#emerald hugs bear at to go to sleep every night | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shebeafancyflapjack · 4 months

Text

Blind Love (Part 4)

Once again, cover art by the wonderful @idiotwithanipad who was a muse for this mini fic. 🥰

Robin & Original Characters.

How Rogh was "reunited" with his baby girl. (Warning for angst, as always!)

Many, many Moonahs ago...

If you were to wander across this particular patch of countryside and happened to be blessed with the Sight, then you may catch a glimpse of a strange man wandering the woods at night. Some say he is part ape, others say part wolf or bear, or even a giant ferret. But don't be fooled. He is very much a man. One of the first, or at least the ancestor of many.

You might also hear this man talking, chattering away at a thousand words per minute, some utter nonsense, some in languages as dead as him, some in grunts and signs. You might wonder who on Earth he is speaking to as there doesn't seem to be any other spirit haunting the land. You might assume that he's alone.

But you'd be stupid to do that. You might say that you'd make an ass out of you...rself.

The man was as far from lonely as anyone could be. He was surrounded by friends, too many to name you'd expect, yet he found the time. Time was the only currency he had. His friends were odd, he knew, even odder than he was, being millenniums away from the world he'd lived and died in. His friends were mostly tall, their skin brown and rough, their hair a beautiful emerald in summer, then a glimmering bronze in autumn before going bold in the winter. They all had dozens of arms and yet were awful huggers. He was happy to hug them and did so, often, on the Very Bad Days (but he'd be lying if he said they brought much comfort).

They all preferred to listen and let him talk, on and on, as he paced aimlessly through the woods each night, stroking their bodies and laughing as he told the same jokes over and over. Of course, they all laughed with him, though more with the rustle of their hair than any voices. But he knew what they all spoke, he felt each word vibrate in his head.

Often times, too much. It was difficult to sleep with so many voices around. Like a party that never ends.

"No, no, no! You wrong, he didn't steal your hair, how could he? He no have legs! You too far away to reach, Sted!" He was currently trying to settle yet another argument, his head aching more than usual this particular night; "Jen, you stay out of this, no need you getting involved!"

They began to turn their barbs on him as is what often happened on nights when Moonah went away.

"Big talk coming from a man who let his family get eaten. Good nap, was it?"

"Shut up! That low blow!"

Then a softer, trusting, naive voice.

"Fanks so much for stick! It bootiful. Sorry me no have anything better to give then furs...Me be forever grateful."

He slowed down; "Ha....Hatt?"

"Hope to trade again after big winter. Me always think of you as friend."

"H-how...How you here?"

"We're all here. All of us. We can never leave. Just like you." All the voices chorused at once.

It was too much. It was no longer a party.

The man gripped at his hair, as sometimes the sting that brought to his scalp was the only thing that silenced them.

"Please, guys. Stop. Me so tired, I-"

"I'm waiting for you."

He looked and saw one face among the many. Wild and fierce but loving. A smile stretched beneath a large gash where fangs had bitten out her cheek.

"I'm waiting for you...I'm waiting for you to come home...."

"Mum?" He blinked, not knowing she was at this party; "I...Me here..."

He reached to cup her face, flakes of bark rubbing against his palms.

"Are you 'son'? Then tell me name."

A name? That's right, she'd given him a name. A strong name. What was it?! What was it?!

It was too late. She was turning away.

"I'm waiting...."

"Mum! Mum!" He cried out, his hands now feeling nothing but empty wood. "Mum..."

They all began to laugh as he pounded his brow against the surface, more annoyed every time his head just went clean through. He'd just wanted a hug. He didn't care if it hurt in this form of hers. But now she was gone.

"Ha ha! He don't even know his name!"

"Miss your mummy, boy?"

"STOP!" He screamed at them, "JUST STOP!"

It wasn't funny anymore. When had it been? He tried to force a laugh, wanting it to be funny. His crazed cackles filled the night air as he paced, round and round, until they were all laughing with him. That better. That much better.

They go back to talking casually amongst each other until a pain-filled howl made him freeze.

Wolf? Oh no.

"Mum?!" He followed the sound. It had been a wolf who took her from him all that time ago. Did it still have her?

Sprinting towards the thicket, his many friends guided him to where he needed to go. If only he could go back and find Hatt so he could retrieve his stick. No time now. He would have to make do with his bare hands. They could snap the mutt's head off if it meant saving his mother.

The sight he discovered quickly cooled his sudden rush of bloodlust.

"Wow, look! Little babies!"

It was a mother. Just not his.

He unclenched his fists as he looked down at the wolf. It couldn't be farther from the one he'd been prepared to face. This one was smaller, exhausted, hiding as best she could in her poor excuse for shelter. She should have found a proper den but probably didn't have time.

She lay in the dirt beneath the bushes with eight freshly born cubs already nuzzling into her belly, her tongue still working to lick the juice off their heads and away from their eyelids.

The man couldn't help but smile and moved slowly onto his knees beside her.

"You do good...Good mama...It look like hard work." He ghosted his hand over her head, as close as he could to petting her.

"Not as hard as it was for me pushing out that boy you give me! Belly almost explode!"

He looks around to find the voice who said that. But his friends' faces all blurred into each other at the best of times.

"Guys, shh! Mama need rest!" He warns them; "This many babies. Big job, eight."

"Nine."

Frowning, he attempted to count the fuzzy little tails poking out from their bums.

"No...definitely eight. Me good with counting."

"Nine. Nine. Nine."

But where...?

Something shifted in the leaves close to his foot. He looked down to see, beside his furry boot, the runt of the litter. No bigger than his hand.

It was rolling and wriggling on the ground, less than a metre from its mother who seemed deaf to its cries of hunger.

"Hey. Hey, this one left out. Quick. She need booby milk." He tried to tell the adult wolf but she turned her ear down. "Hey!"

He made a silly attempt to pick it up but his hands went straight through, causing his stomach to lurch.

"She die. Your baby die if you no feed!" He yelled at the wolf.

She raised her head to shoot him a regretful whine. He paused, their eyes connecting. She knew. She knew she couldn't feed them all. Too many. Too hard.

It was too painful for her to even look at it, let alone have to listen to it starve before her.

That's why she had howled so sadly. She knew.

"I'm waiting...I'm waiting..."

His mother was calling him from the stars. She would have to wait much, much longer before he could join her.

"Never leave. Never leave. Never leave."

He curled up around the rejected cub, one finger brushing inches over her. It didn't sooth her in the least. All she wanted was Mum.

Why couldn't he help? Why was all he could ever do was watch them cry?

It didn't take too long, not in this cold. But it felt far longer, every second dragging by longer with each confused and lonely whimper.

Then she was still.

The wolf mother let out another howl before curling in and around the rest of her cubs. The lucky ones, safe and fed, who didn't even know they'd just lost a sister.

Never before had his friends been so quiet.

"..."

"Daddy?"

The man blinked, his vision clouded by tears he'd yet to shed.

He glanced down.

It...It couldn't be...

A mop of brown hair and blue eyes. Little pudgy fists reaching up to him. He stared at her, beginning to wonder if he was maybe, just maybe, starting to lose his mind.

"Kya...."

Thirty children he'd produced in his life, he reckoned. And even with them all having the same hair and most possessing blue eyes, he could tell each one off by heart.

This one, there was no mistaking. Second daughter. Stubborn idiot. Just like him.

He was certain she'd been bigger the last time he saw her. Almost past his belly button. Now she was a baby again, rosy cheeks and toothless smiles, all for him.

"Daddy, up! Up!" She demanded, bossy as ever. How could he say no?

His hands reached down and brought her up, staring into her beautiful face.

"Me thought you gone...Me thought you went up to stars..." He whispered in awe.

His finger stroked her belly, thinking it felt more fuzzy than before. Softer. It didn't matter, really, he just thought it strange.

"Where your furs, hmm? Where swaddle? Silly girl." He tutted before he brought her close to his chest, his hand on the back of her head; "Come. We go find Mummy and brothers and sisters..."

What were they doing so far away from the cave? He couldn't remember. Hadn't he been looking for something?

There was a wolf staring at him, currently unable to move from nursing the cubs at her side.

"Oh..." He must have brought her to watch the babies being born. That's right. Bit risky but wonderful to see. "Time we go now."

The wolf whined a little more as he left with Kya - his Kya, his and no one elses - in his arms, bouncing her as he took each step.

She began to whimper too.

"Must be so cold. Here." He tucked her beneath the front of his furs; "You settle there. Nice and warm. No, Kya, sorry, you know Daddy no have milk. Have to wait for Mummy."

But his baby only cried harder, padding her tiny fingers against him. He shushed her, nuzzling his cheek against the top of her head.

"There, there. No cry, little one. Daddy here. Daddy not go away."

Had he? He wasn't sure. It felt like he'd gone on a trip but couldn't remember where. Why did his chest hurt like he hadn't seen her in years? Or longer?

Hadn't he gone to a party? Met up with friends? Where were they?

All around him was just trees. Silent. Still.

No one but him, his baby girl and Moonah hiding somewhere in the sky.

But he wasn't alone.

Kya continued to grizzle, little hands clinging to her father's warmth but yet to be settled.

"Hey, remember this? Listen." He tried turning her ear towards his breast; "Daddy no have milk but have drum in chest, remember? It always help you sleep. Can you hear?"

She cooed in response, then sniffled, followed by a disappointed cry.

"Chest drum no work like used to...Here. Daddy fix." He whispered, rubbing her back and bouncing with each step that he carried her through the forest. "Bum-bum! Bum-bum! That work?"

Her giggle was infections as always. He grinned and kissed her head. Was she always this fuzzy?

"Where Daddy go....?"

"Daddy no go. Daddy never leave. That just...bad dream. Very bad dream. Come. We go find Mum. She no be too far..." He told her, vowing to never let her go again.

You might also, if you're extremely lucky, spot the head of a newborn wolf cub poking out of the top of his furry shift. But you'd be wrong, at least that's what he'd tell you. It wasn't a cub; it was a baby, can't you see?

He might not be able to remember his own name. But he knows who he is.

"Daddy here, Kya. Daddy here."

#bbc ghosts fanfic #bbc ghosts #robin the caveman

6 notes · View notes

bitch-for-bo · 3 years

Text

Aone Takanobu is the best thing to ever happen to you (chubby reader)

All of my works are also available on AO3, under the name idkyo. I write Haikyuu x chubby reader nsfw for chubby simps like myself. If you have any other fics or head-cannons that you’d like to see between a character and chubby reader, lmk!

ENJOY!!!

Also, ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS ALLOWED!!!!!!!! SERIOUSLY

“Taka” you breathed out, feeling his hands snake around your waist as he crawled in the bed to join you. You must’ve been sleeping when he came in the door. In fact, you hadn’t even heard him take a shower or change out of his work clothes. The only reason you knew he had was the clean smell of soap wafting into your nose as he spooned his body around yours. It didn’t surprise you that you hadn’t heard him come in or change his clothes though, ever since you’d met him he’d been more on the quiet side. Not only personality wise though, you swore that he was some sort of ninja sometimes, being able to sneak up on you as you made dinner or as the two of you grocery shopped. It was crazy how such a big guy like Takanobu was quiet as a mouse.

“My love.” He sighed, his low voice barely audible as he let out a content hum, his head burying itself in your neck.

You blushed at the pet name, the only name that Taka ever addressed you as. In fact, you could barely remember the last time that he’d used your real name when speaking to you. The name never failed to fill you with warmth and love. Even when he made love to you, there were no ‘baby’s or ‘princess’s, there was only ‘my love’ and something about the consistency of the use of the endearment made you lose it each time without fail.

There was just something so comforting about Takanobu Aone. Of course, you had already known that seeing as you had been dating him for almost 4 years now. He had been comforting when you first met him, and over the last four years, nothing had changed. If anything, Taka’s presence had become even more comforting as he had grown comfortable around you.

You vividly remembered the first day that you had met him, you were the assigned architect to the site that he was working on. You had shown up, dressed in casual office clothes, a flattering pair of high waisted jeans, with an emerald green button-down blouse. Apparently, you had caught Taka’s eye that first day, and according to him, he had fallen in love with you right in that spot.

You suppose that was the first day that Takanobu utilized his ninja skills against you because you could only remember meeting him and seeing him once, but he swore that he had lingered by you all day, unable to focus fully on his work as you commanded attention around the site.

It took Taka weeks to work up the nerve to ask you out, the only reason he finally did was that his friends had seen how hopelessly infatuated with you he was and tricked him into believing that you would be leaving the project. In a panic, he stayed late at the site just to catch you at the door to ask you to go on a walk with him in the park that Sunday.

You accepted, surprising him. You had no clue why he was surprised, he was incredibly handsome and not to mention strong and polite. When you asked him about his surprised expression, he explained that people were usually afraid of him and he was a bit surprised when you accepted his offer without so much as a look of hesitation.

That Sunday, he met you at a local park and surprised you with a large picnic. He even brought you a small plush teddy bear that he’d seen in the window of a shop on his way to the park. As soon as the blush had danced over his face as his large hands held out the small toy for you to accept, you knew that your heart was his.

The rest was history, every day since then Taka had continuously proved to you that he was the best thing to ever happen to you. You remembered the first time that he hugged you, wrapping his strong arms around you as if you were the most delicate thing on the earth. You only laughed and insisted that he could hold you tighter, that you weren’t a small woman, that you wouldn’t break. Since then, Aone had never held back when holding you. Always holding you close, always whispering to you how much he loved you and your soft form.

Before Taka, you had always been slightly self-conscious about your body. Unsatisfied with the way that your thighs shook and how you didn’t possess a flat stomach or smooth back. But Takanobu insisted that he loved you even more because of your size and never failed to make you believe that you were beautiful. He would massage your thighs as you cuddled, telling you how soft they were and how lucky he was that they belonged to only him. He would buy you the raciest lingerie and stubbornly insist that you wore it for him as the two of you cooked dinner together before he took you back to your bedroom and made love to you.

Despite you having told Taka more than 100 times that he didn’t have to be so cautious with you seeing as you were taller and fuller than most women, he never ceased to be anything but soft with you in bed. Always asking you what felt good, asking you what you wanted him to do to you. He was always gentle as he took you, that being said, even with him being gentle all the time. The man was so big that ‘gentle’ still possessed enough power to completely wreck you inside and out.

“How was your day?” You asked, turning around in his arms to look into his eyes. He stared at you like you were his world, brushing the hair out of your face as he hummed out an ‘it was good’

“I missed you,” He said, tightening his arms around your waist and pulling your body flush with his as he placed gentle kisses in the crook of your neck.

“Taka.” You moaned quietly, feeling the unmistakable outline of his dick on your thigh. You weren’t gonna lie. You wanted him too. It had been a long stressful day at work for you and as soon as you had gotten home you’d wanted nothing more than to be filled and fucked by your boyfriend. Unfortunately, Takanobu had been working late, stuck at the construction site which was at least 1 hour away from your apartment. So you were forced to make dinner and eat it alone, making sure to leave plenty for your boyfriend, who would without a doubt, be starving after a long day of physical labor.

“Yes, my love?” He asked, his lips never leaving your skin as he slowly kissed from your neck down to your collarbone, sucking softly on the area as your body arched up into his. His hands were still wrapped around your waist, trapping you against his large body. The only thing you could do was loop one of your arms around Taka’s broad shoulders and the other around the back of his head, pulling him impossibly closer to you.

“Fuck me please…” you moaned. Your heart clenched as you felt his smile against your neck, his hands shifting from their position on your waist, down to caress your hips. Taka said nothing as he obediently began to undress, undoing the clothes that he had just put on after his shower. After undressing he leaned back down, finally connecting his lips with yours.

You sighed happily into the kiss, your heart filled at the light touch of his slightly chapped lips against yours. He took his time with it, teasing you as his touch dipped in and out of your mouth, never long enough for you to take control as it danced across yours. Not that you could maintain control when you got it, physically, Taka was always the one in control. He wanted you to always feel protected and dominating you in the bedroom was one of his ways of expressing that. Not that you minded, you knew that you were truly the one in control, he was at your service, doing any and everything to please you.

“Taka…” you whined, pressing your hips up against his, eliciting a deep groan from his chest. His hands rubbed against your sides as they made their way down to the hem of your shirt. You had put on one of Taka’s t-shirts, knowing that it made him happy to see you in his clothes.

You felt Taka’s hand slip under the hem of the shirt, stilling as he realized that you weren’t wearing panties. Another low groan vibrated through his chest as he looked up at you with curiosity in his eyes.

“I wanted to be ready for you,” you whispered, barely able to hold in a giggle at the expression of surprise on Taka’s face. He nodded. His eyes left yours, dragging down your figure leaving you feeling hot as they carved a trail from your breasts to your naval.

“I see.” He murmured, his long fingers slaying across the expanse of your upper thighs. His face was level with your pussy and you could feel his hot breath brushing across the exposed flesh, making your head spin. After four years, you still have no clue how the simplest things he did still drove you crazier than a teen on prom night.

Without another word, his mouth attached itself to your clit. You cried out at the feeling of his tongue flicking out across the sensitive bud as his tongue began to slowly dip in and out of you.

“Fuck!” You moaned, your hands gripping the bedsheets beside you as your boyfriend ate you out, passionate and soft at the same time. You could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter at his touch.

What Taka didn’t know, was that you had already tried to touch yourself earlier that night. You had managed to get yourself off, but it had still left you very unsatisfied. No orgasm that you gave yourself could ever compare with one given to you by Takanobu. That being said, your body was still warm and since you had already climaxed once that night, you could feel your next one approaching faster than usual.

“Taka… give me your cock please.” You begged, your hands coming down to wrap around his biceps, attempting (and failing) to drag his body up yours so that you could kiss him.

Taka obeyed, crawling up your lips and capturing them with his own. You could taste yourself on him, turning you on even more. You reached down to slip your hand into his boxers, pulling away from his kiss to moan at the sheer size of his cock in your hand. He groaned as your wrist quickly twisted around the hot flesh. He could feel the impatience in your movements and even though he usually enjoyed taking his time with you, bringing you to climax slowly as you cried his name and begged for him to let you come, tonight he was so eager himself, he couldn’t find it within himself to take it slow.

“Are you ready my love?” He asked, not even bothering to take his boxers off, he wanted to fuck you so badly that he merely slipped his thick cock through the slot in the front. He knew that he’d have to change his boxers after seeing as they were already drenched with your juices, despite only being pressed up against your pussy for seconds, but he didn’t care. You and your pleasure were the only things on his mind.

You nodded desperately, your bottom lip clenched between your teeth as your stomach knotted in anticipation.

Taka guided his cock to your core, grunting as the swollen head slipped through the ridiculous amount of slick covering the folds of your heat. He began to press himself into you, having to close his eyes and still himself every other second to keep in control as you adjusted to the sheer size of his cock.

“Fuuuck Taka…” you whined, your voice high and dripping pathetically with arousal, “I love your cock so much….. so fucking big.”

After another few seconds, Taka was fully in you. The tip of his cock was dangerously close to your cervix and your walls were deliciously stretched around his length. He slowly began to rock in and out, his hands never easing their grip on your thighs as small grunts escaped his lips.

You could feel yourself already shaking with pleasure. Your mind was completely blank, the only thing you could focus on was how badly you wanted him to pound into you, make you his.

As if Takanobu could hear your thoughts, his thrusts began to pick up in speed. His weight shifting on the bed to gain more leveraging in holding your thighs open for himself.

“Faster Taka!” You cried, feeling his hot cock stretch and drag inside of your dripping cunt. You could feel your end approaching much faster than expected, and you wanted to make sure that Taka was just as taken care of as you were.

Taka’s hips quickened further, snapping with quick shallow thrusts that left you gasping for breath.

The room was filled with your moans mixed with Taka’s grunts. Your mouth couldn’t even form words. Were as usual you’d be telling him how good he felt inside you, how big he was, now you couldn’t even form a sentence. All that was coming out of your mouth was unintelligible babbling, begging him to fuck you harder.

“Fuuuck!” you squeaked, your hips jumping and your back arching off of the bed as the head of Taka’s cock hit directly into your g-spot. Takanobu just grunted and drove his thrusts harder into that spot, making you see stars as his cock pounded in you at an unrelenting pace.

“I’m close Taka.” You gasped, tears of pleasure welling in your eyes as his fingers danced across your clit, rubbing small circles around it as his dick continued its merciless onslaught on your insides.

Taka’s lips wrapped around your left nipple, massaging the bud with his tongue. You were almost falling off of the cliff, there was only one thing missing….

“Come for me, my Love” Taka whispered, pushing you off into an intense orgasm.

“Taka!” You cried, your body beginning to shake as your climax took over your whole body, causing your pussy to clench around Taka’s cock that was still pounding into you.

“Y/N…..” Taka groaned, his dick beginning to spasm and twitch inside of you, spilling his hot seed into you. Your pussy milked him as you both rode out your highs, your lips locked as your bodies slowly came back down. As you both calmed down, Taka pulled out of you, a blush gracing his face at the wet ‘pop’. You giggled at him, moaning and keening at the feeling of his hot cum dripping down your thighs.

Without a word, he climbed out of the bed. He picked you up bridal style and carried you to the bathroom to care for you.

You took turns cleaning each other off. Giving Takanobu kisses on his blushing cheeks as you cleaned him and giggling as he kissed yours when he cleaned you. After you were both in fresh clothes with you wrapped up in his arms, you looked up at him.

“I love you Takanobu.” You hummed, your chin resting contently on his strong chest. He smiled back down at you, his large fingers tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. He didn’t say it back, but you knew from the way that he held you, that he loved you. You could feel every ounce of love he poured into you as he carried you back to your shared bed. He wrapped his body around yours again, his head resting on your chest as he hugged your body tightly. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your fingers unconsciously running through his short blonde hair. Before long you could feel his breathing steady, and you knew that he had fallen asleep. You closed your eyes as well, welcoming the thought of rest as you laid with Taka. As you drifted off to sleep, you couldn’t help but thank the universe that you had met Taka.

He really was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu x chubby reader #aone hcs #aone smut #haikyuuxreader #aone x reader

254 notes · View notes

remmushound · 3 years

Text

Chapter 9 - Dinner Drama!

Summary: The Splintersons have a look around the home and then try to enjoy their dinner with their hosts.

Tags: @brightlotusmoon @scentedcandlecryptid @selfindulgenz @digitl-art-monstr @ilo-artistry

After a swift perimeter check to ease their nerves, the visitors finally started to settle into the lair. It was still so new, so enclosed, that Leo couldn’t see himself being comfortable any time soon. Not until he could confidently locate all the exits, and all the entrances, and where weapons were stored. Not until everything was as secure and as open as his lair was. It wasn’t his right to change the place, but it was his right to not feel comfortable when there were so many places enemies could be hiding unseen. So many dark corners, concealed cubbies that could be hiding threats. So much potential for danger.

When Leo got an opportunity alone with Leonardo, he immediately knew what he wanted to ask. “Hey Leonardo, is your Raph still… you know, calling the shots?”

Leonardo had been anticipating that question all day. He gave a pointedly loud sigh and rolled his eyes as he slumped around to be facing his counterpart, “You ask that every time we see each other. You know that?”

Leo felt his cheek grow hot and his head shrank slightly. Trying to save face, he was quick to defend himself. “Well— a lot can change in six months!”

“Six months…” Leonardo sighed again, and this time it was more genuine and heavy. The revelation of just how long it had been washed over him like an icy bucket of water. Yes, it had been six months, hadn’t it? The time seemed to slip away from him. “Yeah… and a lot has changed. But that hasn’t.”

“I just figured… your whole situation would have changed by now. Especially with you boys growing up.” Leo made an effort to explain, awkward now that he knew he was wrong in his assumption. And he had been so certain too! Since he and his brothers had arrived, Leonardo was acting so confident, so much like a leader! Had Leo just imagined all that?

“Well you figured wrong.” Leonardo said, and now his voice had a defensive edge, “Raphael is just as capable as ever. He is and will always be our leader. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, no, not at all!” Leo put his hands up in an offering of peace, “i was just wondering.”

“Yeah.” Leonardo made sure to side-check Leo as he passed, “Sure you were.”

~~~

“Hey little Mike, you got a minute?” Raph waved at the smaller version of his brother.

Michelangelo looked back, and then skipped over to Raph while humming a happy, upbeat tune. “You’re really risking it all by calling me little again~! What do you need?”

“Er…” It took Raph a second to brush past the threat laced into the happy voice, “Just… y’know… I saw a pool during the tour and was wonderin’ if it was recreational or jus’ for training?”

“Well we usually swim laps in it for warmups, but I don’t see why you couldn’t swim whenever. We got floaties if you need ‘em! Mine have sharks on them!”

Raph grinned. “Do they now?”

Michelangelo nodded eagerly. “Yeah! I’m not allowed to go in the pool without them cause I can’t swim so good.”

“Aw.” Raph nodded along, “That’s too bad.”

“Yeah! I‘m too heavy— I sink like a rock! Can you swim?”

“Eh, more or less.” Raph gave a so-so motion. “If my life depended on it, sure. Never really had much access to water that wasn’t a cesspool or Amazon river.” He shivered at the memory of being dropped in the water, the current pulling him and his brothers along like they were little more than skipping stones.

“Oo! Sounds fun!” Michelangelo chirped, “But do be mindful of Piebald; she likes to swim in there sometimes!”

“Piebald?”

“Oh, she’s a mutant goldfish. She was dad’s pet, but then we flushed her and she mutated and then pretended to hunt us with a hook, but it was really all just an elaborate prank from her and dad to punish us for lying.”

Raph stared. “Oh.”

“Yeah, but she’s totally nice now and not at all sadistic and revenge-driven! No worries.”

“Wasn’t worried at all.” Raph lied.

~~~

After their quick assessment, Leonardo and Donnie had come to the decision that Mikey needed the simplest medicine of all: rest. Raphael had been more than happy to stay with Mikey until the turtles could adjust to the new environment, but exactly when that would happen was anyone's guess. Mikey was sat in Raphael’s bed, wrapped in the snappers heaviest comfort blanket and hugging Cheech as he listened to the snapper chatter with all the joy of a child. Klunk had settled in and was sleeping on Mikey’s lap in a tight orange ball, purring to his hearts content.

“Oh oh oh!” Mikey chirped quickly, “Tell me more about the capybara tell me more about the capybaraaa!”

“His name’s Todd.” Raphael indulged, “He owns a puppy farm in the woods near here.”

“Puppies..” Mikey sniffled softly and hugged Cheech tighter, “This day just keeps getting better and better. Are he and the mantis friends?”

“Todd’s friends with everyone.” Raphael answered.

“Oh my gaaaawwdd…” Mikey fell back down on his carapace, laughing weakly as he stared up at the ceiling. “That’s awesome…”

Raph moved to carefully reposition Cheech in a way that Mikey could still hug him while laying down, fixing the blanket and pillows to make sure the shinobi was as comfortable as possible. Mikey’s eyes were closed now, the stuffed bear drawn to his chest as he laid peacefully. Raphael stood slowly and made his way to the door.

The moment Raphael’s hand touched the handle, Mikey sat up straight. “Where are you going?”

“Oh— sorry. I thought you were asleep.” Raphael said, and he returned to Mikey’s side.

Mikey settled back into the bed, cuddling deeper into the blankets and giving a series of high pitched chirps that eventually faded to nothing. Raphael gave it a few more minutes before slowly getting up and going to leave again.

Like Dracula out of his coffin, Mikey sat up again and spoke so suddenly that Raphael couldn’t help but flinch. “What about the other mutants?”

Raphael took a deep breath as he spun around on his heels to face the turtle who still wasn’t asleep. “What do you wanna about them?”

Mikey grinned. “Everything!”

*** 

Donnie didn't think anything could top him meeting Shelldon that night— and then he saw Donatello’s lab for the first time. The beautifully artistic designs mixed with a generally futuristic style made for a gorgeous display of technological genius . Just like Donnie’s own lab, Donatello had several screens activated at once, scanners and alarms and traps all set to be activated at the simple trip of a sensor. The entire room was lit up in a peculiar violet hue, almost as if it was under one big black light. If that was the case, then Donatello certainly kept his room spotless.

“Oh my kami…” Donnie gulped, his eyes emeralds in the darkness. “Can I live here? I wanna live here…”

“You gotta pay rent.” Donatello said.

“I’d give anything to have my lab like this!”

“Would you give your right cornea?” Donatello leaned against the wall.

“Eh, my eyes are useless. I would give up a kidney or a gallbladder though.”

“I’ll grab the bone saw.”

“I’ll sign the consent form…”

***

“Dinner is served!” Michelangelo presented a simple dish of pizza gyoza to the table; one could say it was just homemade pizza rolls, but that ruined the magic! Besides, they were more doughy like a dumpling than anything crunchy.

The two families were gathered around and eager to eat, seated around two tables that had been pressed together to make enough room for ten diners; each set of brothers were on opposite sides of the table, while the heads of the table were reserved for the Splinter’s. The absence of one of the two fathers didn't go unnoticed.

“Itadakimasu.” Splinter said to the proud Michelangelo, “The food looks delicious. Won’t your father be joining us?”

Another chill came to the room. Another exchange of unsettled looked.

“Dad asked not to be disturbed.” Leonardo said simply.

The Hamato family turned their eyes to their food, working with the same mind to scarf down the gyoja as fast as possible, filling their mouths so they wouldn’t have to speak. The Splinterson family took the same opportunity to look around at each other, all but Mikey having the same, constricted looks on their faces; Mikey was already lost in his own mind, his eyes blank as he smiled and shoveled the offered dinner into his mouth.

“Surely your father would prefer to eat his supper while it is still hot?” Splinter insisted.

Raphael stood abruptly. His plastron bumped into the table and made the dishes clink and glasses splash with the force of his motion, but chair screaming as it was pushed back.

“You know what? You’re right.” Raphael hurried to gather another plate and pile it with gyoji, his eyes avoiding Splinter’s as he piled the dinner on a tray with freshly brewed tea. “I’ll bring this to him right away.”

When Raphael left, he took the conversation with him. He returned minutes later but the air of the room remained quiet and tense. Eager to break the silence, Leo finished off the last of his gyoji.

“Gochi sou sama deshita.” He said, and bowed to Michelangelo, “And while I am thankful for your hospitality— we all are— this isn’t a social visit. We really need to get back to our world. Can your gift do that, Donatello?”

“Should be able to.” Donatello said with a nod, “It was designed for two trips, here and back.”

“Great, then what are we waiting for?” Leo looked around for an answer but no one offered one, “Those creatures are still in our world, could be targeting our people, our city!”

“We need a plan first Leo.” Donnie tried to reason, “We can’t just run in blind.”

“Then we should be planning instead of just hanging out!”

“Can’t plan on an empty stomach.” Michelangelo said, pointing his chopsticks at Leo. “We’re eating!”

A sharp hiss came from Leo’s throat. “Don’t. Point. It’s rude.”

Michelangelo put his chopsticks back down and shrank away from the violent hiss, the retreat as instinctual to him as going into his shell.

“Leonardo…” Splinter tried to reason, “Please settle down and allow us to have a nice supper before discussing.”

“But we need to discuss this now!”

Leo’s disobedience of his father made his brothers gasp, Raph pulling back slightly while Mikey even broke out of his minds wandering to tune back in. Leo flinched at his backtalk and fell into a quick, clumsy bow.

“Shitsurei shimashita, sensei.” Leo said in a low voice before regaining his composure, “I just feel like these guys aren’t taking this situation seriously.”

“And I feel like you expect us to pull a solution out of our asses.” Leonardo hissed back.

“Now now, there’s no need for vulgarity…” Splinter tried.

“I’m not suggesting that you have the answers, I suggesting we need to find them instead of doing house tours!” Leo snarled back.

“If you don’t like it, you can get out.” Leonardo didn't back down.

“Leo, it’s fine, cool it.” Donnie tried to mediate, grabbing a hold of his brother’s arm; he was almost convinced Leo might lunge over the table at his smaller counterpart if this went on for much longer.

“I am cool!” Leo pulled his arm free, knocking Donnie back in the process. That got Raph involved, the box turtle standing up ready to confront his brother. Before he got so much as a word out, however…

“Everybody COOL IT!” Raphael slammed his fists down on the table.

The table splintered under Raphael’s slamming weight, chips of wood flying out like dangerous projectiles. The words, with all the force of a hurricane knocking trees out from their roots, brought a silent stalemate. Raphael looked pissed. His eyes were white, entire body like a taut wire that would snap at the slightest breaths. His nostrils flares, and when he had screamed, white, foaming spittle flew across the table. Now, it dripped down his lopsided jaw and chin.

“Not another word.” Raphael said, this time calmer as he left the table once more. All eyes followed him to the doorway to find a small, gray rat standing there watching them.

Yoshi’s mouth was pulled down in a tight frown, eyes glossy. His paws, shaky as they were, held his tray of dirty dishes that he had been intent on cleaning; for now, he just… stared. His fur seemed several shades paler, his hair tangled and unkept, and though it was hard to tell through the clothes. he looked skinny. The mutant looked around at the table, at the turtles and the rat he had paid many visits to, but when his eyes passed over them they held no recollection. No memory. Just dark confusion, empty and cold.

“Dad…” Leonardo said softly, but at Raphael’s threatening chuff, Leonardo said nothing more.

“Hey pops— here, let me get that for you…” Raphael took the tray from his father and hurried over to throw them haphazardly into the sink. He came back after, his massive hand completely engulfing Yoshi’s back to guide the old rat away away. Yoshi followed the snapper at a slow gait, though his feet dragged as if they were made of the heaviest lead and it took a while for him to get anywhere. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed okay?”

Everyone watched as the father and son disappeared out of the dining room, none of them daring to breathe, nonetheless utter a word.

#Leo Drama starting early #raph risking it all #Mikey: who needs sleep when it’s story time?!#Yoshi dear?#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt au #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #bay turtles #beyond the bay #bay/rise crossover

22 notes · View notes

onewomancitadel · 3 years

Note

Prompt: Cinder wants something but is too shy to ask

Almost 3,000 words of completely handwavy post-canon happy ending nonsense, hope you enjoy anon. Let me know if anybody likes this because it was a bit experimental. XD I puzzled over this prompt a bit because I think Cinder NOT asking for something has pretty major characterisation drive behind it... I played around a bit. Probably a bit cracky here, where it factors into my longfic it’s seriouser lol.

No warnings I can think of, probably like, rated teen or mature or whatever, blanket adults only rule on my blog lol.

He always gave hugs to everybody when he left. He would sweep through the lounge room, kitchen, verandah, first Ruby, then Nora and Ren (if they were not leaving with him, of course, which was the case if Nora had got a little tipsy), then Oscar, then Weiss and then Yang and Blake, and the rest of them, even Mercury let him put one arm around his shoulder magnanimously and pretended to bear it, Emerald of course loved hugs and would never admit it, and then whoever else was there at the time would grin and allow it— even Raven once when she had visited, which Cinder, admittedly, could not muffle a laugh for, which had not actually ended with any punishment for that (like she might have once expected), except the sweet cruelty of his sly little smirk when he caught her. By the time it would be winding down late enough that he had to go home, Cinder would already be tired, close to midnight, but she waited until he left. Mostly because he hugged her last.

[continues under the cut]

It was sort of sad. She would usually want to go home sooner than this, but the party or the gathering or the— what could you call it, various motley assortment of ex-villains and ex-heroes with an excuse to eat and play music loudly (Yang, left unattended, put on metal; the two people who approved was Raven, the one or two times she showed up, and naturally Cinder, a not insignificant portion of her and Yang's conversations comprising metal music and cars) and it would drag on for hours and hours until the first person to break could finally mean the others could go. The first person was usually Jaune. He was the horrible sort of person who slept soundly and for the whole night, and he was a morning person, to boot, so he was always finishing the conversations with mention of beauty sleep and something about his obscene nine-step skincare routine he did before bed, which, well, Cinder had to admit, he had pretty skin, but he was always pretty, his skin just smelt soft and clean, and sort of like honey. So he would do his little goodbye routine and then Cinder would watch him go room to room (completely unsubtly— more than once Ruby had called her out on it, and, to be frank, Cinder was past having Ruby call her out for anything) and then she would be waiting by the front door which was usually unpopulated so she would be last.

It was not strictly intentional. For instance, she would be putting on her jacket, going home anyway, having snuck out mildly unnoticed (bar for Ruby), so it would be completely coincidental that she would be there and he would be there and he would have to be polite and give her a hug too otherwise it would be rude, he could always not do it if he really wanted, she had never— expected it— though if Nora and Ren were there, of course, she would find some way to forego it, and that was embarrassing most of all because she would have to duck her head like she was a schoolgirl, and had she not conquered the world then given up on it anyway?

So he stood there in the dim hallway light which was one of those fluorescents, amber orange, and she fussed with her jacket as if the buttons were hard to do up— at least easier to do if her hands were not shaking just a bit because he made her blushing and stupid. How was it that every few weeks she spent time pining for this? She used to take and take, and now she was begging for just a little hug, just a little more time. It was absurd.

The moment between when he was thinking about giving her a hug and the moment he did actually do it was her favourite. Mostly because he had not yet made up his mind yet, and she could pretend for a moment she was only making idle small talk as he checked for his keys and wallet (occasionally Emerald played a prank, which was how clever was Emerald and how slippery were Emerald’s fingers, how long did it take you to notice your wallet was gone) and Cinder acted as if she had a real reason to be standing there other than waiting for the hug. When he had not done it, then it was close to as doing it as actually doing it, and then once it was over it was over, and then she had to start counting down the days again until she, lowered down to this level, grovelled for a hug in a few weeks’ time.

So when he went for the hug she prepared herself by looking away and crossing her arms (as if she were not waiting to embrace him and had her arms otherwise occupied), pretending to go to open the door and say what a coincidence that we were both leaving at the same time (not her best conceived plan; she had done better), so then once he actually hugged her she could just sort of lean in and pretend for a single solitary moment he was hugging her because he wanted to and not some sad ritual he did because they all nearly died or something (Cinder did not die) or because he was generally affectionate, as well, touching your shoulder here and there and laughing too loudly at jokes (at hers too for some reason, sometimes things she did not even intend to be funny), so anyway: the hug.

Once it had finally happened she could lean in. He was warm. Worse yet, he gave tight hugs such to the point of being cuddles, and his arms covered her, protective, and it made her hide her face like if she did not see the bad things then the bad things were not real, and she truly, honestly believed it with her head resting against his shoulder. Hence waiting in the entryway where no one else was. She could stay a second or two longer than socially proper. By this point she usually let herself wind her arms to put around him, and this was the worst part of the hug (worst after ending it) because then she felt his slim waist, and he was in her space and she was in his space. She could absorb him a little bit, and pretend he was hers.

He had been talking. She could not remember what he was saying— something about Ruby snorting cream cheese and some sort of incident with a chilli pepper which Cinder did not really want to know about, a water gun was also involved which she did not get either— and then he was saying, “Cinder?” and that dragged her back.

She unwound her arms carefully and stepped back, as if it did no harm. It was over with. It had been good this time. She had felt the rumble of his chest as he talked and did not think too hard about how it felt (good) or how long she wanted to stay (as long as possible) or how questionable it was she vampirically absorbed his hugs (extremely) with ill-intent (that of the romantic persuasion). She felt like a glass dagger had lodged itself in her chest and everybody else could see it, but the problem was she kept getting blood everywhere. Not the ache. The ache could stay.

“I should go. Before Ruby does something with the cream cheese again,” Cinder said. It was dark if not for that dingy light which Blake kept saying she would replace, which meant Cinder could feign not looking at him.

“Yeah, I’m not sure I want to be here for it either,” he agreed, voice low and lovely, and he did one of those nervous chuckles, which was probably a product of being in close-quarters with Cinder Fall, which was her fault (and her untidy machination; if she told herself she would put her plotting skills to finagle a hug out of Jaune she would laugh and run).

“I still don’t understand how the water gun was involved.”

“Ruby had filled it with—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” she said. “It wasn’t an invitation. I don’t need to know.”

“Yeah, it’s really cursed knowledge.”

She nodded and huffed a laugh (it was not funny; Cinder knew cursed knowledge, and Ruby ranked pretty low on the list, but it was sort of funny for that reason) and she reached for the door, grim with fate. It was usually a little stiff and took a good pull or two to unstick from its frame, and Jaune stepped over beside her to help. She liked his arm reaching across her. Next he could show her some of his ankle or something and she would probably be dizzy with sexual desire. She was about that desperate.

The night air was chilly but it was the right sort of bite, and her legs were cold and uncovered (an ill-advised short skirt; she could not imagine what was going through her head before she left the house, but it began and ended with wanting him to look at her legs, which as it was she was now paying the price), and her heels kept getting stuck in the grass. She was barely out the door of the Xiao Long-Belladonna residence before she huffed and bent down and pulled off her heels and went barefoot. Like it even mattered. She got her goodbye hug after showing up wearing a short skirt and he did not even notice. She had wanted everything and now she wanted him to look at her legs.

She noticed his legs. His jeans were just on the edge of well-fitted and they accentuated his ass too much. By ��too much’ Cinder really thought it was indecent to her senses (watching him bend over, watching him stand normally beside the bench as other people held normal conversation and she barely held herself together, watching him turn and twist as he walked, what else—). She was huffing when she realised he was beside her, still, on the walk to his car way down the long drive-way of the acreage, and he was biting back a smile.

“What?” she snapped.

“Nothing.”

“That sounds like something.”

The mysterious night made him oddly beautiful (dark eyes almost black) and his profile secretive. She tried to ignore it (failed).

He said, “I kind of have a stupid question.”

“I’ll be sure to give you a stupid answer, then.”

The grass was wet with rain from the afternoon storm earlier. Cinder had called it in. She had overheard Yang saying her garden needed watering and they had not seen a storm in weeks, a long time, and she had slyly fixed the problem. Yang had briefly celebrated that she would not have to lug five, six, seven watering cans (it really was an enormous garden, not that Cinder was much a gardener) and then Cinder had been satisfied. It felt good against her feet, now, the earth fresh.

“You always leave when I do?”

Cinder needed a stupid answer. The stupidest answer was the truth. “Yes.”

She hopped over a rock and tried to pretend to be distracted by it. Distantly she hoped maybe it would rain and he would offer her a ride (she then remembered that she was the Fall Maiden, but decided that was a little too far).

“Why?” he asked.

She swung her heels in her hand and pretended to think about it. “It’s when it’s polite to leave. No one wants to be first.”

“That’s not really it,” he said gently. She was not looking at him.

“No.” She sped up her pace a bit. He increased his, and it seemed her inelegant solution (escape) was answered by suspicion.

“So what is it?”

She stopped. “Do you really want to know?”

Now he crossed his arms and jutted his hip out. Did he know how that looked? He had such narrow hips she was close to just gnawing on him.

She huffed. She might have growled once. She said, “I like… saying goodbye.”

That was a good answer. It was not specifically about the hug, but implied some degree of sentimentality. She liked her goodbye with him and avoiding one with everybody else because he already did it for her. It was perfect. It was totally impenetrable.

He squinted, only more suspicious.

Cinder had to get her way out of this. “Not— to the others. I like saying goodbye to you. But you say goodnight to everybody else and then me.”

There was that smile again but it was mixed with suspicion, still. She had not evaded it.

The killing blow: “You like my hugs.”

“No, I don’t,” she fiercely denied. It was very reasonable. She resumed her pace once again, only this time faster. She was not going to have this conversation barefoot, in a short skirt, with a jacket she had stolen (his, worn too much now so it did not smell like him anymore). By this point they were reaching the end of the underbrush and the flat parking area.

“It’s okay if you do, you know,” he said from behind her. She was going to ignore him. He kept on, “I like them too.”

“I know you like them, you give them to everybody,” she said. That was worse. She should have kept her mouth shut.

“Whoa, whoa, hang on." He paused and let out something which sounded like a choked laugh. "Are you jealous?”

“Of course I’m not jealous.”

She was still walking ahead of him and they had passed his car now. She would probably just fly home. The only reason she had come this far by heel-abandoned foot was him.

“That sounds like either you’re jealous or you want more hugs,” he said. He sounded light, like he was testing the waters. She was very close to flying off then and there.

“Shut up.”

“Or both,” he added. “I don’t know why you’d be jealous, though. I always save you for last.”

She stopped. They had gone well past where everybody had parked and were now almost out in the trees again.

“I wait by the door for you,” she said. “You don’t save me for last.”

He hummed and said, “Yeah, I do.”

Cinder wanted to cross her arms but she could not, because of her heels. She settled on pouting and furrowing her brow. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying,” he said lightly.

“Fine,” she said, relenting. He made it so easy. “I want more hugs. Are you happy?”

He stepped a little closer and he had a mysterious little smile, like he had won a game they had been playing for a while. “You only had to ask. Is that all you want?”

A surge of confidence overtook her (part frustration), as she said, “I wore this skirt for you. You didn’t even have the decency to look once.”

“Where were you looking?” he said cleverly.

She worked for a reply. Well, she had been looking at him, of course. He nodded with her as if he had heard the answer she was thinking of.

“So you didn’t see me looking, because you were looking at…” he trailed off, and waited for her to finish.

“I was checking you out,” she admitted, kind of pathetically.

“Yeah. There you go. Put the heels down and come here.”

She put the heels down and came there. It was better than the other hugs because it did not have to stop (until they went home), and it was very warm, and he said that she could have another (or as many as she wanted), and then he must have felt her hands where they rode low on his back and he gave her explicit permission to put her hand there, and his ass really was obscene.

“I did notice the skirt, and for the record, I notice you every time,” he said. “Skirt or no skirt. Maybe even no skirt if you want—” and then he did one of those nervous chuckles again but she figured out it was because he was thinking about her naked, which, in complete fairness to both their sides, she did so too, not infrequently (and often in polite company).

#knightfall #rwby knightfall #seraphina's asks #my silly little stories

10 notes · View notes

ri-ahhh · 3 years

Note

Hi, Riah! I was wondering if we could maybe get another part of MJ and Gray? I love them sm! Whatever you’re feeling up to writing is cool☺️

This has been in that pages document for forever just sitting there so why not post it haha I was trying to do everything slower and in a more sequential order but whatever

MJ was minding her own business in the kitchen of their new home one morning, standing in front of the Nespresso machine with a blank stare as her decaf blend streamed into her favorite mug. She’s now 25 weeks pregnant, and even though her second trimester is drastically better than her first, one symptom that continues to linger is the 24/7 exhaustion that makes her head pound and her body weak. She goes through this routine every morning of hoping that the smell and taste of her beloved coffee will trick her mind into thinking it’s caffeinated even a little bit, but to no avail.

Not to mention: her tits are heavy and sore; the baby is big enough to cause more back pain than ever; and, well, she just feels…gross.

That’s not to say she feels like this all the time. In fact, she quite enjoys being pregnant on most days. Despite the frequent tiredness, she’s definitely one of those glowing pregnant women, and she adores the fact that she’s lucky enough to be able to do something so miraculous as grow and carry a full on baby inside of her.

But mornings are usually the worst time for MJ, and it doesn't help any when her husband comes to join her, looking like sex on legs with his mussed hair, puffy lips and cheeks, and his bulky muscles lean from the early hour.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he mumbles, coming up behind her to nuzzle kisses into her neck, his morning scruff scratching her skin deliciously. He smells like sleep and toothpaste, and MJ happily tilts her neck back so his mouth can meet with hers. “Sleep okay?”

MJ shrugs and opens the carton of oat milk. “As good as I have been. Which is to say, not that great,” she answers honestly, pouring the creamy liquid into her steaming mug before stepping away from him to put the carton back in the fridge. She doesn’t like to complain, sometimes feeling guilty about doing so, but if she does have anything regarding her pregnancy that she needs to vent about, it’s always to Grayson considering it’s his baby causing all her problems. That, and he knows better than anyone that she wouldn't trade it for anything. “Your child has taken a liking to kicking me in the spleen at random hours throughout the night, apparently.”

Grayson frowns sympathetically for a moment, but that quickly morphs into a soft smile as he drops to his knees in front of his wife. He truly hates the painful aspects she has to go through with this pregnancy, but nothing makes him happier than the sight he had walked in on just now — MJ in those yoga pants that hugged her ass even better than usual with the bit of weight she’s put on. A chunk of her skin exposed between the waistband and the hem of her pre-pregnancy camisole that’s stretched to capacity over the cute bump she subconsciously caresses while standing at the coffee maker. Hair piled in a messy bun. Eyes tired behind her oversized glasses but skin radiant. Swaying side to side and humming to herself as she waits for the brew to finish.

He lifts her shirt more so his lips can graze her taut skin, and places his hands on either side of her belly. “Baby girl,” he coos to the bump with a grin when he feels movement against his palms, “you gotta be good and let your mama get some rest. She’s working hard to grow you in there, she needs to sleep.”

MJ takes a sip of her latte and melts as she always does when he talks to their little bean. It’s like his voice is a magnet as she feels the familiar flutters of the baby moving inside her to find her daddy.

“She already loves you,” she murmurs when Grayson places a lingering kiss on her belly before standing again. “She goes crazy every time you speak.”

Grayson flushes happily and captures MJ’s lips sweetly, his tongue slipping into her mouth to taste coffee and her. He backs her up against the counter and never breaks the seal of their mouths as he takes her mug and sits it blindly on the granite behind her. Her arms wrap loosely around his neck and his hands run up and down her back until he reaches under her thighs to hoist her on the counter next to her mostly-full cup of coffee. He’s succeeded in awakening her more than it could, anyway.

They finally break apart, and Grayson’s hands move to her bump once again. MJ covers them with her own and smiles ruefully, resting the back of her head against the upper cabinets to look at him more fully, all kiss-swollen and glowing arguably as much as he always claims she is.

“Won’t be very long before I’m too huge for you to do that,” she jokes, laughing when he looks at her like she’s crazy.

“Not to brag, but have you seen me?” he questions rhetorically with a quirked brow, a hint of a smirk on the corner of his mouth. He flexes his arms, his biceps twitching beneath her slim fingers.

MJ shakes her head and bites her lip as her hands map the bulges of his broad shoulders and thick arms that would always get her panties wet on any given day, but have her halfway to jumping him now that she’s hormonal and horny all the time. He barely got in the door from the gym shirtless and sweaty the other day before she was blowing him in their foyer.

“Of course, Bear. Doesn't change that I’m barely over halfway through and already feel like I’m 1,000 pounds most of the time,” she says, scrunching her nose and locking her hands around his neck.

Grayson stares at her darkly, and she can actually feel the moisture collect in her underwear, just from that hazel smolder. “MJ, I know it has to be tough, growing a whole-ass person inside you. I hope you don't ever think I’m belittling that fact, but you’re so fucking sexy right now,” he assures, moving his hands to cup her jaw to make sure she was listening. “Know why?”

She finds that a little hard to believe, mentally noting the extra roundness in her face, and the faint but present stretch marks starting to paint the skin of her stomach, and the painful way her breasts have swelled. “Why?”

Gray drags his teeth along his lower lip and looks her up and down slowly until lustful, loving hazel meets intrigued green. “Because that’s my baby. Every time I look at you I think, ‘I did that. I put that in her.’” He lets out a little growl and kisses her again, apparently so caught up in his own words that he can’t resist her anymore. He pulls back with a hum as he continues. “And any time we go in public, it’s in the faces of everyone — mine. My wife, my baby, mine mine mine.”

He punctuates each ‘mine’ with a peck to her lips. MJ is a bit taken aback by his sincerity, but after a moment she smiles and holds up her left hand, where her three carat emerald cut diamond glitters in the sunlight streaming through the windows. “Was this hunk of rock not enough to stake your claim, caveman?” she asks with a giggle.

“Nope,” Grayson says, grabbing her hand and kissing the ring as he grins. “Had to prove my virility on top of marking my territory.”

She rolls her eyes playfully and wraps her legs around his trim waist. “Well, if you’re going to be like that, be a good Neanderthal and hunt down the food to make me a green smoothie.”

Grayson throws back his head and laughs, kissing her nose affectionately before extracting himself from her grip and doing as she asked. “Anything for my woman.”

#blurb #g blurb #grayson mj

44 notes · View notes

talesmaniac89 · 4 years

Text

Morning Person

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: You try your hardest to get the sleepy hunter out of bed at a reasonable time as he tries just as hard to keep you there, snuggled up to him.

Triggers: None, just sleepy/spoiled Dean fluff

Y/N = Your Name | Y/E/C = Your Eye Colour

---

Dean Winchester wasn’t a morning person.

You’d learned that early enough in your relationship with the hunter. As he fought you, every step of the way, whenever you tried to get him out of bed at your early riser schedule. Sure, the morning squabbles were much less tooth and nail and more lazy kisses and arms wrapped tightly around you as he tried to keep you in bed. But they were still a constant battle. And that morning was no different.

As you stretched lazily, letting the last hazy tendrils of sleep slip off your body next to your hunter, you were met with a discontented groan. Which only increased in volume once your legs untangled from his and you gently pulled out of the bear hug he’d held you in throughout the night. The protective warmth of his toned arms was tempting you to return as he stretched out for you. His eyes still closed, only the half-displeased crease in his brow hinting at the fact that the hunter was, in fact, awake. But you knew you’d quickly go stir crazy if you spent the whole morning in bed, like those greedy arms seemed to be aiming at.

“Mornin’ Dean. Rise and shine,” You sing-songed sweetly as you escaped the warmth of the blanket and the arms reaching out to have you snuggled up against him again. A small spoiled pout effectively ruining the hunter’s normally hard as nails image as he squinted up at you through half lidded eyes.

“(Y/N), come back to bed. It’s too early, and too cold,” The big man whined as you crossed your arms from where you were standing, just out of his reach. Well, out of his reach unless he deemed it a reasonable time to actually wake up that was.

“It’s not too cold you big baby. Come on, time to get up. We have plans today,” You said with a teasing tug on a corner of the blanket that made it slip slightly off his body. Showing off his sculpted abdomen and muscular arms for no more than a split second before he pulled it back up with a grumbled protest. The split-second tease nearly enough to tempt the dirty little devil on your shoulder into crawling back under the covers with your hunter to run your hands over taut muscles and smooth skin. Luckily, or unluckily depending on how you saw it, the angel on your other shoulder had a viper hold on your common sense. You had to get up.

“Cold,” The hunter’s grumbled pout made you roll your eyes as you battled the small smile that threatened to oust your annoyance for the farce it really was.

You loved your sleepy hunter.

This Dean was only yours. A sweet secret shared only between the two of you and the four walls of your bedroom. The normally hardened soldier would slip away and leave behind just the man, just Dean, whenever the two of you were alone. Including the spoiled rotten version of him that was currently tugging at your heart strings and making it really hard to not give into the big green puppy dog eyes that begged you to come back to bed.

“Yeah, yeah… Sorry baby,” You said with a sigh and soft laugh as your boyfriend wrapped the blanket further around himself until only tired emerald green eyes and messy sand blonde hair stared back at you from the pile of blankets and pillows.

“I’ll forgive you if you kiss me,” Dean’s tired grumble was muffled by the blanket. Yet, the pout that followed them was clearly audible, though you couldn’t see those soft lips that held your salvation and his forgiveness. The hunter’s cute behaviour teasing a soft smile out of you as you leaned back over the bed, one knee on the mattress, and lightly tugged at the blanket to reveal the pout you knew was hidden there.

“How gracious of you, sleeping beauty,” You teased as you gave your boyfriend a peck that lingered for a few heartbeats longer than planned as the hunter easily deepened the lazy kiss. Replacing the innocent peck you’d planned with something deeper, more sensual. His strong forearms braving the cool air to wrap around your waist and pull you fully back into bed and under the blanket again. The same arms snaking back around your waist without breaking the kiss or giving you the chance to protest.

“Hey Dean…” You sighed as soon as his lips left yours. But the hunter was clearly unwilling to listen. His grip on you tightened as he buried his face in your neck to hide from your admonishment and words about adult responsibilities that couldn’t be completed under the warm blanket.

“No,” Was all Dean Winchester was willing to say about the subject as he tangled his long legs with yours again. His arms pulling at your waist to make sure as much of you as physically possible was flush against him. The hunter’s warm breath tickling your neck as he nuzzled his face against it. Like a naughty boy who knew he was misbehaving and thought he could hide from you in your own arms.

“You said you’d forgive me with a kiss,” You tried sweetly, a hand going up to comb through his bed head and try to calm the wild nest on your hunter’s head. Finding a steady rhythm as you played with his hair; combing it through your fingers before patting it down again.

“You need to warm me up again too,” Dean mumbled against your neck. Clearly not ready to come out of hiding as he peppered small, lazy kisses against your collarbone and neck. The normally strong and independent soldier looking to be spoiled with a lazy morning in your arms and not taking no for an answer.

As the hunter snuggled further into your neck, you let out a breathy laugh from how his short stubble tickled against your sensitive skin. His tight hug not giving you room to squirm away from him. As his fingers found and followed the rhythm you’d set with your fingers in his hair, he painted lazy circles on your t-shirt clad back. Before easily sliding under the offending piece of cloth to repaint the same circles directly on your skin.

“Alright, sleepy head, you can sleep in,” You said with a sigh of surrender, mentally waving the white flag in this latest battle of getting Dean out of bed at a somewhat reasonable time. You could feel the lazy smile against your neck as the hunter squeezed you tighter in a tired victory hug.

“But... I’m getting up. I have to get ready,” You added, the terms of your surrender steadfast.

“Nooo,” The hunter’s groaned protest rumbled against your throat as he held you even tighter and scooted down until his head could rest against your chest. Easily nudging you over on your back before placing his head over your heart. The action kicking up the blanket a bit and covering his head. The grown man acted like a child in a pillow fort as he stayed hidden from your eyes through the protective force field created by the blanket.

“Yes, Dean,” You sighed, trying to pull the blanket down before giving up and putting your own head under it, to finally look into Dean’s eyes where he listened to your heartbeat through your t-shirt. His eyes closed and a lazy, happy smile on his lips. Clearly set on not letting you go anywhere.

“One day in bed won’t kill you… Stay with me. Like this…” Dean’s murmured words were smooth like honey and dipped in sugar as he let one arm drop to knead at your hips. Massaging away the tension from too many days of hunting without rest that he knew was still lingering there. His tight hold on you loosening into a more languid, warm embrace now that his legs were fully tangled with yours and his head was on your chest. Effectively pinning you to the mattress. “Let’s be lazy together (Y/N),” He added with a sleepy smile, glancing up at you through a curtain of full lashes and lifting his head for just a fraction of a second to let a sweet kiss ghost over your lips.

The tempting devil clearly unwilling to give up the warm bed, blankets or you. Fully believing he could have his cake and eat it too. Though, as you kept having to remind yourself to not give into the sweet temptation, you had plans later. And you’d rather not show up dishevelled and tired from oversleeping.

Giving up on sweetness, you switched tactics. If temptation was his weapon of choice, then it would be yours too. Since you, tangled in the sheets and a certain Dean Winchester, wouldn’t be able to get out of bed without getting him to move too.

“We can be lazy together on the couch instead? I’ll make you scrambled eggs and bacon,” You coaxed, adding a silent ‘for a little while’ to your words in your head. Your hand, which had momentarily stopped combing through his hair, returned to trace the shape of his jawline. Marvelling at how much you loved the man who was currently hiding from the real world in your arms. Even his lazy streak was endearing to you as you watched him weigh the pros and cons with far away eyes as he snuggled against you.

“There’ll be coffee too…” You promised, gently using soft fingers to smooth out the crease in his brow that hinted at deep thought as he considered your offer. Yet, as his legs tangled further with yours and his head lifted to pepper your jaw with tiny kisses, you knew the negotiations had failed.

“Those things can wait, right now I just want this… Us,” He murmured as his head went back to your chest. Listening to the beat of your heart. The sweet words easily made it beat a little faster as your arms circled the man resting against your chest and squeezed him tight. Though you knew it was only 99% sweetness in those words. The other 1 percent was a calculated move to get you to stay in bed.

“I love you Dean, but I do have to get up,” You said, kissing the top of his head, as it was the only part of him easily within reach once he buried his head in your chest with a moan of protest. “I could bring you breakfast in bed?”

Your final peace offering was met with nothing more than a small head shake as the man refused to lift his head from your chest. His arms once more tightening around you at the prospect of you leaving the bed and him for the real world. Well... For the bunker kitchen, and a cup of coffee.

“Dean Winchester,” You said, your voice taking on a false strict tone as hands nudged at the spoiled rotten hunter hiding in your heartbeat. But you were only met with more spoiled stubbornness as the hunter decided to ignore your warning and cuddle up closer. Sighing contentedly as he stayed in your arms.

Hell, if it was any other day, you’d probably let him win this one. It was comfortable and warm in his arms. The way he held you close enough for your heart beats to sync into some intimate love song always made you feel safe, protected and comforted. But… It wasn’t any other day, and you had places to be. So, you endured the sweet temptation even though you wanted to wave your white flag and snuggle with him under the blanket.

“Dean… We have plans,” You reminded him, though you knew it was no use. The hunter was unwilling to listen to anything less than a complete surrender on your part. You were left with one battle tactic. The dirty little ace up your sleeve might not be the most straightforward strategy. But… If nothing else worked, then you had to be sneaky.

“Alright, just a little while longer,” You said with an exasperated sigh. Your body relaxing temporarily to lull him into a false sense of security. The little trick easily fooling the still tired hunter as he looked up at you with bright green puppy eyes and a soft smile of victory.

His grip loosened a little as he shifted to lie on his side and pulled you against him. Making you the small spoon to his big spoon. Though the hunter was soon about to lose one part of the cutlery set, as his now much softer arms gently circled your waist. Both of you still hidden from the world by the impromptu blanket fort.

You loved the way you felt in his arms as he held you close. Your back fit perfectly against his chest, as if you were made to fill the space there and protect the hunter’s tired heart while he slept. For a minute, you just let yourself enjoy it, his arms around you and his lips in your hair peppering it with soft lazy kisses and murmured promises of lazy mornings and eternal love.

Yet, you had to be strong. To resist temptation. And so, you put your sneaky plan into action. With one last longing feel of his arms around you and the feel of his heartbeat through your back.

Squirming in his arms, you pretended to simply be making yourself more comfortable. Until you could find just enough leeway to swiftly roll out of bed. Your little ninja move easily raised a chorus of groans and moans from under the blanket, as your hunter peeked out looking offended at your sneaky escape.

“You promised,” The betrayed hunter said from the bed. His head fully peeking out as he watched you step away from the bed to root through your side of the closet. Sleepy green eyes following you back and forth across the room was the only hint of movement from the stubborn hunter as he chose to stay in bed.

“And I stayed for a little while longer, just as promised,” You countered, throwing a cheeky grin back at your hunter where he’d once more cocooned himself in the blanket. A quiet protest against early mornings and getting out of bed. “Are you sure you’re not getting up?” You tried one last time. Though the childish pout, and the way he’d wrapped himself up like a burrito clearly hinted at a certain Dean Winchester having no plans of getting up anytime soon.

“No, and neither should you,” He grumbled, lifting a hand up and out of the warmth of the blanket in a lazy attempt to tempt you back to the bed and him.

Ignoring the final part of his statement you shrugged as you put a towel on top the clothes in your arms with a theatrical sigh. Your eyes quickly glanced over to the bathroom door before you looked back at him.

“Alright, fine. You win. Stay in bed. I’m gonna jump in the shower,” You said as your eyes met his again. Your own (Y/E/C) eyes grew slightly heated as you watched the damned sinfully sexy man, even when he was acting like a cute spoiled puppy. Biting your lower lip, you left just enough of a pause for the heat in your eyes to fully sink into the hunter’s tired mind before you spoke up again with a shrug.

“I was going to ask you to join me, but I guess…” You sighed. Turning to walk towards the bathroom door to hide your little victorious grin as you heard Dean fight against the sheets in an effort to follow you. The small thud of bare feet hitting the floor signalling that you’d won the war, though you lost most of the morning’s battles. Dean’s voice, now sounding wide awake, reaching you just as you opened the bathroom door.

“I’m up! I’m up and I’m in!”

---

Dean Winchester Tags: @ria132love

594 notes · View notes

lokislittlesigyn · 3 years

Text

OG616 : Thor 1 - Pt.6 [The Mourning]

[My masterlist, where all parts of this and my other fics can be found]

Pairing: Loki / Sigyn (basically an oc based off the marvel/myth namesake)

Warnings: Angst, some.. Hopelessness? And mild flirting.

Author’s Note: Very long one here. Hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @high-functioning-lokipath

To be added to the taglist, just ask me here or send a message! <3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A very distinct, sharp pain washed over Sigyn as she pondered Odin's words. Like a knife plunging into her gut, twisting, pulling - but never leaving. Only hurting worse and worse, the very air in her lungs seizing up.

Loki is dead.

Her throat burned.

Loki is dead.

Tears streamed down her face.

My Loki is dead.

She broke. Her entire body shook with a sob as she collapsed onto the couch she was seated on, weeping. "He can't, he- He's not, he's not.."

"Sister.." Thor wrapped her in a hug, his jaw set firm. Frigga placed a hand on her back.

Odin’s grip tightened around Gungnir. "He's gone."

"No he's not."

"Sigyn-"

"He's NOT!" She screamed, struggling in Thor's grip, who clenched his jaw as he held her. "He's not- He can't be, he.. Loki.." Her body gave way, unable to cope.

Thor helped her stand, letting her sob against him.

"I wish it were true," Odin resumed, forgiving the interruption, "That he could still be with us. But he made his choice."

Sigyn glared at him.

"You made your choice when you lied to him! When you lied to all of us for countless years. We built our life around that lie!" She choked back another sob. "Now our lives are ruined because of it."

Odin didn't respond.

"Sigyn, have care how you speak." Frigga stepped between them, finally composed, though her eyes still glistened. "We need time to grieve, all of us. But perhaps, you most of all." She cupped Sigyn's cheek, wiping a tear away. "Go rest. Arguing will breed nothing but more pain."

Frigga was right. Arguing now would only make things worse - Odin wasn’t exactly known for a cool temper. But her head was still spinning. Loki couldn't be gone. There had to be some other way. Straightening up, Sigyn wrung her hands together. Swallowed. "I-I am sorry, Allfather.. I spoke out of line.."

Odin waved his hand, still looking away.

"Thor," Frigga managed a gentle smile at her son, "Please take Sigyn back to her chambers before you visit the healers."

Thor nodded, and without another word, he and Sigyn left.

~~~~

Sigyn stayed in her chambers for days on end. She ignored the time. Refused to eat. Refused to sleep in her bed - no, their bed - it still smelled like him. She spoke to no one. Retreated into the solace of being completely and entirely alone. Once the dust had settled, the wounded healed, and the palace put back in order, a feast was held for those who defended Asgard and helped Thor return home.

Sigyn was required to attend.

I can't exactly refuse... She reasoned, pulling on an emerald green gown. Putting on her favorite necklace, she gazed in the mirror.

She was pale. Paler than usual. Sickly and thin, with dark circles under her eyes. Hardly the shining goddess she would be expected to appear as. She looked down at the necklace. She’d had it for a long time. A rectangular medallion on a thin, metal chain - the medallion bearing two serpents, intertwined with each other, each biting their own tail. A symbol of Loki’s adaptability and cunning.

"If you should like to...” Loki had murmured, obviously nervous has he offered it to her, “I would be honored to see you wear it.”

It had been a perfect gift, marrying her colors with his symbol. She barely took it off, except of course when she was expected to wear coordinating clothes. Then it lived in a small wooden box on the dresser, safe from dust.

This will be my first meal without you. She ran her thumb over the symbol. I love you. I miss you.

Composing herself, she left her room.

~~~~

Servants and guests alike stared at Sigyn when she arrived. She was late. She adjusted the necklace, ignored their whispering. Ignored the stares, the side glances...

Maybe I should’ve stayed alone.

"Sigyn.." Sif walked up to her. "I am so sorry for your loss.."

Sigyn merely watched the warrior as she spoke. She felt like something inside her had died along with Loki. Something was lost. She wasn’t sure if it would ever return.

Sif swallowed. "Truly, I am."

With great effort, Sigyn spoke, her voice dry from lack of use. "Thank you, Sif." She forced as much of a smile as she could, then took her seat.

Conversation picked back up. Stories were told. Laughter spread.

Sigyn stayed there. Motionless. Expressionless. Staring at her untouched goblet. This wasn't worth it. Nothing was worth it. Nothing had meaning anymore.

She turned to look at all the guests. They were eating together happily, drinks sloshing over their food as they raised toasts and struggled to contain their laughter at Volstagg’s stories.

Their spouses hadn't been taken from them. They hadn't lost someone.

This is life now, isn't it. Sigyn turned back to her empty plate. This is the lot I was cast.

Her vision grew blurry with tears.

The curse worked. Loki is dead. I'll never be loved agai-

No.

She clenched her jaw.

Don't you dare start thinking like that. Don't you give up now. Keep going. Keep fighting. If not for yourself, for him. Do it for him.

She looked back at all the familiar faces around her.

Be strong. Be strong for him.

A tear ran down her cheek.

Make him proud.

"A toast, to Asgard! For the glory of our realm!" Roared Volstagg, raising his glass.

Be strong for Loki.

Sigyn stood and raised her glass with a smile.

"To Asgard. Our home."

~~~~

Time passed. The grief-stricken goddess still wept for her lost husband, still dreamed about him every night. But as the months went on, she wept less. She slowly began healing from the wound deep within her heart. Accepted that for now, Loki was gone.

For now.

She had thrown herself into old books and tomes, determined to improve, to make her husband proud. In the shadows of familiar bookcases within the palace library, she found writings on the Norns. The sisters Wyrd, Veranthi, and Skuld - three powerful beings controlling the past, present, and future. And there in the crumpled pages, she found a familiar symbol: the web of Wyrd.

Three sets of overlapping lines, the it symbolized the inherent interconnections of all actions - and all realities. How the past influenced the present, the present the future, and the future, perhaps the next life.

Our next life... Once the Asgardian twilight comes, and I embrace a final sleep, I will wake up and see him again.

We won’t be alone.

She would remind herself, with each new day, she was another step closer to seeing him again someway, somehow. Alive or dead, they would be reunited. The thought of it inspired a little spark of hope within her. With each passing day, she spent hours pouring over old spellbooks. Studying ancient runes, practicing spells. Mastering them.

She filled books with ideas, charts, musings.

And most of all, she remembered Loki.

She mapped out his entire life, beginning to end. Considered everything that had happened. Asking Thor, Odin, and Frigga exactly what he'd said to them - and exactly how they'd responded. Recorded what they said in books of her own. It helped her grieve.

But it also served her in other ways.

Rumors spread quickly throughout Asgard. Rumors of the prince who was hungry for power. Who stole the throne, and tried to kill his own brother to keep it. Who abandoned his wife in her time of need. Who betrayed his family and his realm.

The liesmith.

Trickster.

Murderer.

Sigyn considered it her duty to dispel false assumptions about him. And as she traded for a new book at the marketplace, she heard one such assumption. A group of ladies stood nearby, gossiping over their goods.

"There she is - that's her, the princess."

"Oh my,"

"Lokiwife, wasn't it?"

"Yes, that's her," A pretty brunette leaned in closer to the others, "I heard she and Loki had quite the time before he.. Well," she frowned, earning murmurs from her group.

Sigyn glanced their way, eavesdropping on their conversation, tucking the book into her satchel.

A blonde nodded in agreement. "Anyone would have a rough time if their husband abandoned them like he did."

"Abandoned?"

"Oh yes," The blonde shook her head, "It was just awful. The Warriors Three said he was always envious of Thor, always wanted the throne. And when he got the chance to steal the throne, he took it."

"If only Thor had been crowned in time. None of this would have happened.” The youngest piped up. The brunette shrugged an agreement.

“Such a waste - we waited hours for that coronation.”

“We had such a nice view, too.."

"A nice view of Prince Thor, certainly." The brunette nodded, her cheeks turning a slight pink.

The blonde smirked. "I'd even say Loki was glad Allfather Odin fell into the Odinsleep.. After all, that gave him access to the throne."

"Finally got him what he wanted," Mused the brunette.

The blonde huffed, "Though a lot of good it did him. Abandoned his wife and his honor, and what did he gain? He's likely in Helheim now.." The group murmured again in agreement.

Sigyn couldn’t take it anymore. "Excuse me - beg your pardon, ladies," She smiled, walking over to them. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation."

The women's eyes went wide. They bowed, paying their respects. Sigyn nodded her own greeting.

The brunette was the first to speak. "Yes, Princess, we were discussing your husband.."

"And his life's motivations. I heard." Sigyn glanced at the blonde, who gulped.

"We meant no offense to you, Princess.."

"Tell me, did any of you know Loki?"

They shook their heads.

Sigyn sighed. "You must understand: he was not evil. The Loki I knew had not a single malicious bone in his body."

"But he was jealous, Princess. Lady Sif said so, I heard her discussing it over a goblet of mead.." The blonde fidgeted.

"And she's right."

The ladies blinked.

Sigyn straightened up. "Sif is correct. Loki was jealous. And do you know why? He spent his life feeling less than Thor. How do you think Loki felt, then, when he found out his life was a lie? That his greatest fear was true because he was different, he was lesser?”

The women were quiet. Sigyn paused, then continued.

“Loki didn't want the throne. He wanted to be like Thor. To be equal, not less. So when Queen Frigga gave him the throne - he took it. She told him to make his father proud, and he tried to do just that. He tried to prove to Odin he loved him, he was his son, and - and yes, he tried to have Thor killed." Sigyn swallowed.

"I won't deny that. He likely did it to prevent Thor returning and squelching his efforts. But consider why he did it. Loki was... Mislead. He made the wrong choices. He tried to prove himself by vanquishing the Frost Giants, Laufey among them. And what did he have to go off of?" She laughed a single, sad laugh, "We're all raised to fear Jotuns! Slay them like the stupid beasts they are! Hunt them down, bludgeon them! What else would you expect him to do?"

By now a small crowd had gathered. Curious passersby all stared at the princess.

They probably think I'm mad, Sigyn mused, But I don't care. This isn't about me. It's about Loki.

"So he tried it. He tried massacring the Jotuns - and was foiled. Again. By Thor. Again! He was trying to prove himself! Desperately grasping at the final threads of hope! And on the Bifrost," Her breath caught in her throat, "On the Bifrost, that night, he begged Odin for approval. And how did Odin respond? He said no to his son, to the boy who only wanted to be as loved by his parents as his brother was." A tear streaked down her cheek.

"And he fell. He gave up. My husband died because his hope ran out. He could bear the pain no longer." Sigyn stepped toward the blonde, "So the next time you talk about Loki, I ask you to remember that. I hope you remember how my husband, the most wonderful, beautiful man I knew, lost hope that night. And now he's gone."

Without another word, Sigyn turned. Pushed past the crowd, ignoring their stares and whispers.

"Come, Villeildr," She mounted her horse, squeezing his sides with her legs, "It's time we take our leave."

~~~~

Later that night, Sigyn was in the library when a familiar voice called her.

"I thought you'd be here." Fandral stepped in, smirking, his cape sweeping behind him.

"Here I am." Sigyn's focus remained on the book.

"I heard you had a run-in with some acquaintances of mine today."

Sigyn stopped reading.

Fandral continued. "Gave them quite the talking to. Did you rehearse it, or did it simply come to you?"

She shut the book, peering up at him. "They were lying about Loki."

"You seem to forget he lied too.."

"Of course he did. We all do; that doesn't make it right. They were lying about him, Fandral, disrespecting the dead - spreading false rumors about how he 'always wanted the throne.'"

"Well, he was always jealous of Thor.."

She huffed, "I know."

They sat a moment in silence. Fandral moved closer. "I was hoping you would join me for a drink tonight. You’ve barely left the palace in.. Well, far too long."

"I don't drink."

He looked hurt. "You used to."

"There are many things I used to do." She returned to her book, hoping he’d get the hint.

"And I could help you with more than one, if you so wished..."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Remember that bit about respecting the dead?"

"Yes?"

"You're doing a horrid job."

He chuckled.

"Now, even I can't be the best at everything, dearest Sigyn."

"Oh, I believe it." She smirked.

His brow furrowed. "You were meant to be the goddess of compassion, you know."

"Compassion is like sympathy; I can sympathize with you and still point out the fact you're inappropriate."

"You sympathize with me?" He smirked.

"Fandral, do not twist my words.."

"Even if it makes you smile?" He tilted his head slightly. She couldn't resist a small huff of a laugh.

With a slight sigh, he took her hand and kissed it. "Ah, I may never be anything more than your friend, Sigyn," He lowered her hand, smiling at her. "But even if that's the case, I am honored to be your friend."

She smirked, nodding at him once. "Thank you. You're a good friend, Fandral.. Even if you are rude."

With another chuckle, he sprung to his feet. "Until we meet again, fair Sigyn," He bowed, "I take my leave." Turning on his heel, he headed for the door.

"Fandral?"

He stopped.

"Don't get too drunk. Lady Sif is tired of cleaning up after you."

He shot her a grin, then disappeared around the corner.

He's going to get absolutely ruined. Sigyn thought to herself, shaking her head.

#loki x sigyn #loki fanfic #logyn #OG616 #Thor1

13 notes · View notes

that-bi-bitch-writes · 4 years

Text

The Rumor Around Hogwarts (prologue)

Hi everyone!! This is the prologue and it is pretty much exactly what the author wrote and I don't take credit for it. I made a couple of changes to the chapter but it is towards the end so if you want to skip through you can until about the last paragraph to find the part about Y/N L/N. Enjoy!!

Male reader insert for now, future addition of they pronouns as it will lean more towards a non-binary insert with the only change being less reference to Y/N as a young boy and more gender neutral terms. Still masc/male aligned.

Previous // Next

Prologue:

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had two small sons, too, but they had never even seen them. These boys were two good reasons for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with children like that.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley good-bye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls.

"Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar -- a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realise what he had seen -- then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive -- no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes -- the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt -- these people were obviously collecting for something... yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills.

Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying. "The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard--" "-- yes, their son, Harry--" Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking... no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephew was called Harry. He'd never even seen the boy. It might have been Harvey Or Harold There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her -- if he'd had a sister like that... but all the same, those people in cloaks...

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drill that afternoon and when he left the building a five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside of the door.

"Sorry" he grunted as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realised that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary his ace split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passerbys stare,

"Don't be sorry my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating this happy, happy day!"

And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off.

Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw -- and it didn't improve his mood -- was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly.

The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't!"). Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?" "Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early -- it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters...

Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er -- Petunia, dear -- you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"

As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.

"No," she said sharply. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls... shooting stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today..."

"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.

"Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you know... her crowd."

Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter." He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their son -- he'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.

"What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?"

"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me."

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something.

Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did... if it got out that they were related to a pair of -- well, he didn't think he could bear it.

The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind... He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on -- he yawned and turned over -- it couldn't affect them...

How very wrong he was.

Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again -- the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, I've been celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no -- even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent -- I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A what?"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone--"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense -- for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't, said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too -- well -- noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said "The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what they're saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are -- are -- that they're -- dead."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..." Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder.

"I know... I know... " he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's son, Harry. But he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke -- and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's -- it's true ?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done... all the people he's killed... he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore.

"We may never know." Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."

"You don't mean - you can't mean the people who live here ?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore -- you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son -- I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here!?"

"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him! He'll be famous -- a legend -- I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter day in the future -- there will be books written about Harry -- every child in our world will know his name!"

"Exactly." said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes -- yes, you're right, of course. But how is the boy getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing him."

"You think it -- wise -- to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore. "I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to -- what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky -- and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild -- long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir -- house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where -- ?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?" "Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map o

f the London Underground. Well -- give him here, Hagrid -- we'd better get this over with." Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house. "Could I -- could I say good-bye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "You'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it -- Lily an' James dead -- an' poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles--"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall -- Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply. Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley... He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter -- the boy who lived!"

The boy who lived, however, was not the only threat to Voldemort's plans. There was another baby boy who would grow up to be extraordinary. His fame would not reach the height of Harry Potter, but he need not be the boy who lived for he will be the boy who decided to speak.

"I heard a rumor"

#harry potter #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x male reader #hp #reader insert #male reader insert #x male reader #rumor #x nonbinary reader

82 notes · View notes

weclassygirl · 4 years

Text

𝐃𝐞 𝐨𝐦𝐧𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐬 𝐝𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐦

Word count: +5.8k

Pairing: santino d’antonio x f!reader

Warnings: none

Author’s note: hello everyone! uni is completely figured out yay! also i’m thinking of taking a small month or so break from writing, want to focus on some other projects that i have in mind. hope you’ll enjoy this part. english is not my first language so beware. take care love <3

dulce periculum series: ... 04 / 05 / ... / 07

Gif credits (x)

You pack your bags in a hurried fashion and with a bit of nervousness. The Elder wants to speak with you. The man that sits above the High Table. You pack every necessity, clothes, guns, coins, not much, you don't plan on staying there for too long.

You reach under your pillow to take out the knife hidden beneath it. It's handle is engraved with a beautiful design, the silver of it shines in the faint stream of light and the green and blue elements make it look royal. You stare at it for a while, admiring the build of it. The thin blade is sharp and reflects in the light.

Santino walks up to your room and leans against the door frame, watching you holding the dagger he gifted you. You don't hear him coming to your room, he stands in the doorway, waiting for the right moment to make himself present.

He knocks lightly on the door and you quickly turn in his direction. The hand that holds the dagger falls to your side, he looks at your bed and sees the bag filled with clothing and every necessity you would need for your trip. He walks up to you, that stoic attitude replaced by that soft expression you often see whenever both of you are alone.

“You don’t need to go.” he says as you put the knife into the bag.

"I have to, I don't have much of a choice." you inform him going to the wardrobe to grab a few shirts.

"Of course you do." he says back, his eyes focused on your face. "You’ve spent two years here without him wanting to speak with you-"

"But it’s the Elder," you cut him off. "he sits above the High Table." you turn to him, your own eyes focused on his emerald ones. There's a worry and question filling his features, he wonders why you're complying to the Elder's wish. You look at him and sigh, turning your gaze back to the bag. "We both knew that this day would come sooner or later." you say in a defeated voice.

You hear a faint shuffling and see Santino moving closer to you from the corner of your eye.

"Let me come with you at least." he pleads softly. You look up at him, your eyebrows drawn together in a sad frown.

"You know you can’t. The Adjudicator strictly said that he wants to see me alone," you say, remembering the Adjudicator's words. "no other parties involved, even one of the Heads."

You detach your gaze from his and move to the small bathroom and grab some toiletries you would need, toothbrush, comb etc. You come back to the room seeing Santino who's moved closer to the bathroom. His eyes follow your every movement. You finish packing as Santino hangs his head down and sighs.

"I guess I won't be able to convince you otherwise, right bella?" he smirks faintly but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. You say nothing, he already knows the answer. "Very well, but take the plane. It will at least ease my mind to know that you got there safely." he takes your hand in his, gently going over your knuckles. You learned that he started doing that sometimes out of boredom and sometimes as a form of reassurance.

You place your hand on top of his and hold it there until you speak up, your quiet voice carrying through the small space between you.

"Alright… and you don't need to worry too much, Sofia is letting me stay for the night before I go to the desert." you don't know Sofia personally but always admired her in the movies. The Adjudicator told you that you'll be staying at the Moroccan Continental before your departure to the desert. Santino looks at you wearily but nods and let’s go of your hand. You smile at him faintly, reassuring him that you’ll be fine.

It’s not that he thinks that you’re not ready, he knows you're capable of pretty much everything at this point, but it still puts him on the edge. Your own version of the Impossible Task made him believe that you can withstand anything, that you're as much capable as the other guards.

Santino leaves your room and your eyes follow his figure as he disappears behind the door. You sit down on your bed, looking at your lap, thinking of every decision you've made in the past two years. Saving Santino, joining Camorra, making a name for yourself in this world. And now a meeting with the Elder, a man that could no doubt easily kill you in a matter of seconds and wouldn't even get any blood on his robes. You decide not to ponder much about it and finish packing.

The airport is relatively quiet, the only sound that can be heard is the engine of the plane. You see Spirto and Sonya waiting for you at the hangar. Sonya comes up to you and hugs you tightly.

"If something happens, call me, I still have some contacts in the city." she says to your ear and you chuckle.

"I'm sure that won't be necessary." you pull away and see Spirto watching both of your interactions. His hair going in every direction and the bags under his eyes tell you that he spent another night wide awake.

During your time here you've gotten along the best with Sonya and Spirto, their cheerful personalities really helped you not feel so miserable at Camorra. Spirto puts a hand on your shoulder.

"As Sonya said, if you need anything you call us, I'm sure Andre would be against it but what's life without a little danger." he tells you with a grin spreading on his lips. There's that glint of madness twirling in his eyes. You nod at them in thanks and see a figure behind them.

Santino stands with his hand in his pocket, a bag waiting by his side. Sonya and Spirto give you a knowing look and you have them in the ribs before they can say anything further. You move towards the Italian.

"If you're here to try and change my mind, it won't happen." you say to him, he smiles and reaches for the bag at his feet.

"Believe me I won't do that, I know you made up your mind. I'm here to give you a small parting gift." he hands you the bag and you look at him suspiciously, you don't look in the bag but see a dark material crumbled up inside.

"Be safe, bella." he simply says. It's not a goodbye, you only go there for a few days, you'll be back in a blink of an eye.

"Always am." you say, he looks at you with expectation and you step closer to him as you hear the pilot announcing the departure. You kiss the Italian briefly on the cheek and place a hand on the other, Santino closes his eyes momentarily before you pull back. Both of you look at each other, feeling as if there's something more to say.

You turn to the plane and climb up the stairs giving one last look to Santino. Sonya and Spirto already left the hangar. You enter the plane and the hostess closes the door behind you. You go and sit in one of the chairs, placing your bags beside you. You see Santino through the window and his silhouette becoming a dot as the plane begins to move.

You relax in your seat, already planning to sleep through the flight when you remember the bag Santino gave you. You take a look inside and pull out a dark material, a jacket and suit pants. You see a tag saying that it's made by Angelo. The same Angelo you've seen making a suit for John when he visited Rome in the movies.

The suit itself is custom made as you realize, small threads of blue and green embedded into it. There are multiple small pockets inside it, some of them already containing thin knives, the fabric itself is the same bulletproof one you've seen John wear.

You look at your window and smile, deeply thanking Santino for this gift. During your stay at Camorra he's only given you two gifts, a dagger and a necklace. He gave you the necklace when you visited Naples with him during one summer. You've been walking around the city streets, him telling you about where everything was, and even some of the stories the streets held. You saw a stand with jewelry in the corner and decided to go up to it. You saw a beautiful thin silver chain with a green stone in it. Santino saw you looking at it and decided to buy it when you didn't see. He gifted it to you at a beach when both of you were returning from the city. You've been wearing it ever since.

You smile at the memory and hide the suit into the bag, deciding on putting it on later. You make yourself comfortable in your seat and quickly fall asleep, the hostess wakes you up as you're about to land in Morocco. You exit the plane and decide to walk into the city, deciding that you're gonna have to find the Continental on your own. Walking through the market and the alleyways you're met with Yassin, the man that you remember guiding John and also somewhat saving him. Both of you cross the street filled with people to enter a luxurious open space.

"Welcome to the Moroccan Continental." you see people scattered around, belly dancers performing in front of the clients and various alcohol being passed around. It's nothing like the New York or Rome Continental. Yassin leads you to a secluded room, away from the lobby.

"Ms. Al-Azwar will be with you shortly. Best of luck Ms. Jade." he says bowing slightly as he disappears behind the entrance. You look around the room and wait, you walk towards a small table and see pictures of Sofia with the dogs and her daughter. You hear a faint tapping of paws and see two dogs staring at you, bearing teeth. They growl at you and for a moment you fear that they will attack you when a woman's voice tells them to stand down in Arabic. The dogs calm down as Sofia approaches you. You stare at her with slightly wide eyes and smile shyly. Sofia looks at you with question in her eyes. You're surprised she's not pointing a gun at you.

"Sorry, I just- you've been one of my favorite characters since I watched Parabellum." you say quickly and feel her stare at you. You feel like you may have said something wrong but she only chuckles, the slight tension dropping from your shoulders.

"I guess what they say is true, you are from a world where all of our lives are a movie." she says. You smile and look around the room, it's dark, beautiful rugs laying on the floor, gold ornaments laying around. Sofia gestures to the couch and you take your seat, the dogs following and sitting on both of your sides.

"We're gonna be meeting with Berrada?" you ask, thinking that you would have to go to him as he used to be the previous manager. She pours water into the glass and heads to the couch giving you one of the glasses.

"No, it's not necessary. You already know that one way or another you would have to go to the desert." she answers and you nod along her words.

"Yeah, I suppose." you sip on your water when Sofia asks you another question.

"Why did you save him?" she looks at you, wonder in her eyes, confusion even. You put the glass on the table.

"I knew that if John killed him then that would be followed by consequences. Excommunicado, the whole world would be trying to kill him, he would call in for the Marker he has on you. Just a lot of awful stuff, for him at least." Sofia looks at you with a cold attitude but her eyes did go slightly wide at your mention of her marker.

She looks you up and down and leans in closer.“But that’s not everything, is it?" she questions. You straighten up in your seat, your head held high as you listen to the manager's next words.

"There are rumors about your connection to Santino. Some say that you’re his private bodyguard - closer than Ares even - that you’ve saved him and made up that little story cause he informed you that John is after him. Some even say that you only saved him so that you can warm his bed at night.”

You scoff at her statement. For people to think those things are beyond you. You knew that some may not believe that you're not from this world, but to make up those kind of assumptions… “Do you believe those rumors?”

Sofia crosses her legs and leans back slightly. “Not really, but no one truly knows you, except for Camorra." you look at her, her eyes fill with questions. Sofia tilts her head to the side, wondering out loud.

"People are curious… and I can see from a mile away that you care about them. The Camorra, Santino.” you listen to her, your cheeks feeling a bit warm. You compose yourself quickly and just shrug.

“Well, they did let me stay with them and not wander around New York, just waiting to be killed.” the manager looks you up and down, examining your face, she squints her eyes and lifts the corner of her lips. “Yeah, that’s the only reason.”

You look at her with wide eyes and your blush grows, you chuckle nervously. There's a comfortable silence hanging between you two, you can hear music and people outside laughing and speaking in a language, still a bit foreign to you. One of the dogs decides to come closer to you and put his head on your leg. You look at him and back to Sofia, silently asking for her permission. She nods at you and you put your hand on the dogs head, petting it lightly as he closes his eyes. You smile, feeling at peace for a moment.

Yet that small moment is interrupted as Sofia stands up and the dog averts his eyes in her direction.

"Come on, I'll show you to your room.” you stand up and reach to your pocket preparing to take out a single gold coin and give it to the woman. Sofia looks at you and shakes her head. “There’s no need for that, your room has already been paid for.” you look at her confused but follow nonetheless.

You assumed that Santino would have paid for your stay at the hotel, but you truly hoped that he wouldn't have to do that. You earned your money and you wanted to use it, to make yourself feel that you fit into this world. You reach the door and Sofia hands you the key, she leaves you alone in front of the door, bidding you goodnight. You enter the room and are met with a lowly lit room, columns decorating the open space, maroon carpets feeling soft underneath your feet.

You head to bed and drop your belongings near it. You quickly spot a bathroom and shower, desperately in need of sleep after a tiring journey. After you exit the now steamy bathroom you go to lay in your bed. You sigh as your face meets the soft pillow, your body immediately relaxing. You turn on your side and look at the high ceilings, thinking what the Elder might want with you.

As far as you know he rules this whole world, he is the person that you don't question twice. You knew that one day you would have to face the consequences of your actions. You saved a person that was supposed to die, someone that stood high on the food chain. Your mind briefly slips to Santino and you reach for your phone texting him a short message that you arrived and are safe. After a few seconds you hear a soft ping and see a message from the Italian. "That's good to hear. No trouble I hope." You reply with a confirmation and your brief interaction with Sofia. "Rest bella, a long day ahead of you tomorrow. I'll stay in touch. Take care." He responds.

A short message that for some may seem not that much caring, but this is Santino, his way of showing emotions and concern is different. Small affirmations like this show that he cares about his people, that his family means more to him than anything… well, maybe except power.

You put the phone away on the nightstand and close your eyes, feeling yourself drifting away to sleep and your heartbeat slowing down with every passing breath.

The next day you drive with Sofia to the desert, you sit on the passenger seat as the dogs sit behind both of you. You drive through the desert that doesn't seem to end. The sand creates a dusty smoke as the car drives on it, the sun shines brightly above you and you mentally prepare yourself for what's about to come.

You stop in the middle of the desert and Sofia takes out a bowl and water for the dogs. They drink it rapidly, clearly thirsty. Sofia passes the bottle to you, a bit more of the water inside than what John had when he came to the desert and without the spit.

"I hope you don't die here." she says to you. You look at her again with confusion.

"You don't even know me, why do you care if I die here or not?" you question, squinting her eyes at her as the sun shines on both of you.

"I can see a fighter when I meet one, and you have that spirit that this world so desperately needs." she tells you and you wonder at her statement. People die everyday in this world, be it by an open contract, broken marker or a rule, or even a classic revenge. For a moment you think about your future and for how long you'll be able to survive in this world. You turn to Sofia, her eyes expectant, the tattoo on her neck showing up from behind her hair.

"Sofia." you nod at her, raising the bottle up.

"Jade." she nods in return and gets into the car, the dogs follow her. You see her drive away as she becomes a time dark speck on the horizon. You begin to walk.

You seem to be moving for hours, sometimes feeling as if you're going in circles. The day slowly turns to night, the sunset greets you along with a breeze that moves the sand. You don't stop walking, knowing that stopping would be even more dangerous in these conditions.

The morning sun rises after a few hours and you reach for your bottle, trying to satiate the need for water. You stop yourself as you remember that you shouldn't be wasting it, every drop is precious in this desert. You keep on walking, the day once again turning into night. You feel yourself grow weaker, not eating in days, only surviving on the bits of water. You lift up the bottle only to find it empty and you feel yourself loosening balance on the sand and tumble down the sand. You don't have the energy to stand up and lay against the warm sand as the night turns darker, the stars and the moon start to shine high above you.

You wake up feeling a light breeze moving your hair, a soft material lays under your hand, completely different from the hot sand you recall falling asleep on. You open your eyes slightly and see a pair of shoes far in front of you, white robes concealing them.

"Drink." says a male voice, his accent visible and his voice rough.

You reach to your pockets inside the jacket when you hear the man speak up again. "Don't worry your weapons are still there. Please drink." you get a sense of deja vu. You reach for the small red glass beside you and drink until it's empty. You look up and see the Elders gaze hanging onto your frame, his dark eyes meeting yours as you stand up on wobbly legs.

You go straight to the point, not wanting to prolong your stay here. "Why did you want to meet me?" he acknowledges your question and shows amusement on his face. Surely he's used to people speaking and answering to him with respect, but you're not sure what to make of him yet. The Elder doesn't seem to be bothered by your tone.

"Your appearance has created a disturbance in this world." you listen to him, the wind flowing through the open tent. His whole presence seems so calm and yet it has a certain hidden edge to it. "You being here is dangerous on it’s own."

You draw your eyebrows in worry. "Dangerous how?"

"You know what happens." he says simply, clasping his hand together and putting them on his knee."It may not be in the very distant future, but you possess a knowledge that endangers some people. With you now working for Camorra, that knowledge had only expanded."

You were made aware of the dangers that would fall upon you when you first arrived in Italy, the Council and Santino made sure to tell you them. You've already encountered some of those dangers, being held at a gunpoint multiple times, kidnapped in need of information on other organizations, someone even tried to push your car out of the bridge into the river that you were passing by. All of those encounters however, were unsuccessful. You only got out with some scratches and scars going into your growing collection.

"And you’re probably one of those people that feel endangered." the Elder doesn't answer you, instead he changes the topic of the conversation.

"I do hope that your stay at the Continental has been pleasant." he says and you move to answer him when a thought crosses your mind. You thought that Santino has been responsible for your stay at the hotel, but now it makes sense. His voice even indicates that he meddled with your stay there. Realization falls upon your face and you stare at the man in light robes.

"You have questions." a simple statement, he doesn't waste unnecessary words. That reminds you of a certain someone.

"Plenty, but right now only one comes to my mind." you say looking only at him, the rest of the people in the tent forgotten. As if only the two of you were occupying this space. The Elder nods at you as a sign to continue.

"Why wait two years?" the same question you asked an Adjudicator. But you need to know the reason and who's not better to get it from than the source itself. He looks at you as if he was expecting that question and you're not surprised. You hear his accented voice carrying through the tent.

"You needed to adapt to this world, train to become stronger, to be ready to face challenges that will lay ahead of you." he stands up from his seat and moves closer to you, his steps light, quiet. He looks down on you, studying your face. "You’re confused."

You shake your head slightly and look him in the eye, his dark eyes never once leaving yours. "I’m not, it's just…" you hesitate answering, trying to find the right words. "If you wanted to see me train you could have easily just gone to Italy and get me, tell Santino that you will be overseeing my training." you explain, thinking of all the possibilities he could have got to you.

He had all two years to do that. To take you to the desert, train you as one of his people, explain you everything and yet he didn't. You examine his face, wondering what he's thinking and you see him lift up the corner of his lips.

"What makes you think I don't plan to do it here?" you draw your eyebrows, your mind reeling with questions. You open your mouth to speak when he interrupts you. "Walk with me."

The Elder moves by you and leaves the tent, you quickly follow him and try to catch up. He's not the person that would be waiting for someone. The rest of his tribe doesn't follow, they stay in the same seats they sat on throughout the whole exchange.

Both of you walk in silence through the desert and his tribe. You see people walking around in light, flowy robes, the wind carrying through them. You see people training with sticks and even notice a tattoo on one of their hands as it clashes with the person they're sparring with.

Up ahead you see people meditating, far from the tribe, seeking silence and peace, away from the others. Only with their own thoughts.

"I have heard about your abilities," you hear the Elder speak up from beside you. "you have an extensive knowledge in languages, fighting, your skills are admirable. Not many people go through such a hard training in Camorra and get to see another light of day." you hear praise in his voice, something to be proud of. You squint at him, the sun seemingly shining brighter.

"Doesn't the same rule apply here?" you wonder out loud. He listens to you, his eyes glancing at you every now and then. "You sit above the high table, you definitely have selected individuals that were trained even harder than at any organization."

"Yes, but I am the one that chooses them." he admits and you sense that there's more to his statement then he leads on. "You are aware of this, that I am the one choosing who to speak with when people search for me in the desert for days. You were no different."

You look at him questioningly. You stop in your track, feeling the hot sand beneath your feet, the heat getting to you. It doesn't seem to bother him as he's adjusted to the unbearable weather.

"How? You wanted me here."

"Yes, but I also needed to see how much you would endure out there. Just because I demanded your presence here didn't mean that you wouldn't have to fully earn it."

"By sending me out to the desert just to see if I survive." you tell him, not a question in your statement, more of an observation.

Both of you turn back to the tent, seeing less people and that others from the training mat long gone.

"You've been through much worse I assume, that small test only proved that you're capable." you enter the tent and the Elder takes his place on the seat at the head of it, his legs placed on each other, the golden ring on his finger glowing in the sunlight. You can even make out a silver of a watch beneath his sleeve.

You stand there wary, not knowing what to expect. "Capable of what exactly?"

The Elder breaths in, his shoulders straightening and it somehow gives him a sense of power. More power and authority than before, like finally he's the person that so many respect and even fear.

"Joining our ranks." he simply says, not a doubt in his voice. You look at him, your eyes going wide and soon you start to smile, small chuckles escaping past your lips.

"You want me to work for you?" you quip up. You look around and see the people surrounding him sitting quietly and listening. You're certain that they could disarm you in a matter of seconds. The Elder doesn't say anything, only studies your reaction. You compose yourself and your face becomes more serious with every passing second.

"I already work for Camorra."

The Elder shrugs, though the movement is invisible. "Who says you can't do both? You can serve Camorra and the High Table. Simple as that."

A moment of silence passes between you, you consider his proposition. Camorra is a part of the High Table but working for the Elder himself would be completely different. You thought that working for Camorra was signing a deal with the devil but it turns out that he was that devil all along. You look at him, worrying about the words you're about to speak but don't show it on your face.

"I'm guessing that if I don't agree then you'll just make me excommunicado or kill me the moment I say no." you question, the man says nothing once again, he doesn't need to, you know you're right. You sigh in defeat.

"What do I need to do? Cut off my finger to prove my loyalty to you?"

"That won't be necessary, however I'll need you for various of tasks. For now you'll be staying here for your training."

"What about Italy?" you wonder.

"Mr. D'Antonio will be informed of your stay here." he answers you, his eyes gleaming in the desert sun.

"How long?"

"A month. I'm sure you're a fast learner, we don't need more time to teach you our ways."

Our ways. You wonder what that might entitle. You've seen the High Table mercenaries work already, their movements careful, quiet as if they're a part of the shadows. You've seen them work effortlessly, them not sparing anyone in their path.

"Your ways?" you ask him. He seemed to expect that question out of you. His rough voice carries through the small tent, you feel a presence behind you, a person to probably stop you if you refuse completely. Your eyes quickly turn to the Elders.

"Standard training, new methods and techniques. You've seen what people of the high table can do." he informs you and you look around.

If you agree it will mean that you'll have to sacrifice a month of your stay here. Adjusting to the new climate, leaving Italy without a proper explanation. For a moment you worry what the Guard might think, what Santino might think.

Would he see you as if you've lost your interest in Camorra? Or maybe he'll acknowledge that you seek to gain knowledge and more experience?

"Alright…" you sigh and see the Elder holding his chin up high, his lips turning upwards, a clear sign of victory. "When do we start?"

It’s been almost two weeks since you’ve started training in the desert. Throughout those weeks you've been training with the other people here, some of the ones you've seen when you first got here, gone. Probably sent on a task ordered by the Elder. The man himself oversees your training, telling you new ways of fighting everytime he sees that you've done something wrong in his eyes.

The training is brutal but you expected it. You've started to meditate even, the Elder told you that in order to control your body you need to first control your mind. The meditation didn't work at first cause your mind couldn't stay quiet but eventually you got a hang of it.

The Elder reaches you new weapons, fighting styles, how to be quiet on the feet and even poisons. You've learned that he dabbles in various forms of martial arts and science.

You're still wary of him, not sure what to make of his character. He seems calm most of the time, reserved but he is also the one that sits above all. You don't trust him enough to have a friendly conversation with him, even though you speak to him nearly every night.

Currently you're fighting with one of his people as he watches the sparring match. You fight with sticks, yours are now broken in two after your opponent broke them in half with his stick. You duck the men as he charges at you, swinging him off his feet, he quickly stands up. Both of you circle each other when you advance at him, he blocks your first strike but doesn't expect the other to his leg. The man collapses clutching to his now broken knee. You look towards him and then at the Elder, he nods at you and you step back. The man on the ground already being taken to a medic.

The Elder crosses the hot sand to you as you take off the wraps from your hands, some spots covered in already dried blood from your knuckles.

"You listened." he tells you. When you first started your training he told you about techniques you can use in fights, that was one of them.

"Yes." you shortly respond, you're tired and it's only the beginning of the day, you still will have to train later, meditate and such.

"But you focus on the weak points of the body, rather than expecting the opponents moves." he continues. His eyes moving over your features, he sees your skin glowing due to exposure of the sun.

"I thought that was the point. To see the opponents weak spot to fight them off more successfully." you say, your hands starting to go numb at you knuckles, already feeling the pain of the bruises spreading on your body.

"You are right, but if you expected what he would do, see where he places his foot, on which side of the body he relies on more, you would have ended that fight quickly." he informs you. You nod at his explanation, his words making sense yet you still by your decision on the fight.

"I'll keep that in mind." you tells him and turn to the tent to see a medic to help you with bruises and cuts on your hands. The Elder's eyes follow your figure as you disappear behind the tent's entrance.

That cycle goes on for another two weeks, with you training and even sparring with the Elder himself, meditating and learning more and more each day. You study poisons from all over the world, techniques that you've seen Zero using in the movie. The Elder is impressed by your improvement, you asked him once to send a letter to Santino but you're not sure if he really sent it. You still haven't received a reply.

Your stay in the desert shows how much you can improve in a short amount of time, you've gained muscles, knowledge and even respect. People sometimes whisper behind your back about your Impossible Task, no one - except the Guard and Santino - knowing what truly happened there. But those people tend to keep to themselves most of the time, their whispers behind your back being a rare occurrence.

After another exhausting day you drop onto your bed and fall asleep, dreaming of a pleasant warmth of Italy and not the scorching one of the desert. Your nightmares still make themselves present, but due to your meditating they've been not as frequent.

110 notes · View notes

bookishbarnowl · 4 years

Text

Stained-glass Secrets

Tommy most definitely doesn't have a secret. There is nothing Tubbo could potentially find out about him that would have a negative impact. Nope. Shove off.

Or: the wingfic I’ve been meaning to write for months

Warnings: None

Relationships: Tommy & Tubbo (platonic)

Word Count: 1,451

Ao3 Link: Here

Tommy hurriedly yanked a shirt over his head, wincing as the fabric rubbed over the bandages on his back. His wings twitched uncomfortably under the restraints and he grimaced, wishing he could let them flutter free. They’d been trapped for over 24 hours now, he hadn’t been able to let them out since Tubbo was sleeping over at his house for the night. They were also the reason he was getting dressed in the bathroom. He ruefully ruffled his hair and twisted around as best he could to look at his back in the mirror, making sure his wings were laying flat.

His brow wrinkled. There was an odd pucker visible through his shirt. One of his bandages must’ve come untucked during the night. He tugged it off and craned his neck, examining the loose end. He wouldn’t be able to get it to lie flat without re-doing it. He heaved a sigh and grabbed the end, unwinding the wide strip of cloth and wrapping it around his wrist as he went. He arrived at the end, and his upper left wing flickered free.

He let it rest for a moment before he had to tuck it back in, admiring the way its veined panels flashed in the fluorescent lights. It was styled after a dragonfly, tinted emerald green with hints of teal around the edges. Only Phil and his brothers knew he had the mutation, and with all the prejudice Altereds faced he was going to keep it that way. Techno, whose boar tusks were impossible to hide, had given him enough lectures to make it abundantly clear that he would be treated differently if people found out about the four insect wings he had hidden under his clothes.

Above all, he wanted to keep them secret from Tubbo. He couldn’t bear it if his best friend didn’t want to be around him anymore. He sighed in resignation and reached out for the tip of his wing, pressing it flat to his back and folding it in half so the end would sit in the small of his back.

A knock sounded on the door, and he jumped, letting go in surprise as Tubbo’s voice called to him from the other side.

“Do you have my toothbrush in there?” he asked. “I didn’t get it last night.”

Tommy glanced to the side, and sure enough, the unfamiliar green-handled brush was sitting on the side of the sink. “Yeah,” he replied.

“Have you got your trousers on yet?” his friend asked.

“Yeah, but-”

Tubbo didn’t wait for him to finish, flinging the door wide. Tommy yelped and grabbed for his wing, desperately trying to shove it behind him before it was seen, but it was too late. His best friend was staring straight at it, mouth dropping agape as his eyes went wide.

Running on pure panic, Tommy reached out and slammed the door in his face, throwing his body weight against it so it couldn’t be reopened.

“Tommy, wait!” Tubbo yelled, jiggling the handle.

“What the heck, man!” he shouted back.

“I just wanted my toothbrush, I didn’t think you’d have a frickin’ wing flapping on your back!”

“You didn’t have to barge in on me like that!” Tommy knew he was being defensive and angry, but he didn’t care. His secret was out now. He’d just lost his best friend. “Go away,” he snapped.

“No,” Tubbo stubbornly insisted. “Why would you want me to leave? We’ve gotta talk about this!”

“No we don’t,” he said in reflex, then Tubbo’s words caught up with him. He wasn’t leaving right away, surely that was a promising sign? “You can say what you want from the other side of that door.”

Instead of being angry, like Tommy expected, his friend’s voice rose into a plaintive whine. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t exactly make a habit of showing people,” he snapped. “You’ve talked to Techno, you know what he deals with.”

“Exactly! Do you ever see me doing that to him?”

Tommy paused and considered this. Now that he thought about it, Tubbo had never seemed bothered by his brother like most people were. “No…” he acknowledged.

“Just come out here.”

Tommy’s anger was burning away into embarrassment. He reluctantly turned around and opened the door again, looking away when Tubbo’s face split into a bright smile. The pair sat down on his bed, Tommy’s gaze fixed on his hands clenched tightly in his lap and his friend unable to look away from the twitching dragonfly wing on his back. He reached out a careful finger.

“Can I?” he asked.

Tommy nodded. Tubbo lightly brushed his hand over the glassy appendage, oohing and aahing over the glossy texture. After a few moments of fawning he too folded his hands in his lap.

“I haven’t told you about my biological dad, have I?” he said softly.

Tommy shook his head. “Dream adopted you when you were three, right?”

“Yeah,” Tubbo confirmed. He grabbed his phone off of the dresser and opened his camera roll, starting to scroll. “But I met Schlatt for the first time a couple years ago, before you moved here.”

He tilted his screen and showed Tommy a picture of him and another man, smiling and laughing over an ice cream sundae. The man was broad and scruffy, staring down at Tubbo with a brilliant grin. He had a navy baseball cap crushed over dark, wavy hair, the hat slightly pushed up by two large, curled ram horns on the side of his head. Tommy’s eyes went wide.

“That’s your dad?”

Tubbo giggled at his shock. “Yup. He lives over in the States. Dream went through paperwork hell trying to get me his phone number so we could meet.” His happy expression dulled. “Altereds have it a lot worse over there. That’s kinda why I ended up with Dream.”

“Oh.” Tommy wasn’t exactly sure what to do with that piece of information. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. He’s going to try and make another trip this summer, if he can get his passport renewed. You can meet him too! He’s awesome.” He put his phone down, eyes returning to Tommy’s back. “You can take your other wing out if you want to, now that I know.”

Tommy’s gut was swirling with beautiful relief. Tubbo honestly didn’t care if was an Altered or not. He reached behind him, tugging at the ends of the other bandages. “I have three others, actually,” he announced as his lower left wing sprang back into shape. His right pair soon followed.

“That’s so cool,” Tubbo gushed admiringly as he flapped them a few times. “Can you fly with them?”

“Of course,” Tommy scoffed, standing up and heading over to his closet. “I got going over 50 kilometers an hour once.”

“That’s incredible!”

“Yeah, I’m an awesome flyer,” he boasted, pulling out one of the shirts that Wilbur had cut a wing slit into and pulling it over his head. He arranged the fabric around his wings and did up the zipper under them, smirking at Tubbo’s awestruck expression.

“Could you carry me?” he asked next.

“Sure I could.” Probably. He’d never flown with anything very heavy before. Wilbur weighed enough to prevent him from taking off, but Tubbo was a lot lighter than his beanpole of an older brother. He could manage him.

“Where do you go flying?”

“There’s an old campsite a ways away with a lot of empty space that nobody ever goes to. Y’know when Dad takes me fishing? That’s where we go.”

“So that’s why you never wanted me to come. I thought it was just some weird paternal bonding thing.”

“Ugh, no. I hate fishing. Techno tried to take me once and I was bored out of my skull. Flying, on the other hand-” he lifted a few inches off the ground, wings beating into a buzzing blur and sending breezes scurrying through the room- “is never boring.”

Tubbo was completely starstruck. “You’ve gotta take me,” he begged. “Next time you go I’m going with you.”

Tommy dropped back to the ground, grinning fiercely. “Absolutely.”

He was so lucky. It felt so great to have the secret off his chest at last, and he no longer had to worry that every hug he gave his best friend would end in disaster. He ran forward and grabbed his surprised friend in a tight embrace, laughing as it took him a few seconds to return the hug.

“Thanks, Tubbo. You’re awesome,” he told his best friend, his wings fluttering joyfully behind him. Sunlight caught their edges and made them look like a glowing kaleidoscope. Everything was okay, and he couldn’t be happier.

#i have no idea how to use this site #they're best friends your honor #also on ao3 #mcyt #fanfic #dadschlatt #if canon won't give me fatherly dream i will write it myself #tommyinnit #tubbo #wingfic

8 notes · View notes

galahadwilder · 5 years

Text

Next to Me

MLB Secret Santa

for @obliviousblondesunite, as part of the @mlsecretsanta exchange.

Blondes shared this prompt back in October, completely unrelated to MLB Secret Santa:

Aged up, post reveal, post hawkmoth, established relationship AU inspired by the song “Next to Me” by Imagine Dragons. Adrien is depressed and thinks little of himself sometimes, as Chat and Adrien. Marinette continues to help him through his troubles.

It’s been a while since Adrien’s been out of the apartment in people clothes instead of cat ones. A little over a month, actually. He hasn’t been able to look at himself in the mirror; hasn’t been able to sleep. He keeps staring at the ceiling, wondering, if everyone was right, if he could’ve known, if... if he could’ve done something earlier.

The only reason he’s out today is that they’re running out of food. Marinette did that on purpose; after the fourth night in a row where he woke her up with the sound of his sobbing, he knew he couldn’t keep hurting her like this—she has so much patience, so much love, and he can’t bear to keep testing it. He asked her to stop coddling him, to stop letting him wallow. So she let the pantry and the fridge run dry, and gave him two options: either he did the grocery shopping, or she was going to take him to a restaurant.

Restaurant meant more people. Restaurant meant paparazzi. Restaurant meant sitting in public where anyone could see him, unable to leave, unable to duck out, while reporters bombarded him and his girlfriend with questions and camera flashes and accusations and it’s an easy decision.

He holds the shopping basket hooked around his forearms like Dorothy with her basket full of yappy dog and the linoleum aisles are yellow brick road. Plagg is hugging his chest and purring quietly, helping keep him calm, as he walks down the starch aisle.

“Hey...”

Adrien’s hand freezes, hovering over the box of rice. The fluorescent lights burn overhead, a ripping noise in his ears. Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it—

“Aren’t you Adrien Agreste?”

He squeezes his eyes shut as his breath goes cold in his throat, and he clutches his jacket closer around his body with shaking hands. The problem with having his face plastered all over the city for five years: it’s impossible to go anywhere without at least one person recognizing him, no matter how much he wants to just fade away.

“Please,” he whimpers. “I’m just trying to do my grocery shopping.”

The woman in the red wool jacket tilts her head, looking at him with concern in her eyes. “Monsieur Agreste, I’m so sorry about—”

He hears the name again—that man’s name—and his basket slips from his fingers. His ears are assaulted by the crash of plastic striking the floor, and everything is too much, too bright and too loud and too—he has to get out. He has to get out.

“Monsieur Agreste?”

Unthinking, he bolts.

The part of his brain that’s not operating on pure panic regrets it immediately. The grocery store is too large to escape and yet simultaneously too small—the shelves are crushing in on him, squeezing on his lungs, and everyone is staring now at the wild man sprinting toward the exit. But that part of his brain isn’t in control. He’s gone feral, a cornered animal, a shampooed cat launching itself from its owner’s arms. He stumbles into the checkout line, bowling over a patron, and nearly slams into the exit door before it slides open—too slow, too slow.

He barely makes it out of the front door of the supermarket without falling, stumbling around the corner toward the dumpster. He collapses against the side of it with a plastic smack, reaching into his jacket’s inside pocket. Fumbling fingers rip open the cigarette box. He jams it between his lips, desperate, trembling, then snags a match. Scrapes it against the brickwork.

Too slow. No flame.

“Kid, breathe,” Plagg says from inside his pocket.

He wants to. He wants to breathe in hot smoke, he wants to sear his lungs, he wants to feel something that isn’t shame or fear. But the match isn’t lighting.

“Come on,” Plagg says, poking his head out, his disproportionate emerald eyes slow blinking in Adrien’s direction. “What does Tikki always say? Count all the blue things you see.”

Adrien twists his head, looking away from the Kwami. He—he doesn’t—this panic, it feels right, he doesn’t want to stop. He deserves this, he needs this—

“Monsieur,” the security guard looming over him says. “I’m going to need you to come with me.”

Adrien drops his head and cries.

They hold him in the security office for over an hour before they realize that they can’t prove he’s stolen anything. He spends the whole time curled up into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest, unable to speak and waiting for his heartbeat to calm. Desperate for nicotine, but every time he tries to reach for his cigarettes someone glares at him and he freezes.

Without words, he can’t explain what had happened—can’t tell them why he’d run, can’t ask for forgiveness. When they ban him from the market and throw him out, it almost comes as a relief.

Almost, because... what is he going to tell Marinette?

He’d gone out—gone through everything—and he’d failed. Hadn’t managed to get a single euro worth of food. They’re either going to go hungry tonight... or he’s going to have to brave a restaurant. He’s going to have to brave an entire evening of people glaring at him, and spitting on him, and screaming at him for things his father did. And he can bear that, he can, but Marinette deserves better—better than both of those options.

Marinette deserves better than him.

He touches down on the balcony of the apartment he’d bought for them before everything went down, back when the Agreste name opened doors instead of closing them, and lets the transformation release, leather ripping green from his skin.

“Adrien—” Plagg says, concern in his voice.

“Don’t,” Adrien croaks, stumbling through the sliding door. He collapses into the couch cushions, burying his face in the pillow. “Don’t wanna hear it.” He hugs it close, pressing the pillow to his eyes, trying to hide his tears.

He hears Plagg breathe in as if he’s about to say something, but then he stops. There’s a rustle, and Adrien starts as the blanket begins to move up his body, tugged upward by the tiny cat Kwami.

“Thanks,” Adrien mumbles.

Plagg grunts, and Adrien feels the minuscule weight of the Kwami’s tiny body settle onto his back, where he begins to purr. Adrien calms, letting the vibrations of the god of destruction rumble through his body, forcing back the molten fire from his nerves.

“Still want a cigarette?” Plagg says.

Adrien scrapes his face against the pillow, feeling the prickle of his unshaven face against the velvet covering. “No, I—I think I’m okay,” he says.

“Good,” Plagg responds, standing up and stretching his paws along Adrien’s back, his tail whipping restlessly up and down Adrien’s eighth vertebra. “Destruction may make you Cancer-resistant, but that doesn’t mean cancer-proof, and tumors taste like...” He shudders. “Smarties.”

“When have you ever eaten Smarties?” Adrien mumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Never. That’s not the point,” Plagg says.

“Hmm,” Adrien responds, then yanks the blanket over his head, ending the conversation.

Adrien wakes up he’s not quite sure how long later to the feeling of tiny claws poking his cheek.

He groans. “There’s cheese in the fridge,” he says, trying to swat Plagg away. He’d made sure of that—even if there’s nothing else in the house, Plagg has his goddamn cheese.

“No cheese,” Plagg says, poking him again. “Heads up. I smell Tikki.”

Adrien’s eyes shoot open. “Shit,” he hisses.

“Yeah,” Plagg says, narrowing his eyes at his charge. “Shit is right.”

The door begins to creak open, and Adrien smells it too—cinnamon and passionfruit, Marinette’s soap and shampoo, mingling with human sweat (stress sweat specifically, he can taste that particular hormone’s cloying meatiness in the air thanks to senses bleedover), and the warm, chocolatey undertones of the Ladybug Kwami inside her purse. Adrien jerks upward on the couch, bending his spine, as his gaze locks onto the burning blue of Marinette’s eyes.

“Hey, Kitty,” she says. “I’m home.”

The cat in him wants to run to her, to tackle her, to curl up around her feet and trip her into him and tangle up in her and laugh and purr and feel her fingers on his scalp. The other cat in him wants to bolt, to hide in the back corner of the linen closet buried under the towels where it’s dark and quiet and her disappointed eyes can’t reach.

He’s not feeling very human today.

“Did you get dinner?” she says, unslinging her purse from her shoulder and dumping it gracelessly on the front table. Even after all these years, his Lady is a messy disaster of a person, her brain too occupied with the miracles she makes with charcoal and thread to remember that things have places they are supposed to go. It’s okay—he’s found he enjoys cleaning, so he’s always happy to pick up after his messy genius.

Except lately he hasn’t been. He... can’t.

Marinette turns to him, and her eyes soften. “Adrien,” she says, kneeling down next to him, “you promised me you’d go out today.”

He buries his face in the pillow—can’t bear to meet her eyes. “I did,” he mumbles. “Got to the grocery store, and—and...”

“Somebody recognized you.”

“Mmhmm.”

Marinette wraps her fingers around his palm, slowly enough for him to pull away if he needs to. He doesn’t. He whimpers at her touch, at the way she still makes everything burn and shine and it’s blinding, he can’t bear her love, her forgiveness.

“Pity or blame?” she says.

“Pity,” he says, his fingers brushing the back of her hand as they twitch nervously.

“I’m sorry,” she says. He hears her shift a bit. “Tikki? Can you grab Littlebug please? Adrien needs to cuddle.”

“Of course,” Tikki chirps, and Adrien hears the zip of air breaking around the Kwami’s body as she rockets into the bedroom.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get dinner,” Adrien says, turning his face, letting the rough material of the pillow drag across his cheek. “I guess...” He breathed in, then out. “I guess we’ve got to go out?”

Marinette purses her lips and nods. “Yeah,” she says. “But we don’t have to go somewhere public.”

When Ladybug and Chat Noir alight on the balcony of Marinette’s childhood bedroom, Sabine Cheng is waiting for them, lounging on the old sunbathing chairs. “Bonsoir, pumpkin!” she says up with a lazy wave, then beams at Chat. “Hello, Adrien dear,” she says.

Chat’s chest contracts. He doesn’t deserve that look in her eyes, the affection she’s directing at him.

“Bonsoir, Maman!” Ladybug responds, kneeling down to hug her mother. “Sorry again for the late call.”

“Oh, you know your father and I are always happy to have you two,” she says. Then she stands up and reaches for a plate on the small table, piled high with cookies and cheese. “You should get comfortable,” she says. “I got food for your... Kami?”

“Kwami,” Ladybug corrects. “Tikki, spots off!”

Light zips up her body, Tikki spiraling out of her earrings.

“Nyí heó, Zen nyiúzý!” Tikki says.

Sabine bows to the tiny god. “Nyí heó, Thi mò,” she says. “You are welcome in my home.”

Tikki snorts. “Thank you!” she says. “You don’t have to be so formal.” And then, as if to prove he point, she shoves an entire chocolate chip cookie into her mouth.

Sabine stares at Tikki for a moment with something like reverence, then turns to Chat. “I have some cheese for the little cat,” she says. “You said he likes Camembert?”

Chat swallows.

And, bless her, Marinette catches his hand in her own. “You don’t have to,” she says. “Who do you want to be right now?”

He doesn’t want to be anyone right now, is the truth. He wants to take a break from being Adrien, from being Chat, from being. But he doesn’t want her to hear that.

“Yours,” he croaks. “I want to be yours.”

She smiles. “Always,” she says, flicking his bell. “No matter which face you’re wearing.”

Sabine melts.

Dinner is more than a little awkward. Adrien doesn’t really want to talk; he deflects any questions directed his way with grunts and noncommittal answers. Sabine, Marinette, and Tikki are starting to look at him in confusion and worry, while Tom keeps talking—blabbering, really—trying to fill the silence. (Plagg, meanwhile, is trying to pretend like all he cares about is gorging himself on the cheese spread in the middle of the table, but Adrien’s known him for long enough to tell that the Kwami is worried about him.)

“Adrien, sweetie,” Sabine says, “are you all right? You’ve hardly touched your food.”

Adrien despondently pushes the peas around his plate with his fork. “Yeah, I’m... fine,” he says. “Actually... I, uh, I’ll be right back. Kinda... need a smoke.”

“Use the balcony,” Marinette says, averting her eyes.

Adrien nods. He stands up, walks upstairs toward Marinette’s bedroom.

“He’s smoking now?” Sabine whispers as he presses open the trapdoor.

He stops. He shouldn’t have been able to hear her—if he’d been anyone else, he wouldn’t have. But being Chat Noir for six years had altered his physiology in more than one way; sensitive ears mean he can hear things no normal human should be able to.

“Maman, he just lost his entire family,” Marinette responds. “He needs time—”

“I was a wreck for a month when we cut Papa out of our lives,” Tom adds. “Remember?”

Adrien shakes his head and continues up to the balcony. He doesn’t want to hear the rest of this.

The cigarette lights easily this time, and he sucks in the burning smoke, searing his lungs as he looks out across the Seine toward the lights of the Eiffel Tower. It feels like the whole city is arrayed before him, and he remembers similar views—the city underwater, drowning; the hordes of kissing zombies filling the streets; the inferno, every building in the Paris wrapped in ghostly cerulean flames; the moon plummeting, crashing downward as Pegase frantically tried to evacuate the city—the way Viperion collapsed afterward, after three times as long as Aspik’s worst Second Chance experience.

All Gabriel. All Adrien. This was his family, his father, his fault. He could’ve stopped this if he’d known. If he’d bothered to look.

He doesn’t deserve Marinette. He doesn’t deserve Ladybug, or Plagg, or Tom and Sabine. He doesn’t deserve their love, their forgiveness.

He looks down to the street below, considering.

Then the trapdoor opens behind him, and he hears the familiar footfalls of his princess.

“Kitty?” she says, soft. “You okay?”

Adrien has no idea what to say.

Marinette steps forward, hugs him from behind. “Talk to me,” she says.

Adrien breathes in, staring away. “I just...” He wipes his eyes. This burden... she deserves better. He’s not sure where to start. “This is your family,” he says. That’s good. That’s safe. “I never had that.” He looks up, bathing his face in the starlight. “Even when I had Mère, she wasn’t...” He swallows. “This isn’t... I’m an intruder, you know? No matter how much your family welcomes me, I’m not a Dupain-Cheng.”

He feels Marinette inhale. “Well,” she says, rubbing her cheek against his back. “That’s easy enough to fix.”

“What?” Adrien says, weakly, barely noticing that she’s already let go of his stomach. He turns to find her on one knee, holding up a black velvet box.

She flips it open, and inside is a rose gold ring—a perfect replica of her version of the Cat Miraculous.

Adrien’s entire body locks into place.

“Adrien Graham de Vanily,” Marinette says. “You are... the kindest, most giving person I have ever known. Since the day we met, you have been by my side through the worst that the world can throw at us.” She’s smiling. She’s—she’s smiling. “It has been my honor, and my privilege, to grow alongside you, and to see you go from a brash, lonely boy into the brave and loving man you are today.” She swallows, looks away. “You are... you’re the person I trust more than...” She shakes her head. “I’m... rambling.”

Adrien can’t speak. His heart is slamming against his sternum like it’s trying to tear itself out of his chest, his hands are frozen to the table.

“Your old family was crap,” she says. “But... I want to build a new one. With you.”

He swallows, blinking away tears.

She hiccups. “Adrien Graham de Vanily,” she whispers, holding up the ring. “Will you marry me?”

Adrien breaks. “Why?” he chokes out.

Marinette’s eyes go wide, horror writing across her face. “Kitty?”

“Why do you still love me?” he sobs. “Marinette, I’m—I’m a mess!” He waves a hand, frantic. “I—I’ve barely left the apartment in weeks, I can’t sleep, I can’t get out of bed, I...” He drops to his knees, taking her hands between his. “You—you have dreams, Mari, and—and being with me will ruin them.”

She’s staring at him, horror in her eyes.

“Marinette,” he says, caressing her cheek. “Princess. You—” He chokes. “You deserve better than to have to take care of—”

“I spent six years taking care of Paris,” she interrupts. “After Hawkmoth? Looking after one self-destructive kitty cat is practically a vacation. Besides,” she says, reaching up and scritching her nails across his scalp, “you spent all those years taking care of me when I needed it.” She smiles. “That’s what you do when you’re in love.”

His breath catches in his throat. “What if—what if I never get better?” he gasps.

“You will,” Marinette says, cupping his cheeks and pressing her forehead to his. “You’re strong. You survived eighteen years living with the worst parent I’ve ever seen and you still came out kind.” She brushes his bangs out of his face. “It’s okay if you can’t believe in yourself right now—but Adrien, My Prince, I believe in you.”

Adrien collapses into Marinette’s shoulder, sobbing. “Yes,” he says. “My answer is yes.”

345 notes · View notes

blankdblank · 4 years

Text

Hobbit Soulmate Pt 37

“You’re doing it again,” Tracy said once in the set with you for your next scene post lunch you’d mostly read through while Lee continued to bask in the hype of the news of how his film was doing numbers wise. Head turned your eyes fell on her and she said, “You are sulking. Are you sleeping?”

“Ya,”

Inching closer she asked in a try to be playful tone to ease out a smile from you, “Your teddy bear miss a phone call?”

“No, Richard called and messaged twice yesterday.” Her brows arched up through a smirk and you sighed, “He hid something in the closet. Spent weeks making sure I didn’t ‘know’ anything was there under his clothes and he left and now the cubby is empty.”

Her hand planted on your arm, “Oh, like a second phone? Or something?”

“Lee said he saw him at a jewelers in town while I was in New York for my table reads.”

“Oh,” she said with tone perking up.

“And I don’t even expect gifts, but he’s gone for months away from me and he left me a sweater and I’m trying not to pout at not getting the gift he’s so terrible at hiding that he has for me, but,” after a quick sigh you said, “A gift would have been nice.”

That had Tracy giving you a hug, an action luring Lee’s gaze from across the set to you and your moment of allowing your sunken expression read across your face, “Honey bunny, maybe it’s a welcome home to England present for when you see him again. I knew he was up to something, he is terrible at hiding things from you, even my sharing I was taking you for a manicure he was ready to explode for our weekend out while he was off on those night shoots.”

“I’ll be fine, and I’ll stop sulking.” She chuckled again and rubbed your back walking with you across the fake bar for your first marks and where she could find her drink covered tray prepped and ready to go.

“If my teddy bear left the country with the chance of more than a sweater I’d be sulking too. Don’t you feel bad, besides, I don’t think I’ve seen you with more than those studs in your ears since I’ve known you. You need some bling girl.”

“I really do,” you said twisting the ring on your left ring finger of metal flowers for this role feeling the necklace cold against your skin shifting under the collar of your furry collard coat once again.

All over the news the footage of the Oscars was being replayed, namely the clip from Adrien’s award for Lead male when he forced a kiss upon Halle Berry making you bury your face in your hands. “Didn’t even ask,” Lee muttered at your shift to plop your covered face on his thigh.

On your other side Tracy said, “And you have to work with that asshole. I look forward to the press of you bashing his face in.”

Lee said, “You and me both,” rubbing your back.

Tracy, “I still don’t like him, and you have to kiss him? I wouldn’t kiss him.”

Turning your head you looked to the replay and sighed, “Certainly don’t want to, but it’s just the one scene if I can’t talk Peter out of it.”

The press certainly didn’t help and while given the equivalent of a wag of the finger Adrien celebrated the win as the youngest male to ever receive it for Lead Male. Three days after his ride of that press wave and interview circuit the truth came crashing down to news of who was hired to play Ann Darrow. One sigh was his response to the question from a photographer on his path out and about for what he thought of the news only doubling down the urge to break down the actor’s resolve to loathe your being part of the franchise at his side.

“Fifteen bucks, you are telling me you bought those for fifteen bucks?!” Chris all but shouted when his brother displayed the rings upon their arrival at his home from the airport.

Richard just had to show someone and figured Chris would be the best ally in this as he had helped him patch things up with you every time he flubbed things. “I bought the cabinet I found them in, and,”

“Oh I heard that part. Still don’t get how the pair of you can luck into that. These are incredible, I mean she certainly deserves this ring. Just leaving the question,”

“Don’t ask me when, Joe loves the ring and knows I have it, I just have no bloody clue when I could possibly hand it over. And I’ve had it for weeks with her out in Canada and the only time I could actually get it on her finger was when she was asleep. How the hell am I supposed to find some mysterious ‘perfect’ way to ask her when she’s conscious to marry me?! You know me!”

Chris nodded and said, “You got a point,” turning his head, “I idea list, that’s what we can do!” Crossing the room to fetch a notepad and pen.

Five episodes on Ultimate Force to the infidelity casual Cold Feet role the slump of one kiss after another not feeling right or orders to strip and redress again and again for those not you only deepened for Richard while growing ready for his next role. A tv mini series called Between the Sheets, another unfaithful role and one with the biggest drama and to his impression depth to the character also doubled for his most sexual. From a faked blow job to his several love scenes with the lead female to whom his character was married worry seemed to bubble up concerning what impressions would be once it aired. All the way from his parents to you and friends who might think it was the wrong choice of roles. Calls to you however seemed to bolster his hopes you might like it and not be jealous or upset of his behavior with another.

“Today was odd,” he sighed through the line on his phone call to you.

“Oh I think whatever it was it will be amazing.” You teased back mid swipe of your sponge over the dish you were cleaning with phone pressed to your shoulder.

“My co-star raked her nails across my butt cheeks, at least the sex scenes and my arrest are over with, now I just have my breakdown scene where I reveal my infidelity.”

“I’m beginning to think there’s a pattern growing in your roles, dying and dirty deeds.”

Lowly he chuckled, “Well I do play a good villain.”

“Oh psh, you wouldn’t hurt a paper swan.” Making his smile creep wider imagining your smile and what you might be wearing, “I am glad you will have tons of work coming out so we can have some more parties for you. I do love celebrating you Richy Bear.”

“I love you,” he hummed smile locked wider at the nickname knowing the smirk you always had when you said it. “Can’t wait for you to be back here. How’s the show?”

“Uh, tad bit insensitive and a touch racist but it’s certainly unique for a resume. Spring scenes should be better, even have that kid from Disney, Spenser something, has a spot on the show. I get to pin him to a wall.”

“Sounds like fun, I know it will be fantastic with you in it.”

“Either way I just can’t wait for it to be out already. It’s the waiting that will end me, ’05 is when it’s coming out, same as Kong but a few months earlier, over a year, Lee waited nearly three for his film.”

“We’ll just have to keep you distracted then won’t we?”

“Oh really now? And just how will you do that?” You asked drying your hands at the end of the dishes heading to your couch to lounge for the rest of the call feeling his smirk through the line.

Another month hadn’t seemed to help things on that front with questions still lingering on how you could morph from one lead role to the next. Re-using your playful purple low dipping dress alone on Valentines Day you sat in the town car sent for you with hands interlocked on your lap waiting for this film to just be over. Eyes shut you forced yourself to relax in this communication lull of a supposed to be romantic holiday where you still had no bling to show off.

Brad and JLo fresh off their engagement alongside Jennifer Garner with a hopeful relationship on the horizon only made things worse on your painfully throbbing heart. Colin Farrell however seemed to save the day for you latching onto your bare side for the whole of the carpet at your reaching his location and even in the flash of the $1 Million triple pink diamond engagement ring on JLo’s finger made you grateful for the instant carpet buddy eager to catch up with you and hear about what you were up to in Canada after having seen your film twice now. Alone however your seat was bumped back to the row of extras who shared your curiosity on how little you would be fleeting across the screen of this film. Loud and boisterous at the club they had chosen for the after party the crowd helped in your slip out of the venue to hail a cab home to yet another empty apartment. Stretched out across your bed to wait for the time to leave and catch your flight to England where a late romantic morning bagel might help to make up for how you feel right now.

Right off your feet into a tight hug you were lifted. Still in your dress with Richard’s sweater and your coat over the dress hinting that you had to leave the party to make your flight in a rush down to the tall heels you had to take off for most of the day long flight. Already outside the cameras snapped away ready to spread that assumption when, post loving kiss, Richard took hold of your suitcase and duffel bag murmuring sweetly, “You bought a second bag.”

“Yes, seems I have picked up more clothes recently, and the shoes I got with the Jens didn’t help either.”

“I am just glad you have more things, I wasn’t fond of all your things fitting in one bag alone.” Leaning in he pressed another kiss to your forehead, “Let’s get you home, got a nice breakfast planned for you and day of relaxing before our table read tomorrow.”

Waiting on the set table a stuffed rhino sat beside a candle holder, around its head in a crown of sorts rested a silver bracelet with five round emeralds. “Happy late Valentines, they were out of roses,” he hummed lifting the bracelet that around the wrist he raised to lovingly secure it. Awkwardly a grin split across your face in the press of his lips to your palm and knuckles afterwards.

“It’s really beautiful, perfect gift, thank you, and I love the rhino too.” Spreading his own smile as you added, “My dad tell you I love emeralds?”

“Might have mentioned it,” he hummed back, “Sadly it was that one or some large joined bangle type design a bit too flashy I think for subway wearing for you to feel safe.”

“You would be right in that, bangles drive me a bit crazy too, have to wear some for the show. Thank you, really,” you said crashing into his chest for a tight hug he melted into holding you close to your murmur of, “Don’t know how you managed to keep this a secret so long.”

To himself he chuckled easing his arms more across your back, “Nearly killed me. I hate secrets from you.” His smile easing out more at your shift closer to his chest unaware of the much bigger jeweled secret hidden in his house Chris had aided in finding the least conspicuous place to put the rings. Time apart was shared in the joint task of fixing up a breakfast cuddled through and after. Lunch again was alone however supper happened to be part of a potluck ambush from the Armitage brood here to welcome you back again and plan out more time together.

Back in sweaters, boots and jeans you and Richard were off for the day. Hand in hand through the building you were directed to you arrived at the desk outside the appointed room where a smiling aid showed you both inside the lounge filled with couches and armchairs facing inwards towards the rug coated area in the center clearly for acting out the scenes if need be with named binders on each cushion. Tucked in one of the loveseats you and Richard were assigned your spots nearest to the director and with her darting off to fetch you some tea the binders were lifted to allow you to settle in. With a bashful grin between you at being the only ones here so far. “I think we might be a bit too early.”

“No such thing,” he hummed smiling at you then to the door as it opened again.

Through it Anna Martin, playing Bessy Higgins came through the door with a relieved sigh, “Not too late then, got stuck in that roundabout, vans wouldn’t let me over, Anna,” she said crossing the room with hand extended shaking Richard’s hand first in his quicker pop up then yours.

“Richard,”

“Jaqi, hi.” Releasing her hand to say, “Bessie, right?”

“Yes, I could have sworn you were British, but I must have seen you with several accents in your work.”

Richard chuckled, “Halfway at least by our math.”

“I do spend a good bit of the year here had tons of time to pick up the accents.”

Kay Lyon was next beside Brendan Coyle, playing Mary and Nicholas Higgins with the latter muttering about the same roundabout then joined in on the introductions. Brian Protheroe was next for Mr Bell followed by the two Thorntons finishing up Richard’s on screen family, Sinéad Cusack and Joy Joyner. Tim Pigott-Smith, Pauline Quirke, Lesley Manville, Rupert Evans filled in your family, Richard, Dixon, Maria and Frederick for the Hale household. For the Lennox brood Travis Oliver, John Light and Emma Ferguson were to be the captain, Henry and Edith. Jane Booker for Mrs Shaw led in the Boucher brood played by William Houston, Caroline Pegg and Spencer Wild. Seats filled one by one and with tea handed out the Director smiled taking their seat beginning their welcoming speech to open the first scene when the work was to get going.

One week this room was your daily stop with the floors below used to help each of you with your first fittings for your outfits through the show. Hair and makeup tests were next and surprised by the stretch of your curls a lovely few choices to pick from the team loved with ample spots for your unruliest of curls to slip out and dangle around your head gracefully helping with the scenes you would be playing exhaustion. Playful twists at Richard’s side fluffed and twirled your skirts luring the blushing grin from the top hat wearing brooder formerly scowling in focus while apart from you. Clearly the brooding surly side to John he had down, for everyone else it was how Richard looked at you adoringly between speaking to others that melted doubts on how convincing the blossoming love would show on screen.

Broken hearts came first, amid the drama of the brewing strike ready to bubble over courting another woman and pained glares came from Richard. Curt interactions and gruff inquiries and responses out of John to Margaret while he meant to uncover why she was not choosing to share her troubles with him. This was post betrayal when he deemed her to have been free with showing affections to some mystery man you’d yet to film yet, starting right in the pain of it all to bubble out to both the beginning and end while the country turned greener again when Spring came back around. Some might have imagined it to be rough to split from that harsh contrast, those who did not notice each teasing smile or face from you tearing a chuckle filled smile from Richard between the blush inducing pecks you stole on toe top pecks on his nose with each hushed argument.

The darkest of scowls came on the day the strike would break and if you hadn’t stayed close to show how much of a teddy bear Richard was the other men, especially Boucher who ‘threw’ the stone to knock Margaret unconscious in front of the mob in her try to save John from the harm’s way she pushed him into. Five takes of the brewing stress came with ease after the first try to see Richard not jump the rail and rush to throttle the actor. A rubber stone by a staff member above on a camera platform who lined up the toss to hit the spot a hidden makeup artist would sneak out once you’d done the collapse take enough times to play out the sprawled position for the streak of blood along your hairline. A task filled with hushed giggles from you until action was called again for Richard to lift you up and carry you inside again.

From this the next week would be scenes apart to meet up at the wardrobe building on the way to supper. The depression of the winter months and hardships of the funeral scenes bubbled to just one. In the midst of filming the scenes of the Hales arrival to Milton giggles slipped out between jokes traded between you and the female cast members who had been buried and still showed up to work still. Hints of green on the first flowering bushes outside had Richard smiling knowing that the romantic ending was coming up along with that devastating refusal or marriage for John he hoped to be the only time he would get a refusal to a proposal from you. He never had the thought pop into his head before, there wasn’t a reason for you to refuse to marry him. True it’d just been a slightly teasing glimmer in the distance with close friends and relatives but forever was his goal and to his own mind he had made that apparent. Now the question had bubbled up again of how.

Brendan smirking in your latest break between sets inched over in the gentle blow you gave to the steaming tea helping to warm you up on the nippy end to winter. “You are actually adorable you know.” Having caught Richard’s stolen kiss on his way to head to his office for more scenes post street interaction with you.

Smiling up at him you said mid giggle, “Thank you, you are quite adorable yourself.”

Deeply he chuckled to himself and said, “I have to admit I was a bit intrigued to see how things would go between the pair of you with all that press around you and that brunette out in Canada.”

“Oh,” you said lowering your mug to let it cool accepting help from one of the aids taking your shawl to shake the fake cotton off the back of it, “That’s Lee, my best friend from Drama School, out in Canada we’re on a show together picking back up in the end of Spring.”

Anna who’d snuck up said, “That’s good to hear, you do make a perfect couple. Some guys I know would be up in arms over a flub like that.”

That had you giggle after another blow on your tea, “Well he knows Lee, we’re all good friends so I think that’s part of it. Plus he is a tad amused that he’s been called my Boy Toy,” making the pair chuckle as you giggled again, “We’ve gotten used to long distance and I suppose it really comes down to trust issues for guys, hell even one of the women on set, another of my former classmates who I’m rumored with. All just fluff, even they get giggles out of it.”

Brendan asked, “Boy Toy? They really looked at him and picked that?”

“Exactly his amusement. At least he didn’t take it as a demotion from Partner, just let them make up their own stories.”

On his own the title had been used by Brendan between takes with his scenes with Richard luring a blushing laugh from the lanky man meant to be towering over him helping to ease the tension from their scene, one of many of their battles of wills. By far helping to improve a friendship of sorts with one of his scene partners he spent the longest with aside from his fake family.

It was a Monday, like any other, but the big day had come, the day John’s heart and trust would shatter in Margaret and be seen with another man at night un-chaperoned in a loving embrace. The start of a trio of night shifts on the set had come and let Richard sneak in his plan. “Be right at the car, forgot my notepad.”

“Ok,” you said stepping out of the front door with his keys in hand, “I’ll start the car,” wiping your eyes still half asleep nothing seemed to be off in Richard’s double back to grab something, just what he needed. Post peek out the curtain on the window by the door he turned shifting the coat tucked in his arm hurrying to the spare bed. Off the top shelf high above where you could reach he pulled the two now wrapped ring boxes with notes on them. The one with the note for you he left in the center of the table with the second he settled in the cupboard above the fridge you wouldn’t bump into. Off the counter he grabbed the notepad tucking that under his arm to go and join your no doubt napping self already waiting for him in the car.

Betrayal was swiftly followed by refusal, in the brighter gray of the morning once the proposal turned argument with him storming right out of the set was the beginning and end of your shift. Ready to be out of your corset tears were close coming to blurring your vision for how emotional these scenes were and what you had to draw from to get to the reactions required. Out from the men’s wardrobe room eyes had shifted over Richard at his own anxious shuffling his way through getting dressed again and out to the hall to meet up to head home.

Awkward silence seemed to fall over the car between stops to pick up lunch from a fancier eatery than you frequented paired with a bottle of wine from there to go with the dinner. All the scents of the meal had you glancing over at Richard who glanced back with a flash of a wide smile then looked away again. “I think it went well today.” You squeaked out and he looked back with another smile.

“Everyone loved it. Yes, I think we really did the argument and the suspicion behind Frederick fleeing justice. Now we just have to do the hiding period where John can’t come inside only heightening things before the trips away to film the whole convention portion.”

“Ya, then we just have to kill off Mr Hale and do the whole Southern scenes before the big reunion scene at the station. Then I think it’s just more meddling from Mr Bell, right?”

“Yes, and your face off with John’s mother at the empty mill after my goodbye from Nicholas.” Again he looked you over asking, “You are enjoying this film?”

“Oh ya, no question about it. I mean I do miss the actual mental play by play from the book, especially John’s,” making him smirk at your hand tapping his arm, “You do impeccable with subtle things it’s just, I love the words it makes him so much more adorably soppy compared to his rough shell.”

“I get that,” he hummed back patting his hand on your knee not ready to take your hand to give away his thundering pulse. “I do love Margaret’s words over her own swooning. Plus I do miss the private moment where he clings to her after being struck in the head.”

A twinge more of the awkward was gone at his hand moving from the shifter to stroke his fingertips across your knee drawing shapes to distract himself ready to no longer have to live without the weight of that ring on his finger. This would be bold, insisting on wearing his ring as well for his own engagement ring and most likely could explode on the news when the press would catch onto the matching rings and assume that you had already run off and eloped. Which could be more likely in the next slew of auditions and the magazine spread you were to film that Peter had set up to your schedule for the cast of King Kong with another for you and Richard around the Beast of Bards film and its progress so far in theaters. But that all came after his having to ask the question.

You did as you always did, taking the bag of food while he grabbed the wine, sturdier hands when it came to glass he followed you inside. With a smirk he failed to hold back right across his face hidden by his turn to lock the door saying practically in a hum, “If you’ll set out the food I’ll pop the wine.”

Behind you he crept smiling wider on your path to the table, inside the kitchen he set the wine bag down leaving his coat beside it to sneak the cupboard open to grab the wrapped box he palmed. His eyes fixed on your back for full view of the pause you took eyeing the box on the center of the table beside the candleholder you didn’t notice he’d put out the night before along with the special table setting. Carefully the bag was set down and to the box you moved lifting the indigo ribbon wrapped box with white paper coated in blue floral outlines and a note. ‘Give me to Richy Bear.’ A heart was drawn beside the words and lifting the box that adorable puzzled smirk he loved spread across your face.

Nice and confused into the kitchen you walked finding him looking you over, smile split free as you held out the box, “This is for you?”

“Thank you, trade you, my Dearest Love.” He said accepting his box for the one in his hand identically wrapped. ‘I pick the wine, you chose the spoons, My Dearest Love.’

Watching him your eyes narrowed with hold of the puzzling box while he eased the ribbon off his to pull the side of the paper off. His smile wide in his glance up to say, “Don’t wait for me,” back to the box in your hands your eyes dropped and with your free hand the end of the ribbon was undone to set aside with the note left on the counter. Out of the side of the folded paper you eyed the box inside keeping the lid side upright unwrapping the rest of the paper set aside too.

Upon opening his wrapping paper Richard blinked eyeing the message that was meant to be on your box alone Chris must have written across both. ‘Marry Me?’ Lifting the lid he flashed your way he hummed out in a means to pretend this was planned, “Of course I’ll marry you!” Instantly your eyes shot up and the distance was closed while you read the lid he was holding. Eyes eased shut for a lingering kiss that in the thunder of your heart almost had your knees give out.

In the pull back his eyes dropped to your box reading the same message that your free hand moved to take the lid off in his silent hint, the smile inducing rock inside found you gently reaching in with your fingers to ease it out. A task taken slower in noticing the top lifting up while he dangled his pouch from around his thumb. Richard smiled taking the box away to let you hold the geode box you eased open revealing a velvet pouch.

You must have skipped a second because in the view of the box Richard appeared in your view now on his knee with hands tenderly folded around your wrist making shapes in your skin asking, “Will you go on this adventure with me?”

“I love adventures,” you wisped out making his smile split wider.

“Well then open the pouch.” He hummed with eyes following your hand in his timid rise hoping he was doing this all perfect for you to look back on for years to come in claiming the geode box when you lifted the pouch.

Wide eyed you gawked at the ring, “You did not buy this!”

Your eyes met his and he shook his head, “Nope, you did.”

“Oh really? And how did I do that?” You asked with an instant playful challenging smirk to his deepening smile.

“I didn’t hunt down the old owner of that cabinet over some pens and a music box.” He drew out his ring showing you that one while sharing, “Hercule thought he lost these rings in that house fire. The geode box was inside that cabinet and that contract I told you about was about these rings. They were scuffed up and I took them to get cleaned and appraised.”

“Rich, how much is this ring?”

“No less than you deserve.” Your lips parted and he smiled saying, “They both have spoon engraved inside.” Again your smile split awkwardly out across your face.

“That’s why you wrote that note on mine, like their story.”

“Exactly,” he wet his lips and reached for the ring on your palm along with your left hand, purring, “You don’t want to wear it?”

“Rich you didn’t have to buy me a ring.”

“Yes I did, I wanted a ring! Be rude not to get you one to match.”

“Will it even fit? It’s huge.”

“It fits, you nearly didn’t give it back when I tried it on your finger.” He said easing it back onto your finger with eyes shining brightly as he did to your gasp.

“Where was I when that happened?”

“Sleeping,” he chuckled leaning in to kiss you again, just melting around you at the loop of your arms around his neck for the celebratory embrace lasting even after the kiss had ended, for a close eyed hug to cling to one another.

“I would have woken up if you put this on me.”

That made him chuckle into your shoulder, “You almost did, rolled over burying your hand into the pillow. You like it?” He murmured inching back to see your face.

“I love it, it’s still huge though.” In front of you he dangled his pouch that you smirked in accepting, “This is your ring?”

He nodded and said, “Which I plan on wearing.”

“Today?” You asked with a smile and he nodded.

“Right here, right now and every day from here out. You bought it for me and I intend on boasting endlessly.” Once out of the pouch this ring widened your eyes as well and he lifted his hand saying, “They’re absurdly big compared to what I could have afforded until Bard is out of theaters. But you have to admit, fifteen bucks for these second hand suits us.” Up his finger the ring slid and came to rest and he said, “If you must know, both are 24 karat white gold. My center emerald is seven carats and the onyx and diamonds are a half a carat each. While your emerald is eight carats and the diamonds and smaller emeralds are one carat each. That’s all I’m telling you about them, other than the jewelers I went to said when you want we could go there to design your wedding band, on which I was clueless.” He looked you over in your moment of pause, “What are you thinking for bands?”

“Well, my cousin we went to her wedding,” which he nodded at remembering the ceremony at the courthouse and party on the family land while you were filming Elektra before her husband shipped out so he could leave her charge of his property that wouldn’t go to his family. “She picked one of those eternity bands with hearts, I did like that design.”

His grin eased out again, “That sounds beautiful.”

“Though hers was nearly three grand,”

“Don’t you worry about the price. I have money saved up, money is not an issue.” His hands eased on your hips to draw you closer to his chest, “I know getting through school was so difficult, I’ve been scraping by too for a decade before I had even met you finding what I loved. I will always do my best to ensure that we have a solid financial footing, and I do know you are getting paid crazy amounts of money for your roles. Even if I never get another check like off of Bards, I will be here, and I will never use that as any sort of,” he sighed and said after wetting his lips. “I am so proud of you, and where some men may feel they have to be the bread winner even if you out earn me I will never let that get between us. And I will do all I can to make you not feel like you can’t depend on me to help fund our lives.”

“I never thought that. I would never.”

“I know, but it may come up for others, I couldn’t afford this ring on my own if not for having found it, but I do hope one day comfortably I might be able to afford one half as much as this without worry on bills around it once this Bard money is gone. So you pick the band you want and we’ll get it for you. If it helps your dad loves the rings.”

“How did you show him?”

“Sent him a picture when I got them cleaned. And I bet you he’s shown them around.”

“No wonder his voice has been squeaking, you made him wait months! And where the hell did you get that geode box?”

He chuckled again, “They were both in the geode box, they were scuffed up from it when I found it, so that’s why I left yours in the pouch. I’m gonna open the wine.”

“Right,” you said breaking your smile up at him, “Food,” you said turning back to setting the table for the start of the rest of the romantic evening until it was bedtime. Calls to family put a lot of people out of their joint misery and kicking the plans into a slow grind for what and when you might want a ceremony to be. And in cleaning up came the start of an adorable habit where you would tap his side or arm to say with a smile, “We’re getting married,” or “Fiancé,” always splitting a massive smile across his face in his move to scoop you up for a loving kiss and tons of cuddles.

That evening for another shoot however you stood looking at your ring through cooking before heading out, “We wear them to work, right? I mean we have those lockers, they seem pretty sturdy with cameras.”

“Other actors wear jewelry to work, we will be safe wearing them.”

The fact proven to be true from the sight of the new rings security took mental notes to mark you among the cast working with jewelry to have that locker room under surveillance ensuring that it remained off limits to those not assigned there. Cameras stationed outside the studio however with view of the parking garage on the way in and out honed in on the new sparkle on your finger mirrored by his in a wave to them upped the shadows on the path out the morning after.

Pt 38

Hobbit – Soulmate - @evyiione, @deepestfirefun, @rhaenaatargaryen, @anastasialovers

X all Rich. A - @abiwim, @deepestfirefun, @thestorybookmistress

X Lee P - @tigereyesf

All –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore, @mariannetora, @shes-a-killer-kween, @ggbbhehe4455

#Pouting #Premier #Time Apart #Sharing of Plans #North and South Filming #Time in England #Living Together Again #The Proposal #Richard Armitage x Reader OC

5 notes · View notes

alwaysanotherrainbow · 4 years

Text

silent, quiet, yet so loud

When the Duke has to explain his thoughts or his love, sometimes words are not enough. The best he can do is explain it like he experiences it.

Notes: A fic title suggested by the lovely remromfantasies! This is a very experimental fic, so hopefully it works.

ship: remrom

characters: remus and roman, and then thomas and deceit mentioned

warnings: remus-typical violent stuff (nothing worse than in the ep), intrusive thoughts about harm. Second person. angst with a happy ending, heavy depiction of self-doubt

Secondary warnings include: bug mention, fears of friends leaving, food/drink mention, blood mention (let me know if you need anything in the secondaries edited out and I can post a version for you!)

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

Morning starts for you at noon. Your face is pressed up against the satin sheets, your voice mumbling something about chainsaws and expensive ways to make your life worse. When you come to, it’s not all at once. Your consciousness settles in the base of your throat, like if you just say a few words or yawn, you’ll black out again.

The Duke never sleeps, some people in the Imagination say. Well, it’s not true. You sleep in late and stay up late. Live fast.

Your fellow Creativity, your boyfriend... is it easier to just go with ‘your love’? Either way, he’s left a note. You read it, a smile crossing your face, butterflies entering your stomach like... like moths gnawing at...

Look, pleasant metaphors aren’t really your strong suit.

You change out of your clothes, sighing when you look in the mirror and take off the makeup before jumping into the shower. Once you’re done, you snap back into your usual things before crossing into the common area and starting your work.

Roman is busy working on a project, and you’re busy feeding Thomas truths. At his worst, Deceit speaks in lies-- at your worst, you speak in sharp truths-- Virgil used to take truths and make them into lies. Perfect triad. Now, you’re a bit imbalanced.

However, when a friend of Thomas might be claiming one of his ideas...

Deceit says to take what’s yours. And you say back with a grin: Thomas, it’d be so much more fun to burn that bridge!

Angel on his shoulder. Imp and nymph.

Which is which, you have no idea, but either way, Thomas comes up with a solution entirely his own.

He suggests talking to the friend firmly and letting them know how he feels, and you both concede. It’s an elegant solution, though you and Dee agree that it’d be so much more fun to simply push them down the stairs.

It turned out to be an accident, but it’d still be more fun to push ‘em.

You two overlap more than you’d like.

After that’s over and done with, you and Deceit share a few strands of conversation. You two are different, the kind of different that should hate each other but gets along just fine. You both don’t mind hurting someone else to help Thomas. You both care more about what you can do for him rather than what he thinks of you. You both gave him your name so that he would trust you.

(Does he hate you for giving it up so easily?)

Deceit’s patch is sewn on sloppily... Usually, he wouldn’t allow that. Maybe one of the other Sides stitched it on for him, or it fell off? Either way, strands of gold hold his emblem to his heart, hidden under his cape but still there. Like him. Hidden but there.

Notably, you don’t wear your emblem anywhere on you. You’d rather it not be hidden.

You’d rather there be nothing to hide.

Well, why? Not like you can lie, you think as you gaze at Thomas. You’d never hide anything from anyone.

That’s the problem. You’re afraid of what that means. You’re afraid that he’ll hate you if he realizes. He’s a myriad of everything right and good and you aren’t that. There’s a reason your emblem portrays night. (long dark night of the soul--?) Hidden. A tower-- duke in distress? Distress. Help. I’m not right. Not ready for you, not ready to love someone. Think I’m doing good enough? My heart is hurting. I’m not doing okay.

Well, Roman certainly thinks you’re doing okay. That’s not nothing.

You sigh and take a pull from your glass of juice. He made it for you. Of course he did.

It’s your favorite kind.

It is dead silent, and everything is so loud.

You pass by him in the hallway. His eyes pierce you, the same way they have since the Split, and he smiles as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking. You shudder, and his smile fades.

He says something you can’t understand.

You nod.

And you walk along.

What if he hates you?

What if he doesn’t? Look at him, so precious and perfect, like a noun.

Like a noun? Creativity, what’s with you?

Look, pleasant similes are tough. What am I supposed to call him? I can’t describe him with negative stuff, and all I can think about is negative stuff right now. Not forever. Just right now.

You speak in loose thoughts sometimes, and it’s all you can do to make things make sense. You criticize each idea as it passes through your mind. I am this, he is that. Fish on a boardwalk, what if you killed your brother, what if they don’t like you, et cetera. What if Thomas doesn’t like you, what if he doesn’t, are you really ready for anyone--

Roman drops his papers.

Before you can really register what you’re doing, you’re on your knees and picking them up. He makes a comment about there being blood in your hair, and you remember what you did on your dinner break, going out to fight some creature instead of eating. You live for that sort of thing.

He smiles at you. God, he’s cute.

You smile back.

7 PM, now. Time to go party. This time, however, you have a guest.

Roman stands in the doorway. He’s wearing his royal regalia, while you’re in your party wear. He dives in for a kiss, you indulge him, and then you go in for the dancing.

He asks you how your day was before you go into the room, but you can feel the thump thump thump of the bass in your heart. Is that normal? Will your heart stop right now? You shake the thought away, bad thoughts bad thoughts bad thoughts.

(What are you, if not bad thoughts--?)

You’re the Duke, he once told you. Depravity, taboo, chaos. Revolution. Apparently your eyes sparkle like emeralds, or something. Apparently your smile brings down the room, apparently your wit and charm rivals even the most distinguished Casanova, and your mere presence and personality makes people happy. It makes you happy the way you are.

Most days, that’s true.

Most days, you believe it.

You take a deep breath in, look at your black nail polish, and you find it within you to believe it today, too.

You take his hand and guide him into the party room, explaining some things or other. Your high heels click on the tile floor. The figments of the imagination that populate your duchy (ducky! Ha! No, seriously, it’s like a duke’s kingdom) greet him warmly, and he still carries that regal presence even as he grabs your hand and you dance to his favorite songs.

Then your favorites.

Everything dissolves in a sea of neon lights and sequins. The bass-thump is your heartbeat, his hand on yours provides your bearings, you’re a sailor in a sea of emotion and fun and dance. As you stomp your feet and go limp when he spins you, you laugh, because with every bit of movement, the impossible to describe atmosphere gets added to more and more.

Spinning in cyan, lime green, profound blue, crimson (as crimson as glowing lights can get, anyway), he is beautiful. He’s having the time of his life. Eventually, however, the atmosphere begins to slow down. You’re done, and he’s tired.

It’s like a fuse that burns out.

You kiss him on the cheek and gesture that it’s time for you to go. He follows.

Bed at midnight. God, it’s comically early. To him, it’s ridiculously late.

He talks about how cool the party was. You nod along.

Eventually, the topic turns to how you really ought to take your makeup off now, and you go and clean up. You change into pajamas. You don’t usually, but hey! He got you the pair! There are little octopodes (...octopi? octopuses?)… er, sea creatures on them.

You go back into bed and nuzzle up to him. He’s warm. He takes a deep breath in, out, in, and you nuzzle closer. Never close enough. What are you even hoping for?

Well, actually. You have everything that you’ve hoped for.

He asks if you’re feeling okay. You nod.

He asks if you’re sure. You shrug.

He asks if you need to talk, and you say yes, but not tonight. Tonight is just calm, like this. Nice equilibrium. In the morning... in the morning, maybe. Roman accepts this, giving a little nod.

He starts off a sentence, and then the illusion that lasted all day breaks. Something deep in you tells you that he cares.

He looks at you-- you who’s cried all your mascara off, you who’s come up with enough filthy thoughts to land anyone else in permanent ill favor.

He asks if you’re okay.

You tell him of course, that you just didn’t talk much today. You dive in for a kiss.

In his crimson eyes, you see something, and you begin to understand.

He sees you. He knows that you love him, love life, and maybe might love yourself one day. Even if something happened, you’d be okay, because you’re strong. You made it through today, even though it wasn’t very nice, and even if he wasn’t here, you’d make it through again.

Right now, he is here.

“I love you,” he says to you, and when you hug him back and whisper “I love you, too,” you understand how silence can be so loud.

It’s not so loud anymore.

#remrom #my fics #I am very proud of this

22 notes · View notes

yourdeepestfathoms · 5 years

Text

We’re Just Human (part four)

TW: Emetophobia

———————

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

Getting beheaded and watching someone get beheaded were two different traumas entirely, with the latter being just as bad as the former, which is probably why mirror girl is still blubbering fearfully in the bathroom even after half an hour of attempted persuasion to get her to calm down.

It’s the same thing every time: One of the queens tries to talk to her, she just says “no” over and over again, they try to open the door, she throws a chunk of glass at them. She was being completely uncooperative, not that anyone could blame her after she seemingly was reborn from an exploding mirror, but it still put the entire house on-edge. Katherine was getting overwhelmed by all the screaming; Parr was barely able to think straight over the commotion; Cleves had a terrible headache from it all; Maria was frightened, which in turn made Aragon uneasy and worried for her; Jane was grasping at nothing to try and help the poor girl; and Anne was pacing very anxiously. Seeing her bite her nails down to the quicks was a little strange for her to do, to say the least. Very out-of-character for her.

“I can’t take it anymore!” Anne suddenly exploded. “Jane, you gotta let me talk to her.”

“She’s going to freak out further.” Jane said.

“No offense, but you’re one of the reasons I got taken away from her. I think it’s a fair amount of panic that we will both induce, but at least she knows I’ll never hurt her.” Anne argued. “Please.” Tears are welling up in her eyes before she can even think to stop them. “I need to see her.”

“Let her, Jane.” Aragon said. She’s holding Maria close to her. “She deserves to see her again.”

Jane looked at the golden queen, then the emerald queen, and then nodded. She slowly cracked open the door and winced when another piece of glass smashes against it, but Anne doesn’t seem to be phased. She quickly slips inside and turns to her former lady in waiting, best friend, and younger sister figure.

Maggie, who looks to be around twenty, is huddled in the corner, making herself as small as possible. Her brown hair is in complete disarray and sparkling with tiny shards of glass that sprinkle her head like razor sharp snowflakes. Her moon blue eyes are so wide and glassy that Anne swore she could see her reflection in them. Blood is oozing from cuts scattered along her body from when the mirror broke and it’s causing her obvious discomfort, but she seems too wrapped up in her own terror to try and stem the bleeding. When Anne steps inside, that terror only gets worse and she spirals into a full blown panic attack.

“No!!” Maggie shrieked before Anne can even get a word out. “Get away! Get away from me!!”

Hurt flashes in Anne’s eyes. “Maggie...it’s me. It’s Annie.”

“I know who you are, spirit.” Maggie spat out, her voice loaded with venom. Despite the poison she coats her words with, her physical demeanor is nowhere near as powerful as her verbal one and she just curls further into her corner, hugging her knees tightly. There’s a shard of glass clutched tightly in her hand. “I’ve seen you before. You were there when I died and you’ve been taunting me since.”

Suddenly, it all made sense.

“Oh, Maggie...” Anne muttered. She wondered if her dear friend was seeing her headless and bloody right now. “Maggie, I’m real.”

“That’s what you always say.” Maggie hissed, but her voice becomes hollow halfway through the sentence. She loses her aggressive touch and falls back into her terrified state of mind. “And I- I believed you at first, but then you disappeared each time I tried to touch you. You kept leaving me, just like before.”

Anne feels her heart break at those words. She steps closer, which makes Maggie tense up.

“Maggie, you gotta believe me.” She tried again. “I’m real. I’m here with you again.”

Maggie sobbed and shook her head. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

“What do you want?” She whispered. “Is this revenge?” She struggles to breathe for a moment, choking on her own panic and causing Anne to dart down to her side. She stares fearfully at her. “I’m sorry I didn’t save you. I-I tried. I tried to talk to Henry, really! P-please believe me...”

“I do.” Anne said. “Of course I believe you. But it wasn’t your fault I died. It was my own.”

Maggie shook her head frantically. “No- no-! I could have done something. I-I could have—” She breaks off into sobs and buries her face in her knees.

Anne couldn’t bear to watch her best friend- her little sister break down like this. Without thinking, she extends a hand and sets it on Maggie’s shoulder.

The girl’s cries seize and she goes very still.

Slowly, Maggie raises her head. The tears on her cheeks glisten in the fluorescent lights. She stares in shock at the queen’s hand, then up at the queen herself.

“I’m here, Maggie.” Anne told her.

Maggie can’t reply, so Anne carefully takes her hand, unbuckles her choker, and guides it to her scar. Maggie’s fingers tremble against her tender neck.

“See?” Anne whispered, cupping Maggie’s cheek with her other hand. “I’m here. I’m with you.”

Maggie’s expression remains the same for several long seconds before her mouth contorts into a grimace and she whimpers. Another wave of tears stream down her cheeks. She throws herself into Anne’s arms and cries harder.

“Annie, Annie...!” She babbled tearfully. “A-Annie, y-you’re...!”

“Shh, shh,” Anne murmured to her former Lady. She began to gently rock Maggie, rubbing up and down her back. “You’re okay... Shhh, you’re okay... I’m right here.”

“I-I m-missed you so much, Annie...” Maggie choked out through gasps and wheezes.

“I missed you, too, my love,” Anne whispered to her sweetly. She pressed a kiss to the top of her head- it felt so good to do that again. “But I’m here now. And I’m not going anymore. Never again.”

Maggie can’t even form words this time and just continues to cry steadily into Anne’s chest, who holds her protectively and whispers soothing things in her ears until she eventually calms down.

Okay, well, Maggie didn’t really “calm down” she just stopped crying and having a panic attack. However, she was still very scared and anxious, especially when she stepped out of the bathroom, clinging tightly to Anne’s arms to stay upright, and saw six other women standing there. She only recognizes three of them, so the other three introduce themselves. She doesn’t really process it much, far too dazed and disoriented to do just about anything except grasp onto her queen, so Anne takes her to her bedroom to rest and clean her cuts from the glass.

That night, as the rain starts to pick up again, Anne is awoken to squirming and whimpering beside her. She looks over to see Maggie writhing in her sleep, whining softly at some unseen horror. At this, Anne immediately leaps into action and gently presses on her dear friend’s shoulders to wake her up with jarring her too much.

“Maggie,” Anne said. “Come on, Mags, it’s okay. Wake up. You’re okay.”

Maggie whimpered again, shaking her head against the pillow before her eyes suddenly snap open. She springs upwards, breathing heavily and looking around wildly before she feels the hands on her shoulders.

“A-Annie?” She choked out.

“Yeah, it’s me, Mags.” Anne said softly. “It’s me. I’m right here.”

“Y-you were...you were dying...” Maggie whispered.

Anne’s heart broke at the lasting trauma that lingers on her former Lady. She carefully wrapped Maggie up in her arms and laid back down with her, cuddling her close to her chest.

“I’m so sorry, Maggie,” Anne said. One hand began to stroke the girl’s hand. “I’m alive now. I’m here with you.”

Maggie sniffled and nodded.

“I-I know, I just...” She trailed off. “D-do we have to talk about this?”

“No, no of course not.” Anne said quickly. “You must be so tired. You are basically a newborn in this life.”

That got the tiniest of giggles out of Maggie. The sound makes Anne’s heart flutter.

“Goodnight, Mags.”

“Night, Annie...”

—

Maggie would go on to have two more nightmares that night. Both times Anne does not wake up, still fast asleep, and Maggie doesn’t bother her.

———

By morning, Maggie was absolutely exhausted. Her eyes felt dry when her heavy eyelids peeled open. She squinted in the morning light bleeding in through the window facing the bed (why would Anne place her bed there?! she’s probably blinded every morning!!) and rolled over with a sluggish moan. Her hands do a little grabby motion for Anne, wanting to cuddle for just a little longer, but she feels nothing but empty sheets.

Maggie bolts upwards.

Anne was gone.

Instantly, panic sets in and Maggie’s breathing starts to get faster. She tumbles out of the bed and down the short flight of stairs leading to the loft, looking frantically for her queen. Images of Anne’s decapitated head start to flash in her mind and she whimpers. Tears start to well up.

Anne was dead. She lost her again. She’s all alone. Anne was dead.

“Maggie?”

Maggie spun around and saw Anne standing in a doorway with her hair slightly dripping. She immediately ran to the queen and practically jumped into her arms, which causes Anne to laugh.

“Good morning to you, too.” Anne chuckled. “Sorry, I was taking a shower. I should have told you.”

“I-it’s okay.” Maggie stammered. “I-I was just...” She fidgets anxiously until Anne takes her hand and lets her feel her scar. Knowing that her best friend’s neck was still completely intact, she calmed slightly. “You, umm...you didn’t need help bathing?”

Anne blinked before laughing out loud. Maggie blinks, too. Why was she laughing? What was so funny? She tilts her head like a confused little puppy.

“Oh no, Maggie, no.” Anne wheezed out. “Honey, I can bathe on my own now.”

“Are you sure?” Maggie asked innocently and Anne titters again. She’s led into the bathroom, which is still very warm from how hot the shower had been. She watches as Anne pulls back the floral curtain to reveal a tub and a spigot near the ceiling.

“Parr said we’re all reincarnated with knowledge of the modern world.” Anne said while reaching for a faucet.

“I did,” Maggie said sheepishly. “I just don’t understand all of it.”

Anne nodded and then turned the faucet. Maggie leapt back behind her as water suddenly shot from the spigot. Anne laughs at her and her face flushes dark red.

“Stop laughing!” Maggie barked. She looked like a furious little ferret with frizzy fur.

“Sorry, sorry,” Anne said, turning off the faucet. “You are too cute.”

Maggie just huffs.

“However, you really gotta get into the swing of things.” Anne smirked widely. “It’s time for you to have lessons on the modern world!”

—

Maggie watches curiously from the couch as Anne put a rectangular device with red and blue sides into a holder of sorts on a stand. The large screen (which a voice in her head- probably the ‘modern world knowledge thing’- helpfully tells her is called a “television”) on top of the stand lights up and displays a large menu option, where dozens of colorful icons are displayed on a dark grey background. Anne walks over to her and sets the two red and blue pieces from the device (“Controllers,” The Knowledge Voice tells her) into her hands.

“This is a Switch.” Anne said.

Maggie stared down at the controllers. “Doesn’t look like a switch to me.”

Anne laughed. “No, it’s called a Switch, Mags. It’s a game console.”

After being told what exactly a game console was, Maggie nodded. Anne guides her fingers to move the joysticks and select the game with a funny little yellow creature on its icon.

“You’re gonna learn how to play Let’s Go Pikachu because you NEED to like Pokémon.” Anne stated. Maggie was only half listening, more transfixed on all the vibrant colors and that little creature bounding around the screen. Her eyes were wide and glistening in awe.

“It’s cute.” Maggie said.

“Isn’t it?” Anne said. “That’s a Pikachu.”

“Bless you.”

Anne blinked before laughing loudly. She gives Maggie a quick hug.

“Oh, I love you so much, Mags!” She kissed the top of her head before selecting English as the game’s language.

They both watched as the starting scene opens up and the Pikachu hops over to Professor Oak. Dialogue bubbles pop up and Maggie puts all her focus into reading them.

“My name is Oak,” Was one of the things said, to which Maggie replied with, “I’m Maggie.” Anne starts to laugh once again.

“He can’t hear you, sweetheart.” She said gently.

Maggie ignored her, too focused on reading. She gasped when the man on the screen suddenly produced a weird looking ball and some brown creature with a skull on its head seemed to come out of it.

“Woah!” Maggie exclaimed. Her eyes went even wider when Mr. Lab Coat and the funky little yellow thing started to walk to the side, revealing even more creatures. “They’re so cool! Annie, look!”

“I see ‘em, Mags.” Anne chuckled. “I knew you’d like this.”

“I study Pokémon as a profession,” Mr. Lab Coat’s dialogue says, so Maggie says, “That’s so cool! I was a lady in waiting!”

Anne bit her lip to keep from laughing. She quickly contained her struggle when the character creation popped up and she helped Maggie decide on what her character should look like. They eventually decide on the brown haired option, despite it lacking Maggie’s striking blue eyes.

“Now you have to name yourself.” Anne said.

“Since this obviously isn’t me, do I have to give her my name?” Maggie asked and Anne shakes her head.

“Nope! You can call her anything you want!”

“Okay,” Maggie said, and then proceeded to type in ‘Magpie’ for her character’s name. Anne snorts so hard she nose hurts.

On the screen, the yellow creature runs over to a boy with spiky hair. Maggie tilts her head at him.

“I can name him?” She asked Anne.

“Yup!”

“Woah.” Maggie’s eyes glisten with mischief. “I have so much power.”

She ends up naming the rival “Robin” to “stick with the bird theme.”

Maggie falls silent for a moment, watching the introduction close and the game open up completely. She’s absolutely enamored by the motions and movements on the screen, as well easily caught by all the pretty colors. She spends a good few moments just making her character run in circles, giggling the entire time, before finally continuing out of the house (after speaking to her rival, of course).

After going to the lab (which Anne has to guide her to), she makes her character run to some nearby grass, where she sees the professor man talking to some birds.

“That’s weird.” She commented. She perks up when that noise from earlier in the game plays from the speakers and, suddenly, the yellow creature is running at her character from the grass. “Oh! Annie, what’s going on?” She asked as the screen changes to a new setting with the creature sitting in the center of the screen.

“You’re gonna catch the Pikachu.” Anne explained. “When the ball icon pops up, click the button that says ‘Get Ready’ and then swing the controller in direction of the Pokémon.”

Maggie nodded. She did as she was told and promptly throws the controller across the room.

“No-!!” Anne cried. She jumped up and quickly went to retrieve the controller, which luckily wasn’t damaged.

“Sorry!” Maggie yelped. She hunches her shoulders in and looks down. “Sorry, Annie...”

Anne say back down beside her and nudged her gently.

“Hey, it’s okay! I did the same thing.” She said.

Maggie giggled softly that the thought of that. She tries again after Anne gave her the controller back and successfully manages to catch the Pikachu.

“Good job!” Anne praised.

Maggie is grinning brightly up until the PokéBall she caught the Pikachu in starts to move and then roll in the direction of the lab she went into earlier.

“How?” She said and Anne laughed.

“Keep playing!”

Maggie does and quickly gets to the scene where the Pikachu comes out of the PokéBall and presses its head into the character’s hand. The entire time Maggie’s eyes are wide and glimmering.

“That is so cute!!” She squealed. “Annie, I love it!”

Anne smirked proudly. “I knew you would.” She said. “Now you just gotta give it a name! Your Pikachu is a girl because of the heart shape on the tail, so-”

“French Toast.”

“What?”

“Her name is French Toast.”

—

When Friday rolled around, the house was filled with the scent of cinnamon. Maggie and Anne ventured downstairs and Maggie looks around curiously.

“What’s that smell?” Maggie asked.

Jane, who was doing something with buttered bread at the kitchen island, looked over at her with a sweet smile.

“Cinnamon.” She answered. “I’m making cinnamon toast.”

“That sounds really good.” Maggie said.

“It will be,” Anne said before guiding her to sit on the couch. The two of them converse before everyone else starts to wake up- first Cleves, then Parr, then Aragon and Maria, and finally Katherine. Anne had noticed cousin tottering slightly, looking a little disoriented, but she would let someone else handle her right now. All her attention was on Maggie, and it was going to remain that way for awhile. Her cousin could find comfort elsewhere.

Suddenly, the dark, fire-breathing sky explodes with a booming crash of thunder and lightning torches the sky. The lights flicker treacherously, like they were trying to decide whether to blow out or not, but ultimately stayed alive.

“I wonder who it’ll be this time.” Parr mused from where she was reading at the bar.

“What?” Aragon looked at her.

“Haven’t you noticed a pattern?” Part said. “Each time there’s that loud thunder and lightning, one of our old ladies in waiting appear. First there was Maria, then Maggie, now someone else.”

“That’s so cool,” Anne said. “But I’ve got all I need here.” She hugged Maggie, who snuggles into the embrace with a giggle.

“It would be nice to see my sister again,” Katherine murmured, thinking about that certain lady in waiting with a small smile on her pale lips.

“Well, Cath was right.” Cleves said, looking out the back door. “Someone’s here.”

They all go to look and see a girl sprawled in the lake that was their backyard. Thick blonde tendrils float around her head as she laid under the sheets of rain, not moving.

“Uhh... Is she even alive?” Anne said.

“Not sure.” Cleves said slowly.

“I’ll check,” Parr offered while pulling on a jacket and grabbing an umbrella. She steps outside and sloshes through the water pooling above the turf to get to the girl, who’s much younger up close. She appears to be barely older than Katherine at most.

“Hey,” Parr knelt down, shivering when cold water soaks into her pants. “Hey, are you okay?”

She gently presses on the girl’s shoulder, shaking her slightly. At first, it doesn’t do anything, but then the girl shudders and coughs. She wheezes softly as she rises up to her elbows, rocking slowly as her frail body struggles to hold its own weight, and then she coughs again before Parr can address her again. Dirt comes spewing from her mouth.

Parr is shocked as she watches the girl seemingly cough up and then fully throw up dirt, which starts to become mud when stomach acid and blood get mixed in. The water around them billows and turns red and brown and black. The girl swayed and then collapsed against Parr, struggling to breathe.

Parr snaps at out of her trace. She drops the umbrella, making a mental note to come back for it later, and gathered the girl up into her arms. It’s a lot easier to pick her up than she expected, but she could worry about that later. She quickly ran back inside, doing her best to not jostle the delicate cargo in her grasp.

“Woah-” Katherine had been saying when she burst inside, but Parr quickly cut her off.

“Something’s wrong.” She said. “She’s sick.”

“Sick?” Cleves echoed.

“Yes.” Parr swallowed thickly. She looked down at the girl’s ashen face. “She was throwing up...dirt.”

A swell of confused, curious, and shocked murmurs rose in the house. Among them, Parr noticed the disgruntled look on Jane’s face.

“I know her.” Jane said. She doesn’t seem alarmed by the news of the new girl’s illness. Perhaps she just didn’t care.

“Yeah...I think I do, too.” Anne agreed and Maggie nodded.

“Me too.” Katherine piped in.

Parr couldn’t believe how they were more transfixed on that than what she just told them. By the look on her godmother’s face, she knew she thought the same thing.

“Who is she?” Cleves asked.

“Joan Meutas.” Jane answered. “My lady in waiting.”

Katherine nodded in agreement.

“And my maid in waiting.” Anne said.

#we’re just human #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six fanfic #six the musical #catherine of aragon #anne boleyn #jane seymour #anna of cleves #katherine howard #catherine parr #maria on the drums #maggie on the guitar #joan on the keys #tw: emetophobia

40 notes · View notes

cutelittleluckysoul · 4 years

Note

Hello! I was wondering if you could do a ship for me! I can’t decide between Star Wars or Marvel so I’ll leave the decision in your very capable hands! I’m 28 with medium length blondish hair and green eyes. I’m 5’4 with a slightly athletic build. I’m a huge history nerd and it’s also how I make a living! I love binge reading during the summer and will typically stay up till 4AM to finish a book if I’m really into it. I’m an INTJ but I can be more extroverted if needed. (I’m Leo too!) Thank you!

Of course I can. You didn’t specify which Star Wars era you wanted so I tried to make all three as well as the Marvel one. I hope you like it^-^

For the Prequels I ship you with Obi Wan Kenobi

your relationship with the Jedi Master is far from easy

because of your personality type you two butt heads a lot

you don’t really care that he is a Jedi Master when he is being unreasonable

you tell him that too

other than that you two have your sweet moments of course

his favourite thing to do when he is coming back from a mission is to hug you and nuzzle his face in your hair

the man needs a hug and you are happy to provide it

he also loves to play with your hair when the both of you are cuddling in bed together or while you are reading

same goes for you, you love to play with his hair when his head is on your chest, sleeping while you read your book you can’t help but play with his soft locks

the first thing Obi fell in love with was your mind and how smart you seem to be

he can ask you basically anything about history and you can give him the answer

it can be really helpful too

he loves to hear about your passion and could listen to you for days on end

and it amazes you that he is so interested in what you have to say

more often than not you have geeked out on him and he thinks it is the cutest thing in the world but also “wow she is so intelligent” (It also turns him on sometimes because Intelligence is sexy as hell fight me)

Obi also often gets lost in your eyes because the are like emeralds or deep forests

For the Original Trilogy I ship you with Han Solo

boy oh boy there was a bang when you two met for the first time

you definitely showed him his place and honestly he liked that about you

you left quite the impression on him

he was very keen to meet you again

and when you did he flirted with you like there was no tomorrow

i confused you at first but pretty quickly got used to it

but Han didn’t really let up and somehow he was able to woo you off your feet

Han really tries to be a good partner but come on we are talking about Han Solo

he is reckless and sometimes a bit too much in love with himself

one of his fave things to do, it seems, is to frustrate you. He is being a dipshit on purpose so then when you wanna walk away angrily he holds you back and kisses you breathless and gives a half assed apology, it works most of the time

agai he loves how smart you are and it helps him whenever he is on a mission with you

tho other than Obi Wan Han will kiss you to shut you up when you talk too much

he will listen to you for some time but when he thinks you are not going to stop for another hour it is his go to move

he also teases you a lot. and I mean A LOT. The most thing he does is take your book away from you and hold it above his head so you can’t reach it. He is way to tall

it amuses him greatly when you try and get it back. Especially if you try and climb him

he always throws the book away in these situations and kisses you like there is no tomorrow (often leads to sexy time because he thinks it is hot when you are so determined)

Han isn’t much for cuddling but every time you wake up he clings to you like you might leave if he won’t

For the Sequels I ship you with Finn

the guy went through alot

he loves how calm you are whenever he is around you

he often comes to you and just sits with you while you read

Finn is actually very fond of PDA and affection in general

he missed out on those kind of things for a long time so he appreciates it even more

it is also no secret that the guy is a bit insecure so you have to reassure him from time to time

another thing is that Finn is so impressed by your intelligence. Whenever he has questions the first person he turns to is you (god knows Poe can be a bit one sided on questions and leave important things out)

he also enjoys hearing you talk about the stuff you love and is deeply interested in what you have to say and your opinions

he also smart himself in some aspects and loves to discuss certain topics as well

you have some deep late night talks with you and you two can talk until the sun rises again

you two are basically joined at the hip and the others always tease you about it but you don’t really mind, you like how close you to are

he also enjoys watching you when there is some kind of celebration for a minor victory, how your eyes sparkle when the moon shines down on you

he just loves watching you be yourself and don’t worry about the things that will be concerning you tomorrow

he is deeply in love with you

And lastly for Marvel I ship you with Steve Rogers aka Captain America

Steve lived through history so it is no wonder he fell for someone who is such a history nerd such as yourself

you are also able to tell him about the events that he missed while he was frozen in ice

he also enjoys when he comes home from a tiring mission and sees you still awake because you are reading

he just lays down with his head on your stomach and falls asleep and lets you continue to read

Steve is a giant teddy bear around you

he loves to randomly come up behind you and cuddle you

you enjoy it when he tells you about the good old days because you get your infos directly from the source

you two could listen to each other forever

most of the team always tease you that you are like an old married couple

but everyone is happy that Cap is finally happy and not too nostalgic anymore

you also worry about him alot when he is gone

but you are even more happy when he comes home to you in one piece

you two barely even fight and if you do it is because of something major but you two apologise really quickly afterwards

you two read together in bed and it really feels like you are an old married couple

Steve just adores you so much and he always tells you every day

11 notes · View notes