he's from Scotland? - I dunno either, bruh. He writes himself and he decided he liked the word lassie. But notice that he can sometimes string a whole sentance together perfectly normal. It's like that on purpose. He's hiding something, I'm sure of it. Who stands in the middle of the road all day long and just watches people. Suspicious.

2. Why is Varric always talking about tits and ass - he's a dude. 97% of their thought process comes from their dick. Real science numbers. Totally didn't make that up.

3. It doesn't make sense. How can he like her this much already? - You're seeing into Varric's confused brain right now. He doesn't know what's going on either. Sometimes it be like that.

4. I thought you weren't going to make Crystal some bad ass warrior chick? - I'm not. But it's also unrealistic to not be able to arm yourself somewhat in such a wild land. Varric's watching out, don't worry.

5. Why does he keep calling Bianca "Her"? - I think there's a lot of stuff that's going on in Varric's giant noggin. For him, the bow is a safe way to say the name. Keep her in his thoughts without really thinking of her. But thinking of her name when it applies to her the person makes him think of...well, her. Does that make sense? It's a mental health protection thing, because minds are curious and we all have strange quirks up there. Separating the two in his mind helps keep him sane.

ANYWAY, I hope you all enjoyed! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE comment! Even just a couple words. I need to know how I'm doing so I can improve future chapters. I can't wait to delve more into these two.

#dragon age #dai #da2 #dragon age inquisition #varric #varric tethras #varric x oc #varric x reader #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #varricmancer #lost and found #fanfiction #fanfic

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funkzpiel · 4 years

Text

How To Care For Your Witcher: Cat Eyes

Hello, dearest reader. If you have found this then you, like I, must be in the habit of sharing your Path with a witcher. It is my pleasure to share with you what findings I have made during my journeys with my own witcher. May the knowledge gleaned from my struggles spare you in the coming days from the sheer stupidity you are about to experience. Because witchers, as masterfully trained and clever as they are, utterly lack any capacity for self-interest. They were trained to hunt, to kill – to be a perfect solitary predator. However, their training has one very distinct hole…

And so, I wrote this book.

When it comes to caring for one’s witcher, it must be first and foremost noted with the utmost urgency that witchers, the bloody fools that they are, do not communicate. That means many a one-sided conversation is ahead of you, dear reader, but furthermore, it means simply this: do not trust your witcher to tell you he is hurting.

He won’t.

Jaskier was no stranger to the very wide, very strange collection of potions and decoctions that witchers carried on them at any given time. Things that helped them hold their breath underwater past human comprehension or limitations. Tonics that made their blood poisonous to creatures that might bite them. Potions that helped them heal quickly and others that gave them energy or made them immune to noxious gases. Witchers were nothing if not highly prepared for nearly any situation.

But that did not mean they were infallible. And it did not mean that their potions and decoctions came without a price. Jaskier just wished he had known that before Geralt had driven himself to such a sorry state.

It had started off benignly enough. Geralt had taken two of his famous potions – although, like usual, he did not precisely narrate to Jaskier which ones. Squinting in the shade of the cave’s mouth despite the kindness of its shelter from the sun, he told Jaskier to stay put and disappeared inside the earth’s yawning maw, slipping away into the darkness. He was hunting a poisonous toad, based off the stories from the villagers. A thing roughly two and half stories tall, going off their tales – which meant it was likely only one story tall. But one story was more than enough toad-mass to crush a man. It was a toxic thing. It breathed dangerous green fumes and made a bed in noxious plants that were constantly releasing a steady spew of poisonous fog into the creature’s den. Jaskier assumed that one of the potions had been to combat that, of course, though he was still unsure of the other.

It also meant that Jaskier – all too human and unable to safely consume a witcher’s potions – really had no choice but to wait. Geralt had originally insisted he stay at the inn. But where was the adventure, the story, in that? What if Geralt forgot something! No, best to be there while it was still fresh in case Geralt forgot. For the story, of course. No ulterior motives at all.

Jaskier had paced the cave idly for two or so hours. He’d take a few steps into the darker stretch of the cave, listening as hard as he could, before pulling back again. He babbled anxious nonsense to Daisy and Roach, both who merely snuffled at him appeasingly. Over and over, until finally his witcher emerged covered in goo and dragging an oozing toad head behind him. Jaskier nearly rushed to him before stumbling to a halt at a brusque gesture from the pale haired man.

“Still noxious,” he said bluntly, “Wait.” Before dragging the head off in the direction of the river, face screwed up into an unpleasant twist, as far as witcher expressions go.

Jaskier was grateful, he supposed. The man certainly smelled noxiously, covered in guts and who knew what else. It was another hour before Geralt returned to him and the horses looking impressively cleaner for a man who had once returned to a bar slathered in creature guts from head to toe. It was… unlike him. He carried the head in a burlap bag now, the thing trailing the occasional clump of dirt or herbs or muddied ooze now and then. Geralt had explained it made the head safe to travel with for Roach and Daisy. Which meant for Jaskier too, of course, the emotionally constipated stick in the mud. But Geralt could have just as easily insisted Jaskier simply find his own way home, the road too dangerous to travel with Geralt and his poisonous toad head, so Jaskier took that for the olive branch of compassion that it was, even if it went unsaid.

He hadn’t noticed the way Geralt still squinted so obviously despite the overcast day or the way he kept his gaze distinctly downward away from the bright blue of the sky or the glare of the sun. He missed how large his pupils were, how they didn’t contract as they should – too high off the possibility of a new story and Geralt’s safe return.

Jaskier had blathered on as they begun their journey back to the village alderman, of course. He asked questions about the creature, about Geralt’s fight. What had the cave looked like? Had it been damp and sickly? Dark like the deepest paths to hell? Did it smell of sulfur or rich, wet earthiness? Geralt never answered, but then again Geralt rarely humored his questioning for finer details. He had offered up the basics though – in as few words as possible – poisonous toad, slick floors and moss everywhere. No bites, no dramatic wounds. Toad’s dead, nothing more to it.

It wasn’t until they were nearly halfway back to the village that Geralt began to show any true symptoms worth noticing. He was sweating, for starters, and pale as a sheet – and yet the day itself was brisk and pleasant. He kept snorting softly, like a dog trying to clear a scent from its nose, and occasionally he’d sneeze dryly – which just made the witcher wince something unpleasant. That was finally enough to make Jaskier comment and look closer.

“Geralt, are you feeling alright?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt had grunted, but the sound was soft by comparison to normal. As if Geralt was loath to make much more sound than a gruff whisper. Jaskier drew his horse to a stop beside Roach, their flanks brushing, and offered a hand to Roach’s long neck to steady her to a stop beside him as well. The fact that Geralt let him without so much as a word was more than a little worrisome. The witcher just furrowed his brow, mouth a taut line as he kept his eyes down on Roach’s neck.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said plainly, dipping his face to try and catch Geralt’s stubbornly averted eyes. “We’ve talked about this. Use your words, where does it hurt?”

It was a barb. A somewhat mean one at that, but Jaskier was scared, and unfortunately his silver tongue had a terrible way of getting ahead of him when he was scared. Geralt bared his teeth at him, a flinch caught sharp and tight in the muscles around his eyes and in the taut stretch of his cheeks.

“Jaskier,” Geralt warned, but his hands were shaking. He wasn’t leaving, wasn’t forcing Jaskier away. Which meant only one thing for a witcher as deadest on never admitting his weaknesses as Geralt: he couldn’t leave.

“Geralt, I can’t help if you don’t—”

“—I don’t need your help, I need you to move,” Geralt snapped, each word as vibrant as the bared fangs of a snarling wolf, cornered and agitated. Geralt turned to glare at him then, more out of habit than anything, and that was when Jaskier finally noticed the explosive width of Geralt’s pupils, the way they didn’t quite land on his face, but rather slightly over his shoulder. They left the thinnest ring of amber around them, flooding the man’s eyes with light, making him squint – and no doubt unable to see much of anything. He had been trusting Roach to stay on the path, then. And he had been trusting Jaskier to redirect her instinctively if she strayed. What with the time the two of them had spent together, Roach and Daisy had bonded in that way working animals sometimes did – keen to follow one another if there was no lead from their rider. He realized now that Geralt’s hands were largely on his pommel, reins loose in the tangle of his trembling fingers. He had been struggling to stay in his seat, deferring their journey’s navigation to Jaskier all this time, and the bard hadn’t noticed.

Witchers don’t get sick – not easily. But they weren’t immune to everything, and their mutations certainly left them susceptible to quite a number of things. The genetic enhancements that gave Geralt his gift for tracking – his keen sense of sight, smell and sound – also left him vulnerable to overstimulation. It rarely became a problem, but even witchers had their limits; even if they would rather die than admit it.

“Geralt, this is important,” Jaskier said softly, voice lower, and felt the twist in his stomach ease when that removed some of the tension from Geralt’s face. Whatever was going on, it was definitely tied to his senses. “Was it the toad that did that to your eyes? Or was it you?”

Was it one of your blasted toxic potions?

The question went unsaid. Geralt knew well enough Jaskier’s opinion on those potions. Amazed by the feats witchers could perform with them and yet constantly wary of the repercussions he knew Geralt would suffer in secret.

Geralt licked his lips – dry and cracked, another side effect of some of his potions, Jaskier had noticed over time. The bard reached for his canteen as smoothly as he could without jarring the other man. He unscrewed the top slowly, quietly, but not entirely, and gently pressed it into Geralt’s hands. The witcher appeared as grateful for the bottle as he was for the fact that Jaskier had left the littlest bit of it left for him to unscrew on his own; the smallest illusion of self-control. Jaskier watched the way he drank from the skin of water and realized with a feeling akin to a stone dropping in his stomach that all this time Geralt had been thirsty and had not been able to see enough to find his own canteen in his pack. He had likely quenched the worst of it while cleaning himself in the river, but he had never asked for help after. Not once. And Jaskier had missed the significance of the few times the witcher’s hands had subtly fumbled around his saddle, searching for it.

Eventually Geralt handed it back – still half full – before Jaskier urged him to keep it in his grasp with a soft, “It’s not a long ride, go ahead and finish it. I can refill it when we’re back in town.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt croaked, frowning. Geralt didn’t like taking from Jaskier. Something about the fact that humans were fragile. Limited. Whether it was food or water, the bard had quickly picked up on the root of Geralt’s reluctance with resources. Jaskier didn’t let him argue.

“I can take yours if I need any, Geralt. It’s fine.”

There was a pointed statement between those words; I know you had looked for it and didn’t ask for help. One Geralt caught easily enough, eyes darting away again, mouth drawn tight. Caught. Frustrated. Bristly and edgy, and the slightest bit embarrassed.

“Toad or potion, Geralt?” Jaskier repeated.

Geralt held up two fingers, unwilling to speak; second option then, it was a potion. It was hard to tell how much of his discomfort was due to the situation that left him so mute or sound sensitivity. Jaskier assumed a bit of both. Geralt was acting not unlike a man hung over, after all, and the bard had no end of experience with that. Unwillingness to open his eyes, a desperate yearning to be somewhere dark and quiet. Jaskier had no doubt that the witcher might have stayed in the blessed darkness of that cave if not for the noxious clouds and the guts and the fact that his potions that granted him immunity to gas did not last forever. And they certainly carried a hefty price to ingest more. Namely blood poisoning.

“Can you take something to…” Jaskier gestured vaguely before he remembered Geralt couldn’t see before continuing softly, “Clear the effects of whatever caused this?”

Geralt rubbed his thumbs into his eyes and shook his head. He did have something for that though. Jaskier had seen him take it before, particularly on grueling hunts that required three or four potions at a given time. If Geralt hadn’t taken it, that meant something had happened in the cave. The beast must have hit him somehow – into a wall or even just a glancing blow – that had damaged his reserves. No wonder.

The story was beginning to come together now, pieces slowly falling into place. Geralt had taken a potion for the gas, this Jaskier knew, but one other as well. Dark as the cave was, even Geralt’s mutated eyes could not compete with complete darkness. It must have been a potion to further dilate his eyes and although them to capture more light than humanly possible. It was a powerful potion and a useful one at that – but Jaskier knew from experience that the times Geralt had taken potions like that, they had lasted the entirety of his time in the caves and had always needed another potion to clear the effects upon exiting. It was an advanced potion, after all; one Geralt had mastered to perfection. It could last hours, even longer. A good thing, if you didn’t know how long you’d be exploring the dark recesses of the earth.

Terrible if you had to return to the light of day before the effects had worked their way out of your system.

“Fuck, Geralt, why didn’t you say something?” Jaskier breathed, giving Roach and Daisy room between them so he might slide down onto his feet as quickly as he could manage and search through his pack attached to Daisy’s saddle. Thank god they had begun to explore other pastimes when sharing each other’s company intimately recently. He found the satiny texture of the thing he had been looking for and pulled from his pack a long strip of fabric – long enough to bind a man’s eyes with. It was black as pitch, enchanted to absorb light rather than simply deflect it. What fun was tying a witcher to his bed if the man could see through a standard threadbare blindfold, after all? When he had bought the blasted thing, he had never guessed that his kinky purchase would become such a practical item toward the care of one’s witcher.

He remounted Daisy so he could reach Geralt easily and at first reached for the witcher’s face without warning the man – making him flinch back from the sudden sensation of hands near his face, muscles moving tightly to prevent himself from falling at the last moment. Jaskier stuttered out a broken breath and said softly, “Sorry. I’m going to blindfold you. It should help.”

Geralt’s lip curled at that, exposing one pearly incisor.

“You already can’t see,” Jaskier frowned, “How is this any different?”

You were already trusting me to lead the way.

He watched Geralt clench his jaw, almost thought he could hear the man’s teeth grinding – but ultimately the witcher agreed with a tight, short little nod.

“Alright, good. I’m going to put it on now,” Jaskier said, more so that he wouldn’t surprise the man into another dangerous flinch again than anything else. Geralt sat atop his horse, stock still, his back ramrod straight, like a wolf scenting the air – certain something was about to go wrong but unable to tell how or why. But he allowed Jaskier to ease the fabric around his eyes and when the bard murmured softly, “Look away so I can tie it properly,” he dutifully exposed the back of his neck and head to him. Jaskier was careful not to twist any of the witcher’s fine white hair into the knot – taking his time with placing it, adjusting his hair so it fell comfortably around it.

“Snug? Too tight? Too loose?” He asked, not really thinking the witcher would truly answer but asking nonetheless.

“M’fine,” Geralt said, and that was about what Jaskier knew he’d say regardless. Geralt could have a spear in his gut and he’d say he was fine. The idiot. But before Jaskier’s very eyes some of the tension eased from Geralt’s face. His shoulders were hunched, uncomfortable with his total blindness now, and he still looked very much like a wolf with its ears perked – but much of the pain had washed away from his face. Geralt let out the faintest breath of relief and Jaskier felt something pleased bloom in his own chest.

This was, after all, no small feat. Who else could say Geralt of Rivia had trusted them enough to allow himself to be blindfolded and led? Geralt didn’t speak with words. In many ways he was Jaskier’s polar opposite. And there was a time Jaskier feared the two of them would never find common ground; that the witcher would never warm to him, never speak with him.

But in moments like these, the witcher spoke volumes. Jaskier just hadn’t been listening before.

The bard was a nervous talker. He yearned to speak, to blather – anything to fill the painful silence. But with every blessed moment of quiet, a little more tension left Geralt’s face, and while Jaskier normally had no qualms with ruining the witcher’s very limited idea of a peaceful journey – now he couldn’t bear to do it. Geralt needed silence. So Jaskier bit his tongue. It allowed Geralt to see with his ears rather than his eyes. It was also less strenuous by far.

And if Geralt occasionally reached for the bard to assure himself Jaskier was still there? Well, Jaskier didn’t mention it this time, though it did put a small, fond, surprised smile on his face. He shifted his thigh closer when Geralt’s fingers couldn’t quite find him. Even brought Daisy to a closer pace beside Roach so they might brush more often, more organically. And since, to a degree, Geralt did not seem to enjoy his total silence, Jaskier would occasionally do something to make noise. A deeper breath, a soft scratch to his hairline, hum a very gentle, short tune. Anything to assure Geralt he had not disappeared.

For a moment Geralt had blessed peace. The water, the darkness and the quiet had done wonders to ease the man’s sweating and return some of the color lost from his complexion. But the closer they got to town, the more of that progress they lost. They weren’t even in sight of the place before Jaskier noticed the change in the witcher – pale again, fingers trembling lightly, tense and scowling. Jaskier drew Daisy to a stop and Roach obediently compiled as well, head tossing, searching for Geralt’s guidance in the reins.

“What’s wrong?” Geralt croaked, his body transforming from tight but moderate peace to alert in an instant, ears no doubt straining for any sign of trouble.

“We can’t go back to the village like this,” Jaskier said softly, eyes on Geralt; watching him plainly. “You’re already reacting to the sound of that place from here.”

Geralt scowled at that, but added, “And the smell,” and suddenly Jaskier realized he had not bathed purely because the fumes may still be toxic. It appeared his sensitivity to light had also affected and overstimulated his other senses terribly. Jaskier gestured to him and said, “Precisely my point. We can’t go back.”

“The notice—"

“—Can wait. It’s not as though another hunter is about to beat you to the kill, you have the head in hand. We’ll go as soon as whatever you swallowed wears off. In the meantime…” Jaskier trailed off, twisting in his seat to look around them. There had been an abandoned bandit camp along the way. He remembered discussing it with Geralt on the way there – theorizing why the men had left their tents and gear behind. A monster? A rival group of thieves? Geralt had taken one look at the place and said, “I’ve been here before,” and that was all there was to it.

It hadn’t been far from here.

He reached over the reins toward the corner of Roach’s mouth and gently urged her to follow as he guided Daisy into a tight u-turn.

“Jaskier,” Geralt groused, stock still in his saddle.

“We’ll make camp in the woods,” Jaskier said simply – and surprisingly, Geralt did not argue.

A part of Jaskier still fretted whether or not he was making the wisest decision. They could go to town, buy whatever ingredients Geralt was lacking to recreate the potion that would remove the effects of the Cat’s Eye from his system – but that was a plan that hinged on the town having a herbalist, said herbalist having the ingredients in stock, and Geralt being able to see to make the blasted thing. He didn’t exactly carry around recipes, well, at least not his go-to ones; not when Geralt knew them by heart. There would be recipes in his pack for untested potions, sure, but that’d likely prove to be wildly unhelpful now. And Jaskier was not about to try and make one himself, lest he kill Geralt (or himself) by sheer accident.

Returning to town had its advantages though, advantages that weighed heavily on the bard’s shoulders as they rode away, deeper into the woods. In town he could at least urge Geralt to rest in a bed, even if he couldn’t control the sound or the smell of the place. They could rest in peace for however long they needed without having to worry about a bandit group or a creature happening upon them in the wood when Geralt was vulnerable. Not that villages didn’t get attacked – they did – but it was less likely.

But the sound and smell of the place would worsen Geralt’s ailment. And no doubt the village alderman would want to speak with him the moment he rode into town. They’d have to store the head, negotiate coin – because villagers almost always tried to walk back on their agreed-on price after the deed was done. It ran the risk of getting them run out of town if negotiations soured, even if Jaskier was confident he could outsmart a village alderman into giving them their deserved coin.

That would just land them right back in the woods, likely closer to dark. Better to set up now, somewhere Geralt could process the remnants of his Cat Eye’s potion in peace, than to worsen their situation hoping for reprieve in the village. They found the bandit camp easily enough, tucked away a stone’s throw from the road and nestled in the security and privacy of a nook of trees and underbrush.

“Is there any reason why we shouldn’t stay in that old bandit camp, Geralt?” Jaskier asked gently, stopping their horses on the road where he could just see it through the foliage. If Geralt had ‘been here before’, he likely had ‘killed here before’.

“Corpses should be long gone,” Geralt said disinterestedly. As if that were the same as saying ‘everything will likely be freshly laundered and clean’. Jaskier wrinkled his nose, but it would have to be enough. It helped to see that Geralt was obviously keen to the idea of staying somewhere he had been before, somewhere he was somewhat familiar with. He knew it was somewhat hidden amidst the forest. Close enough to the road to flee if needed and for beasts to mostly avoid it, tucked away enough to be passed over by the untrained eye.

“Then that’s where we’ll stay.”

He let Geralt get down on his own, lingered near enough to help if needed but knew that ailing witchers needed assistance (as much as they might deny it) just as dearly as they needed some measure of independence. A man simply didn’t survive on his own for decades and walk away from that with a healthy perspective on accepting help. Geralt had been doing this alone for longer than he even knew Jaskier. He had survived decades of traveling alone. Sometimes it helped for the bard to remind himself of that.

Other times, it hurt to think that surely in those days the witcher must have suffered. He didn’t know to know how many times Geralt might have almost died in the woods alone. He avoided lingering on the thought too long, afraid that thinking about it would invite that fate into his life somehow.

Jaskier did a cursory check of the little encampment, just as he might do if he were traveling alone and making use of abandoned lodgings. Geralt was right, the corpses had long been dragged off. There was a patch of bald ground still ruddier than the rest – blood – but otherwise the place was remarkably clean, considering. No scent of death or decomposition. It must have been some time since Geralt came through.

There were two tents, both threadbare from the elements, but still more than nothing – though Jaskier hoped they wouldn’t be camp-bound long enough to need them. The remnants of a fire pit sat empty and unused between them. One of the bandits must have dragged a log between the tents to sit on, because it was there – convenient and idle. Jaskier nearly thought fate was being kind to them for once.

It took everything in him not to ask Geralt how he felt, how long he thought he might need before they could leave. It would help to plan ahead, but it would also serve to remind Geralt that here and now, he was the weak link in the party. It would drive him deeper into his stoicism. That helped no one.

Jaskier settled the horses, set them up with their feed harnesses, and watched all the while as Geralt blindly picked out a spot to kneel in the camp. The witcher went down to his knees gracefully, curled either hand into a fist to rest upon his thighs, and tilted his chin up – as though facing the sky despite the trees that blocked it.

Then he stayed that way, deathly still and silent, swayed only by the minute rocking of his heartbeat. If Jaskier had not seen it before, it might have frightened him. Meditation. Witchers could pass enormous amounts of time through sheer meditation alone. There was something strangely beautiful about it; the straight curve of Geralt’s back, the pristine nature of his posture. It reminded Jaskier of the women he once met in a teahouse in his travels, framed in expensive silks and fabrics that swallowed them in stunning ways, always moving around through the slightest motion of their feet beneath their kneeled legs. It took extensive self-control to maintain posture like that for long periods of time, even more so to fall into meditation that was both wholly consuming and yet utterly aware of one’s surroundings.

Geralt was waiting out the worst of the Cat Eye’s potion in the way he knew best now that he was free to do so – no longer bound to the road or to returning to the village. Jaskier could see in the lines of the man’s body how much it helped to fall into such a practiced exercise. His shoulders fell not so tightly around his neck anymore, and the taut muscles of his face had smoothed out. This was the best way for him to self-mitigate what stimuli he couldn’t control, the best way to filter it.

And once again Jaskier was struck by the fact that Geralt trusted him enough to fall into such a state of mind in his presence. That he trusted Jaskier to handle the horses, to mind the camp and watch his back while he focused himself of controlling as much of his recovery as he could.

It meant more dreaded silence for Jaskier. But sometimes love meant being quiet so one could better listen to their partner, their needs. Jaskier settled himself atop the log and contented himself in watching Geralt at peace. That had been the goal, after all. Peace.

At some point Jaskier must have dozed off, because when he woke Geralt was beside him, leaning back against the log, his thigh flush with the bard’s – warm and steely. His blindfold was gone, his pupils thin slits again. Dusk approached., casting the woods in a muted half-light. Jaskier’s mouth felt tacky from his nap and silently, Geralt passed him a canteen – the witcher’s canteen. Jaskier drank from it gratefully, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and asked, “Better?”

Geralt nodded.

“How long were you waiting for me to wake?” Jaskier asked, feeling a bit abashed for having fallen asleep somewhere along the way. But the woods had been so peaceful to listen to. Between the birdsong around them, the hush of the wind in the leaves and the reassuring rhythm of Geralt’s breathing, he had just… slipped away. Would explain why he was leaning back against the log now instead of on it. Must have shifted down at some point. Better that than falling over like a graceless lout.

The pleasant day was waning. A chill was beginning to creep into the air, and yet with Geralt beside him, Jaskier found himself to be comfortably warm. The man was like a furnace. Jaskier couldn’t help but press in a little closer.

“Not long,” Geralt said.

Jaskier didn’t bother to ask how long it had taken for Geralt to recover. That wasn’t what mattered. What mattered was that Jaskier had been able to make the right decisions that led to this: Geralt, peaceful and without pain. And that Geralt had trusted him enough to let him try. More and more Jaskier felt as though he were no mere tag along or convenient company. More and more, he felt he earned his keep.

He had never used to worry about such things. His life had been devoted to the pursuit of art, the telling of stories and merrymaking. He went where the wind blew him, drank with however caught his attention, loved fast and moved on just as quickly. This was new. Strange, even. To have responsibilities and like it. Yet here he was, thigh to thigh with a witcher. For once, he found himself in a place he’d rather be more so than a tavern singing. It felt important to be there in that moment.

They enjoyed the silence – sleepy and soft as the light faded from the wood. Neither seemed eager to go. Reluctantly, after a time, Jaskier said, “We should probably head back before it gets too dark.”

Geralt grunted and said, “No… I think we should stay. There’s something I’d like to show you.”

That was witcher speak for gratefulness, Jaskier had learned. They cared not for coin or trinkets, their only utility to purchase them food or board or sex. Witchers therefore didn’t give physical gifts (other than weapons, occasionally) and rarely spoke their gratitude. Instead, witchers appeared to give gifts through experiences rather than items. Memories. Shared time.

That night Geralt showed Jaskier the stars in a way the bard had never been quite so bold as to experience alone in the woods. Took him out to a field not far from their camp where they could hide in the tall meadow reeds and make childish beds in the blanket of their cover. They laid flat on their backs like boys, thigh to thigh and shoulder to shoulder, and quietly Geralt pointed out the constellations that Vesemir had taught him as a lad – similar and yet so different from the way it had been explained to him in Oxenfurt. Witchers had different purposes for the stars and different stories to go with them – and yet Jaskier found his love for knowledge suspended instead by an even greater discovery: Geralt loved to talk of lore, of the things that had been trained into his very bones. He quiet witcher who rarely spoke was detailing each star almost animatedly, explaining the monsters that correlated with them, how the stories came to be. The moment Jaskier realized it, recognized that spark in the witcher’s eyes for what it was, he saw in hindsight all the times Geralt had been eager to share his knowledge of lore or monsters and Jaskier just had not understood the significance of the act. This was Geralt’s life, his everything – and he was sharing it with Jaskier.

Geralt’s smile as he recalled Vesemir’s teachings, his gestures, the fire in his eyes, all of it made the stars look pale by comparison. A ‘thank you’ that Jaskier would not soon forget.

#How To Care For Your Witcher #The Witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #gaskier #light sensitivity #sound sensitivity #migraines #fic #competent jaskier #hurt/comfort #witcher writing

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jessikahathaway · 4 years

Text

Into Eternity - Part XII

Pairing: Park Jimin X Reader

Genre: Fantasy!AU, Romance

Warnings: Pining, illness, Jimin being an impatient baby. If I forgot anything please let me know!

Words: 4,050

Hoseok sat in the kitchen of the abandoned palace, guilt eating him up inside. You had a fever, one that was hard to control and it was beginning to take its toll on you. Coughing could be heard daily as you tried to get air into your lungs.

His original plan was to get you away from Jimin and to bring you to Morgana for sacrifice, but now... Now you might die before the damned witch could even take you. He’d travelled into the village in search of an Apothecary or a Priest, someone with any kind of medical knowledge... But there wasn’t anyone.

He’d tried to read books found in the library on how to aid you in your sickness, but he wasn’t well versed in the herbal side of them... He didn’t want to poison you and have a very upset Morgana on his tail after it all.

So, there you lay in your room. Sick and asking for your husband.

You asked every day... Every single day you asked Hoseok if your Jimin had come to see you. And each day Jimin didn’t show, he saw you get paler and paler. Falling deeper into sickness as you longed for the one you couldn’t see.

“H-Hoseok.” Your voice would be cut off with coughing. “Has Jimin arrived yet? I couldn’t look out the window this morning, I couldn’t stand.”

He’d tell you no, like he did every time you asked. A small frown would appear on your face and you’d take the tea and broth from him. You’d struggle to lift your cup, as it was hot in your frigid hands. Hoseok would help you, lifting the mug so you could sip at the tea. Hoseok would stay until you’d finished it all.

Each time you thanked him.

“Thank you, Hoseok, I feel much better.”

You were lying. Because everyday you looked worse. Thankfully you had kept some weight on you, so you didn’t look to be a skeleton under your clothing. But you were so pale and lethargic he wondered if you’d fall to pieces after a hard enough coughing fit.

Once you were finished with your meal, Hoseok would remove the dishes, help you back into bed to rest. The shame would follow him down the stairs and into the kitchen where he washed the very dishes he’d help you eat from.

And then he’d sit and feel remorseful.

This repetitive cycle made him dizzy. He wasn’t sure how many days had passed since you’d fallen ill, but he knew it was a decent number. He knew of your fragile state, and he was aware that you probably could be unwell during your time here.

Hoseok thought that it might come in handy when the time to kill you was here. But Morgana was a fickle creature, and she wanted Jimin there to see the light leave your eyes. She wanted him to feel the pain she did when his ancestor chose another woman before her.

Someone who had broken her powerful spell...

“Hoseok,” a chilling voice creeped through the walls.

“Morgana, what is it you come to ask of me?” he sighed, standing up and placing your utensils away.

“The girl, she isn’t well,” she pouts. “Why is that?”

“She was a weak creature to begin with, being in this cold has made her sick. I fear you may not get to have her die before Jimin as you had hoped,” Hoseok stated.

“What!? That... That wench! How dare she defy me even in this way!? Not only does she take my beloved away from me, now she doesn’t even give me the pleasure of killing her before the one who betrayed me?”

Hoseok rubbed his face then looked to the black mist that was swirling around the hag looking being.

Morgana could take on any form she wanted, but with her magic waning, she was no doubt running out of masks to wear. “Morgana, I don’t know what you’d like from me. All I can tell you is that I fear she may not make it through this very night. I doubt she’ll be able to wait for Jimin much longer,” he stressed.

Morgana looked down at the floor and growled in frustration. “Damn them! Damn you feeble bodied humans who can’t handle the meagerest amounts of change!”

“Shall I just kill her for you now?” Hoseok asked, bringing forth his cursed blades to show them off to his mistress.

“No... It won’t be the revenge I’ve waited years to see. All because this insolent brat must have lungs of paper!”

“Then what do you suggest I do?”

“That... Priest,” Morgana spit after the word. As if it was sour in her mouth. “He could heal her, certainly he could.”

“They’ll never come here, it would be too risky with you possibly knowing her whereabouts,” Hoseok declared.

“Then I’ll attack that Lord’s Castle, drive them out!”

“Then they’ll just run back to the Royal Palace. Either that or they will choose another stronghold to defend. Morgana, you may have to stop the assaults all together,” Hoseok stated.

“No! My children must feed in order to bring me sacrifice!”

“Then we make a show,” Hoseok announced.

“How do you mean?” she asked.

“Pretend to be slain by me, and during that time we can have Lady Y/N healed and-”

“And give her a chance to make an offspring with my beloved? Absolutely not,” Morgana rejected.

“Well, it’s either that, or you don’t get your revenge the way you intended. I am merely at your will, I will do as you ask,” Hoseok said solemnly.

“Fine, make a spectacle of me then. But bring me sacrifices in the meantime, animals will suffice. I won’t be nearly as powerful as I’d like... But once that wench dies, I will be able to have my love back,” Morgana grins, teeth blackened and gnarled. Hoseok cringed at the sight, but nodded anyways.

“Then how do you expect me to proceed?”

“Call upon them, say you have captured me,” Morgana states.

“How will I have been able to manage that on my own?” he questions.

“I will allow them to kill my children, it will weaken me so I demand several animals to keep my strength,” she snarls.

“Of course,” Hoseok nods.

“Call them here, and use those blades to puncture my heart. Only cursed weapons and poison will take down she with a blackened soul. Lie, slather this potion on your blade. I’ll burst into flames, make a ‘show’ for them as you put it,” Morgana explains. “During that time, heal the girl. Then when she is finally back in health and my beloved comes to her, I will appear and you will slay the girl. With that sacrifice I will be able to bring back your wife and child.”

Hoseok thought of his wife whom he’d loved so dearly... And it hurt... God it was killing him not to hold her in his arms. To kiss her sweet face and cradle his infant in his embrace.

“Very well,” Hoseok nodded. “I will send the letter tonight.”

“If you betray me, Hoseok... Know your family will suffer for eternity in oblivion,” Morgana warned as she slipped back into mist, dissipating into the air.

“I know...”

---

Jimin sat in his study again, signing more papers and doing official duties. After the initial battle, he was told to stay at the Castle while his men went to fight without him. Jungkook said that he was far too worried about you to fight properly, and he didn’t want something to happen to him. So, he’d stayed behind and helped Taehyung catch up on some documentation and deals that were bothering him. It was all very mundane. Get up, go to his desk and sign his life away. Life was so unsaturated without a purpose...

A knock rang in the dusty air.

“Enter,” he accepted, leaning back in his chair.

Taehyung came in, shutting the door behind him. He looked bright, compared to Jimin’s dull atmosphere.

“You seem... somber, Majesty,” Taehyung commented, sitting on the chair in front of Jimin’s desk.

“First my wife is removed from me, then I am told I am unable to fight for my Kingdom... Imagine the uselessness I feel from these statements, Taehyung... I-I am questioning my right for the throne under these circumstances,” Jimin wavered.

“Don’t ever think that you aren’t fit to rule, Jimin,” Taehyung declared firm. “You care more for these people than they know. And if signing papers is how you will help them, then do it.”

“Taehyung, something bothers me,” Jimin whispered, staring at the sheets before him.

“What troubles you?” Taehyung asked.

Jimin’s face was dark, hidden behind the mask he put up for everyone around him. It was rare for him to remove it, unless you were around. But Taehyung slowly saw the edges peeling away before it crumbled. Jimin’s broken eyes stared back at him as he looked to his friend for help.

Taehyung was frightened. Never had he seen his friend in such a state before.

“I miss her so much I feel like my heart is going to break, Taehyung... I need to see her, I long to hold her again... I want to know she’s alright, that she’s safe... And I can’t do that from here, I need to see her so badly,” Jimin whimpered.

“Jimin,” Taehyung whispered, coming to embrace his friend gingerly. Jimin grabbed onto his brother in arms and dear friend, trembling as if he were his last tie to this world.

“Taehyung my world is falling down around me. My father is dead, my family is halfway across the map from me, and I am not allowed to go out and fight for my wife because... Because all I can think about is what that damned Forsaken told me on the battlefield,” he growled.

“What did it say? You know they spout lies,” Taehyung admonished.

“Taehyung it knew where she was,” he breathed.

“What are you talking about? Are you certain?” Taehyung gasped, standing.

“It said that the cold makes her weak... And she’s in the cold right now, Taehyung! What the fuck was I supposed to think when that damned thing told me that?! Shit, Taehyung I can’t sleep because of worry.”

“I’m sure that it was just trying to get a rise out of you Highness,” Taehyung attempted to be calming.

“Jesus Taehyung! Are you not listening?!”

The room went silent.

Jimin’s harsh breathing was deafening to his own ears.

“She’s in the Northern Peninsula... And she’s susceptible to the cold, tell me how you would react if you were told that from the enemy? From the thing you’re trying to hide your loved one from? I can’t stand it, Taehyung... It’s driving me insane,” Jimin croaked.

“I’m sure nothing is wrong, we must have patience-”

“MAJESTY!”

Jimin’s head turned towards the door, soon a frantic knocking came from behind it. “Majesty, it’s me, please open the door, I have news!”

Father Jin’s voice came through the wood.

Taehyung quickly moved to open it, letting in a frazzled Priest. Jimin stood, placing his hand on his desk for support. Why did he feel like something bad was happening? What was this feeling in his stomach, why did he feel sick?

“Father, what’s the matter?” Taehyung asked, placing his hand on Jin’s shoulders.

“I received a letter from Hoseok,” Jin answered.

“What?”

“He’s not supposed to be sending letters to us! He could give away Lady Y/N’s position!” Taehyung yelled.

“Taehyung, gather Jungkook and Yoongi. I want to speak with all of you in regards to this matter,” Jimin announced. Taehyung nodded, moving out the door to quickly collect the men Jimin wished to see. The Prince then turned to the Priest. “Father, tell me, is my wife alright?”

Jin’s face fell and Jimin thought that he would truly be sick. “She’s fallen ill, sire. Hoseok called for my aid... He claims that he has captured Morgana...”

---

The strategy room was cold as Jimin looked at his fellow men with a deep gaze. Something serious was going on, and none of them were certain how to handle the proceedings.

“Gentleman, Hoseok has broken a rule put in place by us to protect my wife’s safety. However, Father Jin tells me it is because she is ill... She needs help. Hoseok also claims to have captured the witch, Morgana.”

Yoongi scoffed. “No, there isn’t a way in hell he managed to get close enough to touch her.”

“Well, think about it Yoongi,” Jungkook began. “We’ve been taking out several of her Forsaken. Without them she isn’t getting sacrifices, Father Jin told us that she needs those to keep up with her dark magic. And she’s having to produce more to keep up with our assaults... perhaps it wore her down enough to as where Hoseok was able to capture her.”

“If he was able to capture her why didn’t he just kill her then?” Jimin asked.

“It’s not that simple. A creature such as her must be taken down by either a cursed weapon or poison. Regular weapons are futile against her,” Father Jin explained.

“So, he managed to get her into some restraints? If she’s so powerful how was he able to accomplish this?” Taehyung asked.

“Hoseok said he placed the necklace I charmed around her neck to weaken her abilities. It has made her unable to use her magic. And with her power already waning, it might just be enough,” Jin stated.

“What of Y/N?” Jimin asked, palms sweating.

Jin’s face took on a darker expression. “He stated she isn’t well. He needs me there promptly, otherwise he fears she may not make it,” Jin warned.

“Then we should leave immediately,” Taehyung declared.

“I agree, I need to make sure she’s alright,” Jimin urged. The thought of seeing you already making his heart swell.

“Hold, impatience is a sin.”

The boys stopped their chittering. Jin stood and addressed the men before him with a grave look on his face.

“I must warn you all. This is a dangerous situation we find ourselves in. Morgana is a being that has long defied God. She has no semblance for human life and takes what she wants, destroys when she can. If Hoseok has indeed captured her, then killing her is our first priority. We need to make a plan of how we are to deal with her,” Jin announced.

“What do you mean Father?” Jungkook asked, raising a brow in his direction.

“I mean, we need a plan if this goes wrong. Lady Y/N’s life is at risk. Morgana is being held underneath the palace, but I worry for her safety. With her being so close, she may be planning her demise.”

The room looked at Jin then to Jimin for confirmation. Jimin gripped the table in fury. His wife was being dangled in front of the very being who wanted her death, like a toy. It was disgusting.

“If Morgana manages to escape, I have a relic that could aid us,” Jimin explained. “The first dagger forged in pure Arcanian steel. It belonged to the very ancestors Morgana loved. If I place a poison upon the blade, I could end her,” The Prince stated.

“How would you get close enough?” Taehyung asked.

“Lure her into believing that her spell over him has worked. That he loves her,” Yoongi suggested.

“I think that would be worth the shot,” Jungkook stated.

“She would do anything to have Jimin be hers,” Father Jin reasoned. “If the situation turns sour, she will no doubt try to take Jimin. All you have to do is pretend that her spell worked, get close enough to deliver the killing blow.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Jimin snarled, fists curled tight on top of the table.

“What’s wrong with Lady Y/N?” Taehyung asked, leaning forward.

Father Jin looked at the paper and frowned. “She’s sick, a fever and chills taking. As well as a brutal cough. Hoseok says that it has been persistent, even with the broth and herbal teas he’s been trying. He knows only so much, but I know how to help her... I just hope that he didn’t wait too long to tell us,” Jin commented.

“I want the carriages ready as soon as possible. Father Jin, Jungkook and I will all go. Taehyung and Yoongi, stay here to defend the castle,” Jimin stated.

“Highness, perhaps we should just send Father Jin and Jungkook,” Yoongi warned. “Moving you to where that witch is located isn’t the best idea.”

“We’ve already made a decision, and a plan that involves me. I am going, Yoongi. I will see my wife,” The Prince declared with a steely tone.

The room sensed the tension. Everyone knew how on edge Jimin was not being able to see you. He’d been so tense and irritable these past weeks. Nothing like the man he was when you left. They knew you two needed to be reunited again. The men in that room knew Jimin wouldn’t stop until he got to see you once more.

“When shall we depart?” Jungkook asked.

“As soon as possible,” Father Jin noted. “I need to collect several herbs and my books as well as some tools. I don’t know how bad the progression is, but if it is as bad as Hoseok says, then I will need to be thoroughly prepared. I should be able to take off at dusk,” the Priest stated to his council.

“I will head to the stables and collect some horses and an older carriage,” Jungkook mentioned. “I can smear mud on it and things of the like to keep suspicious eyes from staying too long.”

“Perfect idea,” Taehyung smiled. “I can get some tunics from the guards quarters and you and Jimin can dress in those. That way it will look like a few gentleman on a trading route.”

“I concur. We will take a few articles of clothing, but we can keep them in the cabin with us,” Jimin stated.

“Yes, as well as some rations,” Jungkook noted. “The travel will be long, and we will want to be prepared for the cold when it comes.”

“Very well,” Father Jin nodded. He stood, gathering his robes before looking to the group before him. “Please take caution all. This is a dangerous journey we are to make, and we must be careful. Lady Y’N’s safety is at risk.”

With that he left, leaving everyone in the room unsettled.

But no one more so than your husband, who looked to his wedding band and bit his lip.

“I’m coming my love, I will see you soon...”

---

Father Jin was writing furiously in his book as the carriage moved along steadily in the dark of night.

They’d been travelling for almost a whole day. They’d reach the castle by morning, it was certain.

Jungkook was at the reins, keeping a watchful eye on the horizon and all around in case of an attack. No one had approached and fellow travellers shared a small nod before passing them by.

No one was aware that their future King lay within the doors of the beaten up buggy. And it was imperative it stay that way.

Jimin was anxious as he thought of how long it had been since he’d held you in his arms... Had you lost weight due to your ailment? He hoped you hadn’t, he loved how soft and warm you were to wake up to in the morning. Had you been sleeping alright? Hopefully you were getting restful sleep and you weren’t being awoken by your coughs.

Father Jin looked to his Prince and saw the fear residing in his features. Setting his book down, Jin placed a gentle hand on Jimin’s shoulder. The poor man jumped and turned to see the Priest eyeing him with curiosity.

“You seem restless, what burdens you, Highness?”

Jimin let his heart settle before looking at Jin with pensive eyes. “I worry for her, Father... I have almost lost her once, I don’t want to go through that again. It would kill me,” he breathed.

Jin nodded, looking ahead. “I understand your fear, but believe me... Believe in Y/N, she won’t let you go so easily.”

“She’s stubborn,” Jimin smiled sadly. “I can’t imagine life without her... She’s made such a difference in my life. I never thought that... That I...”

“That you could love someone?” Jin tested.

“No one showed me what love was... My mother and father are products of arranged marriages all through the lineage and... I was supposed to be another in a long line. Yet there was something so much deeper within this story. I knew that Y/N wasn’t supposed to be my permanent bride, my mother had warned me as such... The Princess of Laureliea was supposed to be my final wife. Uniting our Kingdom’s would no doubt bring prosperity. But, I had to fall in love with her. I had to defy everything that had been set in stone, crumbling into dust within my hands. Mother obviously is enraged, I receive her letters. She asks me, ‘why I can’t just kill the broad and marry again?’ We haven’t consummated anything. But each time, I refuse her. ``I can’t,'' I tell her. For to kill her would kill me as well. I fear we will be at odds until her death,” Jimin huffed.

Father Jin patted his shoulder softly. “Your mother is still your mother, she needs to respect your decision. You found love in a place that seemed impossible. It is such a blessing from God that you two were able to find the most purest form of love in one another. Don’t let others' emotions towards your own change them.”

Jimin bit his lip as he thought of these words. All he had done since you’d left was whine about how he wanted to be with you again. It wasn’t fair to all of those he had been working for. His people weren’t getting anything done with him pouting.

How selfish could a future ruler be?

He wondered if something were to happen to you, he knew his response. He’d give up, he’d let his Kingdom fall to ruin if you weren’t there by his side. How incredibly greedy.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’m going to tell you you’re wrong,” Jin stated, pulling him from his deprecating thoughts.

“Father the whole time I’ve been without Y/N all I’ve done was-”

“Do your best,” Father Jin finished.

“But I complained, and was difficult and-”

“And that’s what being in love does. It doesn’t make you weak, nor does it make you selfish. It makes you compassionate, it makes you loyal, it makes you devoted. None of these are bad things, Highness. None of them. You are allowed to feel anxious and worried without the one you love beside you. We don’t marry or fall in love with the expectation of being separated. You’ve been apart for almost two months, that’s long enough. You both have suffered, I know Y/N misses you. She’ll want to see you, and you are allowed to be just Jimin for a moment. You aren’t only the Prince of Arcane... You are also Jimin, a man who misses his wife,” Jin stated.

Jimin looked at Jin with wide bleary eyes.

“I-I’m allowed to be just Jimin for the moment then?”

“You are allowed to be yourself whenever you feel the need, Jimin. Being Prince is merely a title, soon you won’t be Prince. You’ll be King. However, being Jimin is forever. Think about it. Lady Y/N doesn’t love you because you are a Prince. She loves you because you are Jimin. Even though you must be Prince, that doesn’t mean you can’t also be yourself. You are so different around Lady Y/N, and it fills my heart with joy to see you two together. I believe she lets you be Jimin. Not a Prince, not a ruler, just Jimin. And that’s another blessing you’ve been granted,” Jin expressed.

Jungkook shouted from the front of the carriage.

“THE NORTHERN CASTLE IS IN SIGHT!”

#Into Eternity #BTS #BTS fanfiction #Ficswithluv #Jessika Hathaway #Jimin X Reader #park jimin x reader #bts x reader #Reader insert #Park Jimin #Jimin #Prince Jimin #Prince!AU #BTS fantasy

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blissfulalchemist · 3 years

Note

"wind chimes" + dealer's choice!

Dealer’s choice said that this would relate to Hypatia’s story just from a different perspective. I wanted to write a little more Conner I’m sorry. I hope you enjoy!

The elevator doors open before him, eyes scanning for the placement of the cameras in the building. Blind spot still where it always is, first corner on the left wall and Conner makes a brief stop looking down to the simple cord bracelet it's only embellishments four small periwinkle blue stones, angelite. The magic still reads strong but he’ll have to find the materials to strengthen it soon, I should ask Abe to send what I need on a subscription, he thinks letting out a breath, continuing down the hall. He hated playing babysitter to Tia despite it being the best thing for his mission, hated having to keep everything hidden away, how much easier it would be if he could just tell her. Mostly he hated being this close to people that would sooner see him and those like him gone from the world. They’d never do it themselves though, but they wouldn’t be first in line to help if you were in trouble. A debt was a debt though and Conner would pay it. Zmey only sent Conner here because he was so good at following the rules and keeping his head down. Pristine Alchemist behavior.

Fifth door on the right, glass panel in the off white door, a doorstop keeping it open two inches exactly. He saw her, dark hair with the fading purple and green highlights pulled up into a ponytail, hunched over the table mumbling what he knew to be Greek, the power radiating off of her. Of course Conner would find Tia here, right in what she dubbed the “witchatorium”, avoiding the combat training. Conner slipped in quietly as to not break her concentration, looking over the ingredients and book in front of her, Impressive, she’s making her way up in difficulty. He gave a small smile, crossing his arms and clearing his throat. She didn’t look up at him, but the chanting was coming to an end, “I told you already I’m not making you a potion to get a date, Conner.”

Conner rolled his eyes, “I get plenty of dates, Caro,” he lied, “Just went on one the other day.”

“Spending an extra five minutes ordering at the coffee shop doesn’t count as a date,” she smirked, amused eyes glancing up to him briefly, “Was she cute at least?”

“Who?” Conner walked closer to the table, looking over at what she was channeling her energy into, Spell needs two people ideally, bold of you to try it on your own, he thought having seen his mother perform it once before.

“You’re date dummy,” Tia couldn’t roll her eyes but Conner could tell it was there, “Was she cute?”

Conner gave a shrug, “She was,” he saw her eyebrow raise in a small nod of acknowledgement, “Not that it should matter to you.” Tia started to repeat the Greek incantation louder this time around, Conner mumbling behind her the magic flowing easily and weaving nondescript with hers. He nudged the next item she needed, a piece of petrified wood from Lesbos, within reach of her. Her eyes focused intently on the gold ring bringing the wood next to it along with a small piece of white quartz, Conner looking for the chimes she would be hitting soon. He let out a breath through his nose seeing it on a shelf just to the right of him, This is why we read through all the instructions Tia. He glanced once more seeing her gaze fixated on the items in front of her, his hand reached up to the small wind chime waiting to hear the right words.

She started on the fifth line of the incantation, Conner letting his fingers drift through the chimes, their music filling his ears as the melody matched the beat of Tia’s spoken words. The spell was used for protection against curses and hexes, the music of the chimes meant to be uplifting to aid in dispelling the negativity that was brought along. Two people were meant to cast it as one was to help in fending off the gods, the original bringers of curses. Each little component tied to a meaning dating back thousands of years….and looking at the chime he just played it wasn’t the right kind with the right notes. It would work in a pinch sure but the spell wasn’t going to be at full power once all was said and done.

He suppressed a groan as he grabbed hold of the chimes, the melody stopping abruptly. Conner flinched at the sudden silence, the spell was already screwed up and he just finalized it. He shut his eyes tightly waiting for the tilting feeling that came from a complex spell going wrong, the one Tia didn’t notice as she continued. The feeling never came though, met with just the fading and faint sounds of a wind chime blowing in a summer breeze. Conner slowly opened his eyes, seeing the soft golden light surrounding her. He’d never seen anything like it around another magic user, as he took a step closer the chimes got louder, their sounds muffled and feeling like a softly blurred memory. He listened closer, tuning out her words, the notes playing correctly, but unable to focus on the shape of the wind chime, just a feeling, like it was the right one, the one that was needed for this ritual.

His breath caught as he admired her, the golden ring around her emphasizing her facial features, soft and full of laughter. The way her eyes turned to a bronze in the sunlight, how her smile brightened in its harshness, dark hair flowing behind her, the laughter….oh the laughter that harmonized with the world and echoed in the vast emptiness of the desert. It was her world and her memories that brought about the music, her happiness personified. He wanted to join her, partake in what she was showing him, his hand reaching out to touch her, falling short as he felt the magic start to dim and recede. Tia finished off the last few steps, her breathing slightly labored as she looked up giving a smile before collapsing to the ground.

He moved to grab her, stopping her head from making contact with the ground. Her skin glistening with sweat, face having gone pale, Conner reached into the small fridge just below the work station. He pulled out the bottle of fruit punch, she hated the taste of orange juice, moving her to sit up more, the open bottle brought to her lips. Tia took a few sips on instinct before she took hold of the bottle, the contents gone in seconds. The color returned to her face as she moved to grab another bottle, this one disappearing slower. She beamed looking at Conner, “How did it feel getting to second base with a scary and evil witch?” She held her fingers up as if they were claws, Conner rolling his eyes.

“Glad to see you’re back to normal,” he stood half heartedly making the Alchemist sign against evil on his arm, “Were you successful in your endeavors?”

Tia’s eyes lit up as she stood quickly grabbing the gold ring, smile turning to a frown as she studied the ring. “Sort of I guess,” she sighed, “It’s not as powerful as it could be,” Surprised there’s any power in it at all. She looked back over the instructions, “I wonder where I went wrong.” Conner made a show of reading over her shoulder, her eyes catching him, “You know Greek better than me, right Khaki Pants?”

He opened to protest the nickname, looking down at the wardrobe choice for the day, khakis. “I may,” he leaned back crossing his arms, catching the small camera in the upper right corner, In their line of sight now, “Don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be translating spells that are for frivolous purposes though.”

“Oh come on,” she pleaded, her eyes sparkling, “It’s just one little spell. What’s the harm in that?”

“A lot,” he stated, “It’s bad enough we talk the way we do Caro.”

She rolled her eyes, “Ugh what is with you people?! Nothing more than a bunch of stiffs with backwards beliefs.”

“You’re the one that has something wrong with them,” he spat, the role he played coming back up. The rhetoric he repeated came out with such ease, Conner no longer flinched or gave much thought to it all anymore, “You’ve tainted your soul with this darkness. Might as well have joined the undead.”

Tia’s eyes narrowed, “I know you know that’s not true,” she stepped closer to him, finger soon touching his chest, “that you don’t even believe what they say.” His heart picked up its pace as he backed up out of sight of the camera, “You’re friendlier than the others Conner no matter how much you try to keep up the facade of not caring. Of hating me.”

He stumbled on his words for a second as he looked for the best way to change the subject. “We have to focus on the task at hand,” Conner finally said as she pressed him against a shelf the glass jars clinking, “Working with you and your dark magic is just a necessary evil, much like working with those evil creatures of the night.”

Her eyes, green under the fluorescents, flashed with her pain from his words, Conner’s heart falling, Please don’t cry Tia. I wish I could tell you how much I hate hurting you, “So that’s how it is,” she nodded her jaw tightening, sucking her teeth and stepping back, “Cool. Nice to know.”

“Caro,” he whispered, shaking his head, “it’s-. It’s just how it is. It’s the rules.”

Tia gave a snort, “Always the rules with you.” She looked down shaking her head, “So it’s the rules that say you have to just be an asshole then.” Conner swallowed, straightening himself out, shoulders rolling back, Tia flipped her hair back behind her shoulder, “So what did you come down here for if not to fraternize with the tainted.”

“You missed training,” he said flatly, “I was sent to bring you.”

She bit the inside of her lip, picking up the ring, “Bet they’re still waiting then.”

Tia made her way to the door, Conner close behind, “You’ll need to change.”

“No thank you,” she grumbled, pushing on the button of the elevator, “They want to train me to fight, I’m gonna do it in the clothing I’d be wearing in a real life situation.”

“It’s regulation to wear the clothing they’ve provided,” he argued, the door opening, “Besides your clothing is impractical as it is.” They both looked down to her cutoff jean shorts, dark purple tank top, and black Doc Martens, “You wouldn’t be wearing that once you’re in the field.”

“I’m not wearing khaki,” she retorted leaning against the wall, arms crossed, “Doesn’t work with my complexion.” He looked straight ahead giving a quick smirk, “Doesn’t work really well with yours either.”

“Thankfully this is just work wear, Caro,” the elevator dinged, doors opening once more, “I have more colors at home.”

Her eyes went wide, “Bullshit,” she laughed, “I don’t believe you for one second.”

“It’s true,” he shrugged, holding the door open for Tia, “Just never saw me outside of here.”

“See now you gotta take me out so I can,” her smile returned in full force, dimming once seeing Conner’s face, “Let me guess, it’s against the rules.” He nodded, Tia letting out a small groan, “Well guess I gotta find paint swatches and hold them up until I find the colors that work best for you.” He rolled his eyes, half listening to her ramblings as they made their way down to the training center, Tia stopping just outside the door, “Is it sunny outside today?” He nodded, giving a slight tilt to his head, “You think they’ll let me train outside today if I ask nicely?”

No, they would all claim it was too dangerous, too much of a risk. They couldn’t risk you running away on them. You’re too valuable to them, “Since when do you ask nicely?”

She gave a light punch to his arm, “I can be nice.” Tia looked up to the ceiling, “I just miss the feeling of the sun on my skin is all,” her eyes met Conner’s giving a small smile, “Rules are rules though right?” With that she gave a shrug leaving Conner standing alone in the hallway. He looked around the basement level frowning. I can think of one excuse that might work, he thought, making his way back to the elevator, Could make up for today if I can pull it off.

#hypatia caro oc #x: honey and the bee #I might just have to make him into a full fledge oc but we shall see #I have to keep balance in my stuff so even numbers all around #conner enache oc

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imagine-loki · 4 years

Text

Pride and Prejudice

TITLE: Pride and Prejudice CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 35 AUTHOR: wolfpawn

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths. RATING: Mature NOTES/WARNINGS: Forced Marriage, not all fun and games. My first real step back into the Loki scene in over a year.

Tags - @skulliebythesea @asimovethroughthisworld @blackcherry26-blog @we-shadowhunter2901

“You will be staying here.” The mere manner in which Loki spoke those words told all present there would be no negotiation with regards the matter. The fear and horror in his eyes only added to it.

Thor looked between his sister and her husband, concerned by the manner in which Loki spoke, not as though he was making an order simply because she was a woman but because of the manner in which he said it showed genuine fear. Before anyone could say anything else, he decided to speak, noting the odd look in Ella’s eyes telling him that she needed to speak with him. “Ella, I must speak with you with regards to something Mother gave to me to give to you.” He eyed Loki as he stated it. "In private."

“Very well, but only for a moment, I need to speak with Loki before he goes too.” Ella indicated to a small side room. “Did she even give you something?”

“Yes, this letter.” Thor handed her the piece of paper, folded and sealed with his mother’s magic. “What is afoot here?” “Too much to explain now but the short version there has been a slight issue with the eldest Laufeyson, Byleistr, who has taken a mate that is socially, though not strictly, out of bounds and has been sent to a far corner of the realm to quell unrest there but if I am honest, this news seems more unsettling now.” “How is something like taking a mate socially but not strictly out of bounds?”

“Focus Thor, time is of the essence.”

Thor forced his thoughts of the matter from the forefront of his mind. “Do you think him to be part of it?” “I don’t know but we cannot rule it out.” “He would hardly do something to his own brothers.” “He took the love of one, so I would not put much past him.” Ella wandered over to a table that had an ice vase on it and in it, some of her favourite ice flowers. “Jotunheim is at a delicate stage. It is growing well but the growth could so easily cease if the current path is altered. Loki is seen as integral to this growth, now he and Helbindi will be gone and I worry what this will mean. Most know that his part in the realm’s growth is through the arrangements made with Asgard, something that has its objectors, so with him on a battlefield, it would not be too hard to make his end seem so tragic and him to be nothing more than a tragic casualty of war, Helbindi too. They are not hardened and experienced soldiers, it would seem logical that come a large battle, they could be two to high status kills that could easily occur. That leaves me, here, on the realm of the now enemy of Asgard again. A bargaining chip at best, or a loose end in need to tidying up, guaranteeing Loki’s line is demolished, no contenders, no competition.” She toyed with one of the flowers as she spoke, feeling the petals as she explained to her brother the concerns that she now had.

“Would the realm turn so easy?” “You came here, you demanded they come and fight by Asgard’s side. If they were to be slain, you would have cost the realm two of its princes. For Asgard’s actions, in their grief, even those who would rather Loki on the throne, who are happy with this alliance, they would see it as justice, until they mourn as one should and they realise it is wrong but my head and body would long have parted ways by then and there are a lot of spells for a lot of things but I never found one to reverse that.” She ceased toying with the flowers and turned to face Thor again. “Do I think that Byleistr is indeed doing this? No. But…” “There is a chance.” Thor finished her sentence for her. “Father always said it, to assume every scenario, especially the worst and prepare for it, so that should we be misfortunate enough to encounter it, we are prepared.” He looked at the vase his sister had been by, it’s flowers glistening in the bright sun. “So prepared we shall be.”

“Protect them, Thor. They don’t know how to fight as you do. You court danger, to a foolish degree but they have not seen fighting as you have. I rarely fear for you now. You have seen war, it almost seems to be your element, they merely lived in the result of it. The training they do is practical but not moulded by experience,” Ella pleaded. Thor swore to her that he would.

* Ella watched as Loki readied in his rooms, the etched skin of his back catching her attention as he did.

Loki, sensing he was no longer alone, turned to see her behind him. “That letter needed a lot of explaining.”

Ella could hear hurt in his voice. “I was catching Thor up on a few matters of importance.” “You thought it more important to tell him than to speak with me?” Loki growled. “Was there even a letter?” “Yes.” She held up the letter in question, her mother’s seal clear to see on it. “But it was more complex than that. I could not discuss this with only the two of you at once.” “Why?” “I am worried as to your reaction.”

“The reason I said that you were to stay in the hall…” Loki began.

“You do not need to explain that to me, I know you think me unable to fight.” “It is not that.” Loki walked forward. “I am very much depending on you making good on your statements as to your ability.” Ella frowned. “Then, why?” “If we fail, as well we could, I need you to be here, to try and hold the palace long enough to make sure you do something for me.” “What?” Ella was fearful of what Loki was asking of her.

Loki looked around for a moment.

“I soundproofed this room, I told you that already.”

Loki inhaled. “If we fail, if it happens that they take Jotunheim, I know you can escape, I trust you to, I want you to. But only if you do something for me first.” “What? I am not agreeing to it unless you tell me what it is,” She insisted.

Loki inhaled. “I need you to ensure my father’s death is painless.” Ella’s eyes widened. “You’re not stupid, you know what will happen if an enemy were to get to him.”

Ella nodded as she felt an immense tightness in her throat. She knew what happened many monarchs on different realms that were overthrown. They suffered terrible deaths and their bodies used to mock them and their people. She knew that her parents would rather fight to their deaths but that age had taken their ability to do so with any sort of honour from at least her father, so she knew of the potion her mother had that would end it, should such a time come and set their bodies alight to join those in Valhalla. “I don’t want to but, yes.”

“I can assure you, I don’t want you to either but I know you would do it with honour.” “There is no honour in killing old sick men.” She paused, wondering if she should mention to Loki the conversation she had with Thor.

Loki studied her. “You’re apprehensive.” “I worry as to how you will take what I wish to say.”

“You never lie to me, please continue that tradition.” “I worry. You and Helbindi will go to this battle, Byleistr is not currently available, what occurs when he does become so and most importantly, is his loyal?” “You question his loyalty?” “You don’t?”

Loki licked his teeth. “I do not think he would but I can see your reason for thinking so.” He sighed before leaning forward slightly. “If it comes to pass, if he returns here and is not our ally…” “I will have two blades ready for him and they will find purchase in him as they did in the ice statue,” She swore.

“While I do not doubt that, know that I expect you to survive this. If all comes falling down, flee.”

“Why, is there a place you think to meet me?”

“Nowhere.” “That is an actual place.”

“If they get to Jotunheim, it is only because I am dead and not a moment before,” Loki assured her. He could see her feel uncomfortable at such an idea. "It will surely be fine. I fully intend not to die."

"Good, you have so much yet to achieve. Jotunheim needs you as its king. You will be the one to bring it into its prosperous future."

Loki smiled at the confidence she had in his part in his realm. "Ella?" She gave him her full attention. "Is it wrong to admit I am fearful?"

"Of battle?" He nodded. "Wrong? Absolutely not, you would be mad were you to think anything other than fear. War is not a game. It's not some silly exercise after which all return home as though nothing happened. Many will not return and many more will return either without some part of body or mind and perhaps missing a bit of both." She walked over to him. "Please, please return."

"I will endeavour to do so." He gave a small smile. "If only to irk you further."

Ella scoffed playfully. "Well, we all have prices we are required to pay in this life." She smiled for a moment before becoming serious once more. "Promise me that if Thor goes berserk, you keep out of his way and never attempt to engage him."

"How…?"

"Do not look at him, whatever you do, stay behind him, encourage him towards the enemy and under no circumstances, do you or any of the Jotnar look him in the eye or engage him. He will not be reasoned with and you will not win such an altercation, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes."

"Tell Helbindi and have all Jotnar informed. If he lands near them whilst in it, snorting like a bull or boar, simply keep looking at the ground and he should not see any as a threat. Don't do anything foolish. He's an idiot at the best of times, there's little difference between when he is fully cognitive and when he is Berserk but there is a difference, so don't risk it."

"I will relay the message," He promised. "Don't let any disrespect you in my absence."

Ella scoffed. "They will soon learn not to if they try." She gave a small smile. "Loki…"

The sharp knock on the door brought them out of their conversation and back into the harsh reality of what was occurring. A moment later, Arden entered. "I fear it is time to depart."

"Then we best do so. I fear I dallied speaking with my mate so my attire is…" He looked down to see light armour and regal trimmings in him, the last of Ella's seidr glowing away as he did so. He looked at her again as she eyed the armour, ensuring its strength. "Thank you."

"I just wish for you to be safe."

Loki nodded and turned to face the door. "We will be. This will be over soon. Asgard, Alfheim, what stands strong of it, Vanaheim, Jotunheim, it is a powerful alliance, we will persevere, wait and see."

"I know but I will fret regardless." Sadly Ella walked beside Loki as they left the room.

They joined those gathered in the hall of the palace, Laufey, weary and worried looking. When he saw his middle son and his mate coming towards him, he gave a small nod. “War is not something I wish for you to experience, it is not something anyone should but it is the situation that is occurring now. I wish I could go in your stead and not subject either of you to the brutality of it but we need to protect Jotunheim, if Alfheim falls, we fall.” Loki nodded at his father’s words. “I am sorry.” Feeling weak and sorrowful, Laufey stumbled slightly. Luckily, Thor and Helbindi were close enough to steady him.

“Father, we will be fine, go back to your rooms and rest,” Loki suggested.

“No, I…”

“Ella,” Thor gave his sister a slight nod after calling her.

Smiling slightly, she used her seidr to create a chair of an adequate size for Laufey. “My King, please.”

Satisfied, Laufey nodded and place himself as best he could in the chair to see off his sons. “Better.” He sighed.

“Just rest, Father. We will be home in very little time.” Helbindi promised, though there was a slight fear in his eyes.

“Yes.” Laufey nodded solemnly.

“Heimdall,” Thor bellowed out, startling many around him. “Five minutes.”

“We best get to the army then,” Loki ordered. He turned to look at Ella one last time. “Be safe.” “You’re the one going into a war, I should be saying that to you.” She leant up and kissed his cheek. “Just come back.”

She walked over to Thor and leant up slightly and did the same. “Don’t be too stupid.”

“You always say that.” “And you always come back, so I am not changing it now.”

She stepped back to let them leave before noticing Helbindi standing to the side with a facial expression that made her laugh. “Are you feeling a little left out?” “I feel somewhat so, yes.” He confessed.

Laughing slightly she walked over and he bent down enough for her to give him one as well.

With that done, the men went towards where Heimdall would transport them. As soon as they left the hallway, Ella used her seidr to move herself and Laufey to a balcony overlooking them.

“That is a very useful ability,” Laufey commented.

“I thankfully use it more for convenience than anything but it can come in handy in many ways.”

“Has my son made you promise to dispose of me if this all fails?” Ella looked at him solemnly. “Good, it saves time to have it arranged in advance.” There was genuine relief in his voice.

“It will not come to that.” “I hope not, for all of us.”

#loki #other #submission #Submitted fic #chapter 35 #wolfpawn #Pride and Prejudice

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ofstoriesandstardust · 5 years

Text

The 5 Times He Almost Said I Love You (and the 1 time he did)-Ron Weasley

The 5 Times He Almost Said I Love You (and the 1 time he did)- Ron Weasley

A/N: Yes, I have requests in my inbox. Yes, I really should be spending my last two weeks of summer doing other things. But a couple of days ago, I couldn’t sleep, and thus, this was born. When I was originally thinking about doing this imagine, it was never going to be this angsty. And, then I decided to absolutely rip everybody’s hearts into shreds (including mine), so enjoy. This is my first five-time fic so I really do hope you guys like it because I’ve been dying to write for Ron.

Warnings: Angstttttt,

Word Count: 3,758

Prompt List Masterlist

1. When the Order moved Harry

He knew the risks, just as well as you did. When you had initially volunteered to take the Polyjuice Potion and go in place of Fleur to move Harry, he had protested. He fought you tooth and nail on the situation, but there was no denying that you were of age and more than capable of taking care of yourself if something were to go wrong. Ron had made Bill promise to do his best to protect you from harm, and Bill wholeheartedly agreed, not wanting to see you get hurt either. You had grown up alongside Ron as your dads had been friends through their jobs at the Ministry. The Weasley family had taken you in after your parents had been killed by Death Eaters the year prior. Ron knew that you’d be willing to throw yourself in the midst of any dangerous situation to avenge your parents. But watching your disgusted face as you took a gulp of the Polyjuice Potion, he knew he was not ready to face the undeniable truth that he may very well lose you, the girl he loved, in this coming war. As you two had grown up together and gotten into your late teens, you had passed the line of best friends into some middle ground of not best friends but not quite lovers. He wanted to tell you just how much he cared for you, but he was so terrified to lose you, to ruin your friendship, that telling you how he felt wasn’t an option. But as he stood outside, looking up at the ominous sky, he thought about what came after. After the war, after Voldemort was defeated, he wondered if he told you if you’d feel the same. He didn't get much time to ponder his thoughts as you pulled him into a hug. It didn’t feel final, but he knew what you were trying to communicate with him. He could feel the fear and adrenaline seeping off of you. He squeezed your hands as you pulled away. “See you in a bit.” He mumbled, pulling your heads together, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“See you on the other side, Weasley.” You graced him with a smile and climbed on the threstal behind Bill. Ron nodded to Bill, before climbing on to his broom and facing Mad-Eye. As soon as you all got into the sky, the chaos began. It was clear that someone had told the Death Eaters Harry would be moved that night. As Ron focused on defending himself, he lost sight of you in the sky. It was utter chaos until he reached the ground of his home. Hermione ran and attacked him in a hug and Harry wasn’t far behind. As he pulled away from them, he couldn't help but wonder where you were. You should be here by now. As Arthur and Fred returned behind him, Ron knew something was wrong.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” Ron looked between Harry and Hermione and when he received no answer, he looked to Remus, Tonks, and Kingsley’s grim faces. He felt his father and Fred pause beside him, but he didn’t waste another second as he took off into the house. There you were, lying still on his couch, as Molly cleaned your wound and George held your hand. He felt the others follow him but he didn’t wait for them, rushing to your side. George had tear streaks on his face and Ron had to choke back several sobs. From behind him, he heard Remus explain that Snape had missed George and ended up hitting you, meaning you also narrowly missed the Killing Curse that had been sent your way. He ran his fingers through your hair as he prayed that you would wake up. He rested his forehead on yours, just like he did earlier. “Please wake up (Y/N/N), please, please. There’s so much I still have left to tell you, so much left to do. I can’t lose you. Please.” He whispered that last word, vowing that if you woke up, he would tell you how he felt. He heard you groan and try to turn your head, hissing at the pain. He moved back, giving you some space.

“How’re you feeling?” George asked.

“Terrible, really. But maybe this means I’ll have to hear your nonsense less. You know seeing as I’m missing an ear now and everything.” Fred laughed softly.

“That’s our girl.” Fred said with a smile on his face. As the mood lightened and everyone began to talk amongst themselves again, Ron stayed by your side. You played with his fingers as he ran his thumb over your forehead.

“So, uh, hey, what is it that you needed to tell me?” Your voice was soft, your attention still on seeing the different way your fingers could intertwine.

“Huh?” Ron was caught off guard, he was so happy you were, for the most part, okay, he had forgotten there was something he needed to tell you.

“When I was waking up, it sounded like you were saying that you needed to tell me something.” You explained, looking up into his eyes.

“Oh.. yeah.. that..” He cleared his throat and steeled his nerves. He could do this. “I just- I just wanted to say- you know before it’s too late- (Y/N)- I-”

“Mad-Eye’s dead.”

2. Bill and Fleur’s wedding

It had been a few days since you had gotten hurt and there had not been a down moment since. As much as Ron wanted to, he hadn’t had a good opportunity to sit down and tell you the true extent of his feelings. As he helped seat different wedding guests, he hadn’t noticed you walk through the tent. He heard the twins laughter and turned to look for the source, spotting you standing next to the twins as they told a joke. He made his way to you and stopped short next to Fred, breath caught in his throat. The twins cleared their throats, excusing themselves, sharing a knowing look. He disregarded them, stunned by your beauty. You were gorgeous. You moved a piece of hair behind your only ear, a nervous tendency of yours. “Cat got your tongue, Ron?” You asked giving him a teasing smile. He cleared his throat.

“You... you look amazing. Really, (Y/N).”

“You too Ron.” He stood there unable to take his eyes off of you until you spoke again. “So, uh, do you want to dance later? I want to see if your dancing skills are still as bad as they were when you danced with McGonagall.”

“You’re never gonna let me live that down are you?” He asked, chuckling.

“Absolutely not.” You stated firmly, shaking your head as a smile graced your features. At that moment, Ginny appeared, trying to push you towards your seat as the ceremony was starting soon. “I’ll see you on the dancefloor, Weasley.” you said as you waved, following Ginny in the other direction. As Bill and Fleur exchanged their vows, he caught your gaze, sending you a smile. You sent one back. As the ceremony ended, Ron got caught up talking to one of the party guests, that it was at least an hour before he was able to pull himself away, and that was only because Bill had come by and asked if he could borrow him.

“So, Ronald, why aren’t you with your girl?” Bill asked and Ron shot him a confused glace until Bill pointed to you. “I see the way you look at her. And I see the way she looks at you.” As he looked back at Bill, Bill nodded. Ron made his way over to where you were standing with Hermione and Harry.

“I believe you owe me a dance.” He said, grabbing your attention. You excused yourself from the conversation, missing the look Hermione and Harry shared with each other. You both made your way to the dancefloor, and as you did, the music slowed. Ron put his hands on your waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck. You absent-mindedly rubbed your thumbs at the nape of his neck, head resting on his chest. “(Y/N), I- I need to tell you something.” You looked up at him, giving him the push to continue. “(Y/N), I lo-” At that moment, a burst of light flooded the center of the room, and your attention was diverted to the speaking Patronus, It was Kingsley’s voice, saying that the ministry had fallen. He unknowingly pulled you closer to him, wanting to protect you from the coming danger.

“They’re coming.” The voice said and instantly, the chaos began. You got pulled away from him as Hermione pulled him towards Harry and it wasn’t until they were running down a busy Muggle street, trying to get out of sight, that he realized he hadn’t gotten to tell you he loved you.

3. Reuniting at Hogwarts

As he followed Neville through the portrait and towards Hogwarts, his mind couldn’t help but wander to you. It had been months since he had seen your face, seen your smile, held you in his arms. It had been a long year and he wanted to ask Neville about any news of you but was afraid of the answer. He hadn’t heard your name on the radio, not on the missing person list nor the death count. He was unsure if you had gone back to school but you had been friends with Neville for a long time, so he knew you must’ve rejoined the DA when Neville reformed it. Hell, you had probably been the driving force in standing up to Snape and his bullies. As he, Harry, and Hermione emerged into the Room of Requirement, his eyes searched desperately for you or Ginny. And then-

There you were. Clutching on to Dean and Seamus for support as they headed for Neville. Your clothes were torn and covered with a layer of dirt. “What happened?” Neville asked, concern laced in his voice.

“Incident with the Carrows. Fell. Fine.” You answered in between short breaths, pain evident on your face. Neville raised an eyebrow.

“Really. You’re fine?” He questioned. “Then walk without the support of Dean and Seamus.” They exchanged a look and stepped back. You tried to step forward but fell into Ron’s arms. You clutched onto him like a lifeline, looking up at him.

“It’s ok, I’ve got you.” He said softly. Ron helped lift you up to a standing position and you faced Neville.

“Ok so clearly, I’m not fine. But I think my ankle is just broken.” Neville nodded, and Ginny, who had joined the group, offered to fix it for you. You nodded as Ron sat you down on the floor. As Neville and Harry got into it over why Harry was really there, Ginny fixed up your ankle. She did the spell, you grimaced in pain. Looking up at the boys arguing, it was clear Harry was really only entertaining Neville’s conversation until Ron was ready to leave. “Go. Harry needs you right now.”

“But-” He protested, not ready to leave you so soon after just getting you back.

“Go. I’ll be fine. Promise.” He nodded, knowing you were right, but yet, he still hesitated. He still needed to tell you.

“(Y/N), I just need you to know that-”

“Ron!” Harry called, sounding frustrated.

“Go.” you urged him. He looked at you, and then back at Harry. He looked at you once more, before nodding his head and following Harry out of the Room of Requirement and away from you.

4. During the Battle

The Horcruxes had been destroyed and the Battle was raging. Ron made his way toward the heart of the fighting, where he knew you had to be. He dodged a couple of curses and fired back spells. He sharply rounded a corner only to collide with another body. He fell backward, grip on his wand tight, ready to fire another spell. “Ron?” You questioned and he looked up to see your face. He scrambled upwards, clinging on to you as if you were a lifeline.

“(Y/N), you’re ok.” he breathed, thankful that you were still well and breathing. He looked over your body for the sign of any major wounds, but aside from a couple of new scrapes and a cut bleeding right above your left eyebrow, you were largely unscathed. He felt so overwhelmed with emotion at that moment, all he wanted to do was kiss you. He gently grabbed the sides of your face and gave you a soft smile. He could tell you right here, right now, at this moment, al he had to do was connect his lips to yours. You two had aways communicated through body language and the horrible pit in his stomach created by his fear only further pushed him. And then-

“(Y/N)!” A voice screamed and you both turned to see Neville a few feet away. Blood dripped down the side of his face but you turned your attention back to Ron. You gripped his forearms as your breathing increased.

“(Y/N)-” He began but was yet again cut off.

“Ron!” Hermione's voice found it’s way through the chaos and you turned to see her disheveled stance, waiting for him to rejoin her.

“Go, I’ll be ok.” You whispered, offering him a weak smile, more in attempt to reassure yourself than him.

“Ron!” It was Ginny’s voice this time and he knew his time was up.

“Stay safe, ok? I-” love you. The words died on his lips as you took off in Neville’s direction, following him down a hallway where another section of the battle was being fought. He followed Ginny and Hermione out into the courtyard, unable to shake the horrible feeling forming in his stomach that it was too late.

5. At the end

The sound of Voldemort’s voice sent shivers down Ron’s spine. But the pause in the fighting was much needed and he followed Hermione to the Great Hall. He knew once he saw you, this horrible feeling living in his stomach would subside, at least a little. Or so he hoped. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was gravely wrong. As he made his way through the vast space, his stomach turned over as he saw all the dead. Colin Creevey. Lavender. Tonks. Remus. He spotted Neville sitting a few feet away, eyes glazed over as Luna hugged him. Dean and Seamus sat next to each other clinging on to the other as if it was their last hope. He spotted his family a few feet away from them, surrounding a cot and his stomach dropped. Ginny was hugging his mum as his dad looked down. Fred stood next to Percy, as George cried over the body. Bill and Charlie stood a few feet away, looks downcast. His mum gasped as he came within in the sight of his family. George jumped up and wrapped him in a hug as Ron began to sob with the realization of who was laying there. You. You looked so peaceful, but you were too young to be that peaceful. You were too young. You were supposed to live a long life, a life with him. He sobbed over your body, the world slowing down around him. How? How could this happen to someone so good? The girl who always had a smile on her face, the girl who lit up any room she walked into? It began to feel like he was drowning. How was he supposed to do this without you? He didn’t want to. He couldn’t. As sobs wracked his body, he numbly heard Fred explain that during the battle, there had been an explosion. You had pushed him out of the way just in time, saving Fred but you had been crushed under the wall. As Ron cried, his heart continued to break as he realized he never got the chance to tell you he loved you. He could say it now, but it wasn’t the same. You were gone, you would never know.

the one time he did-

Life without you had been dark. Without your light, he felt lost. It seemed to him that everyone seemed to be coping well without you. Sure, it had been hard at first but 8 months later, it seemed that everyone had figured out how to navigate life without you, except him. He yet to figure out their secret and instead lived life in a drunken stupor. The feeling of the Firewhiskey coursing through his veins was the only thing that seemed to take the edge off, the only thing that seemed to numb the pain slightly. The week prior, he drunkenly confessed to Hermione that he had never gotten to tell you how he truly felt and she had convinced him to visit your grave. He hadn’t gone to your funeral, he couldn’t bring himself to. Visiting your grave would make it real and he could no longer pretend that you weren’t really gone. Hermione had convinced him that if he sobered up long enough to visit your grave and say those three little words out loud, he could begin to cope and heal and move on. She told him he had to let go and move on with his life. He thought it was a bloody stupid idea, truly. How could he move on without you? There was no life to be lived without you in it. But yet here he was, sober and read to disapparate to your grave. Ginny and Harry had convinced him that it was a good idea, just to try. His parents supported it too, wanting to see him get better. Still, he hesitated. But eventually, he gathered his wits and appeared at your grave. Ginny had taken over the funeral preparations and had even chosen what the headstone would say. It was a sleek black stone in the ground. It had your name and the year you were born and died as all typical headstones do. Below it, the stone wrote “To the brightest star, may you still shine just as bright up there. Rest easy.” The grave was found in a large cemetery dedicated to those who gave their lives in the Battle. A few feet away, he could see Tonk and Remus final resting place as well. As he gathered his surroundings, he noticed a plaque at the entrance of the cemetery, probably explaining what everyone there had died for. He took a deep breath, looking back down at your stone. He rubbed his hands on his pants awkwardly, unsure of himself. He felt pretty stupid talking to a stone, but he couldn't help but admit that the words had been dying to escape him and if saying these feelings out loud hoping someone above heard him would alleviate the pain and make his world that much lighter, he was willing to look like an idiot. Not like there was a lot of people around in the cemetery to look like an idiot in front of. Taking another deep breath, he tried to gather himself and his thoughts. Sitting down, he began with a shaky breath. “Merlin, (Y/N), this feels so stupid, talking to you and not knowing if you’re listening. Hermione says it’ll help, make things easier, but I don’t know if there is a life to be lived without you. You were my best friend. I remember when we were kids and we used to have a competition to see who could throw the garden gnomes the farthest. We used to laugh so much together and there was never a dull moment with you. You were so strong and talented and so bloody perfect- Merlin, (Y/N), this is so hard. It’s been so hard without you. There’s no one to offer me a smile even when I’m being a dick, knowing to give me a hug without me even having to ask. The world’s not the same without you. Why’d you have to die? Why’d you have to sacrifice yourself? This isn't fair. I can’t do this without you. Especially knowing that I never got to tell you- that I- I love you (Y/N). Always have, ever since we were kids. And not in the hey she’s like my sister love, but I love love you. And I just can’t- I still love you. I probably will never stop. And I never got the chance to tell you or say goodbye. You were just... gone. Why’d you have to leave me? It... it hurts (Y/N). Everybody has seemed to figure out to say goodbye to you and life without but I just can’t- I don’t want to say goodbye. Because like Peter Pan said in that stupid muggle movie you used to make me watch, saying goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting and I don't want to forget you, (Y/N). I can’t. I love you. I loved the way your hair shone in the sunlight while we played Quidditch. I love the way your nose scrunched up when you disagreed with something and the way you were so passionate about everything you did. I loved how you used to sing under your breath when you didn't think anybody was listening. I loved your sass and sarcasm, and all the hugs you gave. You were so kind and so good- I can’t forget you, because forgetting you means forgetting all the things I loved about you. I love you, always have, always will. And I don't want to forget. I can’t forget. But this hurts so much.” His voice gave out at the end and he dissolved into sobs. But as he sat on the ground, his body heaving with sobs, the pain began to subside. Saying all these things out loud, speaking them into existence, he knew he loved you and would never forget you. Moving on did not mean forgetting you, moving on meant he had to learn how to live a life without you, knowing you were watching him from above. And letting go of some of the pain and feelings he had kept within himself, he finally felt ready to began to move on. Maybe he would never love another, maybe he would never truly move on and let go. But this was a start. Wherever you were, you now knew he loved you and for him, that was enough.

#ron weasley #ron weasley imagines #ron weasey imagine #harry potter #this is the longest thing i've ever written #please don't let it flop

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terriblelifechoices · 5 years

Text

Well, today has been entertaining. I have started a batch of strawberry liqueur, acquired nearly 40 lbs of frosting for Operation: Wedding Cake and finally seen Aquaman. I am also almost done with 이모 sock #1, so all in all I think it has been a productive day. I am celebrating with comment fic.

This was originally written for solarfox, thanks to their comment:

I wonder how Galahad would react to a younger sibling having to be his nurse because both his parents are gone and the next oldest sibling is working.

The answer is: with more grace than I would.

New York, July 1958

The Pukwudgies had invaded.

Galahad squinted at his youngest siblings, trying to make sense of the world. Nothing made sense at the moment, least of all the invasion of the Pukwudgies, but he was an Auror and a Graves and he felt honor bound to try.

“What --” he began, resisting the urge to cough. He succeeded for all of five seconds -- a new record -- and then the jagged coughs burst free and he couldn’t stop. He pitched forward, unable to catch his balance and cough and try to breathe all at the same time in his weakened state, and probably would have landed on his face if someone hadn’t caught him.

When had baby Dag gotten so tall, he wondered.

“Not a baby,” Dag said, reflexive.

Lyo patted Galahad’s cheek. “He’s not. You’re still a disaster, though.”

“Shut up,” said Galahad, pulling away from Dagonet and staggering back down the hall towards his bedroom. “M sick, not a disaster.”

“You dosed yourself with homemade Pepper-up,” Lyo said, merciless. “Which was dumb for multiple reasons.”

“You don’t need to tell me the reasons,” said Galahad.

“Oh, but I’m going to,” said Lyo, who had clearly taken lessons from Ollie and Ellie in the fine art of being mean to her older brothers.

Why were all of Galahad’s sisters so mean, he wondered.

“Because we have to put up with our dumbass brothers,” said Lyo. “Now. Getting back to the reasons you are a dumbass whose homemade Pepper-up didn’t work. One: you are tragically, embarrassingly terrible at Potions.”

“Am not,” said Galahad. He was not tragically, terribly embarrassing at anything, thank you very much, Lyo. He might not have had Uncle Robert or Arthur even Lance’s instincts for Potions, but that was hardly embarrassing.

“Two: you live with a Healer,” said Lyo.

“Debatable,” said Galahad. Aurors and Healers were both shift workers, so while it was nice to live with someone who understood insane scheduling, it also meant he went a long time without seeing his fiancé sometimes.

“Technicalities are for criminals, sophists and lawyers,” Dag sing-songed, quoting Dad.

“You could have gotten Sam to give you proper Pepper-up,” Lyo continued, as if neither of her brothers had spoken. “Or you could have had her treat you. But no. You tried to medicate yourself.”

Galahad wanted to argue that point and couldn’t. He had tried to medicate himself. Although in his defense, he’d been working a lot because everyone else was out with the flu, and Sam had been working a lot because everyone kept coming in with the flu, and he hadn’t really seen her and couldn’t ask her to treat him.

“Yeah, that’s actually point three,” said Lyo. “Working three weeks without a day off was really dumb, Galahad.”

Galahad frowned at her. Lyo was not any kind of Legilimens -- thank Merlin and Morgana and all of Arthur’s knights. She was terrifying enough without the ability to read minds. All of his sisters were terrifying enough without the ability to read minds. He’d never have been able to keep up with them, otherwise.

So why was she arguing with him like she could read his mind?

Both of his youngest siblings stared at him.

Galahad sighed. “I’m saying all of this out loud, aren’t I?”

“How bad is your fever?” Dag asked, reaching out to press the back of his hand to Galahad’s head. “Yeah, you should go lie down now.”

“I was lying down,” Galahad grumbled, shuffling into his bedroom. “And then you invaded.”

“Oh, no,” said Dag. “No, no, no, no, no.”

Galahad blinked at him.

“This is disgusting,” Dag declared, gesturing at Galahad’s bed. “You are not sleeping in this germ-infested pigsty.”

Dag was kind of melodramatic sometimes. Galahad mostly chalked it up to the fact that Dag was sixteen. Also, possibly channeling Papa, who wasn’t as melodramatic but would probably also have things to say about the level of cleanliness in Galahad’s apartment.

It was a little bit pathetic, but Galahad really did want his Papa right now. Papa was soothing, and he made the best soup, and he would have dealt with the invasion of the Pukwudgies firmly and quietly.

Ugh, why did Dad and Papa pick this month to go visit the Scamanders?

“There you go,” Dag said, gesturing to Galahad’s bed. The bed had been made and -- because Galahad’s littlest brother thought he was funny -- also swapped for a fresh set of sheets that had tiny nifflers on them. “Are you gonna fall in and drown if you shower?”

“Just let me sleep, brat,” Galahad growled, and had another coughing fit. He collapsed into his bed and discovered that the ridiculous niffler sheets smelled like lavender and cedar, the way the linens at Graves Manor did.

“Fine,” said Dag. “Sam can always give you a sponge bath or something later. You can play Healer.”

Galahad had another coughing fit, in lieu of addressing the frankly appalling mental imagery that statement evoked. Dag was not old enough for that level of innuendo.

“I’m sixteen!” said Dag. “And you’re still monologuing like a crazy villain. Please shut up.”

“Seriously,” said Lyo, reappearing.

Galahad was too tired to be terrified of where Lyo had been. In his general experience, losing track of his younger siblings did not lead to good things, because they were wily and determined little monsters.

“I don’t want any traumatizing details,” Lyo explained. “About anything, not just your sex life.” She held up a hand to forestall anything Galahad might have said.

Galahad did not actually have anything to say, because he was feeling vaguely traumatized, or maybe vaguely terrorized. It was hard to tell. He was compromised and his brain was fuzzy, so everything was kind of vague right now.

“So you’re going to be a good little Auror and take your medicine and drink your soup and go to bed.”

“And you’ll go home?” Galahad asked. He didn’t have enough energy to deal with any of his siblings right now, even if Dag and Lyo were being more helpful than any of the others would have been.

Also, he didn’t actually want the little brats to get sick. That’d be a fine thing for Papa and Dad to return home to.

“Sure, Galahad,” said Dag, who was clearly lying.

“Then we’ll go home,” agreed Lyo, who was also a lying liar who lied. She gave him a potion that tasted like feet, but she let him wash it down with a bowl of soup that was just as good as Papa’s, so he decided they could get away with lying for now.

Lyo curled up on the foot of his bed while he ate. Dag settled into Sam’s armchair and pulled out his knitting.

“Why,” Galahad said flatly.

Dag had the audacity to roll his eyes at Galahad. “Relax, big brother,” he said.

“You always take care of us,” said Lyo. “It’s our turn to take care of you.”

As soon as Galahad had the energy to argue with them, he was sending a pigeon to Ollie and making her come deal with them.

“Ugh,” he conceded.

“Lyoooooo,” Dag whined fifteen minutes later. At least, Galahad was pretty sure it was fifteen minutes later. It could have been five hours, in his flu-addled state. “I’m bored. Tell me a story.”

Galahad wanted to call bullshit. Dag had been self-entertaining ever since Papa and Aunt Dorothy taught him to knit. As long as he had his needles and some yarn, he was never bored. All of the Graves and Collins children had learned to knit, but Peter and Lyo and Dag were the only ones who’d stuck with it. Galahad mostly approved, because if Dag had his needles he was also never unarmed, thanks to Dad’s tendency of finding ways to hide weapons in plain sight. Every knitting needle Dag owned was a steel-silver alloy with a Pukwudgie-needle core, and could be thrown with deadly accuracy.

Calling bullshit would probably set off another coughing fit, though. And whatever was in the potion Lyo had dosed him with made him sleepy, so it seemed like more effort than it was worth.

Lyo cleared her throat. “A long, long time ago, when wizards lived alongside the No-Maj and neither feared the other, the steadiest of Arthur’s knights was his foster-brother --”

“No,” said Dag.

Galahad frowned at him.

“Fine,” said Lyo. “The most beautiful woman in all the land was called Ygraine.” She paused, in case Dag had some other mysterious objection, but when he said nothing she picked up the thread of the story.

Galahad fell asleep to the first Merlinian legend any of them ever learned, because it was the first one Dad had ever told Papa. When he woke up, the most beautiful woman in all the land was taking his temperature and frowning at him like she thought he was an idiot. But in a nice way, Galahad thought. Like he was her idiot.

“Where are the brats?” Galahad asked.

“Lyo’s asleep on the couch, Dag’s in the study.”

“Oh, good. How are you?”

“Better than you,” Sam said, amused. Sam was his favorite Pukwudgie. She stripped out of her Healer’s robes and into the loose cotton pajamas she wore in the summer. She laughed at the ridiculous sheets and curled up behind Galahad, resting her head on his shoulder.

Galahad thought about protesting, but he didn’t actually mind being the little spoon. He relaxed into the cuddle and went back to sleep.

Maybe the invasion of the Pukwudgies wasn’t all that bad.

Galahad’s opinion on being the little spoon are courtesy of one Detective Jake Peralta, who is absolutely correct:

#Possible 'verse #Galahad Graves #Dagonet Graves #Lyonesse Graves #timestamps #comment fic #my fic

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