#but the white vault holds such a dear place in my heart

[parakeetpark]

Watching lampreys on tv documentary with my cat fully making me wanna relisten to the entirety of the white vault

[otp-holic]

The one place (where something happened) (A03)

“In your life there are a few places, or maybe only the one place, where something happened, and then there are all the other places.” Alice Munro. (or the one where they receive a letter from a familiar name and we go into 4Ks of fluff around a lost afternoon in France)

4K. Lamely explicit at one point. Fanfic + Pictures Inside. Trigger for FLUFF as the main plot. Part of the Never let us lose what we have gained series (AO3)

This was supposed to be a manip with 200 words of bantering and it's now 4Ks of fluff with a few pictures. I've decided to leave them inside the cut because I feel they work better with its context there. I'm sorry for the hassle, but I really hope you give this a chance... unless you have cavities, only like fics with amazing plots or are allergic to shameless fluff.

Please do not repost the pictures, I know this is futile, but… I try :)

DAGUERROTYPE, France 1944 Private Collection.

Steve is cooling down from his very early run, enjoying the feeling of the pink sunrise looming over the awakening Brooklyn streets as he walks the last couple of blocks on the way home, when his phone beeps.

“Check your actual mailbox, we dropped something for you there. I think you should appreciate us making it old-fashioned just for you, grandpas!”

Steve smiles at Sam’s text and as soon as he arrives at their building he snaps a picture of the very common and flat envelope with “Barnes&Rogers” scribbled on top of a Stark Logo, to send along his response.

“Nice try, but this is inaccurate. A letter would have never made its way to us without an address or stamp. We’ll send you a proper thank you card to show you how it’s done.”

He can’t help but chuckle at his own joke rereading the text while he opens the door, and when he looks up from his phone and into the kitchen, he is received by a sleepy Bucky looking at the coffee machine like he looks at Steve during their most soft and embarrassingly cheesy moments.

“You love that thing more than you love me, confess it.”

“In the mornings? Yes. I don’t even like you in the mornings most of the time,” he answers matter of factly. “Want some?”

Steve playfully wiggles an eyebrow.

“No way. Your sweaty self is tempting, but coffee smells better. I might join you in the shower later.” Bucky offers him one of the two cups he has poured and he notices the envelope Steve is holding. “What is that?”

“We’ve got mail!” He hands it to Bucky. “I have no idea what's on it, but Sam texted me to say they had something delivered to our mailbox and there it was. Open it.”

Bucky leaves the cup on the counter, face sparked with a curiosity that makes him look twenty-one (and Steve weak on the knees), and goes for it.

The content is a bit underwhelming at first glance: Another envelope, white, no Stark logo, but topped with a bright green post-it with a note on Pepper’s script.

“This got to me via PR. We analyzed it and checked with the source (no peeking, I swear) and it seems legit. With that return address, it’s likely to arouse your interest. Love, P.”

Bucky tears off the post-it and the letter is revealed to be addressed to Steve Rogers at the Stark Tower, but it is when they turn it around when everything goes still for a second.

The return address is some street in Marseille, but what has Steve’s mouth dry and Bucky’s hand trembling just a bit is the combination of the place and the name written on top: Emmanuelle Jaques Dernier.

“Boom?”, Bucky says, trying to cut through their heavy hearts and taking Steve’s hand. It’s a terrible terrible joke, but Dernier would have loved it and he grins.

“That’s a terrible terrible joke,” Steve verbalizes, “but I think at least we’ve reached the same conclusion.”

“Elementary, my dear Steve,” Bucky answers as he opens the second envelope, only to reveal a folded letter and yet another envelope. “It’s a fucking vault of paper!”

Steve takes the letter from him, unfolds it, and quickly scans it (normal office paper, printed, hand-signed) before he starts reading it out loud to Bucky’s undivided attention.

“Dear Mr. Rogers,

My name is Emmanuelle Dernier and I am the great-grandson of Jaques Dernier of the Howling Commandos.

First, let me tell you that we all in our family grew up with amazing stories and praise for you, Sergeant Barnes, and the rest of the team. I never got to meet my great-grandfather or any of them (you), but I’ve always felt like I did.

In fact, that’s the ultimate reason behind this letter: I ached to honor him and I’ve been putting in order all his remaining letters, pictures, and memories so they don’t get lost forever, and there are many things I’m discovering through this journey. So many pictures and tiny details… and amongst them, you and the rest of the Commandos appear at the most random and memorable moments. Nothing that’s going to make it into history books, more like the stories my grandpa used to share with us over and over again, those important tidbits that make him more human.

Anyway, I was going through the pictures he kept when I came across some war photos that didn’t seem to match the 40s timeframe. Typical daguerreotypes from the 20s in a very bad state, probably taken with a camera from the era in 1944 and developed on a later date by somebody who clearly didn’t master the technique.

They were in a very bad state and hidden inside an envelope that said “Terribly drunk soldiers in France making idiots of ourselves in unique and creative ways. Fun evening, horrible hangover. About 20 miles west of the Maginot Line. Autumn ‘44”. I’m attaching a photocopy of that, I hope you can understand my decision to keep the original.

After restoring the daguerreotypes with some experts, all I got were five very bad pictures with silhouettes of people apparently having fun…. but there was one that got a lot better in the cleaning process that feels important somehow. I’m sending the original, as well as the restored version I got.

I, of course, don’t have the whole context, but I hope it brings back a good memory. My great-grandpa might be in the picture, but I don’t think this one belongs to my family or to a museum.

Thank you for your service, I really hope this letter finds its way to you.

E.Dernier.”

“I can’t believe… Steve, most days I’m convinced that day and that place are a figment of my imagination,” Bucky smiles, remembering. “When I think of a moment of pure joy during the war, I think about that afternoon in France, and it always feels unreal. A bubble of air and laughter while we were so surrounded by death.”

Steve nods, reminiscing about that warm and humid September morning when they arrived at yet another abandoned and destroyed little village, this one about twenty miles west of the Maginot Line. They had orders to lie low and wait for twenty-four hours before they started the maneuver to wipe another Hydra base off the map, and that little town was perfect for that.

Among bomb debris and fallen walls, they found one small building miraculously standing next to the remains of the church, so they decided to set camp under a roof for a change since the weather was being a little flickery with the rain, and they had the rare luxury of time.

The inside of the tiny house was as unusual as the outside: nothing was destroyed beyond being dusty and worn by time, and everything they found (furniture, kitchenware, and even fabrics) belonged more to Steve and Bucky’s early childhoods than to 1944, a living museum frozen in time.

Only it was not a museum, but the parish house left untouched and non-raided: old-fashioned clothes, outdated church books, yellowing clergy collars, and, of course, the wine cellar. Oh, that wine cellar… the havoc it unleashed.

“I remember the absolute excitement when Falsworth found all those bottles of old unscathed mass wine from the parish,” Steve brings his memory to words, looking at Bucky, “I’m still a little convinced that we are going to hell for drinking them.”

“Not for that, probably, but it was a wonder nobody died on the spot of wine poisoning, it tasted like sweet vinegar, ugh.”

“But it did his part, right? Took our minds off things; got us drunk, bold and silly.” Steve answers.

“Apparently not all of us,” Bucky says very seriously, looking at Steve.

“Technicalities… I got drunk by proxy. Seeing you all so happy made me giddy and tipsy, too.”

“I came and went… I remember being a little surprised at the clarity of my thoughts at some moments there when some of the guys were basically drooling on the floor. Now I understand, of course.”

Steve squeezes his hand, not much to be said there.

They were already way too drunk by the early afternoon, drinking to the sound of a sudden rainstorm pouring outside. All of them scattered across the small dusty living room and its adjoining kitchen while they went through all the bottles of wine they had been able to find. Cheering for the foregone priest every time somebody raised a glass, and laughing as if there were no ruins or war on the other side; just silly men (boys, really) laughing their hearts out.

“Earth to Steve… I don’t know about you, but I’m dying to see what the hell that envelope is hiding. Especially now that we know about its time stamp.”

“I’m sorry, me too! Gabe drunkenly handling that old camera and those glass plaques the way he did? I’m honestly impressed that he was able to take any pictures at all,” he muses. “Shit, is it weird that I’m nervous?”

“I’m gonna save us the bantering because I’m nervous, too,” Bucky answers in all sincerity. “Truth is, Steve, I remember everything about that day.”

It’s a new admission, a newly opened door for them because for some reason, they have never talked about that peaceful surreal afternoon, and Steve nods in recognition as he silently goes for the envelope one-handed, not wanting to let go of Bucky’s hand because his surface is way cooler than his wrenching insides. Maybe the picture is an overexposed french wall but maybe…

The photo he extracts from the envelope is clearly the original and damaged one Emmanuelle specified in his letter. Anybody else looking at it would see nothing beyond Dernier’s blurry profile, but since Steve and Bucky were there when this was taken, they know exactly what moment Steve is holding in his hand.

“Buck,…” is all Steve can say, struck by the blurry keepsake.

Later in the afternoon when they had already consumed most of the wine and there was not a single coherent thought left in the room, one of the guys took the parish books and besottedly announced that there was a wedding set for today… thirty years ago. Alcohol fueled a goofy idea that escalated at the speed of light, with Morita saying they were going to a wedding because they deserved a celebration, Dernier confessing that he had once considered becoming a priest, and Dum-dum bringing out all the old fashioned clothes from the wardrobe and deciding they were getting nice and clean for the festivities.

“That’s clearly Dernier in the picture killing it in his priest role, right?” Bucky says, half smiling and interrupting Steve’s thoughts. “You know, I went all-in with that fake wedding party. I was laughing to tears when I saw you put on that ridiculously long and ill-fitting jacket from the 10s, feeling weightless and silly for the first time since sailing off, and God knows we all deserved that. And it was all safe and light-hearted until fucking Morita decided you had to be the groom, and...”

“Were you jealous because I won the dashing groom competition?”

Steve’s attempt at a joke is weak, but there’s truth behind it: Morita chose Steve as the groom (“Cap, you are the most dashing and the least drunk”) to a chorus of excited voices cheering for him. Somebody else, most likely Dum-Dum, chose the rest of the roles (Sarge, best man duty; Jones, camera; Morita, keep the wine flowing; the rest of you, misbehave!) and in the blink of an eye, they were all going outside laughing under a light rain, and about to celebrate Steve’s fictional wedding to nobody.

“How could I be jealous?” Bucky cuts in. “Do you remember all you said to me that afternoon? During World War II and in front of a battalion of men?”

“I was drunk.”

“Fuck you!” Bucky disentangles his hand from Steve’s to use both of them to hold Steve’s face and kiss him with violence. “Tell me. Do you remember what you said?”

As if he could ever forget. He can recall every step he took from the house to the makeshift wedding spot amidst the trees where his best man (looking dapper even in that ludicrous jacket) was laughing along Dernier. He can still smell the petrichor, can still sense the blush coloring his cheeks while hoping nobody noticed and can still hear the beating of his heart when Bucky handed him a battered umbrella (“You don’t deserve to get rained on your wedding day, punk”) and a fucking ring made out his shoelaces (“You’ll have to buy something a little more permanent.”). And then…

“Dernier started the ceremony and he wanted to know if I had somebody in mind and I said ‘of course’.” He replays, his voice barely a whisper. “I said I’d had my eyes on a brown-haired Brooklynite since before I could remember. I said that I was pretty sure those blue eyes were set on mine too and that hopefully those eyes would be set enough to want to marry me even if I had never dared to ask.”

He’s been holding Bucky’s gaze the whole time, and he’s far from over yet, but he needs to fucking breathe before he goes on. Neither of them has moved a muscle for the past minute.

“Then he asked me to repeat the wedding vows after him and…”

“And you said Buck, right?”, Bucky interrupts, voice winded. “You fucking whispered I take you, Buck, as my lawful wedded husband till the end of the line. I heard, Steve. Even if the rest of the world didn’t, I did. But you never said anything, so I always deemed it impossible, a product of the corniest nook of my mind trying to outweigh all those bad things, because not even you could be as bold, reckless, and mushy as to do that,…it’s my fucking fault, I should have known better!”

“Not completely reckless, pal. I was scared shitless as I said those words, but what else could I do? You were right by my side about to put a ring on my finger as my “best man”, everyone, including you, supposedly drunk past recollection, and everybody else too far away to hear my whispers. It was such an easy choice in the end because truth should always win over fear. And those vows were. The truth.”

“You have always been too honest for your own good, Rogers,” Bucky is breathless and exasperated and goes for his mouth again, bringing in all he (they) couldn’t in 1944. “You destroyed me, Steve. My knees were as weak as a teenager’s in front of his first crush. I wanted to kiss you so badly when I heard you say all that there in the open… and I couldn’t even acknowledge it.”

“I know. And for what it's worth, I really thought you didn’t remember.”

It is too much. Is it normal to feel this much? Steve would blame it on the serum enhancements, but he was already overwhelmed at 16, so that’s clearly not the answer.

He craves, no, he needs touching, grounding, closer. Bucky. There’s too much space between them even if they are back to kissing like they would have that day in 44, and at any other time if their own lives wouldn’t have stolen those moments from them.

“It happened.” Bucky whimpers, biting on Steve’s lip who abandons his own stool to straddle him, both of them gasping in sync at the feeling of their cocks, hard against each other’s through their soft pants.

Bucky soon ups the stakes by carding his metal hand through Steve’s hair pulling his head backwards to help himself into that spot on his neck.

“Same two moles as when you were tiny, as when we were at that war... Your cute vampire bite. Favorite spot.” He licks on them with the tip of his tongue. Steve growls on cue and Bucky giggles. “Favorite chain reaction.”

“Buck, you cheater, you know what that does to me!” Steve cries out followed by Bucky’s evil chuckle.”Bed, couch, countertop,…I don’t care, but naked. Now. Stained pants due to heavy petting are too much of a trip down memory lane for me. Let me keep a bit of my dignity.”

Steve stands up liberating Bucky from his grip but aching at the loss of contact.

They are naked and making out in the middle of the kitchen in no time; Bucky steadily pushing him against the refrigerator while fiercely grinding against his crotch.

“Hey, ‘teve,” Bucky pants. “The way this is going, it’s my dignity now that's at risk. I don’t think I can make it further than the floor before I come.”

Steve groans into his mouth just at the thought and they start sliding to the floor the best they can until he’s a human blanket moving over Bucky. With no lube at hand, and no time, that’s their best option.

They kiss and kiss and kiss, his hands not leaving Bucky’s sweaty hair. Bucky’s hands on his ass, forcing their groins closer with one while he (almost absently) plays around his hole with the other, driving Steve crazy in the process. Dicks left to do their own thing through pressure and friction. Everything is working. And fast.

“Oh, fuck!” Bucky exclaims “Can you promise me all this stuff with the letter was real and not a long-con plan to assure your fragile masculinity that I love you more than I love that espresso machine?”

That. That silly unfunny excuse of a joke that screams Bucky all over is what pushes Steve all the way over the edge. He fucking laughs as he comes making absolutely embarrassing sounds, pressing their foreheads and noses together until it hurts, and shaking from head to toe without stoping his pressure on the stupid and smug man under him. His lover. His partner. His unofficial husband. His best friend.

His Buck.

“There’s still too much blood in your brain if you can play that dirty,” Steve states, placing one hand between them grabbing Bucky’s hard cock. “Let’s see if I can do anything about it.”

“Your hand, usually so helpful, but I was already following you after that sound you make when you come and laugh at the same time, shit, it always goes straight to my dick, I’m,…” he keeps talking with difficulty between breaths and moans until he leaves his speech unfinished coming all over Steve’s fist.

They kiss on the lips breathing into each other before Steve rolls over. They are sticky and panting in silence, spread on their kitchen’s floor, Steve’s shoulders crushed between Bucky’s and the dishwasher. Domestic bliss at its most literal.

One lavish fuck and two showers later they reemerge into the kitchen in search of something to eat: Bucky is in charge of the food today, while Steve cleans the mess they left a couple of hours ago.

He’s decluttering the counter when their damaged picture laying there puts a smile on his face but also reminds him of the restored version presumably still waiting inside the disregarded letter, so he grabs the envelope to retrieve its contents: one photocopy (from Dernier’s original writing), and the promised photo.

And it is restored. Everything is clear where it was blurry before: Dernier (so deep into his priest impersonation that he’s not even looking at them), the trees, the battered umbrella, the ridiculous jackets… and them.

“You had the nerve to call me reckless and mushy, Buck?” Steve laughs as he stares at the picture where a very young Bucky is about to put a ring on his finger with the least subtle lovestruck expression he’s ever seen (“and it’s for you”, his brain proudly reminds him) “Wow, you might as well be kissing me there, anything would be more subtle than this!”

“Don’t shame me, you punk, especially not when you were the one responsible for breaking my brain back then!” Bucky answers coming from behind and stealing the picture from his hands to scrutinize it. Goofy grin and raging blush quickly taking over his face. “But you’re one to talk, Cap. You are gazing at that shoelace’s ring as if I were handing you a diamond tiara!”

Steve laughs softly at that and moves his right hand to his pocket, feeling the weight of the little compass he had retrieved earlier from one of his drawers. He used to carry it with him everywhere for comfort, but he has a better option now.

“Didn't you know that shoelaces are forever?” He asks, taking the compass out of his pocket and holding it in both hands as he opens it, nudging Bucky with his elbow to get his attention.

Bucky is confused for an instant while he looks at his young face staring at them from inside the little box. Of course he knew that (he made fun of Steve for days and days) but Steve detects the change in his expression when he notices the other thing.

“Wow, you gigantic sap,” Bucky says, taking the compass out of his hands to double-check he is seeing what he thinks he’s seeing. “You saved my shoelace.”

He had. While they were all celebrating his wedding under the rain dancing to no music, he quietly slipped the little string off his finger and tied it to the most secure place he had back then.

“It’s not a shoelace, you jerk, it’s a symbol. A declaration.” He laughs, stealing the compass back to safely pocket it again.

“You are delusional,” Bucky snorts, kissing the top of his head. But he’s widely smiling and lost in thought as he goes back to their sandwiches.

Steve stays on the spot enjoying the peace in their silent companionship, his focus on the latest news showing up on his phone, the text he’s writing to Sam and the comforting sounds of Bucky moving around the kitchen.

“You might have married me, but I never actually married you.” Bucky blurts out of the blue a bit later, sitting by his side as he hands him a plate with a sandwich and some grilled greens on it. “Do you want mayo with that?”

“Uh?” Steve forgets all about the news and the text and looks at Bucky in confusion.

“Mayo, do you want some?” Bucky repeats nonchalantly.

“No mayo, thank you; but I was actually more interested in the other part, you know, that thing about marriage?”

Bucky looks him in the eye: earnest, blushing and with the same look of smug adoration he had on the picture.

“Oh, that part.” He jokes. “You apparently married me in 1944, but I never married you back. And I would like to.”

“Marry me?” Steve asks and Bucky visibly nods.

“I’m sorry for throwing the idea at you like this, books tell me I'm supposed to have candles, music, and a ring, but you showed me that restored picture and I couldn't stop thinking about it, about proof,” Bucky speaks uncharacteristically slow and very softly, voice trembling here and there while he claps his hand with Steve’s finger by finger for reassurance and as a distraction. “A single photo had the power to transform a moment that existed just as a made-up happy place inside my mind into something tangible and real. Something that would be tangible and real for anybody getting a hold on it and looking at our stupid faces.”

“So stealthy,” Steve says, and they both laugh together.

“Proof, Steve. I was slicing tomatoes and thinking how there’s so much evidence, thousands of files! out there proving that all the stuff that fuels my nightmares were real, but nothing solid about this. Us.” Bucky stops for a moment collecting his thoughts, still smiling even with the heavy subject he just dropped into the mix. “Sorry, I believe I put more time into these sandwiches than into thinking this all the way through so I’m…”

“Take your time, we’ve gone from mayo to marriage to nightmares in five minutes so don’t worry, you have me hooked here.”

Steve makes Bucky laugh again as he intended, and he feels their calloused laced fingers immediately squeezing closer.

“It’s stupid because it doesn’t change anything for us but,.. I don’t fucking know, Steve, I think that picture has messed up with my mind! I instantly found comfort in the idea of people finding facts beyond the nightmares now or in the future. An easy to understand, universal and oversimplified proof of how much I loved you and how much I was loved in return.” Bucky takes a breath and stares at him sporting a million-watt smile. “Marrying you,… I would really love that. And for real this time.”

“Ok, Buck.” Steve instantly replies, eagerness winning over thoughtful and heartfelt declarations. He tightens the grip on their joined hands to drive them to his lips and seals the easiest answer he’s ever had to give.

And it's done!Sorry for the cavities, for going on with the fic when it should have ended and for ending it where it might have had to keep going. It was painful and fun. I'm free!

[demig00ddess]

To the last breath

Pairing: Bill Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Bill Weasley are former classmates, and now fiancé and fiancée, and brilliant Curse-Breakers working in tandem. The future promises to be great for both of you, but the last work assignment turns into a tragedy.

Warnings: angst, mentions of blood, injuries, death

Word Count: 1350

A/N: Forgot to post it yesterday. Sometimes, I get too hung up on the little things of the characters, but I'm interested in coming up with their own stories for these things. My first angst, don't judge strictly.

"These are the most boring dungeons in my life," your voice echoed off the stone walls. "At Hogwarts, at least, there was Snape in the dungeons. And what's here?"

"The skeleton tried to strangle me," Bill said, rubbing his neck. "This is not enough for you, love?"

"It was in the morning," you answered cheerfully, raising your wand higher to light the way, and twined your fingers together.

You have worked your way through the ruins of the ancient catacombs, in search of another lost goblin treasure. Your last assignment before your wedding and honeymoon. And your thoughts were absorbed by the worries of the upcoming celebration.

"Oh no!" you gasped. Bill twitched, shielding you from possible danger, holding out his wand in front of him. You put your hand gently on his shoulder, soothing him. "It's all right, dear. Sorry, I was just thinking. I promised to choose napkins for the banquet yesterday and completely forgot. Mrs Weasley will kill me!"

Bill let out a sigh of relief and lowered his wand, smiling.

"What kind of wedding would it be, then, without a bride? And mom asked to call her simply by the name. In a week, you will also become Mrs Weasley and there will be a terrible confusion," Bill laughed at the way you blushed, and hugged you from the back, kissing you softly on the temple. "We'll reach the vault soon."

You checked the map and continued on your way. Bill was not mistaken, after a couple of forks, you found yourself in a spacious round treasury resembling a well. Gold coins, jewellery, and weapons were piled up in it. Your trained eye of the Curse-Breaker immediately noticed several particularly valuable goblin-made items for which you will be awarded at Gringotts.

You and Bill cast a Protego charm and split up by going around the room from different sides. You stepped over a human skeleton, heading for the treasure. One of your work duties was to check the safety of everything you found, so you decided to do just that.

A few minutes later you put aside another absolutely ordinary goblet, which has dried blood or wine. Your attention was attracted by a large wooden box decorated with carvings with figures of wild animals. You lifted the lid and held up your wand, examining the contents. The box was full of different-sized bones, you winced, there could have been human ones among them. Taking from there a small, beautiful white fang, you closed the box and returned it to its place. Not cursed — not interesting. But you admired the fang. It belonged to a wolf or a werewolf, or some unknown creature.

"Look, it's so beautiful," you tossed fang to your fiance. "You can make a pendant or a cool earring. Can you imagine yourself with this, huh?"

"I don't have as much fantasy as you, honey," Bill laughed and threw it back at you. "Do you wanna pocket it?"

"Nobody needs this stuff anyway, the goblins are only interested in irons," you replied, knowing full well that he was only reproaching you in jest. Both of you are back to work. You were studying the treasure so that you wouldn't stumble upon some cursed thing. And Bill was examining the treasury itself, he was very interested in the magical writings on the walls.

Some shine on the floor attracted you. Only now you noticed magic circles inscribed in several places with small magic crystals in the middle under the layer of dust and sand. One of the crystals glowed brighter the closer Bill got to it, fascinated by the exploring of the wall.

"These're not runes, I've never seen this before," Bill ran his fingers along the wall. Distracted by his voice, you didn't notice him take another step forward. You looked down in horror when you saw that he had stepped on the edge of the circle.

"Bill!" your Protego charm dissipated when you flung Bill aside with a wave of your wand. A purple bolt of lightning shot out of the crystal, striking the spot where Bill had been standing a moment earlier. He flew off a couple of meters, hitting the wall with his back, but immediately got up.

"Great shot, love," Bill said, taking a couple of weak steps toward you.

"Oh, Merlin!" The curse barely hit him, leaving only a small cut on his arm. You laughed with relief and took a step toward him. "It was so clo— "

A scarlet beam of an identical magic crystal directly above your head hit your chest. You felt as if a thousand blades were simultaneously slashed through your skin and insides. Instead of a cry, a gurgling wheeze came from the throat and your mouth filled with blood. You took a step forward and collapsed into Bill's arms.

"No, Y/N!"

Your shirt instantly became damp and warm, and scarlet spots spread all over it. You were a limp doll lying on Bill's lap, unable to move. Blood mixed with your tears was flooding your face. It seemed like every cell in your body was torn apart. Red and black spots were flickering before your eyes.

"No no no!" Bill pulled a bottle of Essence of Dittany from his bag. He poured half of the potion into your mouth and tried to heal your wounds. But even a whole bath of essence could hardly help you. You felt it. You felt that nothing could stop it. You felt you were dying.

"We need to apparate to the hospital, hold on to me," Bill tried to lift you up, but lowered you in fright, hearing a painful moan.

"Don't," you whispered. He looked into your eyes with excruciating pain and slowly shook his head. He was powerless to do anything while you were dying in his arms.

"No, please." Bill put his palms around your face, warm and wet with your blood, and burst into tears. "Please, get up."

"It's okay," you smiled out of the corner of your mouth, his sight was tearing your heart hundreds of times stronger than a cutting spell.

"Don't leave me," Bill whispered. "Please, Y/N, don't leave me. I love you. I love you so much!"

You tried to smile again, but your face cramped. You wanted to tell him "I love you too." Merlin, how much you wanted to tell him! But each breath was more difficult, you were gasping, feeling your lungs filling with blood instead of air. Your legs went numb right away, and now you couldn't even feel your arms. The pain was gone. The picture in front of your eyes was floating and gradually disappearing as if someone was taking apart a solved puzzle. You opened your eyes wider, trying to see Bill's face once more, but it was all in vain. Darkness has closed around you.

× × × × × × × × × ×

Bill was sitting on the stone floor in a pool of blood, clutching your cooling body to him, and howling softly, choking on his tears. He couldn't tell how much time had passed when he finally put you down to the ground. His fingers, blood dried on them, trembled, closing your eyes with a glazed gaze. Bill kissed your cold forehead and leaned his forehead against it, shedding tears on your face.

He took off his jacket, and tore the unspotted side of his shirt into rags, which he used to gently wipe your face, and then the remaining wounds. Last of all, he straightened the engagement ring that glittered on your finger. A small thing fell out of your hand and rolled on the floor. Bill, almost not realizing what he was doing, picked it up to examine. It was the same fang that caught your attention. "A fang for his cool earring." Bill turned it over in his hands and put it in his pocket. Then he picked your body up bridal style, and, swaying slightly, went to the exit from the dungeon, leaving behind red, like rose petals, drops of blood.

[spectralscathath]

Fria's Day Out- RWBY drabble

Ruby spent all of volume 6 trekking across Mistral and nearly getting killed due to the stupid Relic of Knowledge, and now General Ironwood's trying to give it back to her? When there's a perfectly good Vault there?

Absolutely not.

(AKA this was not your best plan ever, Jimmy)

Ao3 link

"You're giving the lamp back to us?" Ruby asked, brows furrowing in confusion as James held out the relic. He thought it was a good idea, at least until the vault could be safely opened.

"Who better to safeguard it than the people who already protected it?"

Ruby reached out, hand resting on the relic, before she shoved it hard against his chest, looking aghast as she darted back like it had burned her.

"Are you crazy? That thing's a Grimm magnet, we nearly died, like-" she paused to count on her fingers, "three times?" She glanced at her teenage friends for clarification. "Three, was it three?"

"Manticores on the train, Apathy at the farms, Leviathan at Argus." Weiss rattled off, ignoring Winter's horrified gasp.

"And you want us to keep carrying it? We came here to throw it in the Vault in the first place!" Ruby stared at him like he was an idiot, and right now he was able to somewhat understand her reasoning.

Still, he pulled up some bluster. "Well, Fria's bedbound, so the Vault can't be opened right now. She's in no state for it."

"I mean- this is Atlas, right? Do you have hoverbeds? Wheels? You guys have invented the wheel, right? Just push her along, it can't be that dangerous."

"Well-" James started before Winter cut in.

"Actually, sir, it might be good for her to get out and about." Winter noted, face completely impassive as he beheld her treachery.

"She'd be remaining in the military base as well, Mr Ironwood!" Penny chirped cheerfully, oblivious to how he was beset on all sides by treason. "And we could set up a guard!"

"See?" Ruby squeaked determinedly. "I vote we throw that lamp from heck into the Vault and never look back!"

"We can't just wheel Fria to the vault," James rolled his eyes. "That's preposterous."

James pushed Fria's bed along, one of the wheels clicking on every rotation like a shopping trolley. "This is undignified."

"Oh, I'm having a great time, pet," Fria chuckled, a Barstucks takeaway cup held in her shaking hand. The concoction inside was some awful pink monstrosity that looked incredibly malevolent. "You ignore him, Winter, my son's just taking himself too seriously again."

"Mom, please." James groaned as Winter laughed, no restriction on the bell-like sound. Fria really brought down her guard.

"I can't believe you've got a mom, Mr Ironwood." Ruby skipped alongside them, holding the relic like it was about to jump up and bite her. James didn't know which of his scientists gave her the tongs but he was going to have a word with his R&D about loaning equipment for frivolous purposes. "I always thought you were raised by a pack of soldiers."

"You should have seen him at your age, he was a hellion," Fria gossiped with her, Winter's eyes sparkling as she hid her smile with a sip of coffee. "Running around Mantle and constantly getting into trouble, I think some of your old graffiti is still down there."

"Graffiti?" Ruby's eyes lit up with mischief. "But he's so serious!"

"I'm standing right here."

"Is that what he does now, walks around all serious?" Fria cackled. "Dear me, James, you haven't gotten boring, have you?"

"I'm afraid he has," Winter jumped in before he could defend himself, her tone dour and her twinkling eyes anything but. "It's quite a shame, from your stories he sounds like quite a rabble rouser."

"Oh he was!" Fria snorted gracelessly. "I could tell you stories- have I told you stories? I can't quite remember-" she frowned, James's gut twisting as the damnable memory loss wiped some of her spark.

"You have, Fria," Winter reached down and took Fria's hand, black gloves gentle as she clasped wizened fingers. "But I'd be happy to hear them again, if you like."

"Aren't you good?" Fria smiled again. "And you, Ruby, I swear, you Huntresses get younger every year."

"Oh, well, I'm just a prodigy," Ruby preened like a peacock under the praise. "I got into Beacon two years early."

"Really? My, that's impressive. Did the old man let you in himself?"

"Ozpin?" Guilt flashed over Ruby's face. James decided she should never play poker. "Uh- yeah, um, he did. It was cool."

"How is that old coot anyway? Still talking in riddles?" Fria asked as Ruby grew more and more uncomfortable, James keeping half an ear on the conversation as they reached the lift down to the Vault. He wheeled Fria onto the platform, shivering slightly at the chill in the air. The cold always gnawed at him even with extra coats on.

Ruby's babble broke off as the platform under their feet moved, bringing them down the passage before it opened into the cavern in the heart of Atlas, Ruby's eyes going wide with childlike wonder. "Wow…"

James felt a bit of pride at that. Atlas's Vault was very nice indeed. The geometric blocks floated in the air around them, icy blue flames flickering in torches as they descended towards the platform, a cavernous drop awaiting below. "Impressive, isn't it?"

"Yeah!" Ruby looked around, awestruck. "I never saw the one in Haven, Yang did- and she doesn't like talking about it aside from saying it was weird and there was a tree and a desert, but this is amazing! How are those blocks floating? Why is the fire blue?"

James opened his mouth to answer before realising he didn't have one, jaw clicking shut as he was left to shrug. "Dust?"

"Oh, not magic?" Ruby pouted for a moment before something shiny caught her attention. "That door is huge! What's it like inside, Yang said the Haven one led to a desert, how cool is that?"

"I don't know. I've never seen inside." He couldn't help be curious as well. "The Atlas vault hasn't been opened since Ozpin lifted the city into the sky, in a past life. It was before my time."

"I remember, I think." Fria piped up. "I was only a girl, but a floating city is rather spectacular."

"I can imagine." Winter mused. "Fria, would you like me to hold your Very Berry Hibiscus Coconut Milk Refresher with Extra Whip?" She said it with a straight face, because she was a stronger person than James could ever hope to be.

"Oh, yes, thank you. It's very nice," Fria handed it over, a quaver in her hands.

James raised a brow. "You need to hold her coffee?"

"Well, you'll have to help her up to the Vault, sir." Winter stated like it was obvious.

"Huh?"

"James, pet, did you think you were going to roll me up the stairs?" Fria laughed, tiredness beginning to steal across her eyes. They didn't have much time left before the excitement of the day turned to fatigue.

"What stairs, there's no stairs- oh my gosh there's stairs now!" Ruby squeaked excitedly as the staircase formed, practically bouncing in place. James sincerely hoped the relic clasped in her tongs didn't go flying. It would be such a hassle to get it back if she dropped it off the edge.

James hesitated. "Mom, are you sure?"

"I can't walk well, but if I'm going to open a Vault for the first time, I'd like to get up there myself." Fria stated with that rock-solid determination he'd seen a million times, dark blue eyes steady and firm, and that was that.

"Alright." He carefully, carefully helped her out of the hospital bed, struck by how small and frail she was now. He supported her with an arm under her shoulders, and wondered if she'd let him get away with carrying her up.

Fria's eyes glowed brilliant blue, azure flames springing to life for a moment as she formed a walking stick from thin air, gnarled wood and ice crystals melding together to perfectly fit her hand and height.

Seeing her perform magic never got old.

Fria rested some of her weight on the stick, most of her weight on James, her legs shaking as she set her jaw and started hobbling towards the Vault with him.

"Mom, are you sure?" He didn't want her to hurt herself.

"James, I'm feeble, not dead." She informed him briskly.

"Uh- if you want I can scatter you guys up?" Ruby offered, having gingerly shifted the relic into her actual hand, holding it at arm's length. "It's fun, like being in a tornado. And it'll be quicker?"

"I'm not sure about that-" James started, remembering the tournament footage of Ruby's semblance before Fria nodded eagerly.

"Well that sounds exciting, scatter away, dearie!"

"Mom, please-!" James suddenly found himself caught up in a swirl of red, shooting forward like a bullet from a gun and broken apart into pieces (he felt like it should have hurt but it didn't), before suddenly he was on his feet again, too fast for him to comprehend as rose petals floated in the air around him and Ruby collapsed to her knees.

"Wow, you are heavy, Mr Ironwood, what are you made of, metal?" She leaned against the golden metal of the Vault door. "Whoo- okay, I'm never picking you up again, no offence."

He dearly wanted to tell her the answer to her question was 'yes' and refrained, instead checking on Fria. "Mom, are you alright?"

She laughed, her hair a mess and her eyes bright. "That was fun!"

He sighed in relief. "I really think we should get this done sooner rather than later. I'm glad you're okay." She was in a very good state today, they'd waited for that, but he didn't know how long it would last. How long until she forgot where she was and who she was and who he was.

Fria nodded, leaning most of her weight against his side as her eyes blazed with fire, her hand shaking as she touched it to the Vault. The sharp lines of the overlapping rectangles began to glow pale white, the light racing up to the top of the door. The golden facets of the door began to drop, and a wave of roaring heat washed out over the three of them, bringing with it the smell of sulphur and brimstone.

Ruby coughed and covered her face, her nose already turning red. “For a Vault of Creation, I was expecting something- I dunno, more cheerful?”

Cheerful was not how he would describe the cavern within, thick streams of magma dripping from the walls and pooling around a slender path of rock that led to a pedestal, heatwaves shimmering in the very air. It was like the inside of a volcano, maybe it was one, and there above the pedestal, the relic of creation floated, a pearlescent white gem that had been sculpted into the handle of a paintbrush, golden filigree elaborately ensconcing the jewel as snow white threads formed the brush.

“Ruby, place the lamp in there and we’ll close it up.” He ordered, sweat forming on his brow.

“Right!” She ran in, careful to avoid the edges where molten rock bubbled hungrily, setting the lamp down in front of the pedestal and scattering out, her petals catching fire from the sheer heat in the air. James waited for her to pass them by, scooping up Fria as he walked down the stairs, eager to get away from the heat at his back.

“Are you okay?” He asked as he carried his mother back to the hospital bed, holding off on any feelings of joy at a task completed. Until the Vault door closed and Fria was back in the safety of her ward, there was still danger.

“Yes, James, I’m fine,” she smiled weakly at him, her eyes returned to the dark blue that was so similar to his own. She looked so drained, even that small bit of magic sapping her strength. “I’m just tired. Not as young as I used to be… the magic takes more of a toll now…”

“Well, rest up, alright?” He gently placed her down, tucking the quilt around her. “You did good, mom.”

“I did my job.” She stated, whispers threading through her voice and undercutting her surety. Because she was an Ironwood, much like himself, and they did their jobs no matter the cost on themselves. “But yes… I think I’ll rest a bit... Winter, will you keep my drink cool for me?”

“Of course.” Winter studied him. “Sir, shall I stay here until the Vault’s closed again?”

“No. I’ll guard it. You take my mother back to her room so she can rest.” He smiled at Winter, before he gave Fria a gentle hug, always careful with his right side. He didn’t think he’d see her again. The transfer of power had to be kept secure. This was already too much of a risk. “Thanks, mom.”

“I had fun,” Fria smiled as she nodded off, a large white Beowulf with cyan eyes forming from a glyph, grasping the hospital bed in its claws as Winter guided it to walk with her, escorting Fria to the lift out.

James watched her go, ready to wait for the vault door to close. He could still feel the heat from here. “Miss Rose, are you alright?”

“I’m good, in the red but good,” she sat on the ground, staring up at the Vault. “I know that I knew it was a paintbrush, but I was really expecting a spear, or a staff, yunno, something more impressive?”

“You don’t think painting’s impressive?” He chuckled slightly, choosing to return to somewhat of a good mood.

“That feels like a trap question.” Ruby eyed him suspiciously, her hands and belt looking empty without the relic she’d been guarding on the trip here.

“Fria paints.”

“Definitely a trap question.” She smiled a bit, and it reminded him of Summer. She really did look so much like her mother. “Your mom is cool.”

“I know she is.” He hoped she slept well, and could remember today. If she had happy memories, he’d rather she was lost in them, rather than anything else. “At least the relic’s safe now.”

“Yeah. It would’ve been really stupid to just carry it around in the open up here, I mean, it draws Grimm. Yeesh.” She looked up at the open Vault. “Well, at least now it’s locked away and no one can get to it. Ugh, could you imagine if I took you up on your offer?”

“... I'd rather not." He hoped he lived that particular idea down soon. It really wasn't his best.

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

A quick drabble about what would have happened if Ruby remembered The Entire Point of Volume 6. Toss Jinn into the Vault already, she'll live with it.

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Place to Belong Chapter 25: What Ye Don’t Ken, Ye’ll Learn

Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Brianna’s second birthday came in the blink of an eye after the arrival of Michael and Janet. Two years, twenty-four months. Her vocabulary had quite expanded now, though her favorite word of all was “no;” it had, in fact, been her second word, shortly following “dog.”

“They learn that one fast,” Jenny had said.

Two years old, and Brianna was more stubborn than perhaps both of her parents combined. She was perfectly capable of verbally expressing her most basic needs, but Claire often had to pry it out of her like she was a locked vault. She often refused to use her words for whatever reason, and nobody could figure out why. Many a one-sided conversation would end with a tantrum of mass proportions, and Jenny would have to physically yank Claire away from the hysterical toddler.

“If ye stay there coddling her like that, ye’re giving her exactly what she wants,” Jenny said one day. “She’ll stop eventually if ye just let her alone.

From what little Claire knew about children, she was certain that Jenny was right, but that didn't mean it didn’t cause her physical pain to leave her child rolling in the middle of the hallway.

As predicted, she was also becoming more and more troublesome when it came to her escapades with Kitty. Both were more mobile than ever, and they were quite the experts on tormenting the dogs, and on sneaking biscuits right out from under Mrs. Crook’s nose. For that matter, they were experts on all things regarding pushing Mrs. Crook to the brink of losing her temper. They were like small dogs, always deliberately getting under foot and making a scene when they were nearly stepped on.

Maggie, just five years old now, was also becoming quite an expert; an expert at being mother-hen, that is. She could often be heard throughout the house, or outside, lecturing the younger ones in an adorable, high-pitched little voice, one that was trying its best to sound like her mother.

One day, Jenny and Claire were doing laundry, and Maggie came barreling around the side of the house.

“Mam! Auntie Claire!” she squeaked, her little cheeks red with exertion. “Kitty and Banna are bothering the goats!”

Jenny and Claire exchanged a knowing look, each rolling their eyes.

“Dinna fash, my wee lamb,” Jenny said. “The goats will be jest fine.”

“But they’re climbing, Mam!”

“The goats?” Jenny said, chuckling as she wrung out one of Ian’s sarks.

“Nae! Kitty and Banna!”

Claire’s heart immediately dropped into her stomach, and she and Jenny exchanged quite a different look. They dropped their laundry and hiked up their skirts and sprinted around the house to the goat pen. Kitty and Brianna were indeed standing on the second highest rung of the wooden fence, gripping the highest one, antagonizing the easily-angered ram. They arrived just in time to see the ram butt his horns into the fence, throwing both toddlers off to land on their backs.

Claire’s knees nearly gave out from under her, the world stopping as she screamed in terror. She sprinted to Brianna’s side, prepared for a violent seizure in response to the blunt force trauma to her head. Instead, she collapsed in the dirt beside her, and Brianna burst into a wild fit of giggles, joined shortly after by Kitty.

“Katherine Mary Fraser Murray!” Jenny howled, stamping right over to the three of them, standing over Kitty with her hands on her hips. “What the Devil d’ye mean by nearly getting yerself killed?”

Kitty’s laughter immediately ceased, and she sat up, the fear of God written all over her face.

“D’ye ken what might’ve happened? If ye’d gotten him just a bit more angry, ye could’ve hit yer head harder and died. D’ye ken that, Katherine?” Kitty’s face was uncharacteristically white, her blue eyes wide with terror. “Yer cousin could’ve died! D’ye ken that? Ye put wee Brianna in danger!”

That was when she burst into tears.

Claire, meanwhile, was fussing over Brianna, inspecting every inch of her head, checking her pupils, her pulse. Brianna’s laughter had stopped once Jenny had started yelling, but now she was upset in earnest.

“Why Kitty cryin’ Mummy?”

“Kitty is crying because Auntie Jenny is very upset with her,” Claire said, suddenly filled with her own rage at her daughter’s carelessness. “And I am very upset with you, Brianna.”

“Ye’re too young fer a thrashing, but ye will be taught a lesson. Up, now.” Kitty obeyed her mother, wailing in hysterics. Jenny seized her by the wrist and dragged her daughter behind her, marching right up to the house.

“Your Auntie is right. Something very bad could have happened to you, Brianna,” Claire said firmly, holding tightly onto Brianna’s wrists. “Do you understand? You could have triggered one of your fits. It could have hurt you very much.” Brianna was welling up with tears, but whether it was from what Claire was actually saying or just from the stern tone, Claire could not tell.

“Brianna. Do you understand?”

Claire watched as her little chubby face gradually turned red, and her nose and lips scrunched up.

“No!” she suddenly wailed, yanking against her mother’s grip on her wrists.

Claire exhaled sharply through her nose, her jaw setting hard. “I said, do you understand?”

“NO!”

“Alright. That’s enough.” Claire abruptly released her wrists so she could scoop her up around the middle and carry her, screeching and squirming, into the house. Admittedly, she nearly lost her grip several times, and she wondered how it could possibly be so difficult to hold onto something that only weighed twenty-seven pounds.

By the time they got inside, Jenny was already in the dining room, holding Kitty over her knees and administering light but firm smacks to her bottom. Claire paused in the doorway with Brianna, wincing at each small blow. Jenny finished, and looked up at Claire.

“D’ye want me to do it?” she said pragmatically, nudging her chin toward Brianna.

Claire really considered it for a moment. She didn't really want to spank her child; it wasn’t something she ever thought she’d be willing to do as a parent. It would be all too easy to let Jenny be the bad guy, to wash her hands of the situation.

But she couldn’t allow that. Brianna had to know to follow rules set by both her aunt and her mother. And besides, spanking and beating were not nearly the same thing.

“No. I should do it.” Claire sat down, struggling to position Brianna’s squirming little body in her lap. Jenny removed Kitty from her lap and stood her up on the floor, holding firmly onto her shoulders.

“Watch yer cousin now, Katherine. She’s being punished as well because of yer actions.” Jenny looked at Claire. “I gave her five.”

Claire nodded resolutely. “Alright.”

Brianna howled and shrieked, probably much more than was actually warranted, but it wasn’t long before five swats were administered. Claire lifted her up again, settling her to sit on her knee.

“D’ye understand why ye’ve had to be punished? Both of ye?” Jenny looked back and forth between the two toddlers, and Kitty nodded vehemently. Brianna waited until Kitty nodded, but agree she did. “Ye canna be angering the beasts. They dinna ken how small ye are, and they dinna care. They’re wild, dumb creatures. They will hurt ye. D’ye understand?”

Kitty nodded, wiping her eyes sloppily with the back of her hand, and Brianna nodded as well.

“Good. Off ye get to the nursery, now. No more outdoors today.” Jenny departed and returned with Mrs. Crook to ask her to see the little ones upstairs. Claire resisted the urge to kiss Brianna’s head before she put her down on the floor.

Sighing heavily, Jenny led Claire out of the dining room, but they both stopped short as Jenny’s legs collided with something. They heard a little sniffle, and both looked down to see Maggie, her face stained with fresh tears.

“Maggie, mo chridhe, what’s the matter?”

She sniffled again. “Kitty and Banna got punished because I told.”

“Och, my gentle wee lamb,” Jenny tutted, reaching down and heaving her up into her arms, settling her on her hip.

“You did the right thing by coming to us, darling,” Claire said softly, brushing a few curls off her damp forehead. “They could have been hurt.”

She hiccuped a little and nuzzled into her mother’s neck.

“That’s right, mo ghraidh. It’s a good thing ye came fer us. They had to be punished so they would learn, so they wouldna get hurt again. D’ye understand?”

She nodded, her lips still drooping in a sad little pout. Jenny gave a soft chuckle and kissed the top of Maggie’s head.

“I never had to swat at this one’s bottom,” Jenny said to Claire, leading them back outside. “No’ a troublemaker like the other two.”

Claire smiled lightly as Jenny set Maggie down next to the washtub.

“Would you like to help us, love?” Claire said, stroking Maggie’s hair.

“Aye, Auntie.”

“There’s my good lass,” Jenny crooned. “Up ye get.” She helped her onto the little stool by the clothesline so she could reach.

“She’s so sensitive, the dear girl,” Claire said softly, plunging her hands back into the frigid water.

“Aye,” Jenny said, chuckling again. “Dinna ken where she gets it from.”

Claire chuckled. “Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?”

“Maggie?” Jenny’s brow furrowed.

“No, no…”

“Och, dinna fash about that,” Jenny scoffed. “She’ll be hanging on yer legs again by supper.” She rang out the previously abandoned sark and handed it to Maggie. “Ye ken it had to be done, aye?”

“No, I do. Yes,” Claire said.

“Ye’ll get used to it sister.” Jenny patted her wrist with a wet hand. “And she willna love ye any less fer it.”

Claire sighed. She knew Jenny was right, and she also knew it was only going to get worse from here.

——

In Brianna’s second year of life, she’d had four seizures. Two less than last year, putting her at ten for her whole small lifetime. Claire had certainly heard of worse cases of epilepsy, so she supposed she should be counting her blessings. But the guilt that gripped her stomach with every seizure was enough to send her spiraling into self-doubt and self-loathing for days at a time.

It was a good thing that Jenny would not tolerate it for very long.

She let Claire hover over Brianna as she slept, let her weep, let her coddle the child days after the post-seizure lethargy ended. But any admonishment of herself as a mother was where Jenny drew the line.

“If ye say it so often, ye’ll start to believe it, and then where will Brianna be?”

Claire couldn’t help but admit that Jenny was right.

It did no good to linger on her supposed shortcomings, because while Claire was still thinking about what she could have and should have done differently two years ago, a week ago, yesterday, or five minutes ago, Brianna was already getting into trouble again and needing intervention.

It was exhausting, being a mother. But it was something that Claire cherished above all else. No matter how many times she heard the word “no” from her daughter’s stubborn little mouth, no matter how many times she slipped naked out of her grasp and trailed bathwater all over the house before Claire could catch up, no matter how many messes of flour she managed to make in the kitchen, no matter how desperately Claire feared for her life every day, it was all worth it when she heard that little voice:

“Up, Mummy!”

“Hug, Mummy?”

“Mummy kiss?”

Or, her newest revelation, Claire’s favorite string of words she’d ever heard in her life:

“Love you, Mummy.”

When Claire cradled her sleeping toddler, her mouth hanging open and dripping with just the tiniest bit of drool, hearing little snores with every breath, the knitted lamb squeezed firmly into her little chest, it was impossible to remember anything but what an angel she was when she slept.

This is ours, Jamie. Those little red cheeks, her wee teeth, those pudgy hands, those smiling, sleepy lips, her soft, sweet smelling head. All ours, love.

Claire certainly didn’t forget -- his absence colored her every movement and affected every decision; the ache was tangible, always -- but it was easy for thoughts of Jamie to fall to the wayside when she was constantly dashing forward to stop her little troublemaker from toppling down the stairs or knocking something onto her head. In their waking hours, while Brianna squealed and caused a ruckus with her cousins, tormented the dogs and the other animals, trampled a few herbs in the garden when Claire wasn’t looking, it was impossible to think of anything but containing that bundle of energy.

But in quiet moments in the chair by the hearth, no light but the fire and the pale moon, watching the thick lashes that they had made flutter shut over the blue eyes that he had given her, listening to her babbling become less and less coherent as she drifted into dreamland, Claire could think of nothing else. Nothing else but how desperately she longed to see him hold her, to see him scoop her up before she could touch the hot metal grate over the fireplace, to hear them laugh together.

“Up, Da!”

“Hug, Da?”

“Da kiss?”

“Love you, Da.”

These were words that haunted her at night, words that kept her awake, staring at her daughter while she slept soundly. If she concentrated, she could really hear it, her  daughter’s squeaky little voice calling out to her father.

“Da is here, mo ghraidh. Mo chridhe. My wee lass."

She could hear that, too.

[no6secretsanta]

Erlkönig

To: @happykawaiicinnamonroll From: @hi-im-secretly-satan

You asked for an angst fic, suggested getting sick and dying, so I delivered on both accounts! ;) It’s based on the German poem Erlkönig by Goethe, translated by Christopher Middelton. It was also turned into a Lied by Schubert. I highly recommend listening to it before reading this fic. I hope you enjoy and happy holidays! <3

Warnings: Major character death

—

“Shion, what’s that on your hands?”

Nezumi frantically ran through the chain of events that had resulted in him and Rikiga trying to wrestle a delirious Shion into the car, Inukashi anxiously tapping their foot behind them. When had things gone so wrong? He had only just saved Shion from being carried off to the Correctional Facility, a certain death sentence. Deeming themselves safe, they had freshened themselves up after the harrowing ordeal of escaping and Shion had been going on and on about his mother and strange deaths. At the time Nezumi had no clue what Shion was talking about, but now he berated himself for dismissing his words, for just as soon as he had waved him off, Shion became a victim himself. Shion had barely managed to escape from the terror that was No.6, only for another disaster to strike.

The parasite wasp.

In the moment Nezumi had briefly been grateful he had taken (stolen?) the first aid kit when he had quietly fled Shion’s house in the Cronos district, all those years ago. Now he cursed himself for not having made sure the equipment was sterile.

“How is he?”

Nezumi glanced up, catching Rikiga’s worried eyes in the rearview mirror before turning his attention back to Shion, lying curled up in the backseat with him, head resting in his lap. Shion’s breathing came erratically, fingers weakly clutching the torn and dirty fabric of Nezumi’s trousers, face screwed up in a pained grimace. Nezumi’s eyes fell from Shion’s pale face to the bandages wrapped around Shion’s neck, stained green and yellow with oozing pus, filling the car with a wretched smell. Merely a few short weeks ago he had yelled at Shion, a scalpel in his hand, demanding he live. But instead, Nezumi had unknowingly become the cause of his potential death. If the situation weren’t so dire, he’d laugh. Instead, he met Rikiga’s eyes again, and shook his head quickly, jaw clenched tight. Shion was dying, and it was his fault.

But he would not give up yet. They were going to smuggle Shion into No.6 and find a hospital to treat him. Shion had told them where to find one, directions wheezed through waves of pain. No matter the odds, they would succeed in this ridiculous, desperate plan. Shion would live, he would make sure of that. He refused to think of Shion dying, or how to go on living without him. He wasn’t sure he could.

“Nezumi…?”

Nezumi snapped to attention at the sound of Shion’s broken voice, barely audible over the loud car engine. “I’m here, Shion.” He brushed a few strands of tangled hair out of Shion’s face. His beautiful, white, almost translucent hair. Shion shivered but Nezumi doubted it was because of his touch.

“It hurts,” Shion moaned. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he hissed when a bump in the road jostled him and aggravated his already dreadful wound. “I don’t want to die. I… Nezumi, I want to live…” He weakly raised his hand and Nezumi immediately took it into his own.

“You’re gonna live,” Nezumi pressed, eyes locked determinedly with Shion’s. “You’ve survived this long, telling me how to take care of your wound for weeks. In No.6 they’ll be able to help you. You’re gonna make it.” He squeezed Shion’s hand reassuringly.

Shion shut his eyes and shook his head. “Sepsis and severe sepsis can last weeks but-”, a shudder ran through him and cut him off, “…but septic shock is quick and has- has a high mortality rate-”

“Shion.”

At his tone, Shion opened his eyes again and slightly turned his head to look hazily up at Nezumi.

Nezumi waited until he had Shion’s full attention. “You’re gonna live, you hear me? You can’t give up now. You still have so much to live for. I told you before, you still don’t know anything about sex, or books, or fighting. Do you really want to throw in the towel now?” Without realising, his voice had risen and he was nearly shouting. The mice which had been nestled silently in his scarf squeaked softly.

Shion stared up at him for a moment, before breaking out into a faint smile, eyes wet. “Yeah… Yeah, you’re right. I’m gonna make it.” A tear rolled down his cheek. Nezumi reached out to wipe it away. “Thank you, Nezumi.”

“Don’t thank me yet, just stay alive.”

Shion nodded and relaxed back into Nezumi’s lap, the corners of his lips still lifted in a soft smile. Unfortunately that smile warped into a grimace much too quickly. Shion moaned and curled up a little more, pulling his knees as far into his chest as the backseat would allow. Desperation seized Nezumi’s heart. Shion had saved him four years ago, he still hadn’t repaid that debt. He couldn’t let him die. He wracked his mind, trying to think of something, anything he could do to help, to ease Shion’s suffering.

There was one thing that came to mind, but Nezumi hesitated. It was a last resort, meant to ensure a peaceful, quiet death, but maybe, just maybe he could soothe Shion’s pain just long enough until they arrived at the hospital. Shion moaned again, fragile and broken, and the sound cut deep into his heart.

So Nezumi took a deep breath and sang.

It was soft, hardly louder than a whisper, but it seemed to resonate through the car. Inukashi, who had been barking orders at Rikiga from the passenger’s seat, fell quiet and turned to stare, dark eyes wide and knowing. Nezumi ignored them and kept all of his attention on the boy in his lap who had frozen and was now staring up at him with big eyes. For once Nezumi was glad that Shion knew nothing of literature, culture, or foreign languages, for if he’d understood the lyrics, he was sure he would never be forgiven.

“Who rides by the night in the wind so wild? It is the father, with his child. The boy is safe in his father’s arm. He holds him tight, he keeps him warm.”

Shion closed his eyes and a bit of the tension seemed to flow out of his body. Nezumi inwardly sighed in relief, too preoccupied to remember how Granny would berate him for doing so. He glanced out of the window and saw the gate fast approaching, so he tugged on the scarf around his neck and pulled it up to hide his face. The mice chittered and ran down his arms to hide in his pockets instead. The car came to a halt and Rikiga leaned out of the window towards the guard, murmuring quietly and urgently before handing over a thick wad of cash- a bribe both to let them in, and to forget they’d been there. Nezumi listened closely and mentally thanked whoever was out there when the car rolled forward again, passing unhindered through the gate and quickly picking up speed, desperate to reach the hospital as soon as possible.

“My son, what is it, why cover your face? Father, you see him, there in that place, The elfin king with his cloak and crown? It is only the mist rising up, my son.”

Unwinding his scarf from around his head, Nezumi gently covered Shion’s shivering body with the special fibre cloth. He remembered seeing this song performed in the dingy theater once, before he had joined the cast. A traveling singer and pianist duo had attempted to visit No.6 but were mercilessly cast out, so they had turned to wandering the West Block, trying to make some money at the rundown theater before moving on again. He hadn’t understood the meaning or language of the song then, only remembered the shivers that inexplicably had run down his spine and the strange, curling tension in the darkened corners of the room, until one day he stumbled across the poem in one of the books in the vault and finally understood.

In Nezumi’s lap, Shion stirred and burrowed under the blanket, grateful for the warmth despite his body heating up steadily.

““Dear little child, will you come with me? Beautiful games I’ll play with thee; Bright are the flowers we’ll find on the shore, My mother has golden robes fullscore.””

“Mum…” Shion murmured, weakly pushing away from Nezumi and raising his head, glazed eyes darting around, searching. “Where are you, mum…?” Nezumi swallowed, pausing his singing to wipe fresh tears from Shion’s face. “You’ll see her soon,” he promised quietly. He wasn’t sure if he could follow through on it. He had to believe.

“Father, O father, and did you not hear What the elfin king breathed into my ear?”

Shion shook his head insistently, gasping as the movement pulled at the weeping wound in his neck and sent pain shooting through his spine, setting his entire body aflame. “No, no, I want my mum,” he babbled. He tried to push himself up, trembling and weak, into a sitting position- but his arms lacked the strength to hold his own weight and he collapsed back into Nezumi’s lap, sobbing softly.

“Lie quiet, my child, now never you mind: Dry leaves it was that click in the wind.”

“Hush now,” Nezumi murmured in the most soothing voice he could muster, softly running a shaking hand through Shion’s hair. His vision became foggy and he blinked away the tears. “Be a good boy now and you’ll see her soon.” In the front seat Rikiga and Inukashi shared an anxious look.

““Come along now, you’re a fine little lad, My daughters will serve you, see you are glad; My daughters dance all night in a ring, They’ll cradle and dance you and lullaby sing, They’ll cradle and dance you and lullaby sing.””

Shion nodded quietly and obediently settled down, face still wet with tears but no longer weeping. He seemed to be at peace for a few moments, but then his eyes widened again and his breathing quickened. “Nezumi…”

Nezumi’s heart lurched at the sudden lucidity and he held his breath. “I’m here, Shion.”

Shion shook his head and shrunk away from him. “No… No, you’re not Nezumi… I-I need to see him…”

“Shion-”

“I need to know he’s safe…” Shion’s eyes darted around frantically. “He left so suddenly, I must see him again-”

Realisation dawned on Nezumi and when it sank in, it knocked all the wind from his lungs. Of course Shion wouldn’t recognise him; he was four years older now. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a shuddering breath, trying to stop the tears from spilling. There was nothing he could say to reassure Shion anymore. He was too far gone. Even if they reached the hospital, they probably couldn’t help him anymore. So he gathered all his courage, every ounce buried in his soul, and pushed it into the song, hoping it could help carry off Shion’s soul in peace, like it had done for countless others before him.

“Father, now look, in the gloom, do you see The elfin daughters beckon to me?”

Shion paused his desperate searching and looked at Nezumi like he saw him for the first time, watching him with childlike wonder. “You have a beautiful voice,” he murmured. He studied Nezumi’s face and smiled. “And your eyes… they’re just as grey…”

“My son, my son, I see it and say: Those old willows, they look so grey.”

Nezumi returned his smile in a way he hoped was reassuring and combed his fingers through Shion’s damp hair. Shion’s eyes fell shut and he sighed, a wisp of a sound.

““I love you, beguiled by your beauty I am, If you are unwilling I’ll force you to come!””

“Sir…” Shion said quietly and Nezumi’s heart fell into pieces. “If you ever find Nezumi, could you please tell him “thank you”? And that I miss him very much?”

“Father, his fingers grip me, O The elfin king has hurt me so!”

“And my mum, too. Promise me.”

Nezumi swallowed painfully and nodded, not daring to stop singing out of fear it would shatter the tentative calm that had washed over Shion.

Outside the car, the scenery rushed by, lush forests and bustling wildlife, carefully maintained by the City Hall, blurred by the speed of the car as Rikiga pressed harder down on the gas.

“Now struck with horror the father rides fast,”

“There’s the tree Shion mentioned!” Inukashi yelled, pointing ahead of them at a gnarled old oak tree. “Floor it, old man!!”

“If I go any faster we’ll all die before we can even get there!” Rikiga snapped in return.

“His gasping child in his arm to the last,”

“Please, sir, promise me…!” Shion begged, hazy eyes fixed unerringly on Nezumi’s own.

“Home through the thick and thin he sped:”

The trees parted to reveal the tiny hospital, a white and pure beacon of hope in the dark. Nezumi’s heart skipped a beat at the sight, but any and all hope that still lingered was crushed immediately after; wrapped in his arms, Shion took a ragged breath, spasmed once, twice, then fell limp, his blank eyes still staring up at Nezumi. Gravel sprayed under the wheels as the car swerved erratically into the parking lot and jerked into an abrupt halt. Seconds later the doors were yanked open and Nezumi heard someone yell something, but it didn’t register. He couldn’t move, frozen and staring unseeing at the boy in his arms, unable, unwilling to believe what his eyes and ears were telling him. A tear dripped down his cheek, followed by another, and another, falling like rain against Shion’s lifeless form. Nezumi’s mouth moved silently, voice trapped behind the gasping sobs threatening to choke him, leaving the last line to hang unsung, oppressive in the heavy air:  

(Locked in his arms, the child was dead.) 

[spaceguybob]

Oniwaka in the Mountains - Date scenario / Fanfiction - PART 2

Oniwaka kept his word through most of the time and kept holding your hand throughout the walk. Only to let go when there was a challenging part of some sort that required both hands on the ground or the supports. But immediately after you were in the clear he would find out your hand with his. Oniwaka didn't say much, but you caught him glancing at you a few times always making him smile slightly in content. Having spent so much time with him you were able to read his face and catch those minuscule changes. And you swear that he was a bit more possessive than usual. The Oni seemed prepared for any eventuality, his shoulders tight as rocks, his head checking every direction and listening to any sound or noise. Thinking of that you realized what was the familiar aroma you could smell in the air before. "You know you are not very effective in hiding if you wear perfume. I could smell it for a long time." "Who said I was trying to hide?" Oniwaka answered still busy listening to the surroundings. "It was a gift from you so I wear it every day as a sign of gratitude." He continued stating in a very matter of fact way. Without saying a further word you gently squeeze his hands and continue the climb. After a while you notice a change in your surroundings, thinking this must be the influence of one of the world collisions a bright orange building catches your eye. "Look! Quickly! Oniwaka come on!" You suddenly pull the Oni by the hand and begin power walking to get closer. "Hey! What are you? We need to be careful! Slow down!" But before he can protest any further, you reach the building you saw which reminds you very much of the Kumando Kodo waterfall shire you have seen in geography classes. In fact, to your surprise, there was a small valley surrounded by many waterfalls dropping down to a river with ponds surrounded by blooming peach trees. "This must be the place Zao was talking about." You say quietly with awe turning around to take in the view. The air felt like it was shimmering thanks to the water droplets. Oniwaka didn't say anything regarding his surroundings with raised eyebrows. "This is just like the Crimson Mountain and the Valley of Dancing Cranes. " You can barely contain your excitement babbling things to Oniwaka who follows you cautiously down a path leading to the valley below. "The what? Has somebody hit your head a few times too much?" The Oni sighted. You turned around to him with a grin on your face. " I've been watching recently this old movies collection about Kung Fu and warrior monks and Ronins and all sorts of amazing mystical fighting. There were dragons and demons, and the fights were just out of this world. And there is always one elder monk who teaches everyone and he is the master of wisdom, who is tough as steel but incredibly kind and generous." A whole waterfall of words spills out of you. The truth was you spent a lot of time talking to Krampus and you shared your love for action movies, especially when you were depressed and sad it was a sort of relief. "Kung Fu and Warrior monks huh? That's just stu-" Oniwaka started but you interrupted him with a gentle cough. "I was thinking about you watching that". You clear your throat embarrassed. The Oni behind you did say anything else but you are sure he puckered his lips. " Ehhh... I just wish I could be half as amazing as those warrior monks in that movie." You say quietly embarrassed as both of you reach the valley. There is a specific kind of quiet in the air, undisturbed, gentle. The waterfalls drop into a large lake which then separates into a few large streams and connects several small ponds. All surrounded by an orchard of blooming peach trees. The path has been carefully covered with decorative stones, and small bridges were connecting it up to an old fashioned small house. Probably a sanctuary guesthouse. As you turn to Oniwaka to say something you see him take off his white hoodie and pass it to you. "Hold this for me, will you?" He adds with a wink and walks to the water crossing. Then completely unexpectedly he performs a perfect backflip then performing a pole vault and another jump and another, all of this in front of you with a grace of a dancer, then to stop almost I'm the middle of the lake on one of the flat stones sticking out of the water performing a perfect staff balance pose for a couple of seconds then to slowly, with a circling motion of his legs, jump down on the surface of the stone. His movement was so perfect and beautiful with a promise of deadly strength. "Today, I will reach you the way of the three-headed dragon. You will know the true meaning of fear. Come now, you have much to learn." Oniwaka's low voice beams with an echo through the valley. Like a true child at heart, you are you can't stop yourself from shouting "OMG that was amazing! How did you-!" The Oni keeps his zen position with a mysterious half-smile on his face. "Uhmm... How are you going to come back?" You ask loudly concerned as the water looks quite deep. "Shut up! I'm meditating on my next move." Oniwaka growls in return making you only laugh. You patiently wait for him to find a way back to the shore, Oniwaka managed to perform more acrobatics getting just the reaction he wanted from you. While you try to return his hoodie he responds "Keep hold to it for now, for me. I'm wet and need to refresh myself when we get to the guesthouse." You hold tightly to the material wrapping it neatly when Oniwaka wasn't looking or you thought he wasn't you burrowed your face in the warm smelling material. Only for a few seconds not to get caught. The stone path leads straight to the guesthouse, surrounded by a small decking overlooking one of the ponds. The inside was refurbished and had all modern amenities. It was simple and very clean looking. "This is... Nice." Oniwaka pondered. "I'm surprised, I thought it would be more Spartan." You enter through the sliding door, finally taking off your backpack which started feeling heavy on your shoulders. "So this is what they call a Tranquil Zone. Zao has said it works like a safe house but it covers a certain area which would be this valley. " " I know what a Tranquil Zone is." Oniwaka cuts in slowly, he circles the rooms opening doors and cabinets, performing a full inspection as if there were supposed to be ninjas hidden somewhere. After a few minutes, he comes back to you. "It looks safe. There is plenty of food. You go relax now and I will prepare you a meal." "Hey, not so fast." You weren’t going to let Oniwaka boss you around. "You said you need to refresh yourself so you can start with that. I've made food before I left. " The Oni have you a challenging look, putting his hands on his hips. "Is that so? I can easily have my way with you." "I can't relax if you won't." You look at him without a sign of caving in. "Please? For me?" "You know that doesn't-... Sigh ok fine! I can't believe I'm letting myself be pushed around by such a little creature." Oniwaka ruffles your hair and walks to the bathroom. In that time you take out the food you prepared before leaving and move it to a small fridge in the kitchen section. On a small window overlooking the sink, you notice an envelope that says "To my mountain friend. From Zao." Curious you open the Letter and start reading. "My dear friend, I'm glad you have arrived at the guesthouse. My hope is you will enjoy your time here in your beautiful surroundings. Your friend was very persistent asking many questions about your trip. He requested if you two can be left alone without anyone interrupting. I agreed, in exchange, I advised him that if he keeps making you sad I will show him the peak of the black mountain and what lays below it. Enjoy your stay. Zao" You read the letter three times, slightly smiling each time, then for it to drop going back to one line - Oniwaka specifically requested for us to be left alone. Yes, you remembered Zao mentioned he would join you for some time to make sure everything is alright. With the letter in hand, you go into the bathroom and without knocking you open the sliding door. "Oniwaka Houzouin what did you tell Zao?" You say loudly. Oniwaka was standing in front of the bathroom mirror shaving ande has just finished and turned around surprised. He was naked from the waist up which made you kind of lose your words. The Oni grinned seeing your confused look and grabbed your t-shirt pulling you into the bathroom and then pushing by the wall. You always forget how big Oniwaka is and now he was towering above you with his huge body. Both of his hands next to your head, with nowhere to run. Well maybe if you tried really hard. "I was making sure we are undisturbed." He breathed heavily into your ear. " I told you earlier, there are some really bad Oni around that may carry you away to the woods if you aren't careful.  "Oh really," you say looking into his eyes. There was something wild in the way he looks at you. "Yea, but there is this one Oni that's the worst out of them all. " He picks your chin up with his hand. "And this Oni is not worth a broken coin. Are you sure you want to spend your time with a monster like this? What if I decide to take whatever I want from you. There is nobody here to save you." "You are here to save me from all of the monsters. " You say quietly embarrassed. "Didn't you listen to what I just said?" He grumbled louder. "Just shut up and kiss me." You say impatiently. Oniwaka looks at you for a split second with a wild sparkle in his eyes and reaches out for your lips. "I'm a monster. You know that and you keep coming back for more." He pulls away breathing heavily. His self-doubt is worse than ever. "I've been told every monster has a week spot. I'm trying to find yours..." You add carefully not to put oil into the fire. Oniwaka looked into your face sitting in his hand. "You are my weak spot. I feel in love with you." "Then you are not a monster anymore. You are my Oniwaka, my. Do you understand?" "Your Oniwaka. I'm yours." He repeats quietly to himself, shocked or embarrassed even. His muscular frame shifted closer to you, almost squeezing you to the wall. Now there was no way or place to run, and you could feel the heat of his body and your own emotions rising to your face. "The things I want to do to you, the things I want... They are so bad." He leans forward to your ear. "I want you so bad." Without a word said you get up on your toes and reach to kiss him only to be swept up in his arms and his lips greedily tasting yours.  You don't know when Oniwaka turned on the shower, but his huge arms lifted you and carried under the stream of water. You giggled in panic trying to remind him you are fully dressed but he ignored your pleas silencing you with his lips. It was the longest shower of your life. 

[warpedlegacy]

WIP Whenever

Because I’m bad at time. And keeping track of it. And completing things.  Okay so I am making progress on Reprisals Book Two, but the thing keeping more of my attention than I expected was my domestic series for post-Trespasser, While Time Remains. And I just wanted to share this scene with y’all: Cullen finally reuniting with his family (well, just Mia in this scene), and introducing them to his wife. I had to cut it down quite a bit to fit within the post limits of my ff server, so anyone from there, here is the full(er) version! (PS - “Cal” is the name I’ve given the mabari hound he adopts in Halamshiral during Trespasser. Yes, it’s short for Calenhad. Yes, Cullen is very predictably Fereldan.) Thanks for the tag @dreadfutures! I’m gonna wait on more tags since I’m late on this one lol.  South Reach is thoroughly rural Ferelden. Cullen takes in the vast fields, the scattered cottages, the humble mill churning its wheel, and thinks “home”. Despite the fact that this was not where he grew up. Despite the fact that he has never been here before. It all feels so achingly familiar that his heart swells. 

Inquiries in the market square lead them to the right house. It sits on the north side of a field of barley, hemmed in from behind by the coniferous forest and from the west by a run-off from the Drakon River. Very well-situated. Mia must have fought tooth and nail for a spot this choice. Cullen smiles thinking of this, then grimaces, knowing the reception waiting for him is like to be anything but peaceful. 

“They’ll be happy to see you.” Tess rides beside him, steady reassurance in her quiet strength. Subtle highlights in her dark hair catch the sunlight and remind Cullen of coals burned low in the hearth. Her bronze skin glows, but her eyes are dark and piercing as ever as she watches him. 

“Oh, I’m sure they will be,” he allows. “Eventually.” 

“After they finish lecturing you for not writing you mean?” 

“Partly…” Cullen rubs at the back of his neck. He’d been dreading this confession, but now there was no avoiding it. “And also for not telling them we’re coming.” 

Stunned silence follows, and he can’t bring himself to look in Tess’s direction. He doesn’t have to - he feels the growing aggravation about to boil over. 

“You didn’t tell them?” She sounds somehow incredulous and not at all surprised. “Do they even know we’re married?” 

More silence. 

“Cullen!” 

Her disapproval claps electric like one of her spells. He flinches, far too guilty to put up much of a fight. “I know, I should have told them. But with all that was going on there wasn’t time to write before our departure.” 

“What is Mia going to think of me…” 

“Of you?” Now Cullen glances her way, and sees his mistake. The anxiety is writ clear in her face - itself enough of an exception to be worrying - and her hand grips the reins fiercely as she purses her lips into a thin line. “Ah, I wouldn’t worry, love. It’s with me she’ll place the blame, I assure you. You’ve nothing to fear of her wrath.” 

He reaches across the space to grasp her… Right. He’s on her left side, not her right. She notices his hesitation and his heart wrenches as her face withdraws into despondency. His worry for her grows. She’s been like this since Halamshiral, and every effort on his part to assist her is met with stubborn denial and more withdrawal. She’s pulling away from him, and he doesn’t know how to stop it. 

“Tess…” 

“It’s fine.” She releases a harsh puff of air that fogs briefly in the morning chill. “There’s nothing for it now.”

They exchange no more words as they make the final approach to the cottage. It’s a modest log and thatch structure, longer than it is wide, roof rising high to accommodate a second floor. Smoke wafts up from a narrow chimney in the center.  The walls are plastered smooth, a gleaming white beacon amidst the crisp green and gold foliage. Laundry hangs across lines in the garden, which is separated by a low stone wall. 

The word “pristine” occurs to Cullen, and he smiles despite his worry. 

A figure toils in the garden with a hoe, and as they draw near Cullen nearly chokes, thinking he’s seeing his mother. But then she straightens and raises a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, and he realizes it’s Mia. All grown up, unlike his memories of her. 

She’d only been fifteen when they last saw each other. 

She spies their approach and he hears her surprised gasp even from yards away. The hoe falls to the dirt, forgotten, and she hikes up her skirts to vault the garden wall and race toward them. Cal utters a low growl at the sudden approach, but Cullen dismounts to get him quickly to heel. 

“As I live and breathe…” Mia pants and slows her approach, staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at a brother she’d thought thoroughly lost to her more times than she cares to count. 

Up close, her resemblance to their mother is even more striking. Wheat-blonde curls fall to her waist, fighting free of the scarf tying them back. Her sleeves are rolled up past the elbows, forearms bearing the strength and tone of long hours toiling under the sun. Her eyes, the same rich, whiskey brown. Her mouth curled up at the corners, a perpetually patient smile always at hand.

“Hello Mia.” Cullen straightens with his own far more awkward smile, releasing Cal to sniff experimentally at this familiar stranger. 

Mia takes it all in at a glance - Cullen’s height, his broad shoulders, his untamed curls so like her own, sideways grin so like their father’s - then her eyes drift toward a figure she recognizes only by description. Dark-eyed, wild-haired, fiercely stoic… and an unmistakable aura of legend. 

The Inquisitor. Theresa Trevelyan. Or, as Cullen has frequently slipped up in his letters, “Tess”. 

She dismounts with practiced grace, and that is when Mia notes the knot tied in her left sleeve, an arm that ends just above the elbow. But she sees the prideful lift of her chin and knows this woman wants no pity. 

“My Lady Inquisitor.” Mia nods and wipes her hands before offering her right to shake in greeting. “What a pleasure to finally meet you.” 

“Likewise.” The Inquisitor takes her hand and dips her head. A surprisingly warm smile lights up her face, and Mia can see what drew Cullen so thoroughly into her orbit. “Though just Theresa will do.” 

Mia nods, accepting this instantly, before turning to Cullen with a much sterner expression. 

“You might’ve told me you were coming! Rosie’s gone to market in town, and Bran won’t be able to make it for at least a fortnight, what with the new baby!” 

Cullen accepts the scolding with good-natured exasperation, wearing an expression Theresa has seen many times whilst reading letters from his elder sister. A true matriarch, she somehow looms before the man despite being half a head shorter. Theresa understands a little better why he was always able to withstand Leliana’s and Josephine’s teasing with such fond patience. 

“I wanted to write, but there wasn’t time,” he tries to get in, but Mia is already verbalising all the new accommodations she will need to prepare. 

She barely stops to breathe even as she leads them and their mounts toward the cottage. There is a lean-to stable in the back where a plow horse is already housed, nibbling on fresh hay. A cat naps in the pile nearby, taking advantage of a patch of sunlight. 

When Cullen lets slip about the elopement, Mia launches into a fresh tirade. 

“But I told you I planned to propose!” he protests, receiving a gentle swat upside the head for the audacity. 

“Yes, but I foolishly assumed maybe you’d be holding off on the wedding until your family could be there!” Mia huffs.

“It’s not entirely his fault,” Theresa jumps in, looking fully guilty herself. “Circumstances were a bit… urgent. We didn’t want to wait.” 

That gives Mia pause, and she has to remind herself of how chaotic - and dangerous - their lives are compared to hers. At last, she lets herself smile, beaming from ear to ear as she reaches out and finally hugs her brother. 

“Welcome home, Cullen,” she says. 

He nearly crushes her as he returns the embrace. “It’s good to finally be back.” 

“And you, come here.” 

She draws Theresa in as well, but this embrace is more awkward as she seems not to know what to do with half an arm. New injury, must be. Mia makes her hug all the fiercer to make up for it. 

“My sister,” she declares, and plants a kiss on her cheek for good measure. “Welcome to the family.” 

Unexpectedly, tears well up in Theresa’s eyes and she cannot help the happy sob that escapes. It’s too much, this feeling of unquestioned acceptance. She’s never had this before - not so soon, so easily. She catches the glint of understanding in Cullen’s eyes before the tears make it impossible to see, and she reaches up to wipe them away. 

“Oh, you just let it all out my dear.” Mia looks from one to the other, belatedly realising how exhausted they both look, before nodding to herself. “You two finish stabling the horses. I’ll get your bed ready. There’ll be tea and stew waiting for you when you’re done.” 

And in a flurry of motion she’s gone, leaving Theresa to fall into Cullen’s waiting embrace until the shudders stop. 

[yukippe]

stand and face me

raven signs the book. she doesn’t sign her soul away. ao3.

1. 

It’s Legacy Day. It’s Legacy Day and your name is Raven Queen and this is the day that’s haunted your life. 

The sun has risen when you wake up, and Apple’s smiling at you. She’s smiling at you and all you can think about is the way your chest hurts when you think about her. You don’t love her. You like her now, you know that. You know that she wants nothing more from you than to play your part in her story. And you think, maybe you will. Maybe this is what it all leads to. Maybe all you have to do is fulfill your part and you will have her friendship. Her hand to hold. 

“Oh Raven!” She says, her voice like bells. “We should get ready together, I can do your makeup and-”

It’s a nice thought. It’s interrupted thought, by a knock on the door. You go to answer it and it’s like destiny is calling. A goblin stands at the door, staring up at you as if he can see a future you try not to imagine. You smile at him, politely. “Raven Queen,” he says. “Your heirloom dress awaits in the cauldron room.”

This is the way destiny works? Is this your fate, you think fleetingly. That even the moments you have with Apple before you sign are not allowed to last. You take one last look at her, you smile apologetically and you follow the goblin to the depths of the school. You're doing this for her. You're doing this for her.  

Why are you doing this for her? It haunts you. You don’t love her. You haven’t known her long enough. You think of how she held your hand and went through every hoop you were jumping through, trying to find another way. If there had been one, she would’ve let you take it. You think of her smile, her blonde hair, her red framed glasses she doesn’t let anyone see. You look up at the coffin where your mother’s weapon of a dress is waiting. This is what she asks of you. You don’t love her. You don’t even know if you could, even if you tried. She spied on you and decorated your half of the room like a tomb and has always viewed you as something you're not. 

You think of her smile again. And then you shuffle into the dress. It fits perfectly. You don’t like the way it looks. You look into the mirror and you see. You see the Evil Queen. You can’t see Raven Queen in the mirror. You let your hair down, you do your makeup. You put on your crown. You put your head in your hands so the goblins in the room can’t see your tears. You wipe your face, reapply your makeup. You walk out of the room. 

They follow you, the creatures of the shadows. The creatures of your childhood. Goblins caused you trouble once, on the mountains. You know, now, no goblin will question your word ever again if you wear a crown like this. You feel powerful. 

Then-as you walk Maddie’s there somehow. You turn and your friend is holding your hand and. And, you know that the friendship you have with Cedar and Maddie won’t fit into a world of castles on craggy cliffs, and bone rat infested dungeons, and hordes of evil minions. But, Maddie is holding your hand. You think of how no matter what she’s always done the impossible. So you ask her a question, in the hall. “Maddie?” You ask her, your voice quiet. You don’t want anyone else to hear you. 

Maddie, Maddie with her curly hair and tall hats and puffy skirt lets out a laugh, “Yes, Raven-dear?”

“Maddie,” you breathe. “Maddie, if I sign the book. If I sign the book who will my friends be?”

Maddie’s face turns confused, she grabs your other hand and she looks into your eyes and says, “Raven you silly-billy, You and me and Cedar and all of us, we’re best friends forever after. What in teatime do you think forever after means?”

It’s the last promise you needed to hear. The hallways lights flicker over you, a part of you seems to understand this is what your life will be. The few students left in the hallway are cowering, trying to edge their way out from around you and the followers behind you. If you take this there’s a promise of evil. But, if Maddie’s promising best friends forever after you think you can take it and hold it to your heart for as long as you need. You remember Apple’s smile. You want to keep it there for as long as you can. You smile back at Maddie, “Best friends forever after, you promise?”

Maddie nods, as serious as she can manage, “I swear on my second best hat and third favourite tea.”

You nod and smile at her. Then the two of you walk to Legacy Day. 

2. 

When you stand in line, in your dress that could cut, and your cape that trails behind you and your crown that weighs heavy on your head you look around and you see smiles. You see smiles on all the faces you’d expect. Cedar is next to you and her face is alight and you tell her you can’t wait to see her become the girl she’s always wanted to be, and she smiles at you and she tells you that she believes in you. You let the moment sit in your chest and it rests there. This is what Cedar wants. This is what Apple wants. A fairytale can be safe. 

You look in front of you and-it looks like Ashlynn’s crying. For a moment you almost reach out, you think you know why she’s crying. You see Hunter near her frowning at the sight. You look behind you and you see Cerise, quiet, athletic Cerise you’ve always wanted to be friends with. She looks like she’s trying to hide into her cloak and hood. You pause. You step away from Cedar and Maddie to smile at her, as gently as you can. She looks up and catches your eye and she seems to try to smile back. You reach for her hand and squeeze it, you slide closer to her and you whisper, “I’m here if you need anything.” She looks at you as if she wants to say something, but she pauses.

Cedar is racing up the stairs as you look to Cerise. Cedar is signing the book and Cerise opens her mouth and she says, “Raven, how do we know that signing the book will actually bind us to anything?” 

Your heart leaps sudden, soft. Your mouth quirks up into a smile, a real one. “It’s what Headmaster Grimm says.” You hear Ashlynn pledge her destiny. You think of Giles Grimm in the Vault of Lost Tales, telling you the Storybook of Legends has no power. You bite your lip and you lean closer to Cerise, “But it’s not what his brother says.”

Cerise stares you down. She squeezes your hand. She says, “Find me after this.” You don’t know why, but you say yes. Maddie slides in between the two of you then, Cedar on her arm the both of them smiling. Apple signs her name, you know you’re next. You let out a breath. You turn to the stairs. You worry about tripping over your train and that makes you want to laugh. You find your place in front of the book and look at the crowd. 

There. Apple’s smile. She’s smiling up at you. Your chest tightens. You can’t do this for her. You think of Cerise, of Giles Grimm. Of Bella Sister. Of Ashlynn and Hunter. “I am Raven Queen.” You pause. “And I am ready to pledge a destiny.” 

No one seems to notice the change. Except for Headmaster Grimm, he looks at you with his eyebrows furrowed. A key appears. It doesn’t look like the key of an Evil Queen. It’s golden and there’s a dragon’s eye at the end. You slide it into the lock and it opens to your story. No one else can see the story but you. You think. You think that this story might be different if you were not so sure. You think you might see a nightmare on the pages if you weren’t so sure. But, it's almost as if it’s reassuring you. 

The page is a mirror. It shows you your face and nothing more. You sign that destiny with a grin. 

3. 

Apple hugs you when you walk down the steps and for a moment you feel bad, you aren’t living her story with her. That’s not what you signed up for. But, you sink into the hug for just a moment anyway. Then, you leave her arms. It doesn’t feel right. Hunter signs after you and - did he notice, you wonder. Did he realize you changed the words?

Because he’s changed them too. “I, Hunter Huntsman, son of the Huntsman who saves Snow White and Little Red Riding Hood, am ready to pledge a destiny.” 

You watch as Duchess follows the right script, and Cerise’s eyes twinkle as she doesn’t. Cedar grabs at your hand when Maddie rambles on for several moments, but doesn’t actually say whether or not she’s going to follow her destiny. A key still appears for her and Maddie’s eyes go wide when she sees her page. She signs with a quill she pulls from her hair. Cedar looks at you and you smile back, bright. 

4. 

Apple tries to pull you along with her to the ball and a part of you wants to follow her, but you think of what Cerise told you before you signed. “Find me after this.” Apple smiles at you and it still makes your chest tighten, but you knew when you started this farce that you couldn’t stay near here. You tell her you will see her later. You don’t mean it. 

5. 

Cerise finds you. You’re just stepping out of the closet Hunter shoved you into to ask about destiny. Cerise pushes you back in and your heart skips a beat. 

“Hey,” she says. Her voice is soft, as if she knows you’re a little lost. You both should be on your way to the Legacy Ball now, but you don’t know if you really want to go and celebrate a lie. You’re sure Maddie and Cedar will probably hunt you down anyways to drag you down soon. Cerise tugs on her cloak, “Raven, the book’s not supposed to do that.”

You nod, “I didn’t think so.” Cerise lets out a little laugh. You pause at the sound, but then you refocus. “Cerise, you said that...you sounded like you knew something earlier.”

She nods, there are no lights in the closet but you can make out her eyes somehow. You think back at all the times Cerise was…

“Raven,” she says. Her voice is serious. “Raven, my mother is Little Red Riding Hood. And my father….Well you know him too.”

“He’s Mr. Badwolf,” you say. She nods. 

“Raven, my parents have told me all about their legacy days. Neither of them were huge fans of signing their souls away, but they saw it unfold. And Raven? It didn’t unfold for them the way it showed them in the book. My mother didn’t see past the Huntsman arriving, and she never saw my father the way he appeared in reality. My father saw himself escaping, but not the way it happened.”

“The book lies,” you say. How do we know signing the book will actually bind us to anything. Cerise’s parents told a story they never saw. Your mother waged a war that never existed before. 

A class of budding fairytales signed nonsense pledges. Your mirror phone buzzes in your bra. Your legacy dress was beyond compare, but your mother never saw fit to sew in pockets. You’ll change that, you think, if you ever need to wear it again. Cerise blinks at the sound, and when you squint you can see big ears all the better to hear with, hiding under her hood. It buzzes again and you ignore it. 

You breathe. Once. Twice. Your name is Raven Queen and Milton Grimm is hiding something. Cerise tilts her head at you and you think you could lose yourself in her eyes. You don’t think you’d ever want to be found. But, Cerise isn’t the type to lose her way, you think she’d help you come back if you were ever gone. 

She reaches for your wrist and pulls it closer to her. Her fingernails are long and they remind you of Mr. Badwolf’s claws when he wears his wolf form to scare the younger students. You stop breathing, just for a moment, and you wish you knew what she was thinking. 

Bzz. Cerise drops your hand and crouches over, the way she’s always shrunk in on herself. You know why now, all your suspicions confirmed. “Are you going to check that?” Cerise asks you. “Someone really wants to reach you.”

It could be Maddie or Cedar. Or Hunter, maybe. Really, you know it’s Apple before you even look. You pull out your phone, it’s warm from being stuck to your skin. You look at the hexts asking where you are and you remember the feel of Cerise’s hand on your wrist, the way you burn under Apple’s eyes even when Apple’s seeing a lie. 

“The Legacy Ball,” you say. Cerise nods and you wish for the look on her face from moments ago to return. You had almost decided not to go. But, you think of Milton Grimm. He's not expecting anything yet, you know. He underestimates almost everyone. You don’t respond to Apple’s messages, and you try to get Cerise to meet your gaze. “Come with me?” You ask. “It’d be weird if we didn’t go.”

Cerise gives you a half smile and you wonder how much worse it would feel to see it at full force. You think of her white teeth, you wonder how sharp they are underneath her lips. You want to touch in a way you know you shouldn’t. You think of your mother’s sharp words and your father's wing separate from hers. Your mother never gave a lesson on anything like this, but neither did your father. Good and Evil didn’t know how to teach this and you wonder what that means. She doesn’t take your hand as you both slip out of the closet and you wish she would. You think of Apple and the way it felt to be near her when you wandered through the marshes and the mountains and down the lake. You can’t quite remember if it felt like this. You know it was, though you’d never say it out loud. 

Cerise walks beside you as you both make your way down to the boats. There will be one waiting for you, you know. You might have lost the creatures that followed you to your Legacy Day, but you know that they won’t leave you for good. And they haven’t. Maddie, Cedar, Hunter, and Ginger are all standing in the centre of them. Maddie’s making conversation and Hunter seems to be trying to take her example. Cerise barks out a laugh beside you and you do your best to play the sound again in your head, trying to make the memory of it stick as soon as it’s finished. She smiles at you and pulls you down by your wrist as fast, making you run in your weapon of long skirts and metallic train. As you climb onto the only boat left, though still a respectable one, you think about what it means to be first. 

[stillebesat]

In These Tangled Webs (11/11)

Sanders Sides: Logan, Patton, Roman, Virgil Blurb: It should be easy admitting to your roommates that you’re not entirely human. Only in Logan’s case it’s not. Not when he discovers that Patton is afraid of Spiders. Fic Type: Hurt/Comfort Overall Warnings: Spiders, Arachnophobia, Death Talk, Minor Character Deaths, Slightly Detailed Descriptions of Deaths, Murders, Injuries, Swords, Imprisonment, Biting, Fangs, Venom, Extra Body Parts, Blood, Manipulation, Negative Self Talk

To Catch Up: Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9   Chapter 10

EPILOGUE -Two Weeks Later

Logan sprawled out on his bed, foot tapping the sheets as he frowned down at the drawing.  “I don’t know, Ro.” 

“Oh come on, Specs!” Roman jabbed the paper he’d practically shoved into Logan’s hand. “Please! It’s for science!”

Virgil snorted from where he sat jotting down notes in the middle of the large web Logan had built for him in order to test the strength of the threads he could produce from his wrists. “For science, huh. Since when do you care about--?” 

“Since--since you said you needed to establish if Logaroo’s webs here can hold a human’s weight or not!”

“We’ve already established that it can.” Logan said, gesturing to Virgil. “This just---it’s fantasy, Roman. Hanging from a single thread upside down? When would I ever need to do that?” It would hardly be stable. He could already imagine spinning uncontrollably or swinging wildly back and forth in the wind. No, two or maybe three anchor points would be necessary to help control such a descent--

“Because it would look freaking cool that’s why!” Roman said sitting up straight, eyes shining. “Just imagine it okay? Hanging upside down in the rain--” 

“Getting water up my nose.” Logan deadpanned staring at the two figures Roman had drawn on the page.

“Getting--HEY!” Roman shoved his shoulder. “No! And you’ve just saved--” 

“The love of my life.” Logan finished. Blah blah blah. He’d heard similar speeches before from Ro. There was a good reason why Virgil often called him Princey after all. He shook his head. “I get what you’re getting at. I just don’t see why anyone would want to kiss like this.” 

“It’s a romantic gesture, Mr. Robot! Just think of how it would look in a movie!” 

“Which I would never be in because a) I’m not an actor like you two and b)--” He tugged at the collar of his button down shirt, showing them the top of his hourglass, much more comfortable now about bringing up his Spliced status to his roommates than he had ever thought he would be. “I doubt I’d be the most welcome in such a role.” Not unless it was a part in a horror movie and Logan doubted a real Widow would ever be cast in the first place. His kind were too dangerous to trust. 

And yet. He glanced up to Virgil and Roman, a small smile on his lips. And yet, somehow, he’d managed to find not one, not two, but three friends who did trust him. Who wanted to be around him. It was still hard for him to believe he wasn’t dreaming. That he had actually gotten so lucky.

Roman groaned flopping onto the bed covering his eyes with his arm. “Just pretend for two minutes that this is necessary okay! Life saving!”

“Life saving?” Virgil scoffed, twisting the protective bracelet Logan had created for him around his wrist. “We don’t even know the toxicity of the venom in Lo’s fangs yet. One wrong move on his part and bye bye love interest.” 

Roman groaned even louder, reaching out blindly to pluck the picture from Logan’s hands. “Why do I live with you two again? You spoil all my fun!” 

“I don’t know…” Logan smirked as he adjusted his glasses. “Didn’t you have fun trying to escape that web cocoon--

A shrill scream rang through the air, sending ice down his spine as he shoved to his feet, darting across the web in the blink of an eye to grab the door just as Patton fell silent. Logan froze, heart hammering in his chest, venom welling in his fangs, waiting for another cry, a sign--

Oh, how I love to hear them scream. 

“Pat.” He whispered, straining to hear--

“Lo!” Patton called out a second later in a wavering voice. “G-Get your little cousin AWAY from me!” 

Little cousin. A regular spider then. Logan relaxed fractionally, grateful that Roman had suggested the term a few days earlier just in case another arachnid appeared in their apartment. He pulled the door open, glancing over his shoulder to the others. “Please don’t tell me it’s the bananas again?” 

Roman scoffed, picking his way through the gaps in the web to get to the door. “Hey!” He waved his left hand, a thread wrapped ring shimmering on his pinky. “I checked before I bought them!” 

“And did you check the grapes too?” Virgil asked, wobbling on top of the web as he stood.

Ro flushed. “Uh--about that--” 

Logan didn’t stick around to hear the rest, running down the hall and jumping over the railing instead of taking the stairs to get to Pat quicker, grateful for the fact that there was no need to act as...human now that they knew. He landed easily just outside the kitchen and straightened, adjusting his glasses. “Where?” He asked gently, a tiny web appearing between his fingers as he took in the scene. 

There was a bowl of spilled grapes on the floor, a plate of Crofter’s PB&J sandwiches on the counter and Patton, dear dear Patton, who had practically climbed on top of the refrigerator in his knee jerk reaction to get away. 

Pat shuddered, eyes closed as he pointed in the general direction of the bowl, the pendant around his neck glowing a bright blue. “On--on--on--”  

“It’s okay, Pat--I’m here. You’ll be safe soon enough.” Logan said in as reassuring of a tone as he could while he searched the floor for signs--

There. 

Nearly blending into the tile, the off-white arachnid had frozen by a grape that had been squashed by the edge of the bowl. “Gotcha.” Logan whispered moving into the kitchen proper to drop the mini web onto the spider, the threads turning blue as he trapped it and pulled it up into his palm. “I got it Pat, hold on a sec, I’m taking it outside.” He said, vaulting over the island dividing the kitchen from the living room and quickly slipped onto the balcony to free the creature. 

With a quick glance to make sure no one was around, Logan leaned over the railing and carefully lowered the web to the house plant their neighbors below had recently moved outside. Once he was sure his ‘little cousin’ had been transferred safely onto a large leaf he pulled the web away. “Stay.” He told the spider despite knowing that it couldn’t understand him.  

Virgil hypothesized that he could, in fact, talk to spiders, but it wasn’t like it was a spoken thing if such an ability existed. If anything, it was a Widow’s scent and the vibrations of their approach that kept spiders away from his kind. 

Still, that didn’t mean that Logan could communicate with them to the extent of creating and controlling a ‘spider army’... though convincing Roman of that fact after seeing how many arachnids had been in the shed... had yet to be successful. 

“Pat?” He called ducking back inside. “It’s gon--omph.” He staggered a step as Patton grabbed him into a fierce hug, ducking his head against Logan’s chest, shuddering. 

“I-I’m so-so-sorry I-I’m try-trying--” He whimpered.

I’m NOT scared. Not of you.

Logan wrapped his arms around Patton, holding him close as he rested his chin on his head, noting that the Virgil and Roman had made it to the kitchen while he’d been outside and were quietly arguing over pre-bagged fruits as they picked up the scattered grapes. 

Keep you safe. 

“It’s okay.” He said softly. “You’re okay. You’re safe. I’m here.” 

Patton sniffed, struggling to draw a full breath. “I--I didn’t--mean to s-s-s-scream.” 

I hate hate hate spiders! 

“I know.” It had scared Logan half to death, but he could only imagine that Patton had been in the same mindset when he’d seen the spider in the bowl. “It’s okay to still be afraid of them.” He said soothingly, running his fingers through Pat’s hair. “No one expects you--I don’t expect you to suddenly get over your lifelong fear and never get scared.” 

Patton shivered. “I-I don’t want y-you to think--”

Logan paused, gently lifting his chin up so he could look into his eyes. “I know you’re not scared of me, Pat.” He said, a small smile tugging at his lips.  

How could he doubt it when Pat had not only run after him, a Human Widow, but braved that spider infested shed, gotten himself covered in webs, and clung to Logan so tightly he’d been surprised he hadn’t ended up covered in bruises. 

“I’m NOT!” Patton whispered fiercely, eyes shimmering. “I’m NOT Lo! I’m NOT!” 

 Logan rubbed a thumb against Pat’s cheek, brushing away his tears. “But it is okay to be scared of my little cousins. It’s a common fear among people, one you shouldn’t be upset about still having.” Especially after he’d survived an encounter with his mom. That fear was very very valid after everything he’d been through.

It’s kill or be killed, my spiderling.

Honestly, even two weeks later, it was hard to believe that Pat wasn’t afraid of him for what he was. That he would willingly stick close to him and treat him like...well, like a normal human being. Though it probably helped that Logan had been careful to keep his...Widowness...to a minimum around him. He’d worked hard to keep the spider related experiments of Virgil’s confined to his room or to when Pat wasn’t home so his best friend wouldn’t get upset. 

Patton slowly exhaled, looking at him with wide watery eyes. “You--you’re sure? It’s...okay?” He asked.

“I’m sure.” Logan said with a firm nod. “Though,” He tilted his head towards the kitchen. “Perhaps we should ban Roman from buying fruit if this is going to be a recurring event.” 

“HEY! It’s only my second time!” 

“And that’s two times too many, Princey.” 

Roman scoffed. “In six months I would think that’s still pretty good--”

“And how often have you done it in the last month? That’s not good. Whatcha do? Switch grocery stores or something?” Virgil retorted

Patton gave a shaky laugh, glancing to the kitchen before he nodded. “At least we should probably ground him for a bit.” He whispered. “A week, maybe two.”

“I think forever is good.” Virgil said, coming into the room, holding the plate of sandwiches. “Nobody here likes grapes anyways.”

Roman gasped, appearing right behind Virgil with cups and a pitcher of blue kool-aid in his hands.  “No, no, NO! Forever is NOT good, Emo Nightmare, because that is Fiveever too long and we can’t all survive off of Loganberry jam like some Nerds we know! I need--” He argued as they settled on the couch, placing the food on the table in preparation for movie night.

It was all so...normal. Logan gave Pat a gentle squeeze. Some days he still couldn’t believe that his roommates were okay with the truth, okay with knowing he wasn’t exactly like them.

But at the same time, to finally be treated normally was all that Logan had ever desired in the first place. To be able to be himself. He sighed, burying his face in Patton’s hair. “I’m glad nothing’s really changed.” He mumbled, listening to the other two argue over what movie to watch.

Patton chuckled, resting his head against Logan’s chest, relaxing in his arms. “Me too, Lo. Me too.” 

End.  Taglist in Reblog

[lins-fandom-hub]

09/01/1998 (2)

Part 1 || Part 2

Here’s part 2 of a 2-part fic that I wrote that commemorates Clara’s Hogwarts friends/peers lost to battle against the forces of evil. I hope everyone’s enjoyed it so far.

The backyard wasn’t really much to look at at first glance. It was just an open grassy field, almost as big as the Quidditch pitch, with a few Wiggentrees sprouting by the border to accommodate the Bowtruckles that live there. Over the last few days, though, Barnaby had set up a couple of comfortable tents for the guests, courtesy of Hagrid who lent them for this occasion--and in the centre of the ring of tents was a huge bonfire pit with a stone border around it. A little ways away stood a table where large sky lanterns around the size of Hagrid’s pumpkins were sitting on, as well as the refreshments that a few were kind enough to move from inside. Indeed, as the two sisters arrived everyone else was milling around waiting for them--the sun had almost fully set by now, and the first stars were just beginning to twinkle in the dark periwinkle sky.

“Everything alright?” Charlie asked Clara then. “Nothing serious?”

Clara nodded. “Yeah. Everything’s fine--I just remembered, I had to wear this dagger for this important ceremony. It was custom in the Chinese Wizarding Task Force to wear this as part of our uniform, but also to wear to honour the fallen.”

“Cool,” Ismelda remarked quietly, a wicked smile growing over her face. Somehow it seemed like her love for blades never went away.

“I think we should start lighting up the bonfire at least. Hopefully no one asks too many questions about it,” Clara said. “And then we’ll get to the lanterns.”

Everyone nodded and spread out around the fire pit in a large ring, pulling out their wands and pointing them at the pile of wood in front of them. “Incendio!”

The moment the flames caught the wood and rose to the sky, the moment the lanterns were lit, Clara looked around at everyone present before staring at the lantern in her hands, the bright orange flames pulsing through the thin white paper. Soon, the sky would be lit with more than just stars tonight. Where joy was once spread through the Great Hall as students old and new dined upon the fine feasts prepared by the Hogwarts house elves, there was now the hint of solemnity not often present on the day of fresh starts.

“Wait, Clara! Don’t start without us!”

Clara’s head snapped at the sound of her brother’s voice, and she stared in awe as Jacob came running towards the group, two women she almost didn’t recognize trailing behind him. One of them had her brown hair tied up messily in a bun, her navy blue robes swishing as she ran. The other had a bright green scrunchie wrapped tightly in her long brown hair, her face marked with a light layer of soot and her t-shirt ripped from what could only be a set of claws.

Her heart leapt at the sight. At least Jacob was here tonight--and he would stay for much longer than just a few moments.

“Jacob!” she called, waving them over. “And…”

“Aurelie and Alanza,” Jacob explained, gesturing to the two women. “They showed up at the door just as I came by. Probably came by Portkey, not sure--but they said they knew you and wanted to join you in tonight’s ritual, so I agreed.”

“Of course they’re welcome,” Clara said, a small smile on her face as she recalled fond memories with the two girls back at Hogwarts. Aurelie was Penny’s pen-friend from Beauxbatons, and she came by Hogwarts at one point to visit and search for an invaluable alchemy artefact. Alanza was an exchange student from Castelobruxo who came to Hogwarts shortly after Rowan’s untimely death, and she helped her get back on her feet again in the time she was there with her sunny disposition and cheerful outlook on life. “It’s good to see you both again.”

“Oui, it has been so long!” Aurelie agreed, stepping forward to give Clara a hug. “I trust that you have been well?”

“As well as I have been,” Clara responded with a nod. “We all definitely need to catch up some time.”

“Were you really in China for a while?” Alanza asked. “How was it?”

Clara only chuckled a bit at Alanza’s question--after all, she once said as an exchange student she came to Hogwarts looking for adventure. “It was...quite interesting, to say the least. I got to see more of China in my task force days, so that counts for something.”

“We can join the circle, can we?” Aurelie asked then. 

The circle. How strange it was to think back on the last time the circle was so important. Clara nodded and swallowed at a lump in her throat, forcing herself to retain the smile on her face. “Of course. You can grab one of the lanterns there--we have a few extra.”

The two women nodded as they went over to Badeea holding up two more lanterns already decorated and lit. 

Jacob smiled as well at his little sister, holding up an all-too-familiar scarf in his hands. “I brought this from home, just in case.”

It was Rowan’s scarf--the same scarf Clara suggested she’d buy at Diagon Alley the very first time they met. She found it in the school courtyard one night while mourning for Rowan on her path to becoming Head Girl, and she protected it with her life ever since. She reached out to take it, feeling the fraying wool between her fingers, and wound the stripes of white, red, orange, pink, yellow, and green around her shoulders. 

“Thanks, Jacob.” Clara gave her brother a nod, and Jacob nodded solemnly as he picked up another lantern from the table, then took his place between little Em and Bill in the circle. 

Eventually, everyone took their places in the circle around the bonfire, and Clara cleared her throat.

“Thanks for coming, everyone.”

Clara glanced around at the group of friends gathered before her, each of them looking expectantly at her. The memory of another time, a smaller circle of friends, struck her with the force of a bomb once again, and she clenched her fists tightly at her sides in hope that she wouldn’t cry. No, she couldn’t cry. Ben and Merula were no longer here to back her up.

“I know it’s a bit weird to call you all here only two days before the wedding,” Clara commenced in a strained voice. “And I have a very good reason for leaving the wedding off for so long at all--but that’s not what I want to talk about. Do you remember what September 1 used to mean to us?”

“The day we board the Hogwarts Express to go to Hogwarts?” George recalled fondly, glancing over at Charlie and Bill who nodded encouragingly.

“Exactly. It marked the start of a new school year…” Clara confirmed, taking a shaky breath. “The end of the summer holidays used to mean another chapter in the making--for all of us developing our individual talents, sharpening our magical skills, strengthening friendships and relationships...and, for me, unearthing the secrets of ‘R’ and the Cursed Vaults.”

She caught sight of Murphy and Orion sharing an uneasy glance before turning their heads back to her. Murphy had just opened his mouth to say something when Skye shot him a glare, and he closed his mouth respectfully.

“Over the years, we lost some friends near and dear to us,” Clara continued. “Rowan Khanna died a hero in the face of the unforgivable. Cedric Diggory was killed defying the Dark Lord alongside Harry Potter in the Triwizard Tournament. Dobby sacrificed his life defying his masters to save Harry. He died a free elf.”

Bill and Fleur nodded grimly at that, Fleur clutching tightly onto her handkerchief while Bill put a comforting arm around her. Even Aurelie and Alanza clasped hands at the news--clearly, they had missed out more than they dared to hope.

“And there were more casualties in the Battle of Hogwarts that I know we wouldn’t forget any time soon,” she went on. “Ben Copper. Nymphadora Tonks. Talbott Winger. Merula Snyde. Fred Weasley. Remus Lupin. They fought for the greater good of the wizarding world.”

The grip on her lantern wavered as she struggled not to cry. Tears were already burning in her eyes, blurring the figures of her friends and loved ones in front of her--she blinked them away and shook her head.

“Today, on September 1, 1998, let us not forget the sacrifices they made,” she proclaimed then. “On the day that we feast like kings and laugh like knights, we must also remember the heroes that made this possible for us. We now live in peace because of what they’ve done for us. We’re here today because of all they’ve given many yesterdays ago. Let this day be a new chapter for all of us, not only to live our best lives, but to honour those who made it possible.”

Somewhere up in the clear summer night, she could see the stars twinkle and gleam with the bright souls of her fallen friends. Perhaps Barnaby was right--given the right visionary scope, they would be looking down upon everyone just like angels in heaven. Each wink a laugh, each glimmer a smile. She smiled up into the vast deep blue above, feeling the pressure upon her hands and heart lift skyward, and for a moment she felt as if she was airborne.

“Preach!” Andre cheered from the other side of the bonfire, followed by a loud huzzah from everyone else around him. The shout eventually brought Clara down to earth, and she looked at Barnaby who nodded at her. 

“Let us now lift our lanterns to the sky,” Clara finally told everyone. “Our gift to the souls who watch over us every day.”

Slowly, everyone raised their lanterns, releasing them into the air with a little push at the tips of their fingers. With their pulsating flames flashing brilliant orange light within their white wrapping, they looked like tiny hearts beating with life, dancing among the stars in the night. As they lifted their heads, gazing up at the lanterns now, Clara could only see the smiles of the dead in the sky, laughter echoing in her mind. Her heart swelled at the sight of Rowan’s smile in her memory, and she welcomed the tears burning in her eyes, trickling down her cheeks.

“I’m not one to gush, but...it’s nice,” Ismelda finally remarked with a nod, a subtle peaceful smile on her face.

“It’s beautiful,” little Em agreed, gazing over at Jacob who chuckled and wrapped an arm around her..

“They’re like little beating hearts,” Liz murmured in awe. “New souls granted to the ones who watch over us.”

The higher the lanterns rose, the lighter Clara’s heart felt as the burdens and grief crumbled away, bit by bit, into the dark cavern of oblivion. She glanced around at everyone now--Penny and Beatrice had their arms around each other; Liz, Chiara, and Tulip were all pointing at the stars above in the sky; and Diego, Jae, and Charlie stepped back from the bonfire to admire the view above. Even Murphy and Erika teared up a little at the sight, and Aurelie and Alanza dabbed at the tears in their eyes with spare handkerchiefs Fleur lent them.

“Hey! Let’s not forget a toast to the impending bride and groom!” Bill called out finally, conjuring a fine goblet of mead out of thin air and holding it up to Clara and Barnaby. “To your union!”

Barnaby only chuckled as he took Clara’s hand and spun her around once, pulling her close to him. “So, you think they liked that?”

“Yeah. You’re right, Barnaby,” Clara murmured, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Everyone here liked it--I’m sure they will too.”

As everyone conjured their own glasses of mead and repeated Bill’s toast, Barnaby took out his wand and pointed it to the sky--seconds later, enchanted fireworks popped and dazzled the sky, illuminating the night with colourful sparks. Pulling him close into a hug, Clara revelled now in the comfort of the night, the warmth of his embrace, and how lucky she was to be alive right now--with friends at her side and a heart as light as air.

Time cared not how anyone felt in this very moment. The seconds would tick on and on, but the moment will forever be immortalized in the memory of the living. 

For it’s the living who cared how anyone came and left in the world, and it’s the living who would make every moment count.

[meli-productions]

Like A Good Neighbor...

Reposting with the writing in the body: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26580445 for the #ineffablehusbandsauweek

Tadfield was a sleepy town, dull except for the mischief of the children and the strands of gossip that mothers started when they were bored out of their minds. And betwixt the gossipers and the overzealous neighborhood watch, lived the elusive Mr. Aziraphale Fell and equally as mysterious Mr. Anthony J. Crowley.

Aziraphale was the local librarian and the kids of the town knew if they wanted the best hugs or a best place to hide, Mr. Fell was the man to go to. But if they wanted mischief and maybe a quick snack, it was Mr. Crowley they went to. He was a man of many talents - gardener, handyman, mechanic - whatever it was that Tadfield didn’t have he would become.

And these two were neighbors - just across the street - with a perfect view of each other’s home.

When Aziraphale moved to Tadfield to escape the chaos of London - and his overbearing family - he never thought about what he could be getting himself into. He’d just moved into his cottage now overflowing with his collection of books and hoped to settle into that mindset of early retirement - though he was far from that. The library job presented the perfect opportunity to do what he loved and still have money to fill his home with more books. What he didn’t expect was his neighbor across the street.

It had been raining when he moved, but the first day of sun revealed his neighbor across the street. The most gorgeous man he’d ever seen, shirt uncovering a smattering of freckles across his back and wisps of fiery red hair on his chest. Aziraphale was embarrassed to say that he’d left unpacking to a side to sit at the window and watch him tend to the garden.

He found out through the bored, gossipy wives that would perch themselves on his desk, that his name was Anthony Crowley and had moved there a few years prior. He kept mostly to himself unless he was doing odd jobs around town and even then they didn’t know anything about him.

“They don’t know anything because they’re not cool enough,” one of the kids, Adam, said as he sat and ate lunch with Aziraphale. “Mr. Crowley doesn’t like gossips - s’why he likes us .”

And he had taken a liking to the kids too. Adam and his friends, the Them, would spend their lunch with him and then take off into the summer day to have childhood fun. It was from them that he found out more about the mysterious Mr. Crowley and every drop of knowledge made Aziraphale more interested in getting to know his neighbor - but he chose to stay on his side, nose in his books.

What would such a handsome man want with a fussy old bookkeeper anyway?

Crowley knew that the entire town had his landline. It was the number he’d given the first gossipy neighbor when he went over to work on her sink. It’s how he was summoned for a job. So when he heard it ring, he bucked up and steadied himself for one of the town’s women to be on the other side asking him for something trivial - like pruning their already manicured bushes.

“ ‘Ello, Crowley here.”

“Erm, hello, dear,” said an unfamiliar voice from the other end. “I’m sorry to bother you but I was given your number in case something ever went wrong. And something has gone wrong.”

Crowley blinked a few times, “Okay, right. Might I ask who this is?”

“Oh,” the voice sounded mighty embarrassed. “That’s terribly rude of me. I’m Aziraphale…Fell, the new librarian, your - um - neighbor.”

His heart swooped down towards his stomach. The angel .

“Nice to - hear from you,” said Crowley, trying to sound cool despite the speeding of his heartbeat. “What seems to be the problem.”

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, then a shaky breath later, “There’s a leak in the library. Terribly inconvenient. And with the rain coming soon - ”

“Right. I’m on my way. Best to get it patched up soon. Wouldn’t want any of the books getting wet.”

“Oh, thank you, my dear. I should be at the front desk when you arrive.”

Crowley hung up and ran a hand through his hair, heart threatening to pound out of his chest. He glanced over at the table at the side of the door and stared at the package labeled ‘Aziraphale’, taking a moment to consider taking it before shaking the thought out of his head.

If all goes well , he thought. That gives me another excuse to see him .

He didn’t want to humor the idea that it wouldn’t go well.

In a few minutes, he found himself walking into the library and hoping his legs wouldn’t give out at the sight of the wide smile now being sent his way.

“Oh, thank you for coming so quickly,” Aziraphale said, reaching out a greeting hand. “Terrible way to introduce myself. And it’s usually not a big deal, but when I heard there’d be a storm - ”

Crowley gave the hand a quick shake, trying not to focus on the softness of the fingers in his, “Not a problem. Just show me where the leak is and I’ll see how bad it is.”

Aziraphale kept fussing and worrying, a cute little pout curling his lips, while Crowley took a closer look at his recent obsession.

Even from a distance, Crowley had noticed how stunning his neighbor was - from the tip of his comfy shoes to the last curl of that cloud of white-blond. He saw that there was a subtle strength to his softness and wanted to know more, even when his stormy hazel eyes turned to him, worried, Crowley wanted nothing more than to sink into the warmth he knew was held inside this man.

Aziraphale gave a little point up towards the vaulted roof of the building where he could see a little patch of wet.

“There’s the leak. Usually comes straight down without touching any of the books but - ”

“No point risking it,” said Crowley. “Not a problem. Should be easy enough to patch up. Is there roof access?”

“Right this way, dear boy.”

And if Crowley, in his ogling, let his gaze linger a little longer on the tight pull of fabric over the ample arse, well, only he would know.

Aziraphale felt like the world was testing him. Not only were the threats of storms looming over the leaky hole in the library, but now he had to pretend he hadn’t been staring at the lithe body of his neighbor who was now a lot closer than he’d ever been to him.

Yes, he was being tested and tempted in the worst way. He kept turning towards the ladder that led up to the roof hoping to catch a glimpse of the sinful dipping hips or the supple muscles of Anthony.

Luckily, the man in question had been engrossed in his work since he arrived and hadn’t noticed anything untoward in the librarian’s eyes, but it was nearing lunch and he’d hate to be the cause that the man didn’t eat.

Buck up, Aziraphale .

He squared his shoulders and peeked up the ladder, “Anthony, dear, it’s near lunch. Please come down and rest.”

Glasses hidden eyes peeked down, “Nah, not hungry. Almost done anyway.”

Aziraphale gave a little hmph, “Absolutely not. You’ve been working nonstop. Come down. Rest. Have a snack at least, then you can finish up,” he waited as he heard Crowley grumbling something about ‘snacks’ and then added, “Please?”

A sigh. Then, “Alright, you win. I’m heading down.”

Wriggling happily, Aziraphale moved out of the way and kept his eyes trained on the doorframe so as to not catch an eyeful of legs, rear, shoulders and back.

Crowley stretched, hands on the curve of his back as he cracked this way and that, “Right. Got any snack machines?”

Aziraphale shot him an appalled look, “Absolutely not - and I’m not going to put you through the horror of junk food. Come, I have some food to share - ”

“That’s not necessary- ”

“It isn’t, but, regardless, I will do it,” he said and, feeling bold, took a hold of Crowley’s forearm to lead him to the desk. “I always pack extra just in case the children come around - but considering the weather they won’t wander this far.”

Aziraphale settled him in a seat and smiled at the bright blush highlighting the freckles across the cheekbones, he was surprised that his own face wasn’t burning but gave thanks to the universe for giving him at least that win.

“You’re not allergic to anything, are you dear?”

“Ngk, n-no.”

“Wonderful.”

He pulled out his lunchbox and divided the leftover mushroom risotto between two, handing Crowley a plate which the man looked over with an amused knit to his eyebrows.

“This isn’t really a snack .”

Aziraphale huffed and shot him a look, “Then join me for lunch , Anthony dearest.”

The blush returned to the angular face across from him, “Seems like it’s too late to ask, angel, but I accept the offer. Could be worse - could be eating lunch with the raven that made a nest on the roof.”

“Well, I’m glad that I’m better company than a bird,” he said, then processed Crowley’s words. “Angel?”

Without noticing the cornered expression on his companion’s face, Aziraphale continued, “Oh? You know about my name?”

Crowley was still for a moment, then deflated, “Yes, ‘course, that’s why I called you angel, innit? Unless - unless it bothers you?”

“No,” he responded, much too quick, then blushed. “N-no, it’s fine. Never been called that before.”

“Pity,” said Crowley, shoving risotto in his mouth. “‘S g’d.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence as they ate the food. Aziraphale offered a few grapes that were turned down with a little shake of a head and a smaller smile.

“You’ll spoil me.”

Oh, you so deserve to be spoiled - “It’s the least I could do for how quickly you’ve done this work.”

“Right, best go finish it. Gotta make sure none of your books get wet. I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

“Mind how you go, dear. Say hello to that raven for me.”

-

An hour before closing, Crowley leaned against the check out desk and checked out the distracted librarian cataloguing books with his glasses perched precariously at the end of his nose.

He’d never had a thing for librarians - but now he understood what they had meant by sexy librarians.

Breaking himself out of that train of thought before it dragged lower, Crowley cleared his throat and watched as the focused hazel eyes softened.

“Oh, dear boy, thank you so much,” he said, eyes shining as he smiled. “How much do I owe you?”

Crowley shook his head, “Free of charge, Aziraphale. And before you argue it,” he said, noticing the frown and opening mouth, “I know that this is a local library - runs off scraps. Take it as my civic duty.”

“As grateful as I am, I can’t just not give you anything,” said Aziraphale, hands strangling the hem of his sweater. “I wouldn’t be able to rest.”

“Just - “ Crowley hesitated, then, with his most charming smile said, “just make me dinner and we’ll call it even?”

Aziraphale stalled in his wringing, eyes widening as he glanced up, “Of course. I’m not that great a cook, but if you liked it I’ll swing by later this week and drop something off.”

Crowley felt like thumping his head on the counter, but he continued, “You’re not getting off that easy - ” then winced at his poor choice of words, “erm, what I mean is - good food isn’t worth it if there’s no good company.”

It was worth the awkwardness to see the sugar-plum cheeks pinken prettily and Aziraphale nodded, “Ah, yes. Um, what - what do you say to Friday night? 8 o’clock?

Blood thundering, Crowley beamed, “Sound great. I’ll bring wine, angel.”

In a small town like Tadfield, nothing remained quiet for too long. The neighborhood had seen Crowley atop the library like a beacon and so Aziraphale was assaulted by the curious women wondering what had happened and what the librarian had thought of his elusive neighbor.

They were also quick to notice the dusting of pink on Aziraphale’s face when he mentioned that it was ‘a simple thing and Anthony completed it right on time.’

Soon the rumor mill started spinning and the next thing he knew, Crowley found himself holding the yarn of old Mrs. Galloway being interrogated on what he thought of the ‘darling librarian’. And how could he keep from the eagle-eyed woman that he thought he’d gone to heaven when he looked into those hazel eyes.

“But you can’t go and tell those vultures that,” hissed Crowley. “They’ll scare him away.”

Mrs. Galloway just gave a thoughtful hum and continued knitting - but said vultures didn’t find out anything. All they knew is just that they’d seen a dopey-looking Crowley dancing into his house with a paper bag on Thursday afternoon and out of the house dressed neater and more handsome then he’d ever looked on Friday night.

What they didn’t know is that tucked underneath the bottle of wine in his hands was the package he’d been hiding for the past couple of weeks - the conversation topic he was hoping would connect him with the angel across the street from him.

He knocked and waited, leg bouncing with nervous energy and stilling only when he heard the click of the door.

Aziraphale was alight from behind by the light of the house and it made him look more angelic than ever as the golden glow danced through his curls and off the tan and blue of his outfit.

“Come in, dear, it’s much too wet to be hanging about,” and he pulled Crowley in without a second thought. “Let me put your coat on the rack, don’t want you catching your death in those clothes.”

Crowley thought he’d risk a cold every day if it meant being fussed over by Aziraphale who helped him out of his leather jacket. Every brush of fingers against his body set heat running through every cell.

Clearing his throat, he held out the bottle, “Brought wine, as promised.”

Noticing the year, Aziraphale made an appreciative noise, “This is lovely, dear, I’m going to go ahead and put this on ice. Take a seat, make yourself at home, we’ve got a couple more tics ‘till the food’s ready.”

As he slipped into the kitchen, Crowley made sure to watch him wishing he was the cozy sweater just to hold him that close and then took a seat at the little table. There was a book sitting on it, Pride and Prejudice, and felt the package in his hands grow heavier in his lap.

“Here, dearest, have a glass. It’s not as good as what you brought for us but - ” Aziraphale faltered as he saw the furrowed brow sinking into the frames of Crowley’s sunglasses, “What’s wrong?”

“I - I have something of yours,” said Crowley, slipping off his glasses. “I’ve been - selfishly holding onto it because I wanted a reason to come over - now it just feels creepy and I’m thinking I should just go back home.”

“What- ”

The brown-paper package slid onto the table - a rectangle, hefty, that could only be a book addressed to Aziraphale from a ‘Gabriel’. Crowley, heart heavy and feet even heavier, stood.

“Sorry, angel. I’ll just - get out of your hair,” he said, glasses dangling at the tip of his fingers and he made his way out - until a hand tugged his wrist and stopped him mid-shuffle.

He met Aziraphale’s warm expression, a small and shy smile playing on his face, “I made too much food for just one person - be a shame to let it go to waste.”

Another tug brought him closer to Aziraphale’s warmth and the manicured fingers plucked the glasses out of his fingers, “Sit back down, darling boy. You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s just a package from my brother - probably some sort of self-help book he’s so fond of sending me. No harm, no foul. And,” he gave a little laugh at this, “at least you had a plan - I was just resigned to watching you from my window.”

At the stunned expression from Crowley, Aziraphale sighed, “My dear, I’ve been trying to gather up the courage to have a conversation with you since the first time I saw you in your garden - but I’m a foolish old man- ”

“Not that old,” muttered Crowley.

“ - but you were brave enough for us both.” continued Aziraphale, ignoring the interruption. “Now, you are going to stay right there, I am going to serve us both a wonderful serving of pasta alla puttanesca and, if you’re still interested after dinner, we can enjoy dessert.”

Crowley studied the man who said dessert, but looked like he’d meant dessert , and felt his lips twitch up, “Well, can’t say no to an offer like that.”

Aziraphale beamed, “Good. Now, be a dear and open that package up for me while I get our plates.”

The damned package sat there, teasing, so Crowley ripped it open, laughing when he read the title.

“What’s so funny?”

Holding the book up to Aziraphale, the two of them looked at each other and broke out into laughter, moving the book out of the way as they dug into their food.

Gabriel - with the wisdom only sibling intuition could bring - had sent Aziraphale the one thing he knew his brother would need:

How to Get a Date in 10 Easy Steps.

[whump-but-make-it-gay]

Febuwhump Day 9

Prompt: buried alive

Fandom: Once upon a time

Setting: 2x09 Regina burying Cora

TW: claustrophobia

"Leave us." Regina directed her harsh words at Hook. He was worthless for her now. Hook did his job, he had killed her mother and brought her to the enchanted forest. He left the crypt without another word, closing the door and leaving Regina with Cora alone.

She looked at the rose in her hand, then to her mother, who laid in the open casket. She looked asleep, even peaceful.

"I'm sorry mother, without you I never would have become the person I am now," Regina's words were soft but, she looked strangely satisfied at Cora. "But I had no choice," she continued.

"I had to do this. After you killed Daniel you told me something I've never forgotten. Love is weakness. And mother you are my weakness," her voice broke," because I love you."

It was the truth. Deep down, she somehow loved her mother. Regina would still try to make her proud if Cora had been around. She had hated her mother for a long time, but she could never drown the voice in her had that told her to be a good daughter. Tears started pooling in her eyes until they fell on the white casket.

"That's why I couldn't risk taking you to the new land with me. Your grip on my heart is just to strong." A final tear landed on the casket.

Regina bent down and laid the rose on Coras chest, interlaceing her fingers that she hold the rose. How could such a cruel woman look so peaceful. This strange beauty terrified her deeply, knowing that other people would look satisfied when she died, and the people would. They would probably celebrate the day the evil queen finally died.

Quickly, she turned around, not able to stare at her death mother anymore.

"You are stupid."

Abruptly Regina froze. Her mother was dead. There was no possible way she could have said that. She turned to the open casket, looking down at Cora, who laid unaltered in it. Regina took a deep breath, it wasn't the first time she imagined voices like that. 'I really loose my sanity,' she thought bitterly.

She reached down again, her hand stroking her mother's features. Her hand traced her shoulders, the way down her arms until Coras hand snapped up, catching Regina's hand and held her tightly.

Regina tried to pull away. She was visibly shocked and her mind was racing, her heart hammering in her chest. Cora sat up, still holding her hand in a death grip. And then, she laughed.

"Did you really think you could send some dirty pirate to kill me?" She asked incredulously laughing. Her mocking eyes looked into Reginas' terrified ones.

She opened her mouth but no words came out, only a strangled sound. Something hit her head hard and she stumbled, catching the side of the casket with her free hand. Somebody kicked into her legs, forcing her down onto her knees.

Regina looked up, surprise and fear was written on her face, as she saw into Hooks face. He pulled her up and pushed her forcefully backwards, her upper back pressing against the casket.

Cora twisted Regina's arm and slammed the cuff on it, restraining her magic.

"Release me at an instant," Regina bellowed. "This is an order from your queen," she commanded coldly.

"No, your majesty." Regina didn't miss the mockery in Hooks tone, but before she could answer something, he pushed her inside the casket, holding her down.

From her position Regina could only watch of they together lifted the lid and closed the casket around her. The darkness around her suffocating and tightening.

"My dear child." Coras voice was muffled but still understandable. "You should have listened to me the last time. You spent to much power on your silly little revenge. It is time that I finally get what I want."

Regina stayed silent. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of her fear or her defeat. Her breathing increased and she could hear her heart hammering in her chest. The tight dress made her uncomfortable. Her corset was suddenly to tight, to painful, to restricting.

She didn't even hear how Cora and Hook made their way out of her vault and closed the thick wooden door. All she could think of was, how everything was to small.

Regina began to panic, her hands were trying to rip the cuff off but is didn't move on her skin. The air became nauseating, every breath was to fast and to shallow. She hammered against the lid with her feet, but the white marble stayed in place. She screamed through her breaths, hoping anybody would hear her.

Even if somebody would, they most likely let her suffocate. So many people would enjoy hearing her screaming, she was sure of it.

She hated the feeling of laying on her back, not able to shift into another position. Everything was pressing down on her, the weight of the darkness, the marble, the thought corset. She gasped for air but she couldn't take a deep breath. Dizzines crept into her skull and she began to feel lightheaded. She couldn't see anything other then darkness, but Regina still felt everything spinning around her, until it stopped. Everything stopped, all she heard was her blood rushing in her ears.

[manage-mischief]

Ground Zero

Part One: Fears

Read on AO3 here. 

Summary: Two-shot. Though Tonks had been fantasizing about moments like this for months—moments when the two of them were in bed together—none of them had involved quite this much blood or mortal peril. In which Remus is injured during a mission and Tonks has to think fast to save his life.

Author’s Note: This will be a two-shot and perhaps part of a larger Remadora series. They are definitely one of my OTPs, and I feel like a lot of their relationship was glossed over in the books. This story attempts to place a timeline on some of their romance. It takes places soon after Order of the Phoenix, before the Half-Blood Prince. I envision it happening right before Harry arrives at the Weasley’s and sees Tonks and Molly there. I’m pretty new to fanfiction writing, so any kind comments would be appreciated!

“We’d like a room, please,” Tonks furiously attempted to steady her voice as she supported the injured man beside her. She wrapped her arms around his waist, hoping the innkeeper would assume they were nothing more than two love-birds who couldn’t keep their hands off of each other, looking for a quiet night away.

“Just a mo’,” the woman behind the desk remarked, holding up a finger while flipping through a large, leather-bound journal. “Let me check what’s available, dears…let’s see let’s see…”

Tonks bounced her leg, irritated. It took all of her strength not to vault herself over the desk and strangle the old lady. This was a crisis, goddammit!

Breathe, just breathe.

Normally, Tonks prided herself on her ability to stay cool under fire. Normally, she’d be calm and collected, just like Moody had taught her. And she would have been, if anyone else had been leaning on her for support, dripping blood. Anyone else besides Remus Lupin.  

Remus had underestimated her when they first met. He, like many other members of the Auror Department, the Order, and her own family, quickly wrote her off: too young, too frivolous, too clumsy to do any good. He would scold her constantly. “Nymphadora,” he’d sigh in his disappointed professor voice, shaking his head whenever she had said or done something undignified. Naturally, he’d annoyed the living shit out of her. She couldn’t stand his constant nagging. She’d even asked Moody for a transfer.

“The two of you work well together,” her mentor had grunted, clearly indicating that there was no conversation to be had. She had more sense than to argue with Mad-Eye about such matters. He was a stubborn arse, just like her. It was why they got along so well.

It wasn’t until Remus and Tonks’ first real, proper, hunt-for-Death-Eaters-and-try-not-to-get-killed mission that the pair had bonded. Together, they had taken down a small group of Voldemort’s cronies stationed in Muggle London. Tonks had saved Remus’s life, blocking an avada kedavra on course to hit him square in the chest and taking down four baddies in her wake. Funnily enough, Remus gained a bit more respect for her after that. She began to return the feeling.

Respect blossomed into friendship. And friendship, at least for Tonks, had evolved into something much deeper and much, much harder to name. Her heart began to flutter each time he walked into the room. Their banter made her blush. She found herself making excuses to get close to him, despite every logical, reasonable voice in her head telling her becoming romantically involved with her partner would be an absolutely horrid idea. She never had been good at listening to reason.

Romantic feelings aside, the duo had made quite an impact on the Order. Their latest excursion had been going quite well…until it hadn’t. They were camped out in the woods near a small Muggle town in Wales. The Order had received a tip that Fenrir Greyback and his gang were hiding there, planning some attack for You-Know-Who. Despite the life-or-death circumstances, their little camping trip had been very enjoyable. The witch and wizard had sat under the trees, sharing secrets and stories of past mischief well into the night. Tonks even thought she had felt Remus’s hand brush hers as they lay on their backs, looking up at the stars that shone through the branches above.  

Then, they had been ambushed. Greyback had known they were coming. He must have. Three of his minions jumped them, just as their fire was beginning to die out. Tonks managed to defeat two of them in under a minute. She huffed, extremely pleased with her handiwork—until she heard a loud crash and a scream behind her. She whipped around. There was Remus, lying face down on the forest floor, bleeding profusely. The third member of Greyback’s pack grinned and darted back into the forest, leaving Tonks to take in the sight of her injured partner.

It was clear that their hastily-assembled campsite would be insufficient for tending to Remus’s wounds, so Tonks had Apparated to the village just beyond the woods. Her main priority was getting him to a safe and comfortable place. Running water and heat would be a plus. This inn had been the closest space she could find. The building itself was a bit run down, but the warm glow of the window lights and the steady stream of smoke emerging from the chimney had seemed promising enough. And so, she led her partner through the door, attempting to conceal the blood seeping through his shirt as though not to draw suspicion. The last thing she needed was the Muggle police getting involved. She was not in the mood to Obliviate anyone tonight.

“Hold on, we’ll get you fixed up,” she whispered in Remus’s ear, very aware of her own body pressed against his as he leaned on her for support. He nodded, his face paler than usual. Still, when the innkeeper looked up from her desk, he forced a smile, trying his best to keep up their alibi.

“Aha, here you are! Room 219, second floor. Should be a cozy place for you two to…relax.” The matron winked and flashed a sly grin. Tonks tried to laugh, but was sure it sounded more like a sob. “Thank you very much, ma’am.”

Tonks guided Remus around the corner. No elevator. Perfect. “Remus, we’re going to have to climb the stairs. I don’t think it’s safe for me to Apparate with you again. Can you do that?” Remus grimaced and nodded. Tonks adjusted her grip, holding up as much of his weight as she could. “Ok. One step at a time, Remus. Let’s do this,” she said, more as encouragement for herself than for him. This was not the time to be tripping up the stairs (as she had been known to do, on occasion).

Slowly, painstakingly, Tonks and Remus made their way up the stairs. Every step was agony. She could feel his breath hitch and his body tense at each movement. He winced, he groaned. Her heart felt as if it were being ripped into pieces. She couldn’t stand seeing him in this much pain. Get it together, Nymphadora! She scolded herself, using her hated first name. Focus, dammit! Why did emotions have to be so bothersome? This was just a mission. Just like any other mission. She had to resist the urge to break down. She refused to let her feelings…whatever they happened to be…get in the way of saving Remus.

Finally, they made it to their room. Tonks eased Remus onto the bed—of course, there was only one, because evidently the universe was determined to make Tonks’s life as miserable and humiliating as possible—and swung the knapsack she had been carrying off of her back. “Alright, I have a bit of Healer training. Let me see what we’ve got here…” she paused, her face reddening. “I’ll need to…um…expose the affected area….” Remus coughed. She chose to believe it was due to the exertion from stair climbing. There was certainly no awkwardness here. No sir. She was a professional.

“Okay then. Right. Um…” she kneeled in front of him and examined his injuries. There were three bloody gashes that began slightly left of his navel and wrapped around his left side before traveling up his back to his shoulder blade. His shirt was plastered to the area with a mixture of sweat and congealed blood. Scanning the rest of his body, she noticed a few more minor scrapes, as well as what seemed to be a large puncture wound on his left thigh. His breath continued in a ragged rhythm. Her hands began to shake.

“I’ve looked worse,” he chirped, cracking a feeble smile. His grin gave her a jolt of confidence. Reinvigorated, she stood and grabbed her knapsack, which had been enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm.

“Debatable, old man,” she teased back. “I’m going have to get a better look at what we’re dealing with. Do you think you can take off your clothes?” Was it just a trick of the light, or had she seen some color return to his cheeks?

“I hate to ask, but… I don’t think I can manage it on my own.” He demonstrated a feeble attempt to raise the hem of his shirt, wincing. Tonks swallowed and nodded slowly. She plunged her arm deep into the magic bag and rummaged around until she found what she was searching for: a silver-bladed knife. “I hate to ruin your shirt…”

“I think we might be a bit past that point,” he quipped. Sitting down on bed beside him, she began to gently cut away the blood-soaked fabric. She worked as quickly as she dared—not wanting to tear away his skin, which clung to the sticky, formerly-white cloth. Finally, she was able to remove the garment, exposing Remus’ bare chest. This time, she felt her own breath hitch. Her eyes lingered, just for a moment, on his leanly muscular frame. She noticed streaks of white running crisscross over his bare skin: old transformation scars. She averted her gaze. This was no time to be ogling the half-naked man in front of her. Though she had been fantasizing about moments like this for months—moments when the two of them were alone in bed together—none of them had involved quite this much blood or mortal peril. Come to think of it, none of them had involvedany blood or mortal peril.  

The gashes on his chest and back were pretty superficial, despite the bleeding, and did not seem to have punctured any vital organs. She would simply have to stem the bleeding and bandage them up. She moved to examine his leg. “Lie down,” she commanded, and assisted as he tried to move his legs up onto the bed.

Grow up, she thought to herself, as she helped guide him out of his trousers. Her heart sank. The wound was deep. Furthermore, she deduced from the greenish tinge surrounding the gaping flesh, the weapon that had made it must have been poisoned. Great. She knew she should have paid more attention in potions. Furiously rummaging through her knapsack once more, she pulled out several bottles and desperately read their labels, muttering to herself. “Bubotuber pus, no. Mandrake draught, no. Love potion antidote, no, why do we even have this?!” Despite his state, Remus chuckled. “Clearly, you’ve never had the pleasure of being under the influence of a love potion. Now that’s dangerous.”

“Okay, right now I’m trying to focus on saving your life, Lupin, but as soon as I’m finished, I want every, and I mean every detail of that story.”

“Fine, fine. If I don’t succumb to whatever injuries those prats inflicted upon me, you can hear the story. But, if I do die, I want you to promise you’ll mourn me properly. Black veils, wailing, flinging yourself onto my coffin, the works.”

“There’ll be none of that talk! I’ll have you up and running about in no time, grandpa,” Tonks joked back, though still frowning. Dumbledore said he had given them everything they could possibly need for their adventure. Surely, he must have packed them something to deal with poison. Suddenly, her fingers wrapped around another, extremely small bottle. She pulled it out of the bag and searched the label. All it said was “From Fawkes, for Order emergencies,” with a picture of a red bird on the label.

“What’d’you reckon this could be,” Tonks asked as she passed Remus the bottle.

“Fawkes is Dumbledore’s bird, I believe,” he responded, twirling the bottle in his hands, as if searching for a hidden message.

Tonks’s face lit up. “That’s it! Give it here!” She grabbed it out of his hand and hastily unscrewed the top.

“What is?”

She grinned up at him as she used the dropper top to apply a generous amount of clear liquid to his punctured leg. Sure enough, the wound began to knit itself back together, the green hue fading. “Fawkes is a phoenix, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but I don’t…of course!” his faced beamed with realization. They met each other’s eyes and simultaneously exclaimed: “Phoenix tears have healing powers!” A moment passed.

“Nerd,” Tonks remarked. Then, the pair burst out laughing, the tension from the night’s events pouring out of them with a relief. Remus winced again, drawing them both back to reality.

“I suppose we don’t have enough to use on my other wounds as well?”

“No,” Tonks replied, once again searching through the bottles surrounding her, “but we do have Essence of Dittany and bandages!”

“That’ll do just fine.” Remus smiled.

The next hour consisted of Tonks carefully dabbing Dittany onto Remus’s chest and back. Now that the immediate danger had passed, she could no longer ignore the chills coursing up and down her spine as she lightly brushed his bare skin. Once she had bandaged the last of the gashes, she allowed her hand to linger for a split second. She ran her fingertips gently down his uninjured back. He went unnaturally still. She pulled her hand away, quickly. “I’m glad you’re okay, Remus.”

Abruptly, she jumped up off of the bed, walked to the bathroom, and locked the door. She let herself sink to the floor, back against the wall, and put her head in her hands. Taking a few deep breaths, she tried to slow her racing heart. There really was no denying it: she was deeply, madly, hopelessly in love with the man who lay beyond the bathroom door.

[angst-fairygodmother]

How about: “I wasn’t lying when I told you I loved you.” + “Who cares what they think?” for Valdo x reader? :3

A/N: A slight tweak of the exact wording of the prompt, but I think you’ll forgive me :) Word Count: 1772 Content Warning: a PG-13 level of swearing (exactly one), self-pity/self-depreciation

“Valdo Marx!” the high, somewhat nasally voice rang out over the banquet hall as some countess you couldn’t name approached. “It’s been so long since you’ve graced us with your presence. There were even rumors that you had died!” Her big, bright blue eyes batted coquettishly at him.

“Well,” he said with a smirk and a chuckle. “How dramatic. As you can see, I am quite alive and well. I simply took some time away from court to chase a particularly…ornery muse and create new material.”

You shot him a playful glare and caught his smirk at the descriptor.

“Will we hear some of it tonight?” she clasped his hand in both of hers and drew it to her chest entreatingly. “It would be oh so grand for you to perform.”

You rolled your eyes from beside him, familiar and bored of this courtly song and dance.

“I’m sure something can be arranged, my lady,” he acquiesced. “Although, I am here as a guest tonight, so I may have to talk it over with my dear Y/N.”

“Oh!” the lady gasped, as if only just noticing you standing there. “Y/N? I’m unfamiliar with the name. Where is your family from?” the cock of her head reminded you of the little spaniels many nobles had recently decided it was fashionable to carry around.

“Nowhere,” you said tersely before smiling coldly. “I got here on my own merit. You’d be surprised the doors that open when you save a queen’s life.”

Valdo beamed proudly by your shoulder as the lady stammered and floundered for how to respond. It was true that you had been invited to court for as long as you wished to stay, and promised any number of lavish rewards after your quick thinking had halted an assassination attempt in the market earlier that day. And most of the court had been smart enough to catch the gossip quickly and pay you due respect.

“Yes, it was a quite the sight to witness,” he purred. “Had I more time before tonight, I would surely have crafted my greatest ballad yet about their daring rescue. And done without ever so much as a hair out of place. Such a clever thing, my Y/N. Nearly as clever as beautiful. I am so lucky to love them, and hardly deserving of it.”

You preened under his praise and the lady murmured some excuse to duck away, flushed with embarrassment.

“There was no need to tease her like that,” you scolded playfully as soon as she was out of earshot.

“Who was teasing, love? I meant every word of it. And she was the one who didn’t know who you were.”

“None of them actually know. Or care. I am a merely the newest, shiny little toy. Like the lapdogs. By next week, I’ll be back in the kennels, muzzled and forgotten in favor of something else when the novelty wears off.”

‘It’ll wear off for him to,’ a treacherous voice whispered in the back of your mind. ‘How long do you really think you can carry on this charade before Valdo Marx finds something prettier and more agreeable?’

“Muzzled? Now there’s a thought…” his eyebrows wagged salaciously and you slapped his chest just hard enough to make him gasp out a breath.

“Don’t you start, Valdo Marx,” you threatened, a finger pointed into his face.

“Oh, pearl of my heart, but it is so much fun to tease you.”

“I want to get through tonight with a modicum of dignity. And I’m frankly surprised that you don’t.”

“Dignity is all in the presentation, darling.”

“Speaking of,” you sighed and dropped your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “That very large and imposing looking man in armor is staring at us pointedly. I think it’s time to go meet the royals.”

~

Your face burned with humiliation. The queen had been kind enough as you stumbled through appropriate courtly greetings, the motions and words feeling stiff and unfamiliar, disjointed, like a puppet with tangled strings. And the king had, perhaps even more blessedly, been aloof. But the crown prince – a skinny, pimply, young monster not yet through puberty – had brayed like a donkey and called the attention of a half-dozen courtiers to your every error, and they all tittered behind handkerchiefs and fans and gloved fingers. You had stared down at your own, exposed in all their calloused, bitten-nailed glory. For some reason, that small difference had been enough to spur tears in your eyes and, mumbling an apology and a thanks for their graciousness, you had fled.

Valdo found you, leaning with a white knuckled grip, on one of the balconies far from the throne room.

“If you’re planning to vault yourself over the edge and escape into the lawns as your pose suggests,” he called softly as he approached. “I would point out that not only are we on the second story, but there are rose bushes right below us and I would hate to see the most wonderful face on the continent so torn up.”

His arm slid around your waist, pulling you close so that he could press a kiss to your temple just in time to hear you mutter “idiot, absolute idiot.”

“The prince? Absolutely,” he answered, trying to pretend you were doing anything other than disparaging yourself. “But he’s young, there’s still a chance he’ll grow out of it before he takes the throne. Or someone will beat it out of him.”

“No,” you scoffed. “Me. I was a fool to think I could even remotely fit in here, even with your tutelage this afternoon.”

“In your defense, I wasn’t the best instructor, but I was…distracted.” He pressed another kiss to the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “Horribly distracted.”

“I’m serious Valdo,” you tried to pull away from him, but he kept his hold firm. “I’m a joke. They’re all in there laughing at this idiotic country bumpkin playing at courtier. I wanted to belong, for you, so that you weren’t so embarrassed to bring me to functions and could go back to performing in palaces and grand estates where you belong but I just can’t. I was stupid to think I could.”

“Stop.” He moved his hands to rest firmly on your shoulders. “Y/N, listen to me.”

He ducked his head to force you to look in his eyes, and though you tried not to, you gravitated naturally to meet his emerald gaze, a natural sense of calm flooding over you at the tenderness you found there. “Are you listening, dearest?”

You nodded meekly.

“Good. Because what I’m about to say is very profound and important. Ready?”

You nodded again, fighting a smile at his dramatics.

“Fuck ‘em.” He whispered, leaning close so that the words, and his facial hair, brushed against your ear.

“What?” you laughed incredulously at hearing him swear, especially in such a serious and impassioned tone.

“Is that not how you would put it?”

“I see. I’ve been a terrible influence on you, and ruined your genteel demeanor.” You tried to keep the joke light, but couldn’t help the darkness that crept over your face at the thought of it being just another thing you couldn’t do right for him.

“I’m serious, Y/N. Who cares what they think?”

You paused, biting your lip and looking down at the sliver of ground between you. “Well I mean…I thought…you did? You’re Valdo Marx. You should be here, courting rich patrons and lovers and charming the all sorts of people. Not burdened by me.”

He sighed, leaning one hip against the railing and crooking a finger under your chin to pull your face back up toward his.

“I would be lying if I said I never considered my reputation. But there are things much more valuable to me than it, and I can’t be bothered anymore with anyone who thinks less than the absolute highest of you.”

You felt the tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes and reached up anxiously to brush them away before they could fall.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I loved you, Y/N. I truly do. With all my heart. And I will give all of this up a thousand times over to live in a hovel if that’s what it takes to have you in my life.”

“A hovel? Really?”

“Yes. I mean I would much prefer not a hovel. A modest townhouse at the least. In a city, a capital or near one of the universities, I’ll still need to ply my craft somewhere. And I’d be terribly frightened that you’d get bored or sick of me and use your innumerable talents to make my body disappear if we were out in the middle of nowhere. But if isolation is what you truly wanted, I would find a way to make it work.” His eyes shone in the distant candlelight as he carried on.

“Take it easy, Valdo,” you laughed. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say all that talk sounded very,” you gestured vaguely as you sought the right word. “Future-y. Like you’re expecting us to settle down soon.”

“Well…” he carded a nervous hand through his curls and your fingers itched  beyond reason to replace it with your own.

“What? Why would we do that? I thought we both loved this wandering life…Do you know something I don’t?”

“It’s…well…a bit more hopeful than that…” you had never seen him so worked up, and his nervous energy was beginning to bleed into your own.

“Out with it.” You ordered, hoping some firmness would get him to pull himself together.

He sighed. “I hadn’t planned to do this tonight, or so shortly after you had been insulted and upset, which it is only by virtue of him being a future king and therefore an important ally to cultivate that I did not challenge him to a duel for that you know…”

You raised an eyebrow. “Right, and him being only about twelve-years-old had nothing to do with it?”

He shrugged, as if to suggest that he would in fact have challenged a child to a fight in your name.

“Y/N. Sun and stars in my sky. Deity made flesh and stooped low to love me. Grandest muse, all I could ever ask for and more. I have no right. I am a cad and a wastrel and do not deserve you. But I bare my heart before you, and ask you to take it, let it be yours forever, let me be yours,” he slowly sank down in front of you. “As your husband?”

[inviouswriting]

Parthenophilia

My mind is on my pairing this week so, forgive me for all I am writing is of them, piecing together their love story and all the other wonderful stuff in between. 

This is smut.

 Word count - 5,268 

This will also be on my Ao3.

 Parthenophilia I’ll write my/your character taking the others virginity.

The day started out simple between Kiya and Aymeric. He invited her over for the evening, and Kiya accepted his invitation. She feels a bit more nervous this time, as she is also staying the night with him again. Her nerves coming from the next step she wants to take with him.

Kiya is brought out of her thoughts when she is in her inn room, looking herself over, Jandelaine pauses with his scissors over her. He was helping her try different looks, painting different things on her face to make her look appealing for the evening. He knows her well, and settles for having her hair down sleek black with faint blue to them. A trending color to Kiya. On her left cheek is a painted dark blue heart, and lips a light blue. 

“My dear, it almost feels like you are about to go for your wedding night. I know Aymeric will love anything you wear, and how you look. You already are ravishing.” He compliments her, and finishes her style off getting an appreciative nod and hum out of her.  He takes his payment from her and smiles as he walks away.

Kiya wears something a little more for the night, the black tights and a beautiful fitting dress that hugged her curve. She looks herself over in the mirror and when the time is to meet Aymeric she heads out. 

Kiya thought long and hard over her relationship with Aymeric, and the previous night he had snuck her into The Vault’s Quire to swear his life to her, and she had promised hers on the place where they had lost and gained so much. She recalls saving his life, and it gives her more conviction for her plan for the evening.

When she arrived to Aymeric’s house, he was just arriving, he takes a look at his beloved and feels like he is staring at an angel. So much he drops his keys to his home, and for the first time that night, she sees him blush from ear to ear.

“Kiya, my dearest. You look radiant.” Aymeric breathes out, he hasn’t seen her dress up since the first time she came to dinner with him. Kiya fidgets with the ends of her hair.

“You like it then?” She asks, playing coy and innocent. Aymeric reaches down to pick up the keys, and looks at her through half-lidded eyes, a smolder in those ice blues.

“I love it. Please come inside.” He opens the door and allows her in. Kiya feels at home in his place, she spends a lot of her off time at Aymeric’s place. She notes he is staring hard at her watching her saunter about to his living room den. Aymeric follows almost entranced by her walk.

“Is there a special occasion to your manner of dress?” He wonders, he is still in his regalia clothes. He sets about removing the armor disappearing brief to his room to change into something more fitting. A white button down, and black pants. 

“Kind of a special occasion, but you will find out soon.” She smiles up at him, he leans in to give her a kiss. She eagerly kisses him back, almost a little more passion into her side. Aymeric pulls back to look at her eyes, seeing them vibrant green, but he feels like he is on fire from her stare. He tugs at the collar of his shirt. 

“Wine? My love?” He offers, remembering they’re about to have dinner together. Kiya smiles and nods, she also pulls him to her, lips next to an ear.

“Yes, and do you think after we eat, we can be sure that we’re alone for the evening?” She asks him, and Aymeric snaps his head to see if he heard her right. The blush on her face confirms something, her demeanor different and sure of herself. 

“Are we? Yes I can be sure of that.” He feels his skin heat up at catching on after she nods. 

“Yes, Aymeric. I want to take another step in our relationship.” She feels shy in saying it, but keeps herself from backing down from her nerves.

“I want to be with you.”

“Then it will be mine pleasure to be a perfect lover.” He takes one of her hands and kisses the back of her hand. He leads her to the dining room to eat, knowing things should be ready. All through the evening he would keep his eyes on her, his eyes straying and roaming over her body. He finds himself watching her lips as she bites on her bottom every so often. 

After Aymeric helped his manservant clean up, he had instructed him to take the rest of the night off, in addition to taking his cranky cat along, so there were no interruptions for this night.

Kiya resigned herself to Aymeric’s room, changing out of the elegant dress and into one of Aymeric’s other button down shirts. Finding the complicated dress too intimidating for the night. Aymeric finds her and smiles from the door frame. He prefers this side of her. Simple but herself. A touch of elegance in her mannerisms. Her lion like tail wriggles in the air and a feline ear twitches towards him once she hears him clear his throat.

“You changed clothes I see.” He approaches the side of the bed, and settles down next to her. Aymeric tugs her close to him, and presses kisses to her face and shoulder. Kiya smiles from the kisses and nods.

“This feels more comfortable.” She murmurs to him, Aymeric nods and tilts Kiya’s head towards his. He presses a half kiss to her lips, testing to see if she wants this. When she kisses him again in full, gripping his shirt he has his answer. 

Tilting Kiya’s head back, he lays her down into the center of his bed and begins deepening the kiss. Kiya tilts her head back and parts her lips into the kiss to let his tongue delve into her mouth. Kiya releases a moan into the kiss, and feels Aymeric’s hands wrap around her. 

Aymeric wants to hear that sound again, he pulls back from the kiss and presses light kisses across her lips. 

“May I touch you?” Aymeric lifts his head to one of her ears and nibbles on the very end of it. Kiya lets another soft moan escape her, her legs closing together.

“Yes, you may touch me.” She even guides his hands to her waist. Aymeric presses his hands on her abdomen and rubs them on her body passing along her breasts till they were at her shoulders. He kisses her again while his hands travel down the front of her and over her chest. 

Kiya’s breathing hitches when his hands squeeze her breasts. Feeling his hands on her was different than she thought. He had never once accidentally groped her in all their courting. Not a single slip up, or unwanted touch. She looks at his face, and he has an almost sense of wonder in his eyes watching her face for further signs. 

She nods her head, and he begins to open the front of the shirt she is wearing. His lips trailing kisses across milky flesh as it is exposed to him. He pauses at the valley between her breasts and looks up at her. 

“How far am I allowed to go?” He checks with her, knowing that their first time with penetration is still in question. He wants her comfortable, but he also wants to please her. Aymeric nuzzles his face against a breast, feeling allowed to touch her so intimately. Kiya thinks it over, and smiles at him.

“We can go as far as we can go full.” She informs him, and he nods understanding. Aymeric continues to tug open her shirt and sits up on his knees as he undoes the last button then carefully slides the fabric off her front. Kiya’s arms cover her breasts shy from his stare. Aymeric leans down to hover over her, hands on either side of her head.

“Come on my love, let me see you.” His hands ghost down her arms. Kiya’s face burns with embarrassment as she slowly uncovers her chest. Her tail flicks to the side as she sees Aymeric’s expression soften. 

“You are beautiful.” He leans down to kiss her again, firm, his lips nibbling her bottom lip. His hands move from her arms to cup her breasts in his hands. The soft flesh under his hands makes him shiver as this is the first time, he’s touched a woman. He has kissed someone in his youth, but never had he done things like this. He didn’t want to be responsible for more “bastards” in Ishgard or burden a woman with an irreversible choice.

Kiya lets a moan out when Aymeric’s fingers circle a nipple and gently tweaks one. He is seated back and watches her face contort in pleasure. The pads of his thumbs roll the hardening buds underneath them.

 Aymeric leans down again and kisses her neck, trailing kisses down to where the fingers of his right hand tweak a nipple. His tongue runs over the end, drawing Kiya off his bed when he squeezes it. Another moan comes from her lips, and he does it again to hear her.

Kiya squirms under his touch, and her hands find his hair, slipping into the raven locks. Aymeric looks up at her as he closes his mouth on her left breast. She feels hot breath and a wet tongue swirl around the nipple then his teeth gently tug with his lips before pulling off with a wet pop sound. Aymeric repeats this to the other one while his fingers go back to teasing the neglected one.

Aymeric pulls his mouth off and nuzzles his face to her chest. Looking at her with heated blue eyes, she can feel the effect this has on Aymeric with how he is poking into her leg. 

Kiya tests him a little, and nods to his questioning eyes about continuing lower. Her breathing quickens a little as her heart thuds hard in her chest. Aymeric kisses her chest again before trailing his tongue down the underside following a path along to her navel. 

When he reaches her cotton tights, he hooks his fingers into the hem and lifts them enough for air to hit her waist. His answer is with her hands urging him down. Kiya lifts her hips for him, and Aymeric tugs the tights and smallclothes down together pass her thighs stopping at her knees.

Aymeric holds her stare, and smiles when he looks down. The first thing he notes is how she is hairless along her slit. Her tail twitches nervously, as Aymeric places curious fingers along her thighs to coax them apart.

If he wasn’t hard before, he is now. Aymeric sees Kiya take a breath of air and holds it as his finger’s parts her folds. She is hot here, and his face matches hers with the flush, as he glances to his lover’s face. Kiya has her face covered, giving him free reign to spread her folds further apart. 

Aymeric touches a finger along from above the hood of her clit down to where he feels her thighs slick from arousal. Kiya lets a gasp out feeling his fingers prod her curiously. She also feels him take off the rest of her bottom clothing dropping them over the edge of his bed.

Kiya feels Aymeric tug her hips towards him and raise her legs over his shoulders. He circles his arms around her legs to keep them open for what he was about to do to her. He didn’t want a knee in his face. 

Carefully he parts her folds and places a kiss onto her clit. The reaction was what he expected her legs closing on him, but this makes him push his mouth closer to her core. Placing more kisses along her folds. Light flicks of his tongue till it pressed against the entrance of her cunt.

 The hands in his hair tug for him to go back up to her clit. Him finding she likes that played with. He indulges her, and drags his tongue from entrance to clit, circling the nub with the tip of his tongue before engulfing it with his mouth to suck.

“A-Aymeric!” Kiya moans out his name, feeling his tongue work on her. Her tail thrashes wild when he sucks on the nub of flesh, drawing further moans from her and tugging in his hair.

Aymeric pulls his mouth off and kisses the nub again. He looks up at her as his tongue runs through her folds down, and she watches him run his tongue along the slit, making her face glow hotter when she feels his tongue lave at her entrance.

“Is this okay for me to do?” He checks his permissions again, making sure he can put his tongue inside, his fingers as well. 

“Yes, please!” Kiya pleads him to continue, and almost loses her mind when she feels and sees him push his tongue inside. His eyes half-lid and he pushes his tongue as far as it can go swirling it. He hears her cry his name again and buck her hips towards his mouth. He eagerly gives her what she wants and uses one of his hands to keep her folds apart with his fingers. 

Aymeric is rewarded with her thighs twitching and her hips rising to his mouth when it is on the sensitive bundle of nerves. Kiya tugs a bit too hard on his hair, and Aymeric seizes her hands rubbing the backs of her hands with his fingers.

“Kiya, My love. If you keep yanking. I’ll go bald.” He looks up at her from her thighs and presses kisses to her thigh. 

“I’m sorry, Aymeric. It just feels too good.” Kiya looks away sheepish, Aymeric gets an idea, and disentangles himself from her legs, and lays on his back. His head on the bed itself and not pillows. Kiya looks at him curious.

“Come. Like this.” He tugs her and she follows his lead, she blushes when she is straddling his head and face. Her thighs coaxed apart.

“Now sit, please.” Aymeric leans his head up and places a kiss to her folds. He rearranged them due to the strain on his groin too much to lay down comfortably anymore.

“But, this is embarrassing!” She feels another kiss, and the idea of sitting on his face with way. She is mortified from the way his eyes regard her.

“Kiya, please. I want to do this.” Aymeric’s hands go to her hips and rub circles on them. Kiya feels her face burning, and when she was about to lift her hips, he pulls her down, his tongue already delving between her slit to resume his earlier teasing. What he gets is a loud cry of pleasure as his tongue reaches deeper than earlier.

Kiya rocks her hips wanting that tongue inside her more, moans torn from her lips, and she feels Aymeric’s hands guide her hips to a rhythm he sets. His tongue is still clumsy as he learns what she likes, and his fingers itch to do more than just hold her hips down. With his right hand, he lets go when her hips keep the rhythm of his tongue and lips.

Aymeric brings his hand closer to her slit and raises her hips enough for him to lick his fingers. Once he was satisfied with how slick they are, he presses his first finger at the ring of her opening. He feels her tense up, but his tongue is there along with the digit lavishing it with swirls of his tongue.

Carefully Aymeric presses the finger inside her, the reaction he gets is something he won’t forget with her low moan, but the searing heat and wetness that surrounds his finger. She is wet and as his finger pushes further in, he feels softness all around it. How he wishes it was another part of him pressing in for the first time.

Kiya whines under her breath feeling his finger wiggle in, and another slowly being added. With him still kissing her clit and delving his tongue inside with his fingers. Kiya notes his fingers reach deeper than her own, and never in any of her dreams would she have thought of the sight below her. Piercing blue eyes staring hot at her from between her legs, lips and chin with spit and her own wetness covering his mouth. She blushes at that thought, and now his fingers wiggling in her.

Kiya was about to say something when his fingers touch something towards her belly, this makes her push her hips down onto his hand. Aymeric lets a moan of his own come out seeing how flustered she is, and the look of lust clouds her green eyes.  

“Do that again please!” Kiya pleads, she wants to feel his fingers on that spot again. Aymeric barely brushes it and she moans out, pushing her hips down again.  Aymeric repeats this movement with his fingers till she is practically bouncing off his hand and mouth. His lips going to work every time she grinds her hips down.

“Aymeric please! Please!” Kiya pleads as her hips roll down to his fingers, he has added another one into her, that have her crying for him.

“Aymeric! I feel! Amazing!” Words he wants to hear, he continues to pleasure her, and spends running his tongue along her clit in fast circles, listening to his love reach an orgasm. Her walls tighten on his fingers, and his tongue feels her core twitch in response to how she feels. Even a gush of fluid escapes her and he greedily laps it up after finding how sweet it is.

Kiya lifts her hips and lets Aymeric out from between her legs. She feels her legs go jelly and lays down next to Aymeric. He grins at her, seeing he has reduced her to soft moans and panting.

Aymeric sits up and grips himself through his pants, finding himself harder than he has been even in his time alone. Having the woman he loves over him and him pleasing every ilm of her. He desires to be inside her, he wants to take her and reduce her to a mess. First he must let her get use to him nude now. He worries if once she sees him she’ll be too intimidated to go through with sex itself.

Aymeric was gifted in being very well endowed, length reaching up towards his belly, but the thickness easily three of his fingers. Kiya notes the pained expression on Aymeric’s face, and sees him gripping at the bulge in his pants. A flush on his face at seeing her notice.

“Tis fine love. We can stop here if you desire. If it is too much.” Kiya regains herself and smiles.

“I want to continue. Would you let me… return the pleasure you gave me?” She asks, and Aymeric smiles down to her.

“I want you to see me first then decide that. I admit, I am a bit large…” He half warns, and Kiya nods.

Kiya coaxes him to lie down where she was, and it is her turn to explore him. Her hands work at the buttons on his shirt, tugging it open. She places her own kisses on his face and lips. She wrinkles her nose a little at her own taste but accepts it when he seeks a full kiss from her.

When Kiya has his shirt opened her eyes roam first. Taking in his broad torso, his shoulders and upper torso muscular from his sword and bow training. Her eyes linger over a small faded vertical slit in his abdomen. Her fingers are careful when they brush over this spot.

The scar he got that almost cost him his life. All because he believed her cause and upsetted the faith of everyone in Ishgard for a better future. Kiya leans down and presses a very gentle and endearing kiss to the scar. Aymeric rests a hand on top of her head, and smiles at her for taking such care of something that happened many moons ago.

“Does it still hurt?” She asks, looking at his face. He shakes his head.

“It doesn’t hurt, except for in memory. My love, I am here. I am with you.” Aymeric cups her face in his hands, and presses his thumbs on her cheeks. When she still has that look in her eyes. He tugs on her cheeks earning a sputtering noise from his beloved.

“Hey!” Kiya gets back into the mood of things, and for him pinching her face, her hands get daring and reach down to squeeze the bulge. Kiya draws a loud groan from Aymeric, it backfires on her, seeing how sexy he looks lost in pleasure.

Sky blue eyes peer at her through dark eyelashes, his mouth parted as he pants from her squeeze on him. She even feels his erection twitch in her hand. She palms him, her eyes widen at what he meant by him being large. Her fingers trace over him through the fabric, every touch she places has him letting moans out and pushing his hips up to her hand wanting her to touch him more.

“Kiya, my love. Please if you would… my pants… They’re getting uncomfortable with you doing that.” Aymeric manages out, his own hands go to her waist, fingers slipping down to touch her folds.

Kiya nods her head, and tugs at his pants till he lifts his hips to let her pull them down with his smallclothes.

Aymeric grabs Kiya’s hands and holds them, keeping her gaze on his face.

“Remember love, we can stop if it is too much for you. I don’t want you to feel pressured.” Aymeric reassures her, leaving her an out if she gets scared or doesn’t want to do it. Kiya leans over and kisses his forehead the way he does to her.

“I’ll keep that in mind. I really want to go completely with you. I want you, and I love you.” She reassures her choice.

“I love you too, I want you too, I have wanted you for the longest time. I just worry it will be too… big.” He casts his gaze to the side, it is his turn to be bashful. An endearing sight and one that melts her heart.

“Aymeric, are you sure it is me that isn’t ready, or you?” She asks him, giving him the chance to stop if he wasn’t sure if she can handle him yet.

Aymeric looks at her, and questions his own thoughts. It is both their first time together like this. He doesn’t know and neither does she if he’ll fit if they don’t try. He smiles and nods his head.

“Mayhap nerves on mine end too.” Kiya smiles down at him more, she is reminded this is a first for him as much as it is for her. Reassurance goes both ways. Kiya leans in and kisses him fully, and receives the kiss back. Aymeric lets go of her hands, and she seeks them lower on him till her fingertips brush very soft skin, but hard and throbbing.

Kiya feels Aymeric twitch under her palm, her fingers tracing over the hot flesh and down along the shaft. Kiya chances a glance to his face, and Aymeric’s eyes are closed in bliss and his mouth parted as he sighs content. She watches his face, as her fingers circle around the tip, smearing precum as her fingers travel over the slit at the top.

“Ah… Kiya… that feels really good. Keep going.” Aymeric says and moans out when he feels her hand close at the tip and stroke down. One of his hands goes down to guide her hand in how to touch him. Having her use her thumb to sweep over the tip then back down.

Kiya is entranced by Aymeric’s blissful face, how the blush across his face widens from catching her stare, his perfect lips parted and moan after moan escapes. Kiya stills her hand, and Aymeric gives her a questioning look feeling her stop. Kiya only flashes a devilish smile, as she scoots down his legs.

“I did say I want you.” Kiya lowers her head to his penis, she is almost intimidated with the size. She marvels at how large he is and glances up at his face, he is watching her. Kiya smiles at him and kisses the side of it while giving Aymeric a hot stare. Aymeric does everything in his power not to cum right there. Even as she kisses her way up to the tip and sweeps her tongue over the head. He sees her tail wriggling behind her in amusement seeing the way he stares at her.

Aymeric was about to say something till she takes him into her mouth. He loses his control and moans out her name. His turn to place his hands in her hair. Fingers running through the silky black hair as she tries to fit him into her mouth. She resigns to just taking the tip in, she will work on the rest of him in time.

Kiya relaxes her jaw as she fits a bit more into her mouth, finding herself enjoying the feel of him in her mouth. She hears his moans and feels him tug her hair gently. Kiya strokes what is not in her mouth, and every so often pulls her mouth off to lave her tongue along the sides while giving Aymeric sultry stares.

Aymeric feels a familiar sensation in his stomach, and longs to spill himself but he taps the side of her jaw to get her attention from sucking on him.

“As much as I would love to in your mouth. I would rather… have you underneath me more.” He voices his want, and Kiya listens to him. She pulls her mouth off and rubs her jaw from it stretching to fit the large appendage.

Aymeric tugs her by her arms to come up to him, and she does, leaning down to give him a kiss, only to be flipped onto her back. Aymeric parts her legs and starts to fit between them. His doing this creates a little anxiety in Kiya from the reality of what they’re doing sinks in. Aymeric raises her hips to fit on his lap, his knees supporting her rear.

Kiya looks up at him as he catches her stare, he lets her hips rest against his, she feels his penis rest against her slit.

“Aymeric… be gentle.” Kiya requests, and he gives her a soft stare.

“I wouldn’t even dream of hurting you with me. Are you ready? Need to rest a bit more before I try?” He offers, rubbing her hips and up her torso to her breasts giving them a teasing squeeze.

“I am ready love. Please. Go ahead.” She gives him consent to continue, and watches as Aymeric reaches between them to part her folds. His other hand to guide himself into her. Kiya feels the push, and watches Aymeric’s eyes close again in that blissful expression.

Kiya feels a little bit of a rock from his hips then another push in, the movement of his hips sends him deep into her, more than what she was ready for. A cry torn from her lips, and Aymeric’s attention snaps to her face, he worries he hurt her. But instead he is greeted to her most blissful expression he has seen yet.

Aymeric focuses on the soft heat encircled around him, his head spinning from the sensation of faint tightness with heat and wet.  Kiya on the other hand is focused on how full she feels, the way he throbs inside her, and the thickness with how he seems to feel right.

“I’m fine, please move! I want you to move!” Kiya feels frustrated in the stillness, her body aches for him to move. Aymeric chuckles a little and leans in to press his forehead to hers staring into her eyes.

“Forgive me then. I am a bit content to move, you feel absolutely divine. Pray… let me savor the moment.” He presses a kiss to her nose, then down to her lips. He rocks his hips into hers slow and sensual. The draw back makes her feel anxious for the push in, and when she feels it she moans into the kiss.

Aymeric’s pace consists of that slow and sensual move, letting them get use to each other. His hands take up hers and presses fleeting kisses all over her hands and arms down to her shoulders till he presses at her lips.

Kiya feels his slow thrusts and feels her body just on fire for him, her hands go into his hair where he presses his head to her hands. Aymeric raises up and presses a hand to her belly as he thrusts in, the result of that he sees and feels. Kiya lets a cry sound out in his room, loud and with his name at the end.

Aymeric has no idea what he did, but he sees a wild look in Kiya’s eyes. She wraps her legs at his waist to urge him on, and pleads with her eyes. Aymeric grants her wants by picking up his pace. Moving faster, rolling his hips down with hers.

“Please, Aymeric, more… I want you! I love you!” She cries her passion out as he hits a spot inside her, accompanied with his rhythm. He takes one of her hands to hold it as he loves her. Overwhelmed with the sensations of his beloved thrashing on his bed so much some of his bedding is tossed or kicked off.

“I love you too, my dearest, Halone you are so beautiful like this. Praise… endure me a little longer. Endure me.” He hears her moans become a chant and song almost to his ears. The dizzying sensations of her heat and tightening in some moments, his guess she is close.

Kiya feels wandering fingers toy with her clit rubbing it while he thrusts into her. The combined pressure and teasing with him buried deep. She shudders and shakes as she peaks in orgasm again. Aymeric’s name sounding off her tongue, and causes him to fill her full. He moans out and rides his own passion out feeling his beloved’s walls clamp on him in a delicious way.

Aymeric collapses on top of her, and buries his face into her neck panting. He kisses her neck till there is a mark left. One she can’t hide so well, and smirks when she blushes.

“That was something amazing. Can we do it again?” Kiya looks at Aymeric hopeful, her emerald gaze smoldering more than his icy blues. Aymeric sees the look on her face. For a rare moment a deep thrum comes from her chest in a real purr. She blushes from it but continues.

“How can I refuse when you are so enchanting. Of course.” He purrs into her ear and starts working on rousing her body again.