#crow with white hair yay

[vvitchynerd]

some doodles and a new persona thing

[sprnklersplashes]

poly!crows, flufftober day 8: rainy day (ao3)

When October comes to Ketterdam, she announces her presence with smoky grey skies and buckets upon buckets of rain. It’s quite an abrupt announcement too; one minute, Nina gets up and leaves her laptop to go make a cup of tea. Two minutes later, she returns with tea, a generous handful of biscuits and sleets of rain pelting the window. She doesn’t take her eyes off it as she sits back down. First comes disbelief, then comes Kaz’s voice in her head reminding her that she’s in Kerch now and the weather is about as reliable as anything else.

She remembers her partners are all out, and she sighs. Then she cheks the weather app and finds the rain is due to carry on all evening, and she sighs again, harder this time.

After firing a quick message to the group chat, she tries to return to her work emails, though they hold her attention even less than they did before. Her phone lights up, then fades, then lights again, coming alive as the Crows give their various reactions.

wolf boy (but not in a furry way): oh wow! thank djel I have the car :p 

wolf boy (but not in a furry way): who changed my nickname again?

Llewellyn: couldn’t have been me!

Llewellyn: who still uses emoticons?

Matthias Helvar changed his nickname to Only Sane Man

wylan van fuck: matthias is never beating the furry allegations

wylan van fuck: but I do second the oh wow!

wylan van fuck: @ matthias since i’m ur favourite ur still picking me up from work right???

Only Sane Man: we don’t have favourites, wy. but yes I will still pick you up.

wylan van fuck: yay!

Llewellyn: gay

Only Sane Man: driving cars is gay now?

Wraith: so does that make jes straight?

Llewellyn: I’M BEING HATE CRIMED?

Llewellyn: BY MY PARTNER?

Llewellyn: IN THE QUEER POLY GROUP CHAT?

Llewellyn: WITH OUR OTHER PARTNERS?

wylan van fuck: how in the fuck did we get here?

Only Sane Man: put two kurge in the swear jar when we get home.

nina beana: well given the weather, mayhaps we use the swear jar money for pizza tonight???          to warm us up????

nina beana: wylan’s treat, apparently.

wylan van fuck: shit yea the weather

Only Sane Man: four kruge. 

Llewellyn: I love pizza!

Llewellyn: especially when its paid by wylan’s swearing

Llewellyn: @ wylan, say more cuss words so we have more pizza money

wylan van fuck: *send a voice message* 2:30

Wraith: this would go so hard at an open mic night. 

Nina snorts into her tea as she replays Wylan’s message. In her mind’s eye, she can see the others’ reactions, Jesper dancing to it, Inej laughing, Matthias’ silent mortification and prayers to Djel. She presses herself into the couch and carries on with her emails, the rain drumming steadily and relentlessly against the windows. 

Twenty minutes later, her phone buzzes again, and this time she finds a picture of a completely drenched Kaz, looking at the camera and managing to be both supremely pissed off and completely unaffected. 

kazzlus dazzlus: *sent a picture*

kazzlus dazzlus: its raining. 

She spits her tea out at that.

Inej is the first one home, her workplace less than twenty minutes on the bus. Nina opens the door to find her sopping wet on the porch, white coat turned brown and her neatly-styled hair now frizzy and tatted and curling at the bottom. She practically yanks the girl in through the door. 

“You okay, love?” Inej’s hands are like ice beneath hers, as is her cheek when she pulls her into an embrace. 

“Other than the typhoon outside, I’m good,” she replies, gently returning Nina’s squeeze. She lets out a gasp then, immediately dropping her bag and pulling her sodden coat off her. As Nina shuts the door, Inej pulls the tie from her hair and shakes it out. “Remind me again why I don’t work from home?”

“Because-and I quote- you’d never get anything done with the rest of us running around.”

“Ah, that,” she says with a roll of her eyes. She plants a kiss on Nina’s cheek before darting to the stairs, her movements as nimble as if back on the high wire. “I’m hitting the shower. When are we doing pizza?”

“Not until the rest of them get home,” she replies. Inej nods and carries on two-at-a-time up the stairs. Nina lets her eyes linger on her small frame before turning back towards the living room, a wry grin curling at the corners of her lips.

“Save me a cookie?” Inej’s voice calls from upstairs. Nina chuckles warmly, blows a kiss towards the stairs, and the jar is moved from the cupboard to the coffee table.

Really, Inej didn’t have to ask.

The rest trickle in steadily over the next few hours. Jesper alerts them with a knock at the window, their eyes so wide they take up half their face. They all but barrel into Nina when she opens the door, other hand reaching out to grab the expectant Inej. At first they’re delighted, basking in their partners ever-persistent affection. And then the seconds turn into minutes, and realisation dawns on the pair of them with incredibly precision.

“You’re using our body heat aren’t you?” Inej asks.

“Yep!” The two rolls their eyes, exasperated and slightly shivering against Jesper’s cold hands, and it takes both of them to shove him off.

“Hot shower, “ Inej tells them with a poke to the chest. “And then maybe Nina will share her cookie stash.”

“Uh, they have to earn the cookie stash!”

Jesper comes down ten minutes later, clean, warm, grinning like a madman, and wraps Nina in a tight embrace that sweeps her off the ground. Apparently, it was enough for a cookie. 

It’s around half an hour later when the blue blur of Matthias’ car appears at the window, obcusred by the heavy fog covering the glass. Minutes later, a flash of red hair that can only be Wylan emerges and sprints to the door, followed by Matthias rushing up the path. Jesper is at the door and opening it before Wylan can even get his key in the lock, wrapping the two of them in a tight hug that lasts until Nina appears at his shoulder and reminds him gently that cold air travels through open doors. 

The smiles don’t fade though. Matthias pecks her cheek before half-jogging up the stairs, making a show of trying to beat Wylan to the shower but moving suspiciously slowly for a guy who runs marathons for fun. The three of them, Nina, Inej and Jesper, can hear Wylan’s laughter reverberate through the bathroom door, answered by a groan that sounds anything but frustrated. Nina grins, initially to herself, but like a flame it jumps to Inej and then to Jesper and they’re chuckling, softly, under their breaths.

Then Matthias is on the stairs, shaking his wet hair over them. Inej delicately steps aside and pulls Jesper into her spot, letting him take the full force of Matthias’s storm. Their reaction is suitably dramatic.

When Kaz finally turns his key in the lock, his coat is so soaked it’s basically a second skin and his dark hair clings to his face like seaweed against a rock. The edges of his coat drip, drip, drip along the floor as he makes his way down the hall, alerting them to his presence with the rap of his cane against the door and a raised eyebrow. The four of them (Matthias now in the shower) have crammed into their small kitchen; Inej and Wylan are sitting on the counter leaning over Nina’s shoulders, while Jesper is atop the table with his feet pushing one of their mismatched chairs outwards. The rumble of the dryer can be felt through the brick and the counter sways like the little boats that dock on the harbour in the summer. 

“Brekker, settle a fight,” Nina asks. “We’re ordering pizza. We’re getting a veggie for Inej and Matthias and a plain one for Wy. Do we get a Hawaiian as a third?”

“If you do, that delivery guy will have to step over my corpse to get into this house,” he replies, gasping slightly as he pulls of his wet coat. He hangs it on the back of the door, the black tweet slipping in amongst the other coats of their house.

“Chicken and sweetcorn it is then,” Nina announces. Kaz runs a gloved hand through his hair before stopping beside Jesper, his arms folded over his chest. “Still bad out there?”

“No, Zenik, I just fancied a dip in the canal.” Inej throws Kaz a tea towel and he catches it expertly with one hand. “What sides are we getting?”

“Cheesy bread,” Nina replies. “And wedges. Anything else?”

“Springing for two sides?”

“The swear jar money covered it,” she replies. “Didn’t you listen to Wylan’s voice note?”

“No, on account of the fact I never open that chat unless I get to say something.” His voice is mumbled, half-hidden by the yellow towel over his face. It’s a lie, of course. Kaz Brekker can deny anything to anyone (and he has, many times) but screenshots don’t lie. And Nina’s phone is almost backed up with the amount that show ‘seen by Kaz’ beneath several of their messages. Not to mention the times she’s caught him half-smiling at his phone just seconds after someone put something in it, and all the things he’d only know if he checked it regularly. His ‘Dirtyhands knows all’ act can only go so far. 

Still, she doesn’t say anything, and all of them let Kaz’s rickety wall stay where it is for now. In any case, his gloved hand is resting over Jesper’s on his shoulder as the five of them talked in hushed, soft tones about their work days and the storm and what movie to watch tonight.

“May I make a suggestion?” Jesper asks innocently.

“We’re not watching the Bee Movie again,” comes Inej’s reply, her voice soft and her eyes hard and unflinching when Jesper pouts.

“But it’s the greatest movie ever made!” he protests. “It’s a masterpiece. It’s a witty deconstruction of the capitalist system. It challenges us to think about the importance of those in society we brush off. It tackles our preconceived notions of relationships-”

“By that he means, she fucks the bee,” Wylan replies.

“She loved the bee! She and the bee had a consensual adult relationship!”

“Is Jesper debating the merits of the Bee Movie again?” Matthias appears in the doorway, hair tousled, clad in sweatpants and one of his old hoodies. The dark blue brings out his eyes. “Because I am not willing to sit through it for a third time.”

“Insert joke about furries here,” Kaz mutters as Matthias ducks through the doorway. Matthias rolls his eyes, a retort ready on his lips. But then he looks around the room, surveys each of his partners in turn, and Nina can practically see the wheels turning behind his eyes. 

“Jesper is that my hoodie?” he turns to Inej, Wylan and Nina, all three of whom stand silently, repressing giggles and burrowing into the impossibly soft fabric enveloping them. “Are these all my hoodies?”

“In our defense,” Jesper begins. Then, he pulls his hands into the sleeves and lets the end flop around, a grin crackling across his face. “They’re comfy.”

“Very comfy,” adds Inej.

“Collosally comfy,” Nina continues.

“Well, shit, I was just going to say ‘really very comfy’,” Wylan adds. A chorus of “swear jar” comes to his reply, and to that he just scrunches up his face and laughs. Even Matthias’ indignance at the hoodie theft seems forgotten as he drags a hand over his face, eyes landing on semi-worridely Kaz.

“Go get out of those wet clothes, Brekker,” he says. “And help yourself to any of my jumpers sicne they’re all free anyway.”

“You’re good, Helvar,” Kaz says before leaving. His gait is slightly stiff with the rain, and Nina doesn’t have to say anything before Jesper flips on the kettle. They’re all too aware of how the cold can affect Kaz’s leg. Wylan will have a hot water bottle down in approximately sixty seconds.

“Matti,” Jesper says as he leans against the table. “Really, you should take the sweater theft as a compliment to your skills. You make them so soft.”

“There’s this magical thing,” he replies. “It’s called fabric softener. You should use it sometime.”

“There’s also the fact that you’re the biggest one here. Ergo, your jumpers fit all of us,” Wylan says. He holds up his arms, completely lost in the cavernous sleeves. “I mean, I offer my collection of jumpers with sheep on them all the time, but they never fit anyone so no-one takes them.”

“Sure,” comes Kaz’s voice from the stairs, slow and stretched out. “That’s the reason.”

Wylan’s reaction comes in three parts. First, he blinks like a deer in headlights, trying to search for Kaz’s meaning. Then realisation dawns on him, slowly, and they all watch as his mouth falls open in the kind of offence usually reserved for when family members are insulted. And for the third part, he looks down in abject horror, and the rest of them alternate by assuring them his sheep jumpers are lovely and also trying not to wet themselves from laughing so hard.

Saints, Nina has never felt so lucky.

In a crushing five-to-one defeat, they don’t watch the Bee Movie. Jesper makes a show of how disappointed he is, insisting that none of them have the same intellectual taste in film that he does. Instead, they go for Labryinth, followed by The Princess Bride and maybe Sharkboy and Lavagirl if there’s time. And for all Jesper’s whining, he is the first to start dramatically quoting each film as they set up. As Nina pulls the warmed blankets from the dryer, she can hear Matthias reluctantly playing the Buttercup to Jesper’s Westley and Kaz chiming in with a quote here and there to keep the scenes moving. She rolls her eyes and sighs “boys”, but the smile on her face is unshakeable.

The smile blossoms when Inej rises her her tiptoes and kisses the back of her head. 

Arm in arm, they return to the living room with arms full of blankets just as Jesper is answering the door. As they enter, they’re greeted witha cry of “piggy back time” and the visual of Wylan rocket-launching himself onto Matthias’ back. Their partner gasps, stumbles and just barely rights himself before he bellows out a laugh and adjusts Wylan’s hold on him. Kaz sits on the couch, Wylan’s hot water bottle tucked against his bad leg and funnily enough, Matthias’s sweater over his pyjamas. Between gloved hands, Nina spies the familiar gleam of Kaz’s phone, and underneath Wylan’s giggling she hears the unmistakeable click of the camera. He pulls it back as soon as Jesper returns, face obscured by the mountain of food boxes he carries. 

“Gentle reminder that the paper plates on the coffee table are to be used,” Kaz announces. “Because I am not cleaning tomato sauce out off the cushions again”. That comes with a pointed look at Nina, and she just shrugs before dumping the blankets in the middle of the room and announcing that its a free-for-all. Her preferred one, a white fluffy number Kaz got her last year, is already securely wrapped around her shoulders, and so she’s happy and comfy and seated for the night. Ergo, her partners may fight to the death if they please.

Secure in her blanket cocoon, she plops down on the sofa. Matthias descends on the pile, Wylan on his back, who announces their presence by sticking his fists in the air and yelling “blankets!” like his life depends on it. Laughter buzzes in the air as they all watch Matthias lowerself down, Inej punctuating it with a growing ‘ooooooooh’ and a ‘heck yea’ when he makes it without dropping him. Wylan grabs one for himself and one for Matthias as well, pressing the fabric into his free hand before returning his hands to Matthias shoulders and declaring “Onwards my noble Fjerdan!”.

“Here,” Matthias sighs. “Go be Jesper’s problem. I’ve had enough of you.” His words are annoyed but his tone is anything but, and Wylan lands in a giggly heap on Jesper’s lap. 

And that’s it. Jesper straightens up against the couch, content for a moment, but then Kaz taps his shoulder and he scoots into the spot between Kaz’s legs. Wylan’s is curled on his side, his head in Jesper’s lap with Matthias next to him, rubbing circles into his back. With a slice of pizza in one hand, Nina runs her hand through Matthias’ hair, enjoying watching how his cheeks grow when he smiles. She presses her finger to one of his dimples and scratches against his cheek, and something warm bubbles in her chest. 

Somehow, Inej managed to sneak in and situate herself on the couch without anything noticing. Her hand is intertwined with Kaz’s, and he dips his head and whispers something to make her laugh. When Nina looks, she sees Kaz’s free hand petting Jesper’s hair. 

And it’s this. It’s just the six of them, and messy combinations of limbs and pizza and soft words and bad jokes. It carries them through, just like it always has. 

The rain keeps pelting the window, unending, determined to be let in. But inside its them, and the movies on the TV, and the soft, fuzzy peace that glows openly between them all. And for Nina, and for all of them, it’s enough. It will always be enough. 

[kaz-identified]

houseofmcallister presents

Almost (Sweet Music)

Pairing: Crow x Young Wolf , slight/implied Uldren Sov x Young Wolf

Category: One-Shot

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Rating: 13+

Warnings: No major warnings apply

Word Count: 926

Summary: I’m almost me again, he’s almost you…

name faolan and she/her pronouns used for young wolf, in accordance with old mcallister fics.

author's note: this fic hinges on my deeply held belief that the young wolf and uldren were friends. also hozier inspired so like yay pain.

I laugh like me again, she laughs like you.

Crow is quiet when she approaches. Her eyes are concerned. It's rare to see Faolan without her helmet. It's even rarer to see her look this... disheveled. Her eyes, normally so bright and full of light, eyes like a stormy sky, are downcast, dark. The only light in her eyes was the Void twinning around her pupil, granting her a second sight, Truesight, she calls it.

She falls down on the bench beside him. Her hair is a mess, dirt and gunsmoke smudge her face.The white X across her face, her beloved warpaint, has been rubbed off in places. She's really out of it. The Nightmares took a real toll on her, huh? Maybe now isn't the time to do this... maybe another ti-

"The nightmare- he's wrong, by the way. I don't blame you for what he did."

OK, so they're doing this now.

"I- didn't think he was right..." Crow says quietly. "Don't lie to me, birdbrain," she looks up at him. God, she looks so tired. There's a triumphant glint in her eyes but she looks exhausted. "You're bad at it. Uldren was too," she chuckles. He flinches the smallest bit, but stops himself from making any visible reaction. Uldren was her friend, she's speaking of him fondly right now... he doesn't want to interrupt that. Some other perspective of who he was, a perspective that isn't how he was a murderer.

"He was?" Crow questions, his tone the kind you use for a scared animal, trying not to scare off this chance for information. Faolan swipes at the bridge of her nose, wiping away some gunpowder. "Oh yeah. Big time. He could keep secrets so well but that pride of his made it so he couldn't lie well. You could always tell, he'd grit his teeth a little bit." She smiles at the memory. Crow smiles at her smiling. "What was I- he... like? Outside of... you know." Faolan sighs. "You don't wanna know about that, Crow. You have the memories. You know what he was like." Crow shakes his head. "I don't want to know how he perceived himself I... I wanna know what he was actually like." Faolan lets out another sigh, a deeper one, and looks up at him. "He was a bastard. There's no two ways around it. Uldren Sov was, pardon my language, he was a cunt. He was a smug motherfucker that thought he knew best and everyone else was a little stupid. He was kinda right about that... as far as it went with me."

"You? Stupid?" He asks, laughing a bit.

"I was a New Light! Greener then you. Real wet behind the ears. Uldren liked to make fun of me for that, but I learned a lot from him. When he wasn't being a piece of shit he was-" she cuts herself off, looking down.

"He was..?" Crow prompts. "He was my friend," Faolan says, quietly, almost... almost reverent. "I trusted him. I looked up to him a bit, I won't lie to you," she says with a half-laugh. Crow looks at her in shock. He had thought she would have hated him. "Hunting him was... the hardest thing I've ever had to do." She finally meets his gaze. She looks like she's on the brink of tears. "Losing Cayde was the worst day of my life. But having to kill my friend? I don't think I'll ever do anything worse than that..." she barely even whispers it.

Crow resists the urge to wipe her tears from her face, it hurts him to see her like this. She should never cry, it's like seeing the sun be blotted out, its horrifying. She should always be smiling and joyful, always be able to be grinning and cracking jokes. He hopes he never sees this again, hopes she never feels anything that makes her cry again, she deserves to be joyful forever.

"I don't... I don't blame him for what happened," she says, finally looking up, wiping away at her own tears. "He wasn't himself, Riven got her claws in him. My Uldren would've said something other than bullshit when I shot him," she says with a choked laughing sob. Crow feels his heart stop for a second. 'My Uldren'... he knows she means nothing by it, nothing besides to say the man she knew but... some part of him, some part of him that holds Uldren's memories feels something intense when she says that.

She looks down at her hands. "You remind me of him, how he was when we were in the field. When he wasn't being a jackass." She looks up at him and smiles so softly. "You aren't the same person, not at all but... you have his face and you have the heart he tried to pretend he didn't have. That means something." She rests her head against the wall, smiling at the ceiling. "It's nice to know that... you're not him but, the best parts of him are still here, in you. The parts I-" she cuts herself off, yawning. "The parts you...?" Crow asks. "The parts of him I respected." She answers. She smiles at him. "You're like... what he could've been." Crow smiles back. "You think so?" She rests her head against the wall again. "I know so. And I think you do too. Now can we be quiet for a bit? I am... so tired." "Of course, of course," he says, hushing himself. "Sleep well, Old Light." "Shut up, Birdbrain," she mumbles, but she's smiling.

i was listening to the torture dance song while formatting this there are now two songs associated with this fic and only one of them makes sense.

ao3: houseofmcallister main account: houseofmcallister buy me a coffee!

Don’t repost my work or I’ll eat your shoulder blades! I do not consent to my works being used for AI training purposes.

[dreamyautumns]

Yay! My first Enstars fic on this account! This is for my fantasy WataEi AU, I hope you all enjoy! Also, happy pride month!

💛🩵💛🩵

Eichi sits upon his bed in his room. The party downstairs was becoming too much for him to handle. He grips his blanket tightly, his body shaking.

I have to be careful… I almost passed out downstairs. What if-

The prince breaks out into a coughing spell. He collapses off the edge of his bed and turns to the counter for his medicine. Eichi reaches for the potion bottle and nearly dropped it as he was coughing. With a deft hand, he lifted it up and drank some of it, gasping for air once he stopped. The fit subsided, his body shaking rapidly. He placed the bottle back on the counter and crawled to his feet.

“I’m getting worse…”

KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Eichi-sama? Is everything alright in there?”

Eichi looks up at his door and shakes. Yuzuru…

“U-uhm! Yes, I’n quite alright! I-“ Eichi coughs once, but manages to continue speaking. “I’m fine! Please, do not worry; I believe Tori needs you more!”

“Young Master is enjoying himself at the party right now… I simply came to check up on you. The king is worried that you have fallen ill for the night.”

The prince pauses before sighing. “I have. Tell my father I won’t be back out tonight… I apologize.”

There is a shuffle at the door, one of hesitation. However, the butler speaks, receding. “I understand, Eichi-sama. I do hope you will feel better.”

Footsteps. Eichi waits for Yuzuru to leave before climbing back into his bed.

This is horrible… my illness is truly taking it’s toll… I don’t want to die, but… perhaps death will relieve me of pain…

Eichi closes his eyes and wraps himself under his blanket. He thinks about how unfit he was to rule his kingdom at such a weakened state. The country would fall to chaos in his rule when he dies.

Perhaps the kingdom’s time had finally come. The prince shuts his eyes, trembling from the thoughts, hoping that someone, anyone, would take this pain and burden away from him.

tap, tap, tap…

Eichi’s eyes shoot open. He turns to the window and looks up.

“A cloud…?”

A dark shadow was cast over his balcony. He got up and looked at the moon, the glow reflecting in his bright blue eyes. He gripped the handle with slight hesitation and pushed the door open.

The night air was crisp as the stars twinkled. There were no clouds in sight, however. So what had cast that shadow?

“Perhaps… I imagined it.”

“No, my tiny prince~! You are not imagining things!”

Eichi’s eyes widen at the sudden, booming voice. He looks around for the source until his gaze lands on a huge, imposing shadow. The shadow belonged to none other than…

A giant!

~

Eichi’s jaw dropped in utter shock as he looked up. A gigantic man stood before the balcony, his figure taller than the castle itself. He had long, flowing, bluish white hair, and dazzling purple eyes that shone like crystals. He wore a white poet blouse beneath a blue vest, and black pants. His hands were on his hips as he gazed down at the little human prince.

“A-a giant…!” Eichi stammered, completely awestruck. He stumbled onto his behind, his breath catching in his throat, as the giant laughed. An echoing, booming laugh that shook the ground.

“Ahaha! Such a funny little human! Good evening, tiny prince~” the giant crowed, a tone of endearment in his words. He bowed his head and smiled gently as Eichi tried getting up.

“H-how did you get in the kingdom’s walls…?! I thought-“ Eichi’s words are cut off when the giant places a finger over his mouth to shush him. The prince could feel the strength of the creature from this simple act, his nerves shrieking at him to turn and run.

“Shush, little prince. I have my ways… of magic~!” The giant suddenly opened his vest, a flurry of whites doves soaring out from inside. Eichi was practically gawking at the spectacle, his eyes twinkling.

“M-magic?! You can use magic?!”

“I have many talents, little prince! For I am your humble magician, Wataru Hibiki! You are the little prince of the human kingdom, Eichi~”

Eichi gasps. “You… know my name?”

Wataru chuckles. “Fufufu~ I know much about you, tiny Eichi. The kingdom’s dear, ill prince… please, cheer up for me.”

The prince looked down, his face sullen. “I… cannot. All I have experienced is pain, tonight…”

Wataru frowns, but quickly regains his enthusiastic tone of voice. “Tsk, how unfortunate. But never fear! I shall entertain you and make you feel better!” The giant flips his hands before creating a shower of flower petals to rain from the sky. Eichi gasps once more and holds his hand up, a rose bud landing in his open palm.

“How do you do this…?”

“Ah, a good magician never reveals his secrets, I’m afraid. But I got what I wished~”

The prince tilts his head in confusion. “Which was…?”

Wataru grins. “A smile from you~”

Eichi’s cheeks flush with a gentle pink color, his heart fluttering with admiration. The giant leaned down and rested his head upon the balcony, gazing at the prince with dreamy eyes.

“H-Hibiki-kun, I- you’ve come just for me? But I do not understand. Why? We do not know each other, and-“

“Hush, tiny Eichi. You worry about too much. I’m quite glad my magic was able to make you happy. You seemed so down~”

Eichi nodded. “You’re very tall… I never knew that a giant could use magic…”

Wataru pulls up and extends his hand to the prince. He then swirls it around him in a circular motion. “You’ve yet to truly understand the world. Perhaps our encounter was fated~!”

Eichi feels a deep admiration forming in his heart as Wataru pulls back, little stardust bits leaving his hand. The giant steps back, the ground shaking, as he turns behind him.

“It appears I must go~ good night, my tiny Eichi!”

With a final, booming laugh, Wataru snaps his fingers. Eichi is blinded by brilliant light. When it dissipates, the prince looks up to see the giant is no longer there. Eichi’s face is warm with blush as he looks up.

“Wataru is gone, now… oh my stars! T-that was so dangerous! He had me so… enamored with his magic, I nearly could have experienced a fate worse than death! I must tell the soldiers that-“

Eichi pauses. Something in his heart was telling him to not speak a word. Wataru had completely captivated his attention.

The prince reentered his room, shutting the door and collapsing from his pounding heart.

“Wataru Hibiki… you charmed me so much in so little time… who exactly are you?”

[gentil-minou]

Trick or treat!

oooh yay I'll share this snippet from what's actually the first fic I started writing for mdzs almost a year ago, where modern wangxian run away from their families to have their happy ever after but it all goes downhill instead

---

News report on radio: The Cloud Lan group has recently announced they are promoting a member of their subsidiary branch to act as heir following the disappearance of— "You gonna pay for that?" "Oh uh, yeah. Right" Harsh white lighting reflects off the garish cover of a gossip magazine near the check out counter. The Lan’s Fall from Grace: How Lan Wangji Toppled a Dynasty!!!! The lady in front of him is counting out his change, one by one, so there’s no excuse for Wei Ying to avert his eyes. It’s an old photo, must have been from their school days. Cold and stern, an ever-present frown on his face. Hair long and straight, the pride of their family. Eyes dull, empty. He’s hardly recognizable like this, missing the subtle crows feet and the secret dimple Wei Ying loves so much, the one that is seen rarely and feels like a treasure every time. An incentive to make Lan Zhan happy. Wei Ying tries to remember when he last saw that dimple, and finds himself unable to. (When wwx gets home lwj is watching the report on his phone, on repeat. unblinking, completely silent)

Trick or Treat!

[flightofaqrow]

bird hc masterlist

(some of this was from a prior version of that meme so it was an excuse for more compilations, yay)

tl;dr:

he’s not actually a specific type of corvid but the twins both being ravens is closest

he can talk (some), and he sounds like Hamlet the parrot from tiktok

his hair acts like feathers

he does some bird-like things as a human

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

I was thinking this morning how rwby doesn’t actually specify much about Raven and Qrow’s shapeshifting, we just kind of assume.

What we’re actually told is that they’re birds. Weiss refers to Raven as a raven once, but otherwise, and according to script notes, they’re just birds.

“I gave them the ability to turn into birds.” “Raven…? Qrow…? They’re birds!”

And looking at their designs, they look similar in size, and if anything, Qrow’s is the more complicated one with extra feathers.

This is a long way of saying that I’m officially announcing a headcanon that qrow also turns into a raven. and that’s why he can talk. This is how he talks.

he doesn’t necessarily know this. he can be referred to as any corvid, and just kind of thinks of himself as a generic black bird.

based on your last headcanon do you think he would be a different kind of corvid? like a magpie with white in the wing feather or a blue jay? spies use different identities and clothes so it could tie into that. probably defeats the meaning of his name but i think it’s a pretty cool headcanon.

I don’t see why not!! I think it leaves interpretation pretty well open, and I like to throw in a lot of non-corvid bird references/puns into my writing just for fun (I often mention him parroting people, for example).

If you look at some of the reply discussion, you’ll see some good points too:

@huntsman-ash​ reminded me of the Huginn and Muninn allusions… which definitely points strongly towards both of the twins being Ravens, like their counterparts. And that’s what I work with and picture most strongly.

BUT

@reallifejedi​ replied: If we borrow from a series I really like, shapeshifters make their animal forms based on their own mental images and suppositions. So Qrow’s unique hybrid of multiple birds, and his weird lil cape, *and* their red eyes, can be entirely pulled from their own mental images, and the fact they ‘aren’t quite right’ could very well be because humans are very fallible.

Qrow especially, does not fit the typical feather anatomy of a crow OR raven. There’s no reason their own perceptions or needs can’t be tweaked a little bit each time they shift, if they want. It’s meant to be a disguise, after all, like you said!

We can presume Raven keeps her form relatively consistent, considering Yang was able to recognize her. And Qrow’s has some features which stay the same, but there is just so much room within canon and headcanons to play around with. ‘Hey, it’s ~magic~’ is a good argument for a lot lmao.

Also the meaning of his name is still there, a bit jumbled but still a bird reference, and still the tie-in to being a sign of bad luck and possibly (to some people) the ‘lesser desired’ Branwen.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

qrow’s hair

qrow’s hair when he started at beacon was slightly shaggier, and mostly unstyled.

Shortly before getting his crow form, he cut it to what it is now.

It never changed after that, even if he tried. He couldn’t grow it out further; he could cut it, but it would return to the same length either within a couple weeks, or as soon as he changed to crow form and changed back.

Because in time, it partially became feathers. Separate strands of hair still exist, but they part together in pieces like feathering, and form the shapes that makeup his hairstyle.

It grew naturally into the style it has, he does nothing to it to make it happen. It’s resistant to being changed with heat or product, and eventually he gave up, for what little he cared anyway.

Each ‘pieced’ collection of strands moves like a separate feather, and when he moves his head everything shifts around in a unit together, bounces off itself, etc. (This is literally how it’s animated. I’m pretty sure it works that way for everyone just because of the show’s style but whatever, I’m using it.)

Yes, it will fluff up and/or ruffle slightly if he’s suddenly excited or upset.

Canon feather hair floofage (it might be a stretch but let me have it)

Combing fingers through it still works like normal, it will separate, but return once the person stops. It can be mussed up, but likewise, will return to its original style quickly without any help.

It also secretes oil similar to feathers which gives it some water resistance. Rain will bead off of it to a certain extent before it starts to actually get wet, and it takes basically being completely saturated to lose its style. This is the part he gets most nervous about people possibly catching on to if they’re paying enough attention in a relevant situation. 

(If you squint, that oil gland specifically kind of gives him a faunus trait.)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The bandit tribe used the common technique of communicating with each other using bird whistles and clicks while scouting/raiding. The twins have thus adapted this to their own language using corvid-specific noises for use while exploring, battling, and while in bird form.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Meta on Birds?

this qrow doesn’t have as… strong opinions on other birds as some seem to, haha. some kinds can be annoying. most leave him alone. actual corvids seem to know something is off about him, and treat him with the same wariness as other people do. he doesn’t fit in anywhere.

some of them can be helpful.

between his time in the tribe - knowing nature as signs of danger or weather or the movement of other creatures - and his time in the air - personally learning some ins and outs of their instincts and communication - he has learned to read their behavior pretty well. what species live in what environments and what it means if they move beyond boundaries. how close to somewhere or something he is if he sees one. it’s one more bit of info he can use for his missions.

qrow has a particular affinity for bird faunus. his corvid side helps him understand them better too. he likes to surprise anyone with feathers at how he seems to have some innate sense of how to handle them properly, how it feels to have them, what it’s like to have some birdbrain yet still be mostly human.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

So question, a lot of people like to see how Qrow handled his bird form. What does your Qrow think of it? Are there any tics he has picked up from going back and forth between man and bird? ( like collecting trinkets or the like? )

To the first question,

He thinks of it, mostly, as a tool. Granted, a meaningful one - it’s special to him and Raven alone which is pretty cool; it’s a symbol of Ozpin’s trust; it’s also kind of a reward for being one of the best so he can take pride in that. It’s a secret which can feel like a powerful little ace up his sleeve, even if it’s not really relevant at the time; like a confidence booster if he’s intimidated by other “regular” humans.

As a man with a frequent need to escape his own mind, he loves the freedom his bird form offers, flying through the air unburdened, dipping and weaving in full control of himself, getting to see the whole world in all its beauty and darkness, learning secrets and being able to watch over people. but he respects the responsibility also tied to it, and thus rarely indulges or risks giving himself away without a purpose. Sometimes he can’t help it.

I guess you could say he considers it a blessing that evens out his curse, just a little bit.

To the second,

I do like the idea of picking up some tics! It becomes another self that you’re bound to pick some new habits up from just like if you started frequenting a new place or new people, after all. (I really really love the bird-like head twitching they gave Raven in vol 4, but haven’t seen any equivalents for Qrow really?)

Here’s a list of things so far:

an affinity for eating seeds as a snack. particularly sunflower seeds.

staring longingly out windows, missing the sky and all the information that comes with being out there. you’d be surprised what kind of secrets the changing winds and trees carry. also, he’s kinda always keeping an eye out for Raven.

he can whistle in birdsong. Yes, I know corvids only make ‘ugly’ sounds. No, I don’t care. It’s a general bird thing. Also magic. Also they can learn to imitate other sounds.

he’ll make clicking/rattle type noises sometimes when he’s thinking. Probably only if he’s by himself. Granted, it sounds a little different since in human form it’s with his tongue instead of his throat.

Shiny things do catch his eye, but he usually doesn’t do much about it. It might make him consider switching up his rings sometimes. What he will do is pick up and leave little trinkets for other people, he doesn’t ‘give gifts’ exactly, as he doesn’t present them to people. He’ll just discreetly drop them off on a counter, or windowsill, or their bed when they’re not around. The more he knows someone, the more complex gift they might get, including things he crafts together as a human with all the little bits he picked up as a bird.

The one exception to being discreet that he allows himself: If he’s so happy he doesn’t even know what to do with it, or so upset it’s practically a tantrum (both are rare, but) - he will turn crow and hop around like crazy to get the energy out. It’s his version of screaming into a pillow, I guess. This video is 100% to blame for that one.

he gets some of the really weird positions he puts his legs in, one from them being so long, but also from going back and forth from bow-legged bird legs.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

qrow can be, and has been, in bird form while drunk. crack shenanigans can ensue, especially for pestering Tai, but for main actual headcanon this is only true for flying over distances, not when he’s, say, in a town scoping things out. it’s erratic and hysterical. he has been confused for a really big bat.

on the opposite side, there have been missions that have required (or at least were easier for) him to stay in bird form for a few days straight. these would be spent sober! But not for long once he changes back.

he will also sleep in bird form on missions or sometimes just because.

still building off of the first - most of his ‘people based’ intel came from being able to poke around towns and buildings and watch people or listen in on conversations because he could simply be there, inconspicuous. this is slightly less so after Salem finds out about the birds (or at least, the way she talked about him being an eye blinded I assume she knows even before the show starts?). Her higher up agents knew to at least try to be in a small room or something.  

his crow has the crest feathers on his head unlike Ravens, and yes it does feel nice to be scritched under them.

the grimm leave him alone unless he instigates something, and once he did go after a small pack of ravagers just because he could. he picked two of them off with beak, claws, and tactics, but had to change to wipe the rest of them out because they swarmed.

bonus

yes he poops in bird form if it comes to that, no not on things or people. except maybe on some atlas droids. once. maybe. you can’t prove it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

vagabonds-and-wanderlust:

You sympathize with crows. After all, you too are a collector of shiny baubles and useless castoffs. And you, too, occasionally give them away to people you’ve taken a liking to.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

crow-suggestions‌:

how to befriend a humble crow: a guide

give me food - peanuts are my favorite :^

stay six feet away at all times. i’ll go up to you if i trust you

hang out with me often so i don’t forget about you

be a nice person!

talk to me when we’re hanging out. tell me about what’s going on in your life.

know that i appreciate you as long as you are kind and generous.

[pinkhorangnabi-archived]

3:38pm

3:38pm ft- Itachi Uchiha & Kakashi Hatake 

Warnings: Drug use/mentions

Note: Part of the I got five on it collab by @h-shibas

Word count: 950

It was a slow and boring day for the smoke shop, with only a few people coming in throughout the day. A Japanese lo-fi playlist is quietly playing throughout the shop. Y/N is sitting behind the counter scrolling down her feed trying to kill time. The door chimed with someone walking in the door. “Hey beautiful, slow day today?” a familiar voice drawled out. You looked up to see the instantly recognizable black mask and silver hair. Kakashi, a regular, walked up to the counter as you muttered “Yeah, Wednesdays are always slower.” He chuckles at your mutter, leaning over the counter trying to get closer.

  You can see the little white and brown dog hairs on his navy-blue sweater. You ask “How’s Pakkun doing? I miss the little guy.” He rolls his eyes, “That dog sleeps all day and runs around all night. You would think he’s a cat.” You giggle at his response.

He opens his Icha Icha Paradise book to show the empty compartment that holds his blunts. “Can you roll my blunts again?” You shake your head no at him. “I can’t always roll them for you just because you’re too lazy to do it yourself.” Kakashi shrugs at your answer. “But love, you always roll them the best and you know it.” You roll your eyes at him.

 The bell chimes again. This time Itachi, another regular walks in with a bag. “Are you bugging her to roll your blunts again Hatake?” Kakashi shrugs his shoulders at Itachi’s question. “Hello Y/N. How are you doing today? I brought some Dango for us to share.” Your face brightens up with a smile. “Yay! I have been waiting to try your mom's Dango!”

 You were awestruck as you watched Itachi approach, his long raven hair swaying as he walked up to the counter holding his black canvas bag decorated with crows. A small smile graces your face as he sets his bag on the counter, and you catch a glimpse of his purple fingernails. “I like how purple your nails are. What shade are they?” Itachi’s deep voice responds with “They are mauve. I actually just found this color recently.” As the two of you look into each other’s eyes, you feel yourself get lost in his onyx orbs and don’t feel that you are starting to lean closer towards him.

 Kakashi feeling left out clears his throat. “You two gonna keep flirting?” You feel your face turn red as you quickly move away from Itachi’s face. Kakashi groans out “My love, I am supposed to be your favorite regular, not him.” You stare dead at him with the use of that nickname. “Kakashi, how many times have I said that you both are my favorites.” Kakashi again lets out a groan at your answer.

 Itachi glances over at him in distaste at his childish antics. You reach into the bag to grab the Dango container. “If you start to whine, I won’t roll your blunts again,” you say as you put a Pink Dango in your mouth. While eating the Dango you hum in satisfaction at how good they are. Itachi smiles at your hum. “What are you guys buying today?” You say with a mouth full of food.

Kakashi shrugs and says,” You know I always go with your suggestions for the week.”

  You look around the displays as you say,” There’s this new strain that I recommend to everyone, and they all love it.” You lazily walk to the display. The two men follow you like lost puppies. It’s in a silver-shaped case that reads “Super Silver Haze”. Kakashi picks up the small case that is about the size of his palm. He looks over at you and asks “What’s the main strain? I want something with more Sativa than Indica.” You look over at him. “It’s more of a Sativa strain.”

 You slowly turn towards Itachi saying, “You like more of a chill high, right?” He nods his head with a small smile on his face. You walk over to the edibles section and pick up a baggie. The baggie reads “Watermelon Whirl” with a design of a lion at the top and watermelons on the bottom of it. “This one has a lot more Indica than Sativa. It will leave you feeling a chill high.” He walks next to you and grabs one of the bags looking at it. 

 While they both look at the different products, you go back to the counter to finish eating your Dango. After a couple of minutes, Kakashi comes back up to the counter with the container. “I will try it out since my favorite girl recommended it.” You nod at him and start to ring up his purchase. “Now can you please roll my blunts for me?” He pleads with you, and you nod relenting to his request.

 Itachi walks up to the counter holding the baggie. “You want to try these with me?” He asks and you shrug at him. He grabs one of the Dango and starts eating it. You start to wrap Kakashi’s blunts and both men watch your tongue lick the seam of the blunt. They both gulp as you finish with the last blunt and place them in the book compartment.

 “You two are done, right? Or do you want to come to the back room and smoke with me?” You inquire. Itachi stutters out, “Y-y-ye-es, I would love that.” Kakashi blinks slowly processing what you say and shakes his head yes enthusiastically. “Okay then let’s go,” you say with a smirk on your face, as they slowly make their way around the counter to follow you to the backroom.

Tags: @bxnten @keijisdumcumster

[anordinarymuse]

So I saw that you were taking requests for kaz x readers and was wondering if you would write a x gender neutral fic for him with the you can't see color till making eye contact with your soulmate trope? Can be as fluffy or as smutty as you'd like to write! And I'd you could maybe add in the plot where ur character much like inej was owned as a slave originally that would be awesome! Thank you and have a great day!!!

these color aus are so fun eek i hope you like it <3 i hope i did the gender neutral thing correctly bc i will dig my own grave if i didn’t.

offer.

Kaz Brekker x GenderNeutral!Reader

Summary : request

Warnings : unedited.

Word Count : 692

A/N : im going thrifting tmr yay

the masterlist.

request here.

You sit alone in the private room of the Menajerie. Your silks drape loosely over your body and no matter how hard you pull at them, they always flop back down.

Apparently somebody had requested to meet with you privately, and private viewing never ended well, so you mentally you were preparing yourself.

The stupid feather tattoo on your forearm haunted you as sat limply and helplessly on a velvet couch. Everything you saw was in black and white, nobody else seemed to have this issue, and you couldn't figure out why you were like this.

Ever since you could remember you saw everything in black and white. When you asked other people if they had the same problem they'd tell you you were mad.

The private room was stuffy and you were slowly losing your consciousness from boring yourself, however your head perks up as soon as you feel something.

You didn't know how to explain it, but along with your monochrome madness you could feel things. Like presences, almost?

You sit up straight and flatten your silks, pressing on your hair while you're at it.

The door creaks open and a strange figure enters the room. The person wears a fedora that just so happens to hide their face.

"Y/N Y/L/N, correct?" The person asks briskly, holding a crow cane tightly in their hand.

Your head snaps up and your attention is instantly grabbed at the sound of your name.

You can’t remember the last time somebody called you by you real name.

"How do you-?" Your breath hitches getting caught up in your throat. You take a step back, away from the mysterious figure, the beat of your heart picking up.

"So you are Y/N Y/L/N," the figure says plainly, remaining conspicuous, looking down at the wooden floorboards.

"What do you want?" You snap, trying to hide your very present fear.

"I have an offer," the voice is clear and straight, and your eyes wander to their gloved hands, presumably leather but you can't be sure since all you see are shaded shadows.

"Why would you offer me anything?" Your voice isn’t clear or straight, instead it’s shaky and uneven.

"Because you have something I need," the voice responds without hesitation.

"And what's that?" You feel a strange flame alight in your chest.

"You knew I was coming before you heard me, right?" Suddenly, that flame turns to dust.

They know.

They know?

"You don't- you don't know anything about me," your voice returns to its shaky state, and the world of black and white around you begins to spin.

"I know enough to know that I want you on my side."

"Get away from me," you stumble back not taking your eyes off the figure. They don’t move forward but somehow you’re left even more afraid.

The room is quiet for a moment before the figure speaks again, this time a bit quieter, "Do you want out of the Menajerie?"

You stay silent and you stare hard at the shades of grey and black in front of you.

The private room already being dim does not help your case.

"Then accept.”

"I don't even know what I’m-"

"I'm not want to make a untrustworthy offer," their voice cuts you off, leaving no room for discussion.

Leaving the Menajerie?

That’s what I’ve only wanted ever since I stepped foot in this wretched place.

This might...

...might be my only chance.

"I-" your words stumble on top of each other, the notion of freedom seemed like insanity, but if this person wasn’t lying the you really would be free, "I get to get out of here?"

"It's guaranteed," their voice is steady and only now does the figure look up at you. They hold their cane even tighter now.

Your eyes travel to theirs, locking with their irises. You breath escapes your throat as you meet his eyes. His gaze is cold, but something told you that if you cracked the ice, deep inside was warmth.

Just as your eyes meet, the shades of gray begin to wash away.

And that's when you see it.

That's when you see color.

**********

taglist : @marimorena06 @missryerye @agirlwholovescoffee @nicole198205 @blackpinkdolan @gabitanaka47 @psychowanarchist @siriuspvdfoot @hufflepuffflowers @thatguppienamedbae @peachykeen3502 @missryerye @kaslupin @ayla-1605 @chazzyb73 @youngblood199456 @oranee @silly-little-bl0g @bobbyjohnsonbeat @jasgreen101 @will-to-live-who @erinblack003 @bellatrixscurls @krishavania @wh0re4blaise @thegirlwhocriedlupin @mrsaliciamalfoy @wwweasleystan @modernvellichor @westantheweasleys @lolaperezb @savagelysarcasticslytherin @zaraskyla @v4l3nt1n44 @sirisuorionblack @rinbyo @xdancinggurlx @lupinsravenclaw @hogwarts-boys @inglourious-imagines @siriuslyslyslytherin @kykymyeon @amwitherspoon @the-abyss-gazed-back @grishaverse7 @aus10-matthews @losers-club6 @chewiethecatus @i-padfootblack-things

[omgsquee2001]

You Really Are Bad At Observing; Sequel to He Hasn’t Noticed Yet; Shanks x Fem! Reader

~~~~~~

~~~~~~~

Anonymous asked: Hiii the anon who requested the shanks request. And if you feel like writing a part 2 then sure why not!. ❤❤❤❤❤😊

//First off, let me say yay! I’m so happy you requested a part two. I had a lot of fun continuing this part.//

~~~~~~~~

“I already have feelings for someone. They are apart of this crew,” Shanks frowned as you looked down sadly. “But he sadly hasn't noticed yet.” You got up. “Wake me when it’s my turn to take watch.” You walked to your cabin, closing the door and heading to bed. Shanks sighed. You already had someone in mind. All he could really do was accept the fact that you didn’t return his feelings after all. Shanks got up.

“Everyone head to bed,” he said. His crew mates looked at him. “Lucky Roo, you take first watch, Yasopp, you’re next.” He said. Ben frowned. He placed his hand on Shanks’ shoulder.

“Shanks.” Ben said. Shanks didn’t look at his first mate.

“I’m fine, Ben. Get some sleep. We have no idea what’s going to happen tomorrow.” Shanks said, retreating to his own bed. Ben sighed and shook his head.

“For being a War Lord, you really are bad at observing behavior, aren’t you.” Ben said, his words going deaf to the ears of his captain.

The next day, you were sitting in the crows nest, keeping a look out like always. Clouds settled over the sky. Dark, ominous clouds. The Grand Line was famous for it’s unpredictable weather patterns. One minute it could be sunny, not a cloud in the sky and the next, it could be snowing or storming. Thunder rumbled in the sky. You looked up at the sky. You looked down at your crew mates.

“Be prepared. Looks like a storm is coming!” You warned. Your crew mates nodded. You narrowed your eyes and saw the white flags of a marine ship. You eyes widened. This would be bad. A storm and marines. Not the best situation to be in, especially as a pirate. “We have another problem!” You shouted. Shanks looked up at you. “Marines!” You shouted. Shanks frowned.

“Do they look friendly?” He asked. Just as he asked that, a cannon was shot, landing right in front of the Red Haired Pirate’s ship. You shielded your face as sea water sprayed up from the cannon. “Nope! Definitely not friendly!” You shouted. The crew started loading cannons in and shot back. Shanks looked up as you came down. He looked at you. “Is there anyway to get around them?” He shouted over the wind and the thunder. You shook your head.

“No. Not unless we want to head into Sea King territory!” You shouted back. Shanks nodded.

“Very well. Men! And lady! Get ready! We are heading into battle!” He shouted. The crew released war cries, you brandishing your own swords.

Swords were clanging. More marines were falling than Pirates. You slashed with your twin swords, cutting down marines who dared harm your friends, your family. You stopped, your area clear of enemies for the moment. You looked around. Almost everyone was engaged in battle. Shanks was engaged with the Marine Captain. Your eyes widened as a marine was sneaking up behind Shanks, sword brandished. Ready to kill the captain. You narrowed your eyes.

Shanks cut down the captain.

“Shanks!” A familiar voice shouted. He barely had time to react when he saw your form jump in front of his. The sword that was meant for him was plunged into your stomach. All commotion stopped. The marine in front of your injured body looked shakily up in fear at Shanks. The captain’s eyes widened. He raced over and caught your falling form. Dark shadows covered his eyes. He glared up at his crew mates.

“Get these bastards off my ship.” He growled. Those words were all they needed. The Red Haired crew charged at the marines.

Your head hurt. And so did your stomach. What happened? You opened your eyes.

“I see that you’re awake.” A familiar voice said. You looked to the side and saw Shanks. He was sitting at the head of the bed on a stool. He was staring down at his hands. You looked down at where you were. You were in the med bay laying in one of the beds. You saw bandages wrapped around your stomach. It all come back to you. The marine and the sword that was meant to kill Shanks. Instead, it had plunged through your stomach. You looked at your captain in worry.

“Shanks, are you alright? Are you hurt?” You asked. You attempted to sit up, but the pain from the stab wound halted your movements. Shanks rushed over, gently pressing his hand against your shoulder, making you lay down again.

“Lay still,” he said. He pulled the stool over to the side of the bed. He sighed and looked at you. “You scared all of us. You were bleeding so much. We were barley able to to save you. I was barley able to save you.” He said quietly. You reached over and took his hand.

“Shanks.” You said. Shanks smiled at you sadly.

“Well, we should probably let that fellow of yours know that you are alright. We wouldn’t want to worry him anymore.” He said. You looked at him in confusion.

“What do you mean?” You asked. Shanks looked at you.

“The man that you said you had feelings for but he hadn’t noticed yet.” He said. You started chuckling. Shanks looked at you confused. “What? What’s so funny?” He asked. You stopped chuckling and smiled at him.

“Oh Shanks. You really are bad at observing people, for a War Lord.” You said. Shanks blinked in confusion. You reached up and pulled Shanks down to meet your lips. Shanks stayed frozen for a little bit before he regained his senses and kissed back, cupping your cheek. You both pulled away and Shanks smiled but then frowned. “What about the man?” He asked. You chuckled again.

“Shanks, you are that man.”

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

//I am so sorry this took so long for me to get out. I am finally done with college!! I passed both my classes with an A and got a 100% on my week long activity plan. I’m so happy!! Anyway, I hope you like this, Anon. Sorry if the ending kind of sucks.//

[the-coffee-story]

Rise of the Forest God

Chapter 4 - Finding the Head

When the team arrived in Forest Lane, it was unbearably foggy. Dark, ragged clouds draped themselves across the black sky like the wings of a massive crow.

"Wow, I haven't been here in a solid three or four years," Walther said, looking around absentmindedly as they hopped out of the Bentley. The silvery moonlight gave the still quite new scars on their face a sharp contrast, and Walther the appearance of grinning from ear to ear. "Still looks the same."

"Can't judge," October commented cheerily, waving his white cane around. The others just sighed collectively.

"So where's the murder scene?", Coffee signed. He was shivering. The phone call had caught him and Violet by surprise while they'd been busy moving her stuff into his apartment. The result was him not being able to grab something warmer than the beige crop top he was wearing.

"Didn't that guy who made the call plan to wait for us here?", Violet asked.

As if on queue, she spotted a small figure on the other side of the field, barely visible in front of the black trees. He waved through the thick blanket of fog and quicky jogged over.

"There he is," Doc remarked and ran a bandaged hand through his greying hair. He was still in the tedious process of recovering after getting it impaled in February. Ah, the joys of being private investigators.

The young man came down the sandy dirt path. From up closer Violet could see the cloud of fluffy, gingery blonde hair that reminded her of a gentle sunrise, as well as a narrow, oddly foxy face. There was a strong scent of shampoo that had bound itself to the man. His pale, emerald eyes were accentuated with smudged black eyeliner. When he smiled politely the piercing in his lower lip glimmered.

"Finbar Ginster." He had an Irish accent. He enthusiastically shook everyone's hand, finishing with Thasfield. "Welcome to Forest Lane. I like your tie. The crime scene is right down this path, follow me."

"You're surprisingly calm," Doc remarked, cocking a brow.

The young man turned to him and his cool green eyes almost shone in the moonlight. He cracked his shoulders. "I had a summer job at a morgue last year. Wasn't fun, but at least I'm not scared of blood anymore. Watch your step, I couldn't find the head."

Everyone exchanged a collective nervous glance.

"How long were you on the crime scene, and how much did you walk around?", Walther questioned.

He groaned, looking to the sky and and cracking his knuckles absentmindedly. "A lot, unfortunately. I panicked a little and thought it was a prank. Regrettably I was wrong."

Violet sighed. "Bonus work. Yay."

"Sorry."

The moon crawled out from behind a wall of clouds and illuminated Finbar's freckled face. Violet suddenly realized his relaxed attitude was just an act. Beads of sweat glinted on his forehead and his glance nervously wandered around like a fox caught in a trap when the hunter is approaching. When he adjusted the collar of his black turtleneck she could see his hands were slightly shaky, and the artery on his pale neck was pulsing furiously.

The group arrived at the edge of the forest and spotted a clearing where a bunch of policemen were already rolling out barrier tape.

Violet peeked through the trees and her stomach turned. "Oh God."

There was blood splattered everywhere. It was like a horror movie. The decapitated body lying in a puddle of it's own blood, stuck to the dry, dead grass, deep gashes covering it's blotchy skin, and it's yellowing intestines slowly oozing out of the torn flesh.

"Oh God," Walther muttered.

"What's it look like?", October asked.

While Walther described the crime scene Violet and Coffee walked around in search of the head.

"Headless horseman leveled up?", Violet joked nervously.

Coffee laughed and signed an answer. "Ichabod Crane who?"

Violet spotted something fuzzy at the root of a tree and furrowed her brows. "Hey, I think I found it. Cof, can you turn it around? I can't bend over, cons of being pregnant..."

He nodded, skipped to her side and got down on his knees while Violet searched her pockets for a flashlight. She found her phone, turned the light on and shined it down.

Short light brown hair. It looked oddly familiar. Coffee made a face, picked the head up and carefully turned it around.

And then they both started screaming.

The victim was none other than Marty McCormick.

[blonde-toddy]

Random and Not So Random thoughts while watching Bridgerton: Season 1, Episode 1

I'm supposed to dislike the Featherington mama, right? I mean, I rather enjoy tasteless and tactless at times.

And I'm supposed to like the Bridgerton family? Name of the show and all.

Ah, the "rebel" sister. Not predictable at all.

I would be mad as hell....getting my back scratched up by tree bark, and the son of a bitch fucking me looks down at his watch....then proceeds to hurry up! Even his footman is like "this mf."

Ok mama, shade your hoe ass son then.

All these white dresses. I could never. I am feeling the feathers in the hair though.

Gawd bless these poor Featherington girls. I can't be the only one who cringes when things are awful and embarrassing. And the Queen. She is not here for the shits. AT ALL.

And here's our heroine. Ok, Daphne! You got the seal of approval from the queen. All y'all did was curtsy and bow your head but I guess you did it the prettiest. What a fucking time to be alive.

Gossip papers are legit the regency gossip blog/podcast.

I'm getting Little Women vibes from Daphne and Eloise....but instead of Meg, Daphne has MAJOR Amy energy (SHE JUST DOES. I CAN'T EXPLAIN IT). Eloise is a Jo, which needs no explanation.

Diamond of the first water. That's how I want to be complimented going forward.

Aww Portia....your hating ass! And of course the wicked sisters are hateful to the heavier sister. She's not even really chunky or blemished for them to be acting like that. Penelope has a round face and a very clear complexion....but it's Hollywood so I digress.

Portia and her mean ass daughters are eating crow. All that hating and shit and now the country cousin is a baddie.

Oh excuse me. I'm pretty sure an orgasm just rode in on a horse.

Oh he's a brooding drunk Duke. Yummy poison. And I think we just met the real Queen in this universe. "Your regrets are denied." You going to her party mf! You gotta meet Daphne somehow. Shit. But leave the flask at home. I cannot.

Hoe ass Anthony. Poor Sienna.

'Thank you, next' is literally the perfect song for this scenario.

Oh great, Anthony's hoe ass is a cockblock too.

Yeah, Mama, he stresses me out as well!

All her brothers can't be hoes, surely.

Y'all can't duck the goat! Get in that ass Lady Danbury.

Oooh shit. Baby Bridgerton brother spotted the country cousin!

Well hello Duke! That damn swarm!

Daphne is done with your shit Anthony. She just wants to have some fun and find a husband!

Gawd, now this creepy fuck. You should have stayed with your hoe ass brother.

Aw she's shaking on his ass. "Adieu." MF!

But he's not having it!

Run Daphne! Right into the Duke. What a fucking meet cute.

Oh, he's a cocky mf! And she doesn't even know who tf he is. Golden.

Of course he knows her hoe ass brother.

Yeah, mf. That's his sister. You looking curious now. Here we go.

Oh she's low-key roasting him.....and I think he likes it.

*me singing "Look look look look back at you for what?" I'm not finishing that line. I would always look back at that specimen of a man right there though.

Damn hoe ass Anthony, the carriage ain't gonna turn into a fucking pumpkin. Let her have some fun! He irks the fucking piss out of me.

Oh great. He's here to do more blocking.

Marina got fans!

'Girls Like You' is also fitting for this scene .

Poor Daphne. This creepy fuck about to shoot his shot again.

Damn, Portia. Quit being hateful to Marina, shit. I'm trying to like you.

And here's Berbrooke's creepy ass.

Eloise tried to save her sister. She really did. At least Hyacinth is here.

Aww Penelope likes Colin, but Colin likes Marina. This is soapy, yet delicious.

Anthony, you're not just a hoe, but a dumb hoe. I told y'all Daphne gave me Amy vibes. Marriage is not a game for her. You better tell your dumb ass brother!

Anthony and Simon have excellent chemistry. I want to know more about their history and relationship. They've obviously been up to hoe shit together.

Oh Penelope your jealousy is showing.

Lord Featherington looks like creep and I don't trust him.

Yay Berbrooke, another creep I don't trust.

The Shade Queen and the Scheming Queen.

The plotsky thickens. Them ladies plotting and scheming and matchmaking.

I mean Marina is obviously tripping because there's not blood on her sheets. Secret pregnancy plot point? Maybe.

Inviting the Duke for dinner and seating him next to Daphne. Y'all are neither slick, nor subtle.

Francesca saying what we're all thinking. Yes honey he does have a presence about him. Eloise dropping facts. He is a rake. And it's hot.

That look. Don't look so repulsed, Daphne. That man fine. Plus he's amused by your attitude.

Ok lil banter. Daphne stays shading the fuck out of him on the low. He snapped back this time though.

And Anthony looking all concerned that they're talking. Bye hoe.

And the scheme is unraveling.

Also, I'm going to look up a Gooseberry Pie recipe.

Anthony, you're really irritating me with this controlling shit man. Get his ass Violet. This mf really thinks he runs shit. Crush him mama! Crush him!

He really went to fuck her one last time and then kicked her out. He's literally the worst! Fuck Anthony. Fuck him with a cactus.

The bloody corset marks are a very fine detail, indeed.

Penelope, you cutie. I like the pink!

This raggedy bitch! That's why Colin told you no, HEAUX!

The swarm.

Ok Duke and Daphne. I see y'all seeing each other from afar.

The maid spotted the non-blooded sheet. Now sheet gonna hit the fan.

*It's electric! Boogie woogie oogie!*

Damn it all to hell, Anthony. Just when I think you can't get worse, you fucking do! You really out here PROMISING Daphne to fucking Berbrooke. I get that the Duke is your fuckboy homie and all but this mf right here is straight up creep. Anthony.....sit on a cactus.

Aw Marina, you busted boo. All the clapback came with a slapback. There is a nuance to Portia I can't put my finger on. Its why I can't hate her even though she's been pretty awful.

Daphne trying to take a beat and this creepy fuck shows up! Oh he went full fucking creep mode. Is he really trying to force himself upon her?!

Have no fear, the Duke is near...trying to be captain save a hoe, but alas the hoe saved herself. Daphne knocked that mf clean out! And the Duke is impressed! This looks like the start of a beautiful situationship.

Daphne gotta blow this popsicle stand before someone catches her alone with 2 men. One according to the Duke. He's got funnies.

Did that mf just propose while unconscious? Berbrooke begone, shit!

Amy...I mean Daphne still dropping knowledge about the lack of options women in that era had. I rather like Daphne.

The Duke likes her better without all the fans. Hmm.

Oh here it is.

Yes pretend to be lovers. That always works out well. No one ever catches feelings.......said no one ever.

I mean y'all are hot and this is what I came here for, but still.

See, situationship.

They're convincing because they're only pretending to pretend. I cannot with these 2, already.

[majesticnerdyvee]

in which there is Florida Man, a loser, Crowley apparently has instagram, and the Shack becomes the pinnacle of chaos, and they adopted a goat

“What the hell happened here?” They turned to the archway where a horrified John accompanied by Sherlock stood. “Is that glitter? Oh no. Where did she get this?”

Sherlock ran a hand over his face. “Toronto. She has a weakness for shiny things like the cheap crow she is. I guess it’s everywhere now. There’s no way we’ll escape the doom of glitter.”

“Is it that catastrophic?” Cas asked, checking out his white shirt that was glistening with red splotches here and there. “I like the look of it. It’s unusual. Sparkly.”

“Cas, glitter is like sand, except that it sticks like glue to parts of your body you had no clue existed. It will take ages to clean up.”

Dean shook his head, a small rain of red glistening particles falling from his hair. Irene danced under it like her life depended on it. Sherlock let out a sigh, then went to pick her up. His sister didn’t miss the opportunity to smother the red dust on his cheeks. He was not amused.

“You’re childish,” he told Irene, who threw her arms around his neck to hug him tight. “Do you think you’ll win me over by being adorably evil? Fine. But I’ll be grumpy about it.”

“I love you, Sherly,” she said, cuddling him tighter and John and Dean cooed at them. Sherlock rolled his eyes and patted Irene on the back, putting her on the ground. “You’re the best tallest brother ever. Dean, do you want to be my brother too?”

“I dunno, don’t wanna make Sherlock jealous, Princess.”

The boy in question shrugged dismissively. “You won’t. She’s gathering new family members wherever she goes. She practically adopted Castiel the moment she saw him in the attic closet. Be my guest.”

“Yay!” Irene cheered, running up to Dean to hug his leg.

“Alright then, kid, I’ll be your second big brother. Where’s Sam?”

“He needed to pee.”

“Ah. Been gone too long. I told him not to drink that smoothie in the morning.”

The doorbell rang before any of them could steer the conversation in a different direction. John went to answer it and Cas peered out in the hall as Dean let Irene sit on his shoulders. As John turned the knob on the door to open it, something headbutted the wood and he yelped back when a large black goat barged inside.

“Uh, hello?” Cas said uncertainly, and the goat kept chewing on grass. The animal was calm, save for the unruly and rude self-invitation inside. The dogs stood at their baby barrier to see what was going on. Grace was having none of it.

“Meh-eh-eh!” the goat bleated, its hooves clanking against the floorboards. John tiptoed closer to it, and Cas noticed the box it had tied to its side. The goat looked at John, yellow eyes tracing his moves. “Meeeeh.”

[stevesbunny]

Not funny - 1

DARK! series. Do not read if that makes you uncofortable or if you’re under 18! No minors!

(My first series, yay!)

Summary: Steve can’t stay away from Y/M, even thought she made it clear she’s not interested in him. So he takes the matters into his own hands. When he finds out his friends – Sam and Bucky – decided to take his example, he’s delighted until everything goes downhill once they cross paths. 

Pairings: dark!Steve Rogers x Reader

Word count: 2 200 give or take

Warnings for the series: THIS IS A DARK SERIES! It will contain explict non-con, dub-con, manipulation, drug use, violence, death of not so important characters

Warnings for this chapter: kidnapping, drugging

You’ve been warned.

Why is writing so difficult? Why can’t you think of anything even after you’ve been staring at a blank page for three hours?

You took a deep breath and looked out the window. Usually sunny weather made you feel  inspired, but today it was different. You haven’t felt the flow of creativity for a long time and you haven’t felt safe for a long time, either. Maybe you should write about that?

Your contract with the publisher foresaw the next part of the romantic saga until the end of this year, but how can you write about love when there hasn’t been anyone in your life for a long time?

You took a deep breath and closed the laptop. You went to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of coffee, naively thinking that it is the lack of caffeine that is responsible for your writer’s block.

You leaned on the island, drinking a hot liquid of the gods and began to wonder why do you actually not feel safe? What has changed in the past three weeks? Why do you always look behind you wherever you’re going, why do you always make sure you closed the door to your apartment at least three times? It’s become a routine, you just didn’t know why.

Suddenly, as if someone from “above” heard your inner monologue, there was a knock on the door. Irritated, you set down your coffee and moved to open the door.

"Hi," there was a muscular blond at your door, his angelic smile looking very punchable. He looked you up and down and frowned, noticing your messy hair and dark circles under your eyes. "Did I come at the wrong time?"

Steve moved into the building exactly three weeks ago. You didn't make friends, although he occasionally tried to initiate a conversation. It always started with an innocent "hello" and, on more than one occasion, it ended with "what are you doing tomorrow evening?" Unfortunately, “tomorrow evening” was always a busy time for you. Any normal person would take the hint, but not Steve.

"Earth to Y/M,” he laughed, bending his knees a little so that he could look into your eyes.

"I'm a bit busy," you pressed your lips in a thin line, scratching your head. "I'm trying to work and- “

You stumbled back when Steve stepped into your apartment, oozing confidence and not giving a single fuck about what you just said. Only then did you notice that all this time his hands were crossed behind his back.

With a heavy sigh, you closed the door and followed him into the living room, where the symbol of your helplessness lay on the table - a closed laptop.

Steve looked around, making sure you couldn't see what he was holding in his hands. Finally, he turned to you with a smile. His attitude was exactly as usual - confident, calm and disturbing. You didn't really know why such a charming and sweet man made you so uneasy. Perhaps because he couldn’t understand that if a woman refuses a date six times, that probably means she’s not interested.

"Do you remember when we talked about this new pastry shop at the corner?" He smiled charmingly, pulling the white box from behind his back.

Of course you remembered this conversation. You were just returning from grocery shopping when Steve offered help. You let him help you with the bags, listening to him telling a story from his childhood about some guy named Bucky, on the way to your apartment. The confectionery already existed in the 1940s, back when Steve wasn’t a mountain of meat and muscle yet. You let your guard down then, saying how delicious the cakes and muffins from the confectionary were. Steve just smiled and made a mental note. You were surprised that he didn’t ask you out on a date that day.

"Uh huh," you nodded, eyeing the box suspiciously.

“They have a new cupcake flavour, raspberry. I got you a few," he moved to hand you the box, but seeing that you weren’t going to move towards him, he nodded and put the box on the coffee table. It looked like it had already been opened and you doubted it was because Steve was checking to see if they got the order right.

"You didn’t have to,” your tone was polite, but the boy must be really dumb if he didn’t notice the stink eye.

"I know," he shrugged. "I hardly ever see you lately, almost as if you completely stopped going out. Everything’s alright?"

He put his hands in his pockets, exaggerated worry on his face. Those damn puppy eyes.

"My publishing house doesn't like anything I write," you didn't know why you opened up to him, but it all spilled out of your mouth almost automatically. You told him about how you sit in front of the computer every day for ten hours and you can't think of anything because your publishing house rejects all your ideas. None of your friends knew about it, because nobody cared about your life that much. Maybe you needed to talk to someone who really listens to you. The only person who was patient enough was Steve Rogers.

While telling him your story, you missed the smirk that appeared on Steve's face for a second. He nodded as he came up to you and put his hand on your shoulder. You had the impression that his warm, huge hand weighed a ton as he clenched his fingers on an exposed piece of your skin.

"I understand you’ve been having a hard time lately, sweetheart," you frowned at the nickname, "but not for long. I promise."

You froze. You didn't even have time to ask what that meant, as Steve left your apartment. When you shook off the absurdity of this situation, you quickly moved to lock the door. You'd rather pull all your teeth out than eat those cupcakes. You grabbed the box that he’d left on the table and threw it into the trash without thinking. You wondered if he was creepy on purpose or maybe he didn't know he was giving off some serious serial killer vibes?

You were going to spend the rest of the evening in the hot bath, but you felt nauseous while cooking dinner. Your vision suddenly became blurry and you felt like your body was floating. At first you ignored it, it happens sometimes. But this time it was different. On the way to the bedroom, you collapsed to the floor, everything around you seemed distorted. You opened your mouth to call for help - there was no way you could crawl to the living room to get your phone. Your heavy breaths only seemed to make everything worse. Everything went black.

How was this possible? You didn't even touch the cupcakes.

✰

Your head felt heavy, your lips were dry and you were still nauseous. You turned your head to the side and opened your eyes. What seemed to be a dizziness turned out to be a moving car. Suddenly your eyes went wide, mouth ajar in a silent scream.

"You’re finally up," you heard a familiar voice and you swallowed hard, "you scared me a little. I checked for your pulse about ten times."

His voice was low and calm. It reminded you of the tone of voice in which the head of the publishing house you are writing for spoke to his employees.

You tried to move, but your body was limp. You knew you weren’t bound. Did he drug you?

But you haven't touched the cupcakes.

You felt the same warm hand on your thigh that not long ago Steve rested comfortably on your shoulder.

"Cupcakes were clean," he said, as if he were reading your mind. And for a moment you even worried he was. You frowned and he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye and poked your shoulder. You hissed in pain, your hand automatically moves to the spot Steve just touched. Your body went numb, as you realized that the cupcake box was a misdirection.

"Steve... What did you do to me?" You tried to stay calm, but it was difficult when all you could see was a forest and a psychopath clenching his jaw, sitting next to you.

"I'm not stupid," he murmured, his eyes focused on the road, "I know you don't trust me. I knew you wouldn't eat the cupcakes. You refuse everything I offer you. "

He laughed bitterly, his hands tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightened on your lap. You licked your dry lips.

"Steve, I'm not interested in you."

It didn't trigger the reaction you expected. Steve laughed out loud, shaking his head. He looked at you briefly, a dangerous glint in his eye. He reached out to turn the radio down and stopped the car abruptly. He turned towards you, and you moved towards the door, wanting to be as far away from him as possible.

"Sure, I got the hint. You are the one who doesn’t understand," his voice suddenly lower, deeper. You could almost hear the dramatic music, a herd of black crows surrounding the car, signalling your end. Although it could be just your imagination.

You grabbed the door handle, but quickly let go of it when you saw a warning in Steve’s eyes.  Even if you managed to get out of the car, he would catch you in no time.

"That you’re a psycho?"

Steve's jaw tightened, as he decided to ignore your question. His hand landed on your thigh again, his fingers clenched so tightly, your skin burning.

"How long has your publishing house been rejecting your ideas, honey?"

You frowned, knowing exactly where this was going.

"Three weeks," you tried to push his hand away, but his fingers tightened even more. You winced, tears glistening in your eyes.

"And you think you ever had a choice? I planned your whole life exactly three weeks ago, " he hissed, "you decide whether it will be painful or pleasant for you."

Seriously, you almost laughed at that. First he asks you if you thought you ever had a choice, and then tells you that you decide how badly you’re screwed. A real gentleman.

"It has been fantastic so far," you choked out. Steve raised an eyebrow, straightening up in the seat.

"I'm glad you still have your sense of humour," he turned up the radio again, turning the engine back on.

None of you said anything until the end of the ride. Steve was busy humming to an old song that was playing on the radio and you were trying to remember the way. All the trees look pretty much the same, so you gave up after three hundred and fifty-seventh spruce tree.

It was dark outside, the sun set an hour ago, and the road seemed endless. Even more spruces later, Steve turned into path leading through the forest. The car rocked on the potholes, and your previous nausea returned. You stopped in front of a small wooden cabin. You would find it cute, if it wasn't for who brought you here.

"Seriously?" You sighed theatrically. "Cabin in the woods? Could you be more predictable?”

Steve gave you a sharp look and got out of the car to open the door on your side.

"Come on," he reached out his hand to you, and you accepted it. You had to hold yourself back not to spit on it, though.

"Okay Hannibal, what's the plan?" You asked leaning on the car. Steve chuckled, rummaging in his pants pockets. He took out three sets of keys and waved them in front of your eyes. Each set had a different colour; blue, red and white. Shocking.

"Since you’re such a fun loving girl, I'll let you draw. Each key opens a different room - "

"You don't say."

"Draw one. Let’s see where you’ll be staying until you learn not to talk back," his blood boiled when he saw you roll your eyes. He'll have to teach you so many things. He knew it wouldn't be easy with your attitude, but he was going to fuck this attitude out of you as soon as he gets to know you better. He may be a psychopath, but he’s still old-fashioned.

"Oh, you know how to keep me entertained," you glanced at the key sets, yawning ostentatiously. "Blue."

Steve grinned, putting the other two sets back in his pocket. Only when you saw his wide, disturbing smile did you realise you were screwed.

"On a scale of 1 to 10, you're fucked, sweetheart."

[arielseaworth]

Stuff I wrote in the first half of 2021:

(I’ve written so few of the things I had planned to write this year. If this is an actual mid-year progress evaluation, I would totally fail 😅 Although I did finish my first ever John le Carré fic YAY! 🎉 I’m really proud of that.)

||NON-ASOIAF FICS||

Like Two Parents

There was the Brotherhood and there was this other chap. Said he was working for both of ’em. They were like two parents for him. Kept him going.” (A Perfect Spy, John le Carré)

“What is it about your husband, do you know, that gives us such a bad, bad conscience?” (A Perfect Spy, John le Carré)

Jack Brotherhood and Axel meet, after Pym’s death, to talk about a bad conscience and the balance of culpability, among other things.

||ASOIAF FICS||

The Vanishing

On that last visit, though, [Asha] had found Lady Alannys in a window seat huddled beneath a pile of furs, staring out across the sea. Is this my mother, or her ghost? she remembered thinking as she’d kissed her cheek. (A Feast for Crows)

POV Swap: This scene from Alannys Harlaw’s POV.

An Inch of Your Broad Earth

"It was hard for all my brothers. That shadow Tywin cast was long and black, and each of them had to struggle to find a little sun.” (A Feast for Crows)

The Lannister brothers, from Gerion's POV.

when the hammer shall fall upon the dragon

And talk was heard in camp of a prophecy of ancient days that said, “When the hammer shall fall upon the dragon, a new king shall arise, and none shall stand before him.” (Fire & Blood)

For the prompt: Stannis and Maester Cressen discussing this prophecy after Robert’s win.

After Robert defeated Rhaegar with his warhammer on the Trident, Stannis and Maester Cressen debated the use of a prophecy to boost the morale of the people inside Storm’s End, who were still besieged by the enemy.

A Dance with Ashara

The crannogman saw a maid with laughing purple eyes dance with a white sword, a red snake, and the lord of griffins, and lastly with the quiet wolf … but only after the wild wolf spoke to her on behalf of a brother too shy to leave his bench. (A Storm of Swords)

Ashara Dayne’s appraisal of the four men she danced with at Harrenhal.

coming in from the cold

Elenei had spent countless years watching them, these mortals with their “poor little lives” as her mother called it, with their “nasty, brutish and short existence” as her father dismissed it. Their lives seemed no more than flickering candles in the eyes of the gods, but perhaps those lives were experienced far more intensely because of it.

Find Me

He was not lost, he protested, to a nameless accuser. He was not crying out for help, he insisted, to the absent figure he was reaching out for in the nightfire. He was merely holding on to her faith, her faith in him that was stronger than his faith in himself.

(Stannis/Melisandre, miles from where you are.)

||ASOIAF DRABBLES||

Robb Stark & Bran Stark

Rhaena Targaryen/Alayne Royce

Loras Tyrell/Renly Baratheon, a secret

Samantha Tarly & Sansara Tarly

Ned Stark/Catelyn Tully, “Ned loves my hair”

Maester Aemon & Aegon V Targaryen, Aemon’s dream

Archmaester Abelon & Alleras

Doran Martell/Mellario of Norvos, a memory

Ned Stark/Catelyn Tully, a lie

Argella Durrandon/Orys Baratheon, the opposite of love

Aegon V Targaryen/Betha Blackwood, a story

Quentyn Martell/Ynys Yronwood, unrequited

Stannis/Melisandre, shelter from the storm

Dacey Mormont & Alysane Mormont, promise

[chelsfic]

I Think We Could Do It if We Tried - Guillermo x Nandor Fluffy One-shot

Summary: Guillermo comforts Nandor on his saddest night and revelations are made during bath time. (Takes place during S2 E2, Ghosts)

A/N: Some recovery fluff. P.S. I always associate this song with Nandermo thanks to this really sweet fancam.

Warnings: Fluff, Crack, First kiss, Yearning, Soft hours, Guillermo being compared to a horse, Nudity but no smut

---

"You know I'll do anything you ask me to But oh my God, I think I'm in love with you Standing here alone now, think that we can drive around I just wanna say how I love you with your hair down Baby, you don't got to fight, I'll be here til the end of time Wishing that you were mine, pull you in, it's alright" --"Sofia" by Clairo

Guillermo stands frozen in place, the phantom image of ghost Nandor and his steed still hangs in his field of vision like the imprint of a camera’s flash. His master looks stricken and utterly alone. He’s never seen him so vulnerable.

He approaches cautiously, ready for the cold rebuke that always comes whenever he attempts to connect with Nandor. Honestly, Guillermo doesn’t know why he keeps trying. He supposes it’s because every now and then, tonight for instance, the curtain parts and his master reveals a bit of the tender soul that he keeps so well guarded by bravado and arrogance.

“They’re at peace now, Master,” Guillermo says quietly, reaching out to pat Nandor’s arm. 

Nandor is silent for a beat, his face tensed with emotion and anxiety. Finally, he turns to his familiar and speaks in a lost, trembling voice.

“Hug?”

Guillermo feels the breath rush out of his lungs and his lips curl into a quick, here-and-gone grin. He darts his eyes to the camera crew before looking back at Nandor and schooling his features into bland subservience.

“Of course, master,” he answers, opening his arms and calmly wrapping them around the hulking vampire, as if this isn’t a partial fulfillment of his most dearly held wish. “It’s alright, master.”

Eleven years of service. Nearly eleven years of pining and secretly loving his master. And this is the first time they’ve ever hugged. Nandor holds Guillermo tight to his chest, as if clinging to a life preserver. He buries his face into his familiar’s soft, sweater-clad shoulder and his breath hitches silently, tugging at the human’s heart strings. Guillermo’s face is squished into Nandor’s broad chest, his glasses are askew and a wide, blissed out smile spreads over his lips. He locks his hands together at the small of Nandor’s back and breathes in the earthy...slightly off scent of his master. Oh, right...the ectoplasm. 

Guillermo doesn’t even care that his face is currently pressed up against dried ghost gloop. This is the best night of his life.  

“Guillermo?” Nandor’s voice is still so small and fragile.

“Yes, master?” 

“I’m covered in gunk. Will you draw me a bath?”

Oh.

--

Guillermo sits on the stool by the massive, claw foot tub, dipping a hand into the water to test the temperature. Hot but not scalding, just right for his sensitive master. He drops the glittery lavender bath bomb into the water and watches it fizz, releasing a pleasant, soothing aroma. 

“Ready?” Nandor asks from the doorway. Guillermo turns to see his master standing there in his long, red silk robe. His hair is down, falling around his face in natural waves and drawing Guillermo’s eyes downward to the triangle of exposed chest hair at the robe’s open collar. 

He takes a deep, steadying breath before answering, “Yes, master. I used the glitter bath bomb so you can look like Twilight after.”

Nandor grins and does a little happy two-step, “Yay! Good job, Guillermo!”

Guillermo’s heart swells at the praise and...just how adorable Nandor can be sometimes. This is how it happens. This is why he stays and cares for this man after years of neglect and disrespect. 

Nandor steps forward and waits expectantly. No matter how many times they do this, Guillermo will never be immune to seeing his master entirely nude. His hands shake slightly as he reaches to untie the loose knot holding the robe in place. Nandor shrugs the thin material off his shoulders and Guillermo’s heart hammers as it falls into his hands. He turns away with a brilliant blush, folding the robe and setting it on top of the toilet, completely missing the way Nandor’s eyes follow him with a glint of amusement. 

Nandor is still waiting next to the tub when Guillermo turns back around. His traitorous eyes roam up and down his master’s form. Nandor is impossibly tall and regal looking, even in the nude. His body is covered in a layer of soft, dark hair... his chest, his arms, his legs. If Guillermo looks close enough-- which, he has --there’s even a light layer of hair over the round globes of Nandor’s buttocks. Guillermo loves his master’s body. He loves that Nandor’s belly is soft and covered in a healthy layer of fat. He loves his thick, powerful thighs. He loves the broad expanse of his back and shoulders. Looking at Nandor, it’s easy to see him as the fierce, deadly warrior of his human life. Next to him Guillermo feels small and dull.

He walks over and takes Nandor’s hand, helping him balance as he steps into the water. Guillermo keeps his eyes carefully trained above the waist as Nandor sinks down into the steaming water. The vampire lets out a pleased sigh at the touch of the hot water on his cold skin.

“Shall I wash your hair first, master?” Guillermo asks, rolling up the sleeves of his white button down. His sweater is neatly folded with Nandor’s robe. 

“That would be nice,” Nandor hums, his eyes closed in relaxation. He grimaces as he adds, “It’s all...sticky.”

Guillermo drags the stool over and picks up a bottle of shampoo.

“Do you wanna dunk for me?” He suggests. He watches as Nandor takes an unnecessary breath before dipping beneath the surface of the water, coming up a second later with his hair plastered to his head and his lips sputtering as he releases the air from his lungs. 

Guillermo pours shampoo into his palm, lathering it up before sinking his fingers into Nandor’s hair and beginning the process of carefully massaging it through the long strands. Nandor groans and relaxes his neck, letting his familiar support his head in an act of casual trust that sends a tiny quiver through Guillermo’s soft heart. These quiet, intimate moments with his master are some of his most cherished memories. He purposely ignores how pathetic that makes him.

“Mmm,” Nandor groans, the sound doing uncomfortably fluttery things to Guillermo’s stomach. “That is very nice, Guillermo. You’re so gentle.”

Guillermo bites his lip and murmurs, “Thank you, master.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, Guillermo losing himself in the task of cleaning his master’s hair and Nandor falling into a trance under his human’s soft touch. The silence stretches until Nandor is disturbed by the sound of Guillermo trying to muffle a laugh. 

“What’s so funny, Guillermo?” he prods, turning slightly and dumping water over the side of the tub and into Guillermo’s lap. 

Guillermo’s used to being in the splash zone during Nandor’s baths and he barely reacts. Instead he gives in to his mirth and lets go of a clear little laugh that echoes oddly through the bathroom. 

“Here, I’ll show you,” Guillermo answers, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. 

He opens the camera app and flips it to selfie mode, leaning down until his face is next to Nandor’s and holding the phone at arm’s length to snap a picture. He shows it to Nandor and the vampire guffaws. On the screen Guillermo’s thousand watt smile is contrasted with Nandor’s look of blank confusion. His soapy hair is sculpted into a loose, goopy mohawk on top of his head.

“You have given me the punk hawk hair!” Nandor crows, reaching up and gingerly feeling his hair. He lets his hands drop back down beneath the surface of the water and he doesn’t look at Guillermo as he continues, “Thank you for that, Guillermo. I...needed to laugh tonight.”

Guillermo’s chest constricts but before he can answer, Nandor plunges down under the water, rinsing the shampoo from his hair before resurfacing. He turns to face Guillermo, his skin and hair glinting from the glitter bath bomb, “Do I look like Twilight , Guillermo?”

Guillermo nods with a fond smile and Nandor misquotes, “ Say it, Guillermo. Loudly .”

Guillermo laughs, “ Vampire! ”

Nandor giggles as his familiar moves on to conditioning his hair. 

“After all these years, a moving picture that finally is worthy of telling the tale of the vampires,” Nandor muses. 

Guillermo’s hands pause in Nandor’s hair and he squints his eyes in profound confusion before deciding to let that one go. It’s silent again for a few moments before Nandor suddenly addresses him in a more formal tone, “Guillermo...I want to say something to you. To put you on your ease…”

“...Yes, master?” Guillermo asks with a healthy dose of trepidation lacing his voice.

“I do not wish for you to be concerned after hearing the tale of my horse, John, and his demise. You know...because I ate him? Just because I ate John does not mean that I will eat you, Guillermo. I’ve grown ...I’ve changed ...I’m not the same maniac who used to go around lighting peasants on fire for fun.”

“I know that--” Guillermo starts to say and then a record scratch sounds in his brain, “--wait, are you comparing me to your horse?”

Nandor shrugs and casts a disbelieving glare over his shoulder, “Yes? You should take it as a compliment, Guillermo! I loved John--”

Nandor’s mouth snaps shut at once but the words are already out there, lingering in the humid air between them. Guillermo’s hands go still in Nandor’s hair for a split second as his mind stutters and reboots. He can see Nandor’s shoulders tightening up and can just imagine the anxious grimace he’s most likely wearing as he awaits Guillermo’s reaction. 

Guillermo starts working his fingers through his master’s hair once more, giving himself a moment to compose a response. He knows, by now, that Nandor will withdraw ten steps after moving forward one if Guillermo makes too big a deal out of this...almost confession.

He finishes lathering the conditioner and dips his hands into the water at his master’s back, rinsing them and coming away with glitter dusting his skin. He laughs, holding his hands up to Nandor and joking, “Look, master! I’m a vampire!”

Nandor’s shoulders relax and he grins in delight, “It is funny because, of course, you aren’t!”

Guillermo rolls his eyes, but the light fluttery feeling in his chest is there to stay. His master loves him. Maybe it’s not the same kind of love that Guillermo feels. Maybe Guillermo should really take a hard look at the fact that he’s gushing over being compared to a horse. But for now he’s going to hold onto this moment like a candle flame glowing in his chest. His master loves him .

Later, while Guillermo is helping him to towel dry, Nandor makes a seemingly off handed comment that causes Guillermo’s mouth to go dry.

“Guillermo,” Nandor’s gaze is caught on his familiar’s cheek and the streak of ectoplasm drying on his skin. “The bath is still warm. Why don’t you wash as well. It’s been a long night…”

“I…” the idea of bathing in the same water that has so recently engulfed his beloved master is...an overwhelming powerful thought. “Th-thank you, master. I will…”

Nandor nods, “Good...good. And, thank you, Guillermo. For helping me on my saddest night.”

Guillermo blushes, smiling up at Nandor with devotion shining from his brown eyes, “Of course, master. I’m always...I’ll always be here for you.”

A shadow passes over Nandor’s eyes at Guillermo’s words but he simply nods and turns to leave. 

Once the door closes shut behind him Guillermo takes a huge breath, turning to look at the murky water in the bath with a thrill that feels absolutely filthy. He’s going to bathe in Nandor’s...essence. Maybe he’ll smell like him afterwards? He turns the tap, adding some hot water to warm the bath back up and discarding his clothes in a little heap in the corner. Once he’s undressed, he turns off the water and steps cautiously over the rim of the tub, mindful of the pools of water on the tile floor from Nandor’s splashing. He’s just sinking down with a contented sigh when the door flies open and Nandor reappears.

“I have forgotten my...nail trimmers!” Nandor announces loudly, grabbing the first item he lays eyes on from the vanity.

“Oh, um…” Guillermo’s face is red hot and he slips down even further into the water, somehow incredibly shy about his nakedness despite having just spent an hour carefully cleaning his naked master. 

Nandor lingers in the doorway, letting cold air creep into the room and causing Guillermo to shiver. 

“Could you--um--shut the door, please? You’re letting in a draft…” Guillermo mutters. 

Nandor jumps and quickly slams the door shut with him still inside the bathroom. They stare at each other in dumb silence for a moment before Nandor finally clears his throat, his eyes darting all over the place but always returning to land on the little bit of his familiar’s exposed flesh he can see above the water line.

“Would you...I could...help you. With your hair. If you like…” the words are halting and awkward.

Guillermo is frozen, he dares not even take a breath lest he somehow shatter the moment. His mind supplies him with the line, Keep absolutely still...its vision’s based on movement…

“Sure,” he answers, his eyes sparkling with barely restrained glee. “That would be very nice of you, master.”

“Of course it would be,” Nandor scoffs, rolling his eyes and striding forward with purpose. “I’m being nice to you on purpose so you don’t worry about the whole me eating you thing, remember?”

Nandor plops down behind him and squirts about half the bottle of shampoo into his hand. 

“Oh, right. Thank you, master. I’m glad you’re not going to eat me,” Guillermo barely registers his own words, he’s too overwrought with the way this evening is going. Never in his wildest--

“You’re welcome,” Nandor answers and then places his hand atop Guillermo’s head, dunking him unceremoniously under the water.

Guillermo emerges a couple seconds later, gasping and sputtering, grabbing his glasses off his face and wiping at his eyes.

“Could you, uh--?” Guillermo hands his dripping spectacles to Nandor and the vampire takes them with his free hand and lovingly deposits them onto the side of the sink. 

Nandor begins to paw his hands over Guillermo’s head, roughly lathering the shampoo into his short curls and privately delighting in the feel of his familiar’s hair under his fingers. Guillermo holds still, nervous about how much the cloudy water is actually hiding from the vampire’s eyes. Nandor jerks his head roughly, scrubbing behind Guillermo’s ears and down the back of his neck as well.

“Uh--master? Could you try to be a little more gentle?”

Nandor’s hands freeze, hovering in the air over Guillermo’s head, “I have hurt you? I will be more careful…”

The fingers return to Guillermo’s hair, softly and slowly massaging his scalp. Guillermo sighs, “That’s much better, thank you.

Nandor hums in acknowledgment before remarking, “I think I was still thinking about my sweet John. I used to wash him like this. Of course...I could be much rougher with him. Because he was a horse…”

“Of course…” Guillermo murmurs, his eyes falling shut as he leans his head back into his master’s palms. “This is so nice…”

“Good, I’m glad,” Nandor replies. “You deserve it! So loyal. Making me feel better about eating my dead horse friend… You’re a good familiar, Guillermo…”

Nandor lapses into silence, but there’s a new quality to it. As if he’s leaving something unsaid. Guillermo doesn’t know how, but he senses Nandor’s hesitance as the vampire continues stroking his fingers carefully, lovingly through his hair.

“Master?” Guillermo ventures, heart in his throat. “Is there something else?”

Nandor sighs, “Only that...John died without ever knowing how I felt...I mean, he was a horse so probably he would not have understood, but still.”

“Oh…” Guillermo’s eyes drift up the ceiling and he compresses his lips into a thin line before asking, “What would you have said to him?”

“I’m going to dunk you again, Guillermo,” Nandor gives him a second’s warning this time before pressing down on his head. Once Guillermo comes back up for air, the vampire answers the question, “Well...I suppose I would have said...you know, something along the lines of how he was the very best horse in all of the land. And that I really appreciated everything he did for me even though sometimes it was hard for me to show it… And how… how sad I sometimes felt thinking about yo--John ever leaving me to go and let some other warrior ride around on him… And...you know, the stuff about loving him…”

Guillermo clears his throat, tears misting his eyes as he speaks, “W-wow, master. I’m sure--I’m sure John would have been very happy to hear you say those things. And...if he could talk he’d tell you that you never have to feel sad about him leaving you because he--he loves you, too.”

Nandor scrubs conditioner through Guillermo’s hair and is quiet for a while before sniffing loudly and scoffing, “Well...pretty stupid, if you think about it, Guillermo. If John could have talked he would have said something about how much he loved oats and maybe about wanting to make sex with the fillys.”

Guillermo sighs, and forces a laugh, “You’re right, master.”

When it comes time to drain the tub, Guillermo finds himself nervously reluctant. 

“You don’t have to help me dry off, master. I can handle it,” he blushes awfully and hugs his legs to his chest as Nandor stands to grab a fresh towel from the rack. 

“Please stand up, Guillermo. I am making a gesture, here,” Nandor answers, unperturbed. 

That is, until his familiar finally stands. Guillermo’s skin is hot and flushed from the bath. He’s studded liberally with sparkles from the bath bomb and Nandor’s eyes are drawn in at once. The familiar wraps his arms around himself, awkwardly trying to hide from his master’s seeking gaze. But Nandor steps forward and grabs Guillermo’s arms, pulling them out and away from his body so that he can look. Guillermo is perfectly soft, his body is all curves from the slope of his shoulders to his round belly and the wide, generous width of his hips. Nandor, feeling none of Guillermo’s shyness or reluctance, greedily drinks in the sight of the nest of curls between Guillermo’s legs and the soft, smooth length of his penis. His lips part to bare his fangs and his eyes light with hunger.

“Um...I’ll just…” Guillermo starts to scramble up and out of the tub and Nandor’s stupor is interrupted. 

He tightens his hold on his familiar’s arms to stabilize him.

“Watch out for the slippy bits, Guillermo!” Nandor cautions. “Colin Robinson says most human deaths in your age range are due to accidents. I don’t want you to slip and snap your neck on the floor. Very inconvenient for me.”

Guillermo is silent, he doesn’t really have the brain function to answer at this point. He’s never been so exposed in front of Nandor before and while part of him recognizes the obvious interest on his master’s face, another part of him is deeply self-conscious and pretty certain that Nandor is just thinking about biting him. 

Nandor begins toweling him off, and Guillermo tells himself that his master is certainly not letting his touch linger longer than necessary. This is just...a gesture. Once Guillermo is adequately dry, he takes the towel from Nandor and ties it around his waist with a sigh of relief. This is all...a lot.

“Thank you, master,” Guillermo finally says, preparing himself to be dismissed now that the moment is ending.

Nandor reaches over to the sink, plucking up Guillermo’s glasses and unfolding the arms, gently placing them on his familiar’s face with a little smile. 

“You’re welcome, Guillermo. And… what I said about John?” Nandor sounds uncertain, hesitant. “About appreciating him and...other things...”

“Yes?” Guillermo asks, slightly breathless. 

“I really meant it.”

Nandor steps forward and all at once he’s pulling Guillermo into his arms, stooping down and pressing his cool lips to his familiar’s warm, soft mouth. Guillermo squeaks in surprise, snapping his eyes shut and grabbing the flimsy silk fabric of Nandor’s robe as the vampire moves his lips over his, licking and suckling until Guillermo’s lips finally part, admitting his probing tongue. Nandor growls low in his chest, reaching one hand up to bury his fingers in Guillermo’s wet curls and letting the other rest over the small of his back. 

Kissing. Guillermo is kissing Nandor. Nandor is kissing Guillermo! In one night he’s gone from hugging for the very first time to being held in his master’s arms and thoroughly, passionately, deliciously kissed. When Nandor’s lips fall away from his, Guillermo takes the opportunity to gulp air into his lungs. His master leans his forehead against his, holding him in place for a moment as they breathe each other’s air. 

Finally, Nandor draws back, letting his hands fall away and asking, in a small voice, “Will you come tuck me into my coffin, Guillermo?”

Guillermo blinks, swallowing down the thousand and one questions currently crowding his brain. One step forward...please please please...no more steps back.

“Of course, master,” Guillermo answers. “I’ll always tuck you in at night. You know that.”

Nandor smiles, shyly locking eyes with Guillermo as he places his larger hand in his, pulling him along behind him on the way to his crypt.

Yeah... Guillermo muses with a dopey grin on his face as they pass by a gawping Laszlo in the hallway. Best night of my life.

[cuculine-nelipot]

Wish We Could

Chapter Three: All Aboard (The Hogwarts Express)

2nd June, 1996

“So how was your date?” George asked with a sing-song lilt as soon as Fred arrived back at the store, an impish grin splashed across his face.

“What date?” Fred feigned innocence, and rather poorly. He wound his way through a maze of boxes, putting his things behind the counter before setting about stocking shelves with his brother.

“You know, the one you were on all day with a certain curly haired, amber skinned, friend of the family.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” answered Fred, pursing his lips and shaking his head as though lost. He told his brother everything, usually. But this was different — felt different. For now at least, he wanted him and Hermione to be just him and Hermione, alone together and shinning.

“Oh you know, about yay high, half-Indian, half-Caribbean, muggle born, a fair bit posh, definitely too posh for the likes of—“

“Mate,” his demeanour darkened dramatically, “if you don’t stop it, I’m going to have to smack you.”

Considering however, that in doing so Fred would wind up hurting himself too, George persisted, confident that he wouldn’t. A nice bit of twin magic that. Or a curse, depending on where you stood. So he followed his brother around the store, pelting him with questions.

“Where’d you go? What’d you do? What’s Foyles? Are those books? Can I see? Did you get something for me? Fred did you get something for me? Did you kiss? Did you hold hands? Did you kiss her Fred? Fred did you kiss her? You know it’s funny, I always thought Hermione and Ron— OW!” His upper arm throbbed in pain, and he looked down to see a red patch on his arm roughly the size of Fred’s fist. Fred stalked upstairs, his trainers thumping loudly on the steps, rubbing the same spot on his own arm.

.

Late that night, George rolled over in bed, and Fred’s arm throbbed in pain. “Sorry,” Fred said from his own bed across the room, his voice meek.

“It’s fine,” was George’s sleep-gruff response. He meant it, and that only made Fred feel worse.

“It was a good day. If you were still wondering.”

“Good, I’m glad.”  And he meant that too. Fred could hear the smile in his voice.

Minutes trickled by, then hours. George’s breathes came slower, and quieter as he fell asleep. Fred lay awake, his eyes fixed on the blackness above. Fred and Hermione he said to himself over and over, finding new empathy for 10-year-old Ginny devoutly drawing hearts around Harry’s name. He couldn’t believe his luck, was almost certain it wouldn’t last, couldn’t shake the feeling that they were on borrowed time somehow. He said their names like an incantation, like a mantra, like a prayer. Fred and Hermione. He would hold on to it as long as he could, as long as he was allowed. Fred and Hermione. He let the phrase well in his ears, warm, and light, and rosy. He let it percolate through his body, shinning from his head to his toes, until at last he fell asleep.

1st September, 1998

He couldn’t exactly not go to King’s Cross, it being Ginny and Ron’s last year at Hogwarts and all. Seeing Hermione was just a bonus, even if she wouldn’t talk to him, or look at him. Even if she had ignored every owl and phone call since they last saw each other. Even if he had to see Ron kiss her, even if his only small comfort was convincing himself that maybe he saw her pull away away. It was, he thought, enough just to see her from across the station.

And Hermione hadn’t doubted for a second that he would be there. Still, seeing him set her teeth on edge. The familiar, biting, Fred Weasley brand of annoyance shot through her from stomach to her jaw. Just look at him, standing there, his legs spread in a V, one arm crossing his chest, the fingers of his other hand touching his lips, laughing at something Ginny says. His ginger hair coiffed, and in brilliant contrast to a white t-shirt and navy bomber. What an arse.

Hermione’s thoughts, like his, turn inevitably, unerringly, unstoppably to the last time they were both on Platform 9 and 3/4.

1st September, 1996

The rest of the summer had been peppered with moments like this; Fred tenderly rubbing cream into bruised skin beneath her eye after she had fallen victim to a trick telescope, Fred showing up outside her window on his broom in the middle of the night, to take her anywhere, or to just stay and talk a while, Fred, Crookshanks-like, reaching out to stroke her face while she read, Fred flinging and arm around her while they walked, or playfully shoving into her and running away so that she had to chase after him to get her revenge. Fred pulling her in for a kiss before she could.

Snogging, — this  time behind a pillar in a half hearted attempt to not be seen, at least not by anyone who would care. Her arms around his neck, his hands on her waist, something pink glittering under her skin, his skin. Neither of them had felt anything like it before and both we sure they would never feel that way ever again, not with anyone else.

“Stop it you’re going to make me late,” she whined, but she was smiling and made no attempt to pull away. Maybe she could spare a few more seconds. It wasn’t like she had to say goodbye to anyone else anyway.

“It’s fine that was just the warning whistle.” His voice muffled against her lips.

“Come on Fred. “

“Can’t,“ he teased, “don’t go there anymore.”

“Frederick,” she’d said in her best warning tone. She was going to be late for the prefects’ meeting. He was going to make her late. Fred let out a deep sigh, rubbed his nose against her neck, kissed her quick once, twice, three times on the mouth before he dropped his arms and let her go.

“Granger,” he called. She hadn’t taken three steps. Half turning around, she fixed him with a quizzical look. “I miss you.”

Ridiculous, she thought. She rolled her eyes. She walked away before he could see the smile that cracked across her face, grateful that he couldn’t see her blush.  

She felt a pang of sadness, boarding the train. She hadn’t had anyone else to say goodbye to. At her insistence, her parents hadn’t come. The Weasleys’ are always running late. There wouldn’t be time for a proper goodbye. Yes, I’m sure. I’ll see you at Christmas. I promise. I love you too.

Of course, she would have preferred they be there, but it seemed much too dangerous, all things considered. Voldemort clearly wasn’t hiding anymore, and she didn’t want anyone remembering what her parents look like. In fact, when whatever was coming eventually came, she wanted her parents as far away from her as possible.

But such thoughts were cut short by the fluttering of paper on her cheek. She pulled a small folded aeroplane from the air, unfolded it on her way to the prefects carriage, observed the now familiar script, halfway between elegant and utterly illegible.  

You’re perfect Granger.

And just like that she was smiling again.

1st September, 1998

He throws another fugitive glance in her direction, but this time he catches her looking too. She narrows her eyes at him before snapping her attention back to her parents.

“You have to write to us everyday, do you understand Hermione? Everyday. And we want pictures. Lots of them. Do you have the camera?”

“Yes dad,” she says, trying her best to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

“And film?”

“Yes mama.”

“Okay. Good, good,” her father says. Both her parents are looking at her with the same, worried expressions that cross their faces whenever Hogwarts had come up recently. They don’t particularly understand why Hermione doesn’t just do her A Levels, go to a nice Muggle university, stay far away from the world that had put her in so much danger. She hadn’t ruled it out entirely — A Levels and uni, but she isn’t one to not finish something she started, and she definitely isn’t one to run scared, at the first sign of trouble. Or the hundredth for that matter. Besides, there is the burning desire to experience at least one semi-normal year at Hogwarts to take into account.

“Are you sure about this darling?” Her mother asks again, the same pained expression on her face.

Her parents had married young, and were only in their mid-30s the first time they sent her off to Hogwarts. The intervening years had been kind to them, no doubt, but there was no denying the crows feet carved into her father’s dark skin, the wisps of white hair falling like thin satin ribbons, framing her mother’s ashy brown face, the creases in their brows. They had plenty of time left, it was true, but none they wanted to spare, and Hermione had been so distant for so long. Still…

“Very,” she says, apologetically.

“You’ll write everyday, won’t you?”

“Everyday,” she confirms

“Well, okay then. You better go.” The train whistles in agreement. Mrs. Granger pulls Hermione into a bony hug, all collar bones and elbows, but warm and comfortable nonetheless.  

Everyone boards, Hermione piling into a carriage with Harry, Ginny, Ron, Luna, and Neville. She gives her parents final kisses on the cheeks, leaning out the window as the Hogwarts Express glides out of the station.

She stays that way, leaning on the windowpane, long after King’s Cross is out of sight. She watches farm and field roll past as the crisp autumn air whips at her face. The carriage is crowded and suitably noisy, everyone excited and nervous in equal measure at the prospect of returning to Hogwarts.

A small paper aeroplane flutters toward her, pausing in front of her nose. She plucks it from the air, and unfolds it with needlessly careful fingers.

I miss you Granger.

No one is looking so, perhaps for the first time in her life, Hermione acts without thinking too much, without giving herself the chance to lose courage. No one pays attention as she rummages in her rucksack for a quill, or when she hastily scrawls a reply, refolds it into a plane, and breathes on it to make it fly. There. Now it’s done. Now he’ll know. No turning back now.

She feels lighter suddenly, and pulls her body into the carriage to keep from being blown away. She listens to Luna tell one of her ridiculous stories, and to everyone’s surprise, she smiles good-naturedly instead of tearing the (lack of) reason apart, as she would have done once upon a time.

“Alright, Hermione?” She turns to find Ginny looking at her curiously, her pink, delicate face set with perhaps the faintest hint of concern.

“Yeah,” Hermione says smiling, a reckless joy bubbling in her chest, “I’m great.” She laughs and Ginny, though she’s not sure what’s so funny, laughs too, simply happy that her friend is.

.

Things go quiet the closer they get to Hogwarts, each person drawing increasingly inward, all trying to imagine what it will be like to walk those halls again — halls that they themselves helped rebuild just months ago. What it would be like to eat in the Great Hall as they had done so many times, to sit through History of Magic knowing that recently they had no small part in making it. They pull on their robes in silence, do their best to clean up the sweet wrappers and pasty crumb. Harry puts his arm around Ginny’s shoulder and she leans into his side. He brings his hand up to play with the hair next to her ear. It’s unclear who is comforting whom.

Hermione looks out the window, not wanting to miss the first sight of the castle. Ron, in his seat across from her, leans over and tries to take her hand but she jerks away from the unexpected touch. Turning to find a wounded look on his face, she takes one of his hands in both of hers. Then she sees it, the silhouette of its towers against the fast dusking sky, a thousand lights winking in a thousand windows, and she feels magic rush through her veins again.

“Harry,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. He is the only one of her friends who really understood the wonder of discovering magic, and Hogwarts. He is the only one who knows how it felt, learning that it came at so perilous a price. Switching places with Ginny, he leans toward the window, a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. The moment he catches sight of the first place that ever felt like home to him, she feels a slight squeeze, hears his breath hitch. She turns back to look to him, and he gives her a nervous smile, a glint in his eyes approaching something like wonder.

.

Fred was halfway home by the time it found its way back to him. He hadn’t expected to see it, assumed that she would have burned his little note to a crisp. So he just stared at its floating form, mouth agape. The paper plane, growing impatient, began insistently banging into his forehead. He snatched it from the air then, as though afraid of startling it, as if it might still burst into flames if he was too eager, unfolded it with cautious fingers.

I miss you too.

Taglist: @solunars @lovedyouthreesummers @keoghans @aquaeryn @thelasttime