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deepdarkdelights · 4 years

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Run Little Red (Namjoon x Reader)

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Word Count: 7.8k

Warnings: 18+, Yandere, Werewolf Namjoon, Stalking, Obsession, Forced Relationships, Blood (Lots of it), Gore, Fear, Panic/Anxiety, Discussions of discovering dead bodies, People going missing, Devious Intentions, Depictions of Guns, Mourning, Wolf Courtship Rituals

I do not condone the acts displayed in this story nor do I believe any members of BTS would actually engage in this type of behavior. This is simply written for entertainment purposes and should not be taken as a reflection of my own values, opinions, or morals.

<<Forbidden Fables Masterlist>>

Preview: A calm life in a small village was all you ever knew, your days spent in the bakery and keeping to yourself. You liked the quiet and gentle nature of your life, but one day a wolf stands outside of your window, a stranger arrives, and people begin to go missing. Do you dare don your red coat and enter the forest?

A/N: Hello babes! My fellow authors and myself decided to change up the order of our release dates for our Forbidden Fables Collab! And, since I recently finished this little beauty, I get to release it first. yay! Now I can sit back and savor the delectable writings of my fellow authors 💜 I hope you enjoy Run Little Red it was fun to make! I can’t wait to read the comments and asks 💜

There was a wolf outside your window.

It’s eyes gleaming in the early morning light like molten gold with silver fur that melted into the snow.

You sat up in bed, wrapping your patchwork quilt around your shoulders as you scooted to the foot of the bed. It was staring at you, that much you were sure of. And that startled you, the almost human like appearance to its gaze was intense and unsettling. It was an animal, but it appeared to be far more intelligent than you had first anticipated.

Maybe it was hungry, perhaps that was why it was so intent on peering through your window.

No, it certainly wasn’t, that was evident. What you had missed before was glaringly obvious now, its silver muzzle was stained in red. It had made a fresh kill before it had wandered over to your cottage mere feet from the woods.

So, if it wasn’t hungry, why was it here?

You watched in morbid fascination as its tongue slipped out of its mouth and laved over the fresh, thick, crimson blood that decorated its muzzle. You could see the rows of sharp canines hidden within its maw for mere seconds before the wolf clenched its jaw shut and settled on its hindlegs in the drift of snow.

“My, what big teeth you have.” You whispered to yourself, your voice seemingly louder in the empty room.

You couldn’t help but wonder what it had made it’s meal. Perhaps a deer, or a squirrel, maybe a bird, or even a small, innocent, little rabbit.

That would have been ideal. But, you knew it was most likely one of the poor farmer’s livestock. Your village was small and self sufficient, rarely reaching out to its neighboring villages and rarely receiving visitors of its own. So, when the cattle and the goats began to disappear, only their entrails remaining, the town quickly became suspicious.

It was either one of two things, rebellious teenagers making a hassle for everyone, or a wolf amongst you.

If only you had known what was to come.

You stared back warily out the window at the creature, suddenly realizing just how easily it could bust through your flimsy window if it wanted to. This wolf was probably the largest you had ever seen, it was almost the size of a pony, with long limbs that held thick muscle from the time it spent chasing down its prey. You were certain a simple snap of its jaws would kill you in an instant if it desired to do so.

It’s gaze had not left you, petrifying you to your very spot. You felt like the two of you were playing a game, waiting to see who would be the one to make the first move.

The call of your mother’s voice was the tie breaker.

You rose to your feet, your bare skin brushing over the cool wood of the floor as you retreated through your door, back first.

“Yes?” You replied, angling your neck to the hallway for a moment.

“Hurry, sweetheart! You’re going to be late!” She called back from the kitchen.

The bakery had been in your family for the past three generations now, starting with your grandfather, then your mother, and now you. Your mother was showing signs of her age now, her hands were unsteady and unreliable creating more of a mess than a sellable meal. So, it was your turn now. It was the only thing you could do for her, besides be married off and you weren’t quite ready for that. No one was.

At least that was the gentle way of putting it, in reality you had made yourself quite the social pariah. You were a determined woman, one who liked to keep to herself, one who liked owning the bakery and not having to sign over the ownership to a husband. You had your mother to care for, a business to run, and a grandmother that lived deep in the woods to fret over.

It didn’t really matter what you wanted, you did what was necessary to stay afloat.

“Just a minute!” You called once more before slinking back into your room.

There was a noticeable difference about the space now, the wolf was gone. The only sign he had ever been there being the large dip in the snow that his form had disrupted and a track of paw prints headed into the forest. How strange.

You shook your head in an attempt to clear your thoughts, you didn’t want to think about what you would have to do if the creature returned. The shotgun looming over you from above the front door said enough.

You couldn’t allow a predator to get comfy around your home, that would only invite trouble into your life.

You dressed yourself quickly that morning in as many layers as you could. The walk to the bakery wasn’t a far one, but it was a frigid one. You made sure to wear your wool stockings and your leather boots, the snow looked to be thick and you didn’t fancy the idea of wet feet all day while you worked.

You leaned over the side of your bed, scooping up your bag and throwing the keys inside of it in one motion. The extra sleep you had gotten the night before had cost you the time you needed in the morning to ready yourself.

Once you gave yourself a quick look over and ran through your mental checklist, you rushed out of your room and into the main room of the house. Your house was more like a cottage, it was incredibly small. With only your mother’s room, your room, and the kitchen in one corner with the fireplace in the other it made for a quaint and cozy home. Albeit a cramped one.

“Your breakfast is on the table.” Your mother said, smoothing a stray hair behind her ear with trembling hands.

You could see her cleaning up the mess she had made that morning in an attempt to show you kindness. Normally, you were the one to wake early and prepare the both of you for the day ahead. But she had also told you many times before that she was your mother and she was supposed to take care of you as well.

You eyed the bowl of steaming porridge that sat upon the rickety table. “I don’t think I’ll have the time to eat it.”

“Then you’ll make the time.” She huffed, wiping a wet rag over the counter in two swipes.

“I shouldn’t have overslept.” You sighed, resting your bag on the floor as you took a seat.

“You needed the rest, dear. You’re up every morning at the crack of dawn and you don’t come home until nightfall. You don’t need to work that much.” She chided you, smoothing her hands over your hair in a fond manner.

“I do, for you and for Grandmother.” You reminded her. The cost of living was not cheap.

“And what about you? You should be spending time with people your age, not working yourself to the bone.”

“I don’t need anyone but you, and Grandmother.” You smiled before sipping at your spoon quickly, hissing as you burned the tip of your tongue in your haste.

“Youth is wasted on the young.” She chided under her breath, spurring a giggle from your throat.

You finished your food as quickly as you could before excusing yourself from the table and heading for the door.

“Your cloak, dear!” Your mother called as you pulled the door open, the chill of the snow seeping into your bones.

“Yes, mother!” You chirped with an amused roll of your eyes as you curled your fingers around the crimson fabric of the cloak. Your grandmother had made it herself two winters ago, as much as you loved it and her you had to admit it was a tad ostentatious and you weren’t exactly one for attention. But it was warm and it served its purpose well.

The door creaked shut behind you, squeaking softly as it settled back into the frame. The snow had fallen much higher than you had previously anticipated. You tightened the ties of your cloak and delicately flipped the large hood over your head before gripping your layers of skirts and hiking them up as you began your journey.

It was rather slippery that day, you couldn’t restrain the slight squeals that fell from your parted lips each time the heel of your boot found a patch of ice and sent you sliding. You were certain you should have caught the attention of a few passerbys, but to your surprise a large group of them had become preoccupied.

There were about fourteen of them, all in one great circle fervently discussing something. They seemed to be worried, panicked even. It had caught your attention now that the group was made up mostly of men excluding the butcher’s wife and daughter. Both’s cheeks were stained red, their eyes brimming with unshed tears as they held onto each other tight in the crisp air.

Your face tensed in confusion as you approached the bakery, the group not too far away from you.

“Oh, poor Sarah.” A tender voice cooed worriedly from next door. It was the tailor, she and her apprentice were stood outside, thick shawls wrapped around the both of them.

You occupied yourself by rifling through your leather satchel, pretending to look for the shop keys you held in that very hand. You knew that eavesdropping wasn’t very polite, but you also were the curious sort, and that curiosity demanded to be satiated.

“Don’t worry, miss. I’m sure they’ll find him soon, you know how the young ones are.” The apprentice said, her hand resting on the tailor’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

“It’s not like William though, he’s a sweet boy. It doesn’t make any sense for him to go up and missing at the crack of dawn.” She replied, her dark eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I just find it funny is all, that a stranger shows up here the same day that Sarah’s boy disappears.”

“Coincidence isn’t evidence.” The apprentice hummed, pulling her shawl tighter around herself as she began to back up against the shop door, aggravated by the chilly air. “I’m sure he’ll turn up, with a search party that size he’ll be back home in no time.”

With that, you finally retrieved your “missing” keys and unlocked the door, sliding into the safety of the bakery. You knew William as well, he really was a sweet kid...to most. Your heart did go out to Sarah though, you didn’t know the pain of a missing child but you could empathize. The sight of her broken face remained burned into your mind as you readied the shop, lighting the hearth and preparing your materials to start your first batch of bread for the day. Your late start was going to nip you in the behind, most of the women arrived by noon to get their first pick of goods and the two hours it would take to make your batches was going to loom over your head the entire time.

You were mid kneading your dough when the familiar tinkle of the bell above the shop door demanded your attention. You paused for a moment, your aching arms thanking you for the short reprieve. Almost immediately your breath was caught in your throat. You had been expecting one of the regular mothers wandering their way in, or perhaps even one of their children running errands. Not this man that stood before you.

This was most obviously the stranger the tailor had been referring to moments earlier, there was no mistake. Your village was small, everyone knew everyone and this stranger looked nothing like any of the people in your town.

He was so much taller than anybody else, broader too. But most astonishing was his pure silver hair and the deep honey shade of his eyes. You had never seen anyone as young as him with hair that light, it surely wasn’t grey, the shade far too bright to be mistaken with something that dull. He was damn near ethereal and unfairly attractive. His looks had almost distracted you from his attire but now that you were paying attention, he was severely underdressed for the weather. He had to be freezing cold.

“Hello, can I help you?” You asked softly, patting your hands against your apron to remove the excess flour from your skin.

He had a rather confident stance, like he was the owner of the shop instead of you, you who was slightly cowering and thrumming with anxiety.

He sent you a wide grin, his teeth were pearly white and for some unknown reason that sent your heart crashing into your stomach. You could have sworn they even looked slightly pointy at the ends, not unlike those of the creature you had seen outside your window that morning. You had almost been distracted by the sweet dimples that rested in his cheeks. What duality he had.

He tilted his head back slightly, peering down at you from above, “Hm, I’m looking for something sweet.” He hummed.

“Sweet?” You mumbled to yourself, resting your hand on your hip in thought.

“Oh! I made some sweet rolls yesterday, how about that?” You said with a snap of your fingers, retreating further into the shop without a response from him.

Now in work mode you busied yourself with preparing the stranger’s order. You couldn’t help but wonder why he had arrived, what his reason for being there was. Barely anybody passed through your village, and they certainly didn’t stay as long as he had.

Once you had retrieved the tray of rolls you set them on the counter before grabbing a pot of freshly warmed icing and gently drizzling it over top. Once each roll had been thoroughly coated, you set the pot aside and headed to the cupboard to retrieve a bag for them.

“Perfect.” You sighed in irritation, craning your neck back to see the top of the shelf.

Normally, you had endless amounts of bags and never needed the ones stored on the top shelf. But this winter had been far more difficult than past ones and your stock had not been refilled in quite a while.

Desperately not wanting to search for your wooden stool, you stubbornly resorted to balancing on the tips of your toes, your fingers just barely brushing against the material of the bags. You groaned in frustration, bouncing up slightly only to knock the bags back further on the shelf and worsen the ache in your shoulder.

Just as you were about to give up and resort to looking for your rickety stool, you felt a hand settle on your waist and a chest press against your back as the stranger reached up and grabbed the bags for you. He was incredibly warm, so warm you thought he may even be sick. He felt as warm as the heat emanating from a fire of fresh coals and that was incredibly alarming, but also explained his state of dress.

You flinched in surprise as you felt him set the bags aside and settle his other hand on your shoulder. It was deathly quiet, the only sounds being his slow, steady breaths underlying your panicked ones accompanied by the calm rise and fall of his chest against your back. You had never been this close to anyone before, it was incredibly uncomfortable.

You felt much like a rabbit, cornered, panicking, and believing that if you stayed still enough he wouldn’t see you and would go away.

He gently rested his forehead against your hair, nuzzling from side to side before reaching up and playing with a stray strand. You could feel him taking a deeper breath this time, humming softly like he was pleased.

“Sweet.” He mumbled to himself.

Oh. Oh, no. Who did this man think he was? You were not on the menu. You shuddered in fear before jerking away, smacking his hands off of you.

You turned on your heel, backing away from him as you fixed him with an annoyed glare. The look he gave you was one of clear confusion, a layer of hurt and frustration buried beneath.

“I’m not sure how things work where you come from, but normally you ask for permission before you go touching someone you don’t know.” You huffed, slamming the empty bag on the counter as you began to package the rolls.

It didn’t matter if he was attractive or not, you were not going to let him touch you as he pleased or get the wrong message that you weren’t even conveying in the first place.

The stranger rounded the counter, the block of wood effectively separating the two of you, making you feel a little safer. His eyes looked darker than before, less like honey and more like amber.

His confident demeanor had returned, effectively confusing you even more.

“Forgive me,” He said, another smile gracing his lips as he rested his forearms on the countertop, “It seems we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot? My name is Namjoon, and yours?”

So, he did have the capability to be somewhat of a gentleman. He was rather well spoken, and his strange mannerisms and quiet demeanor had all but disappeared in a flash.

So, begrudgingly, you replied with your name.

He repeated it after you, his tongue swiping over the full flesh of his lower lip like he was tasting it, sending a chill down your spine.

“I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, you were correct in assuming where I come from we do greetings a little differently.” He said with a soft chuckle, his amber eyes tracing every movement you made.

You did feel a little bad now for how you had lashed out at him. Normally, you weren’t one who was quick to anger, but that still didn’t excuse what he had done.

“It’s alright,” You said, slowly, “You need to be more careful though, if that had been anyone else I don’t think you would have gone unscathed.”

“Are most of your people so quick to violence?” He asked, titling his head slowly, a strong sense of intrigue exuding from his form.

“I wouldn’t say so normally, but we’re all a little on edge as of late. Our livestock has been attacked and just this morning one of us went missing.”

“Missing?” He asked, a new glow to eyes.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. The butcher’s son hasn’t been seen all day, it’s very unlike him.” You said, your teeth sinking into your lower lip, unsure if you should tell him more. But, considering it concerned him you felt maybe it was in his best interest to tell him.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t stick around for too long. Some find it suspicious you turned up the same day that William went missing.”

“And what if I don’t feel like leaving just yet?” He asked, disregarding the information you had just given him as if he had no reason to be worried.

You had no answer for him, truly you didn’t. The packaged rolls sat between the two of you and a long stretch of silence as he stared at you and waited for a response that didn’t come. And, without another word, he dropped a few too many coins on the counter, gathered up the bag, and headed for the front door.

He stopped for only a moment, his fingers gently stroking at your red cloak you had hung up beside the door. His amber gaze trailed over each stitch as he lightly grazed the material a few more times.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, little red.”

~~~~~~~

After he had left, your day had not gotten any easier. Just as you had expected, it had been another busy day. You had managed to satisfy all of your customers, despite that late start you had made.

There were a few upsides to the job you had, one being that it allowed you to tune into any gossip you would normally miss out on. You were more of a hit with the older women of the village, the people your age finding you to be a tad strange and off putting.

That day your shop had been filled with hushed whispers of what had come to pass, the search party still had not returned from their trip to recover William. The outlook was not in the boy’s favor, not with the increase in predator activity you had been receiving as of late. You weren’t so sure you would be seeing William walking back into town any time soon.

Once the day had come to an end, the sun dipping just below the tree line and casting shades of red over the snow, you had extinguished the lights of your shop and were locking up, your hood drawn over your head. That was when you found out the horrible truth.

As you slid the shop keys into your bag and turned on your heel, you saw the search party emerging from the woods. And with them, you could see a blanketed form lying in the snow, the sheet swaddling the body slowing turning red.

You swallowed harshly, turning as quickly as you could and beginning to make your way through the snow and away from what you knew was coming. You didn’t want to see the look on Sarah’s face, you didn’t want to watch her go boneless in the arms of her husband. But it didn’t matter what you saw or didn’t see, you would never forget the sound of her screams piercing the crisp, snowy air.

Your breath was visible in hot puffs in front of your face as you felt the burn of tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes. It didn’t matter if you didn’t care for William, it didn’t matter if you knew what he was really like, there was nothing quite like the sound of a mother’s heartbreak. It was enough to send anybody down to their knees.

Your numb fingers wiped away the warm tears rushing down your cheeks, and amidst your blurry vision you could have sworn you saw a familiar figure slinking off into the woods, a flash of silver hair that just barely materialized. You could have sworn that that was Namjoon disappearing like a ghost into the frigid depths of the forest.

You shook your head, you shouldn’t bother yourself with what he was doing, your main goal should be getting home before the sun completely dips below the horizon and plunges you into darkness. So, with that thought, you rushed home.

Once you entered the cottage, things didn’t get any better. Your mother was stood there, waiting anxiously for your arrival. As soon as you had stepped foot inside she whipped the door shut and helped you remove your cloak as you toed your boots off.

“No more working late, do you hear me?” She said, gripping your shoulders to get you to look at her. “It’s not safe out there.”

“Word travels fast then?” You asked humorlessly.

“It’s a shame what happened to that boy, and I’ll be damned if that happens to you.” She replied sternly.

“And what about Grandmother then? What do we do about her? She’s out there, all alone, with no one to protect her.”

“She has the lumberjack-”

“And he only checks on her every two weeks.” You interrupted, “Let me go out tomorrow and bring her back to us. I’ll go first thing in the morning.”

Your mother bit her lip, her hands shakily settling on her hips as she thought to herself. “I’ll go with you then.”

“No, you can’t possibly think you’ll be able to make the trip. The snow is thick and it’s a long walk there, you’ll exhaust yourself. It’ll be better if I go, faster too.” You said as you approached the fireplace, raising your hands to the flames to warm them.

“And your grandmother, you think she’ll be able to make it back through the snow?” She probed, raising her eyebrow.

She had a point, if you were saying she wouldn’t be able to make it there how would you expect your grandmother to make it back with you?

You rested your hand on the back of your neck, pacing the floor and causing your layers of skirts to swirl around your ankles. You came to a sudden stop, your eyes settling on the shotgun that was mounted above your front door. Idea.

You didn’t like the thought of her being out there all alone, but if you knew she had something to protect her from the wild animals that would make you feel much better.

“Alright, what if I bring her some supplies instead? I’ll grab some things that’ll last her a good while and I’ll show her how to use the shotgun. I’ve saved up some money of my own, I could purchase us a new one.” You mused out loud.

You loved your grandmother, she was the last living member of your father’s side of the family, she was the only connection you had to him at this point. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing her just yet, not when you could prevent it from those creatures that were beginning to terrorize your people.

Your mother was silent once more, her thumb settled between her lips as she nervously chewed at the nail. She didn’t like the idea of you headed out into the woods alone, but she was comforted by the thought of you taking the shotgun with you, that much you were certain of.

“We don’t know when the next storm will hit, and the last thing we need is for her to be stuck out there, all alone, with no food, surrounded by the wild. Let me go.”

And that was enough to break her resilience.

“Promise me, promise me that you’ll come back.” She whispered, her body visibly sagging as those words left her lips.

“It goes without saying.” You murmured, wrapping her up in your embrace.

It was easier this way, you didn’t want to make a promise you had no certainty in keeping.

The air in the cottage had lost all tension, everything was much calmer than before. But your peace could only last for so long. It was when you entered your bedroom that you realized something else was wrong.

The room was positively frigid, and upon further inspection you realized that your window had been pried open, the cold winter air surging forth and snuffing out any traces of heat.

You surged forward and grasped the window, attempting to swing it shut as quickly as you could to try and insulate whatever warmth was left. But the thick scent of copper quickly stalled your movements. Instead of closing the window, you found yourself leaning forward into the brisk air, sniffing intently as you tried to make out where the scent was emanating from. You didn’t have to look far.

Your hands sealed themselves over your mouth, smothering the scream that threatened to break through them.

Sitting in the snow where the wolf had once laid, was a human heart. The snow seemed to sizzle around it, the organ still warm and slick with blood that carved rivers and valleys into the pure ice.

You could feel bile rising up your throat, your vision shaking so violently it made it appear that the heart was vibrating with steady pumps like it was still alive.

And, to your horror, you could make out a form a few feet back in the snow. The only thing that was visible in the pitch black were it’s molten gold eyes, shining back at you in recognition before it scuttled away into the darkness.

You frantically slammed the window shut and drew the curtains closed tight.

There was no mistake now, someone or something had been following you.

~~~~~~~

When you awoke the next morning from a restless sleep, you elected to keep your discovery to yourself.

Although you were incredibly frightened by what you had seen, the last thing you needed was to scare your already frail mother. Your grandmother was still in need of assistance, and you couldn’t allow your mother to halt your plans. You had a mission to accomplish, and you were set on completing it with a shotgun slung over your arm and a picnic basket on the other.

So, you shakily grasped your red cloak and wrapped it around your shoulders in haste, your fingers struggling to do up the ties at the base of your throat. Once you had completed the normally easy task, you slipped your basket onto the inside of your elbow and pulled down the shotgun from its resting place above the door.

You regularly cleaned it, a task your father had enjoyed teaching you at a young age, so you were certain it wouldn’t jam if you needed to use it in a hurry. You slid a box of ammunition into your pocket, one for you, and another box into the picnic basket, one for your grandmother.

And then you were off, bidding your mother goodbye with a hug and a swift kiss to her cheek, and an unspoken promise tittering on the edges of your lips saying that you would be home for supper. But those words were better left unspoken.

The sun was just barely peeking through the thick clouds overhead, you were certain a blizzard was brewing. This only urged you to move quicker through the cleared paths.

But the clouds weren’t the only foreboding message that morning, it was the mother’s wailing in the town square. There were three more now, holding each other in a comforting manner as they wept into each other’s shoulders.

More children had been snatched from their mothers.

Sarah sat by herself, of her own volition, an obsidian mourning veil obscuring her tear stained features. A chill ran down your back as you urged yourself to walk by them quicker, she looked more like an executioner than she did a mourner, surrounded by a choir of weeping women.

You could still hear the echoes of her cries in the back of your mind, the raw chords striking your ears once more.

You tightened your grip on the strap of your shotgun, your pace slowing as you reached the bridge that led you into the forest. You felt like you could breathe now, despite the knowledge that people your own age had lost their lives in the thick overgrowth before you. The relief that you felt from the women in the square outweighed your fear.

The bridge creaked in protest as your boots tapped against the wood. It would need to be repaired come spring.

“Little red!” A voice called from the treeline causing you to suddenly stop, snow kicking up beneath your boots.

Moments later, a familiar figure emerged from the frost coated trees, tall, ash hair, and honey eyes. Namjoon.

“Where are you off to, little red?” He cooed, his voice low with a sultry edge that sent shivers down your spine. You couldn’t tell if they were delighted or terrified chills.

“My grandmother’s, what are you doing here?” You asked, your body tense and defensive.

He drew nearer now, a wide grin gracing his lips with a set of teeth so white they resembled the snow beneath your boots. The closer he got the more you noticed about him. His perfect white teeth seemed a little sharper than most, and the clothes he wore were once more, not suited for the frigid weather.

“I caught sight of this old thing,” He hummed, his finger tracing over your cloak and the strap of your shotgun as he slowly circled you, “And couldn’t help but see you.”

You stepped back hesitantly, his presence was unnerving. Without saying anything more you pulled away from his reach and began to walk by him briskly, headed into the woods.

“Leaving so soon? We only just met.” He laughed, it would have been a nice contagious laughter had you not heard the bitter edge to it.

“I’m afraid I don’t have the time to dawdle, Namjoon. I need to reach her before the storm hits.”

“Well then, won’t you let me accompany you?”

“I don’t need an escort, I know my way just fine, thank you very much.”

“And what about the beasts then?” He asked from beside you, sending you halting to a stop.

“Beasts?” You asked slowly, gazing up at him from beneath the cover of your hood.

“Well, surely you know?” He asked in a patronizing tone, his honey eyes narrowing. “Four people from your village have gone missing, red. Surely you know that wasn’t an accident. Great beasts have roamed this forest for centuries and they don’t take kindly to intruders. It would be much safer if I came with you.”

You stood there for a moment in silence, contemplating his words. He was not wrong, two people were much safer than just one.

So, begrudgingly, you accepted his offer.

His hand quickly captured your own, his fingers intertwining with yours as he pressed his side tightly to your own with a grin. How bold. You were struck once more by the fact that he was incredibly warm, it was no wonder why he wasn’t bundled up like you were. It felt like he had struck a fever.

Namjoon filled the silence between the two of you surprisingly well, telling you stories of the great beasts that roamed the woods, effectively scaring you and holding your attention. He had a way of speaking that drew people in, like a siren from the stories your father had read to you.

It was easy to forget with him, easy to forget why you had been frightened in the first place, easy to sink into his side as his warmth seeped into your flesh, and easy to get lost in his voice.

That was of course, until you felt him pulling you off of the path.

You dug your heels into the snow, tugging at his hand violently. “Namjoon!”

“Yes?” He asked.

“What are you doing? Her cottage is this way, we stay on the path, we never leave the path.” You said, gesturing towards the dirt pathway beneath the two of you.

That was a spoken rule in your village, never go off of the path.

“That’s ridiculous,” He chuckled, “If we continue the way you were going, that doubles the time it takes to get there, it’s better we take the shortcut.”

“No.” You sternly said.

“And why not?”

“Because, there’s predators out there! Mountain lions, bears, wolves!”

A mischievous smirk pulled at the corners of his lips, “Are you scared of wolves, little red?”

“I’m scared of anything that wants to eat me.” You replied with a dry tone.

“Well you do smell very sweet-”

“Namjoon!”

He took a deep breath, his eyes darting between you and the shortcut. “I promise you, nothing will hurt you while I’m here. Besides, did you know some flowers bloom in the winter?”

“What? You can’t be serious.”

“I am, there’s a field of flowers this way, all different breeds that bloom in the dead of winter. Don’t you think your grandmother would enjoy those?”

You chewed at your lip uneasily. He knew exactly what to say to make you question your own actions. You would be lying if you said you didn’t want to see what he was talking about, and you knew that yes, your grandmother would be elated by something so cheery in the bleak winter months.

So, after a few moments of consideration, you agreed.

And Namjoon had not been lying. After a few minutes of trekking through the deep snow the two of you emerged into a clearing, and just like he said, it was filled with flowers of all different breeds.

You found yourself crouching down into the field, your fingers trailing over each velvety petal that had somehow found a way to survive in the clutches of an icy death. Your favorites were the deep red roses. They were a dead match for your cloak, a beautiful color that was delicately dusted with soft flakes of snow.

You couldn’t help but greedily pluck several blossoms from the foliage, slipping them into your basket.

And, amidst your excitement, you hadn’t noticed just how close your companion had gotten until you felt him. That incredible warmth had returned as he crouched down behind you, and just like he had in the bakery, you felt him lightly nuzzling your head and breathing in your scent as he pressed himself closer to you, his arms winding around your body in an attempt to pull you even tighter to him.

You froze, your finger mid pull on the rose’s stem causing you to slice the appendage on a stray thorn. You hissed in pain as you watched the blood drip from the tip of your finger before rolling down your wrist and carving a pool into the snow beneath you.

And, without a thought, Namjoon’s hand encircled your wrist and yanked it up to his face.

His once honey eyes appeared brighter than before, his long lashes fluttering as his warm breath misted over your skin. And before you could stop him, he licked a line up your wrist, collecting the blood, and pressed your finger to his lips swiping his tongue over the wound.

You yelped in surprise, wrenching your hand free from his grip as your heart pounded violently. You rose to your feet and stumbled backwards through the snow.

Namjoon remained where he was crouched, a sudden hunger evident in his honey gaze, a gaze that was not so unfamiliar.

“We-we need to go!” You stuttered, turning on your heel and retreating from whatever had just happened.

You held your hand close to your chest as you walked, frightened by what had just transpired. A part of you suddenly wished you had made your journey alone as you had previously intended.

But the harsh crunch of snow behind you reminded you of the choice you made, and the molten glare digging into your back exemplified it.

~~~~~~~

The rest of your journey was made in complete silence, a new tension had settled between the two of you. And, true to Namjoon’s word, the way he had taken you was indeed a shortcut. So, you felt no remorse as you sprinted toward the cottage ahead of you and threw a weak thank you over your shoulder.

You couldn’t stand the awkward tension anymore, you couldn’t stand being in his presence any longer than you needed to.

As soon as you approached the front door, you threw it open and let it shut behind you. You leaned against the door for a moment to catch your breath before you shrugged the shotgun off of your shoulder and strung it up on the hook beside the front door.

“Grandmother!” You called as you began to approach the kitchen door, “I’m here!”

And upon opening it, a blood curdling scream broke free from your lips.

The sight before you could only be described as a massacre. Your hands desperately tried to cover your eyes, but the damage had already been done. There was blood, so much blood amongst other things laid out atop the counter.

You fell backwards, your body sliding down the wall as hoarse screams raked through your throat. The unmistakable scent of blood was thick in the kitchen sending your stomach churning in your gut. You knew that scent, it was clear as day whatever had remained in that room had once been human.

“Sweetheart?” A familiar voice called out to you.

And upon opening your eyes, you saw your grandmother standing before you. The sudden feeling of elation surging through your body at the sight of her alive quickly died out. She wore a leather apron stained with blood, both fresh and old, and her hands were gloved. You quickly stood and began to back away from her, your sense of self preservation suddenly kicking in, your eyes zeroing in on the meat cleaver she held in her left hand.

“Sweetheart, calm down.” She whispered softly, carefully setting the blade down on the counter beside the gorey mess.

Your eyes were darting everywhere but her, panicked breaths leaving your parted lips. Your gaze finally settled in the corner of the room where a pile of clothing sat and a familiar axe. The lumberjack, she had murdered the lumberjack.

“Why?” You cried, trembling as if you had been drenched to the bone. “Why did you do it?!”

“I had too sweetie, I have to feed them.”

“Them? Who?” You asked, backing out of the kitchen as she followed your trail, her face soft with sympathy despite the flecks of blood that decorated her cheeks.

“The wolves, of course. I made a deal with them long ago, if I fed them in the winter I could stay here.” She replied, her voice alarmingly calm. “The lumberjack was a sweet man but this winter was a rough one, not many travelers I’m afraid.”

“You’ve gone mad.” You whispered.

“I know this is a lot to take in, but it’s best if you listen to me darling. Your grandfather was one of them, he courted me and then we had your father and your uncles. It’s always tricky with litters, you never know who is going to take after who. Your father though, he was the most human out of all of them. Poor thing couldn’t even shift.” She sighed, her eyes glazing over.

“You need help, you’re not well.” You tried again, doing your best to keep distance between the two of you.

“I know you’re a bit shaken up, but you need to listen to me, it’s in your best interest.” She sighed, untying the leather apron from around her waist.

“That cloak you’re wearing, it’s a symbol that you’ve come of age and Namjoon has had every intention of courting you. He’s been rather obvious really, he’s becoming quite frustrated with you.”

You suddenly became still, your mind flashing through every time Namjoon had ever touched the very item you were wearing. What she was saying, although deluded, had some semblance of truth.

“I-I have to go.” You mumbled, your throat tightening from the copper scent and smell of flesh that hung heavily in the air. You needed to get home and far away from her before she killed you too.

A deep sadness spread over her features as her head hung low, shaking from side to side. “Don’t run,” She breathed, “They find the chase seductive.”

All this time you had been slowly backing away from the person you loved the most, and now you had been stopped by the feeling of a solid form behind you. You quickly spun around, a shriek of horror escaping you as you met the bright, gold eyes of your escort, Namjoon.

And, without thinking, you ran.

Your cloak was fluttering behind you rapidly in the harsh, cold winds, the snow coming down thicker than it ever had before. And, to your absolute horror, a loud howl was echoing throughout the trees.

You peered over your shoulder as you sprinted to the best of your ability through the snow drifts. The wolf that had sat outside your window days before had returned and was chasing you down. Now that there was nothing separating you from the creature you were terrified, it was massive and hunting you down. It had the clear advantage, you were inevitably going to die. You were never going home again, another child was going to be ripped from their mother.

Tears were pouring down your cheeks like waterfalls as you blindly ran, unsure as to where you were going. You knew that you didn’t have time, four legs were faster than two and you were greatly impaired by the weather.

With no goal in mind, no destination in sight, you ran in hopes you would be able to live for a little longer. You did your best to weave between the trees, slide down hills of snow, and keep running for your life. Your lungs burned and your legs ached but still you ran, even as you heard the loud steps of the wolf coming nearer and nearer.

And, just as you had lost all hope, an outcropping of rocks became visible at the base of a snowy hill. And with every intention to save your life, you recklessly threw yourself down the hill allowing gravity to take over for you.

The second you felt yourself cease rolling, you rose to your unsteady legs and dizzily stumbled into the cluster of rocks, pulling yourself into the shelter away from the blizzard.

But your hope was fleeting as you came to a realization. The shelter was a den, one that had clearly been in use. It was littered with furs, blankets, books, and materials for a fire. The creature had been corralling you to this very location.

You turned as another burst of adrenaline shot through your body only to be stunted by the sight of the silver wolf blocking the exit to the den.

It’s bright eyes stared back at you with a gleam of satisfaction as it crouched down, shimming it’s way into the den and backing you up further into its depths.

You watched, horrified, as the wolf began to whimper, it’s body shaking violently as the sound of bones beginning to snap and crunch echoed throughout the space, reforming and distorting themselves into vaguely familiar shapes as it’s fur began to melt away.

Those bright golden eyes faded to a recognizable honey shade, and the silver fur disappeared and showed itself as ashen hair. On the floor of the den sat Namjoon in the place of where the powerful wolf had once stood.

He carefully rolled his head from side to side, his neck cracking loudly in response as he rose to his feet. A mischievous smirk pulled at his lips, a triumphant gleam to his eyes as he confidently approached your trembling form.

A broken cry escaped from your throat as you felt him press his forehead to your own, lightly nuzzling his head against yours. His strange behavior now made sense, he had been courting you in a way that was unfamiliar to you, but natural to him.

All of the people that had gone missing were male’s your age, he had been wiping out the competition.

And the bloody organ he had left outside of your window, had been a horrific present. A show of his dominance and his twisted affection.

You were crying uncontrollably now, everything you had experienced suddenly crashing down on you. You flinched in terror as you felt his fingers grip your jaw, his lips just brushing against your own and he hummed happily.

“You have nowhere left to run, little red.”

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gardenergulfie · 3 years

Text

Emptober Day 6: Struggle

Rating: G

Word Count: 2639

Relationships: Geminitay & MythicalSausage

Characters: GeminiTay (Video Blogging RPF), MythicalSausage (Video Blogging RPF)

Tags: Mage Sibs, Post Corruption Mythical Sausage, Magic, Jealousy, When you swear off dark magic but also have a really hard time actually swearing off magic, plus one of your closest friends who killed you to save you is a mage, Sausage is not having a good day, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Relapsing, Dark Magic

Sausage remembered nights spent with these very books, trying to learn to cast. There was this one spell about appearance altering that Kid Sausage had always wanted to cast. He found that spellbook quickly, its dark navy cover a familiar sensation in his hands. Now that he had magic he really should try and cast him again, he’d just have to ask Xornoth-

Wait, no. Sausage didn’t do magic anymore. He’d sworn it off after being freed from Xornoth’s control. No matter how tempting it might be he wasn’t going back on his word. No more dark magic from Xornoth.

With no small amount of regret, he put the tome in the “Donate” pile. Some other more magically gifted kid would have a better use for it. Sausage continued to work, trying to keep his mind away from the thoughts of magic and spell casting. It was really hard, being in a tower filled with magic.

Emptober Day 6: Struggle

AO3 Link

Fic below the cut

It was a good day for Sausage. The feeling of heavy exhaustion that weighed on him constantly ever since he’d been revived was mercifully light today. It had been so light that he had felt good enough to visit Gem and help her with rearranging her tower library. She had a lot of books she didn’t ever read anymore so she was cleaning them out and donating them. She’d been a bit hesitant to ask him for help because of how recently he was revived and her worry of him overexerting himself but he’d convincer that he was fine! She’d been visiting him almost every day for the past week and seen his improvement herself. Besides, moving books around couldn’t be that hard. Gem chucked when he said that out-loud and said he would need to reevaluate that once he saw some of her tomes on the theory of magic.

He was at Gem’s tower now. He had ducked into the building right after arriving, not wanting to spend too much time around the outsides or in his own memory. Gem had greeted him cheerfully from where she was levitating books into two piles.

“Sausage! You made it!” She said, ending her spell and walking over to green him properly. She’d stopped infant of I’m, not sure what the right greeting was for a friend-turned-enemy-turned-friend. He solved that problem by giving her a big hug.

“Its good to see you too, Gem! I’m excited to get to work here! It’s been a while since I left Mythland.” He said excitedly. Gem extracted herself from his bone crushing hug.

“I’m really glad you could make it.” She said genuinely. Sausage felt the same hurt he’d get for most conversations with Gem over these past few days since his resurrection. He’d hurt her and yet here she was, having forgiven him and back to being his friend. It was bittersweet.

“Yeah! I’m excited to get to work here. Was getting restless being cooped up in my home. What should I start with?” Sausage asked as a distraction from his own thoughts. Gem tapped her chin, thinking for a bit.

“Well I need to go a reread my Astrology tones to see which ones I need to keep and which ones I can give away. While I do that, can you sort the tomes in the Illusion section via author? I only want to keep the ones by Mia L Kracklewisp. They’re the best Illusionist and honestly I really don’t use Illusion spells a lot so the other ones are just gathering dust.” Gem explained. Sausage nodded.

“Can do! Just watch, I’ll be done in no time.” He promised. Gem started walking over to a table with a large amount of books on it. She turned her head back to call out.

“If you need anything just ask! I’m just over here, turning my brain into jelly as I try and pick which Astrology books I want to keep out of a decades old collection. Why did I buy so many Astrology tomes?” She muttered to herself as she sat down.

Sausage got to work. It was easy finding the Illusion spell section, just follow the smell of citrus. Most illusionists added secret notes between the margins of their spell books in invisible ink and most of that ink was made with a lemon base. Sausage remembered when he was younger, holding pages up to candle light as he deciphered the hidden messages. He’d read most if not all of Gem’s magic related books in his youth. Sausage remembered nights spent with these very books, trying to learn to cast. There was this one spell about appearance altering that Kid Sausage had always wanted to cast. He found that spellbook quickly, its dark navy cover a familiar sensation in his hands. Now that he had magic he really should try and cast him again, he’d just have to ask Xornoth-

When he finished sorting, he set the books down on Gem’s table with a heavy thump. Gem looked up from the tome on Advanced Cosmology and Lunar Spell-casting she was skimming through and met Sausage’s eyes.

“That was rather fast.” She said, looking at the pile of Illusion spell books on the table. “I must not have that many Illusion tomes.”

“You actually have a pretty good library of them. Most of them are just written by that one author you like so I left them there.” Sausage didn’t mention the fact that he knew exactly what author she liked and that he admired the spellwork they did. Better not to think about magic right now.

“Huh.” Gem said, peeking over Sausage’s shoulder to see the other, much larger pile of books behind him. “Well you’ve finished that task. It’s getting close to midday and I need to finish skimming this book before lunch. You’re free to do whatever you like until then.” She paused before continuing. “I know we’re having goat meat wraps with a chorus fruit pudding. There’s more than enough for two, if you’d like to stay for that.”

“Oh free food? Yeah I’ll stay.” Sausage responded before his brain could fully catch up. He was given free rein of the library while Gem was busy reading and he was trying not to think about magic. This was a bad combination. Gem went back to her reading and Sausage started walking around. He wasn’t looking at the book titles, merely moving around as to distract himself better. It really wasn’t working. Sausage was seeing books labeled “Conjuring Cakes: a Guide to Summoning Edible Food” and “Moss, Lichens and Molds: the Most Fabulous Herbology spells” and “Boommaking: How to Crush Your Enemies with Explosive Magic” (he was pretty sure that last one was a gift from fWhip). He found himself grabbing interesting tomes as he went, ones that would be useful to Mythland or just plain fun for him. Reading them couldn’t hurt, he’d read most of them before. He just needed something to past the time.

Sausage curled up in an armchair with his pick of tomes on the table beside him. He quickly lost himself in the spellwork, reading about complicated equations and runes. It was all great stuff but very familiar. Sausage remembered spending hours with Gem reading these kinds of books while fWhip was out tinkering. The two of them would curl up together to read these thick tomes after school. They both would dream about magic and what they would do when they could cast.

Of course, only one of them got that ability in the end. Gem had been blessed and Sausage had been left behind, no spark of magic in him at all. While Gem trained under the greatest mages in the world, Sausage was stuck rereading the same books, knowing that he’d never be able to cast these spells. It had made him so angry and bitter then and he could feel those emotions rising up again. It wasn’t fair that Gem got lucky while Sausage didn’t. Sausage deserved that magic just as much as Gem did.

Sausage looked back down at the page he wad reading, the paper showing a spell of levitation, the same spell Gem had been using earlier. Sausage remembered how easy casting had been under Xornoth’s control. Even before he was fully taken over, Sausage had been given a book of dark magic that even someone with no inane magic ability could use. There had been a levitation spell in there too.

Sausage wasn’t supposed to cast anymore, he swore off magic, even going so far as to give Gem the Great Staff of Mythland, the one other thing that let Sausage use magic. He was powerless now because he had been corrupted by that power before. He knew he wasn’t supposed to use dark magic anymore but he just felt so angry now. One spell wouldn’t hurt. Just a simple dark magic spell, not even calling on Xornoth, a spell of his own power.

Sausage started mumbling the incantation under his breath. His blood felt warm, uncomfortably so, but the book in his hand began to rise. There was a sound, the sound of someone’s surprised shout, but Sausage hear it fully, too caught up in the magic. He laughed loudly in joy. He’d done it! The powerless Mythlander still could cast magic! He wasn’t even using Xornoth’s power, not really. Even with his blood burning, he still felt too much glee.

“-age! Sausage! SAUSAGE!” He turned around to see Gem, anger at her for interrupting him fading away when he saw her face. She was holding her staff in front of her, magic beginning to swirl around it, and her fave showed only fear. Fear that he’d lost it again, fear that the demon was back, fear that she’d have fight him again.

The force of his guilt hit Sausage in that moment and he dropped the spell. He’d done what he wasn’t supposed to. He’d used magic and scarred the one person who’d forgiven him, the person who killed him to save him. What had he done?

“Gem… I…” Sausage stuttered out, trying to explain himself before stopping. There was nothing he needed to explain, nothing that could excuse his actions. He’d broken his own rule of no magic and it was his own fault.

“I’m going to go outside.” He said, standing up. Gem’s eyes followed him as he walked to the door, only able to shake the fear away and call out after him when he was already outside. Sausage hoped onto the mountain popper and started walking through the snow. He avoided the hatchery, Gem certainly wouldn’t want him anywhere near it after the scene he’d just made. His boots crunched against the icy snow as he just walked. Eventually he grew weary and had to sit down, the exhaustion catching up tp him again. He sat there on a rock for a while, just feeling upset and mad at himself.

“Sausage?” Gem had finally found him, the faun wizard walking up to him. When he turned to face her she stopped, seeing his face. He hadn’t been crying but he was sure that he didn’t look great. The negative effects dark magic have on the body was surely not doing him any favors either. The two of them stood in silence for a bit, neither of them speaking or moving closer or farther away from the other.

“….what was that back there? You were just reading and then suddenly you were casting dark magic. Did the book do something to you? Was Xornoth controlling you again?” Gem asked hesitantly, still nervous to speak. Sausage took a deep breath in. Alright then, he would explain. She deserved an explanation.

“No Gem it won’t either of those things. It was just me.” He started. “I was just caught up in all the magic, all the things you can do that I can’t and I felt angry. I let that anger influence me into make a bad decision. I broke my promise. I said no magic and yet i still cast magic, even worse dark magic.” Sausage hung his head. “Its just so hard when I see you doing it so easily and I know that I can too if I just break my promise and give in.”

Gem listened to his admission, understanding crossing her face. “It must be hard, knowing that you can do it but not letting yourself. How long have you been holding that back? How long have you wanted to cast dark magic after you promised not too?” Gem asked, sitting down next to him. Sausage thought of the weeks since his revival, of the habitual casting of magic and only just managing to stop himself, the constant thoughts that everything would easier if he just let himself do magic, the childhood daydreams of him turning into a mage that he had repressed long ago returning in full force. Honestly it was a miracle that he hadn’t given into his urges before this and also that he’d been able to stop so easily.

“I’ve wanted to do magic forever, my whole life. When I finally could, I used it whenever I could. When I was cured, I promised that I wouldn’t do it anymore. But honestly, I still wanted to do it.” He explained. “There were so many moments where I barely managed to stop myself form using it! It’s been calling to me ever since I tried to give it up. Every day I go without it makes me want it more. And I know it’s bad, I know it has horrible side effects and could put me back under the control of Xornoth but even still I still want to use it!” Sausage’s voice raised as he grew heated about this. Gem listened, always nonjudgmental.

“It isn’t going to be easy to just stop using magic. There’s been stories of mages who start using it and can’t bring themselves to stop, not for long. But there have also been stories of mages who have been ale to give it up, this is something you can do Sausage. This bothers you, not being able to cast magic, and you feel like you can’t fight it. But you can!” Sausage watched as Gem spoke. Normally Gem talking about his struggles with magic and her encouraging him came off as bossy and made him upset, but he wasn’t upset now. It seemed that Gem really wanted to help him. “We can find people to help keep you accountable, stop you from relapsing. We’ll remind you of how well you’re doing and how far you’ve come. We’ll try and figure out other solutions to your problem of wanting to use magic. We don’t have to rely on dark magic and you don’t have to swear off all magic, we can find something that works for you. I couldn’t find a way to help you do magic in the past but I’m stronger now. We can do this. You don’t have to struggle alone.” Gem’s voice was filled with determination and passion. Sausage fully believed that she’d try and help him. He really didn’t deserve this, not after he hurt her so much. Sausage pulled Gem in for another hug, giving her a tight squeeze that he hoped conveyed everything he was feeling that he just couldn’t say. Gem hugged him back.

“This really means a lot, Gem, thank you.” Sausage said honestly as he released Gem from the hug and stood up. He helped the shorter faun to her feet as she spoke.

“Of course! You’re my friend! I was to help you!.” Sausage felt the same bittersweet emotions he kept feeling but this time they leaned more towards sweet. She’s right, he wasn’t alone. Maybe he could fix what he messed up.

“Yeah.” Sausage said. “Now that the emotional talk is over, can we go back and get lunch? You said they were going to have goat meat wraps and I am so hungry for those right now. I might even just grab a wild goat and eat it right now.” Gem laughed at Sausage’s joke and together the two them headed back towards the tower

#mcyt #empires smp #emptober #mythicalsausage #geminitay #mage sibs #i'm taking a bit of a break after this one #so dont expect any more daily uplaods #Gulfie's Writings

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nerajaana · 3 years

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Hello, not your recent rude anon. I just wanted to drop in and say that I love your work! It's so gorgeous, I don't have enough words to describe how good it's. I envy your talent (nothing malicious tho). Also, you make this fandom a better place so thank you. (Definitely envy your irl friends too) I was just wondering what are your favorite moments/scenes with Arya since she's your favourite.

Nonnie staaahp you’re wayyy too kind pls thank you ily💚💚💚

Arya, oh how I adore her my darling girl🥺💓😩😭💕 George for the love of all that’s in existence at the very least release the braavos novella as a companion piece to twow or something I need some happy Arya chapters gimme Arya hanging out with her friends in the marketplace

I just realized I had answered a similar ask a while ago😅 but I think I’ll do a part 2 (there’s just.....so many moments argh how I love her, she owns my heart istg)

In no particular order:

Arya screwed up her face in a scowl. “Jaime Lannister murdered Jory and Heward and Wyl, and the Hound murdered Mycah. Somebody should have beheaded them.”

Ned stopped and looked at her. “Arya, what are you doing?” “Syrio says a water dancer can stand on one toe for hours.” Her hands flailed at the air to steady herself. Ned had to smile. “Which toe?” he teased. “Any toe,” Arya said, exasperated with the question. (Too cute I cri)

When at last she slept, she dreamed of home. The kingsroad wound its way past Winterfell on its way to the Wall, and Yoren had promised he'd leave her there with no one any wiser about who she'd been. She yearned to see her mother again, and Robb and Bran and Rickon . . . but it was Jon Snow she thought of most. She wished somehow they could come to the Wall before Winterfell, so Jon might muss up her hair and call her "little sister." She'd tell him, "I missed you," and he'd say it too at the very same moment, the way they always used to say things together. She would have liked that. She would have liked that better than anything.

Yes, it’s you who ought to run, you and Lord Tywin and the Mountain and Ser Addam and Ser Amory and stupid Ser Lyonel whoever he is, all of you better run or my brother will kill you, he’s a Stark, he’s more wolf than man, and so am I.

"Lommy, you keep Weasel here." He grabbed the little girl by the hand and pulled her close. "What if the wolves come?" "Yield," Arya suggested.

She would make much better time on her own, Arya knew, but she could not leave [Gendry and Hot Pie]. They were her pack, her friends

Alone, she slid through the shadow of the Tower of Ghosts. She walked fast, to keep ahead of her fear, and it felt as though Syrio Forel walked beside her, and Yoren, and Jaqen H'ghar, and Jon Snow.

“Harwin, it’s me, don’t you know me, don’t you?” The tears came, and she found herself weeping like a baby, just like some stupid little girl. “Harwin, it’s me!” Harwin’s eyes went from her face to the flayed man on her doublet. “How do you know me?” he said, frowning suspiciously. “The flayed man … who are you, some serving boy to Lord Leech?” For a moment she did not know how to answer. She’d had so many names. Had she only dreamed Arya Stark? “I’m a girl,” she sniffed. “I was Lord Bolton’s cupbearer but he was going to leave me for the goat, so I ran off with Gendry and Hot Pie. You have to know me! You used to lead my pony, when I was little.” His eyes went wide, "Gods be good," he said in a choked voice. "Arya Underfoot? Lem, let go of her.".... "She broke my nose." Lem dumped her unceremoniously to the floor. "Who in seven hells is she supposed to be?"…........"The Hand's daughter." Harwin went to one knee before her. "Arya Stark, of Winterfell." (Ugly sobbing)

The Tickler backed away. Arya could smell his fear. The shortsword in his hand suddenly seemed almost a toy against the long blade the Hound was holding, and he wasn't armored either. He moved swiftly, light on his feet, never taking his eyes off Sandor Clegane. It was the easiest thing in the world for Arya to step up behind him and stab him. "Is there gold hidden in the village?" she shouted as she drove the blade up through his back. "Is there silver? Gems?" She stabbed twice more. "Is there food? Where is Lord Beric?" She was on top of him by then, still stabbing. "Where did he go? How many men were with him? How many knights? How many bowmen? How many, how many, how many, how many, how many, how many? Is there gold in the village?" Her hands were red and sticky when Sandor dragged her off him. "Enough," was all he said. He was bleeding like a butchered pig himself, and dragging one leg when he walked. (Only pain nothing else)

Arya watched and listened and polished her hates the way Gendry had once polished his horned helm. Dunsen wore them now, and she hated him for it. She hated Polliver for Needle, and she hated old Chiswyck who thought he was funny(he was laughing about participating in gang rape). And Raff the Sweetling, who’d driven his spear through Lommy’s throat, she hated even more. She hated Ser Amory Lorch for Yoren, and she hated Ser Meryn Trant for Syrio, the Hound for killing the butcher’s boy, Mycah, and Ser Ilyn and Prince Joffrey and the queen for the sake of her father and Fat Tom and Desmond and the rest, and even for Lady, Sansa’s wolf.

Arya stared at the face carved into its trunk. It was a terrible face, its mouth twisted, its eyes flaring and full of hate. Is that what a god looked like? Could gods be hurt, the same as people? I should pray, she thought suddenly. Arya went to her knees. She wasn’t sure how she should begin. She clasped her hands together. Help me, you old gods, she prayed silently. Help me get those men out of the dungeon so we can kill Ser Amory, and bring me home to Winterfell. Make me a water dancer and a wolf and not afraid again, ever.

Winterfell, she might have said. I smell snow and smoke and pine needles. I smell the stables. I smell Hodor laughing, and Jon and Robb battling in the yard, and Sansa singing about some stupid lady fair. I smell the crypts where the stone kings sit, I smell hot bread baking, I smell the godswood. I smell my wolf, I smell her fur, almost as if she were still beside me

Even sewing was more fun than tongues, she told herself, after a night when she had forgotten half the words she thought she knew, and pronounced the other half so badly that the waif had laughed at her. My sentences are as crooked as my stitches used to be. If the girl had not been so small and starved, Arya would have smashed her stupid face. Instead she gnawed her lip. Too stupid to learn and too stupid to give up. (My baby is the the epitome of perseverance)

"Thank you," Sam told the girl when they were gone.........."Are you truly in the Night's Watch? I never saw a black brother like you before." The girl gestured at the barrow. "You can have the last clams if you want. It's dark, no one will buy them now.”

Have a lovely day ahead nonnie💛

#thank you for making my day #arya stark #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #jaan got mail #apologies for the delay!

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just-dreaming-marvel · 4 years

Text

Out Of Time ~ 119

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,300ish

Summary: More of Y/N’s stay in Wakanda.

Y/N was still in a little state of shock, pacing back in forth in her room. Bucky was here. Bucky was alive and had been getting help. She hadn’t spoke to him since Siberia and that was…. Y/N froze in her place when she realized that it had been nine months. Nine months… She should have had her baby by now. She would have had her baby… her precious baby that she didn’t even know the gender of. She collapsed to the floor on her knees. Tears streamed down her face as she wrapped her arms around herself and cried. She stayed like that into the morning hours.

Bucky wasn’t acting much different. He had paced across his small house so many times, he swore he could feel a mark in the floor. He was nervous. He had imagined so many times how his first meeting with Y/N since Siberia would go, and that definitely wasn’t it. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, even though he could tell the last nine months had not been easy on her. Bucky felt immediate guilt. Blaming himself for what had happened in Siberia.

In the morning, Bucky went to the palace, wanting to talk to T’Challa. He found the King walking down a hallway.

“Your Majesty,” Bucky called, jogging to catch up.

“Oh, Sargent Barnes,” T’Challa smiled, stopping and turning slightly. “How are—“

“Where you ever going to tell me that Y/N’s staying here?”

“T’Challa sighed. “How did you find out?”

“Last night. I was taking a walk in the fields and so was she.”

“Did she see you?”

“Yes.”

“Did she leave?”

“She told me she wouldn’t. But—“

“But you’re not so sure. Follow me.” T’Challa started heading towards Y/N’s room with Bucky in tow.

“T’Challa, why is she here?”

“Like you and the Captain, she’s a fugitive. I promised Steve that I would look for her, look out for her. I found her staying in South Africa, longer than she usually was in one place.”

“I thought she was with Stark. Hasn’t she been with him this whole time?”

T’Challa sighed. “She was missing for six months before we started noticing her movements. From what I know, Stark has been searching for her since then as well.”

“Six months? Of nothing?”

“Yes.”

“Has she…”

“She hasn’t opened up to me. But Y/N has just gotten here. She needs time.”

“How long is she staying?”

“As long as she likes. Here we are.” The men stopped in front of a large door. T’Challa knocked. “Y/N?” He called. No answer. He tried again. “Y/N? Can I come in?” Nothing.

Bucky physical deflated. “She’s probably gone.”

“You don’t know that… Y/N, I’m coming in.” T’Challa opened the door, looking around the room with Bucky following.

“Y/N!” Bucky exclaimed, noticing her unconscious on the floor. He and T’Challa were quickly at her side. “Y/N.” He gently shook her. Just by her face, they could tell she had been crying, recently. “Come on, doll. Wake up.”

“Hmmm?” Y/N hummed, coming back to consciousness. She blinked her eyes rapidly a few times. “Bucky? T’Challa? What’s going on?”

“You tell us,” T’Challa said. “We walked in to find you on the floor, unconscious.”

“Oh… I must have fallen asleep.”

“Doing what, doll?” Bucky questioned.

“I… uh… thanks for the concern. Both of you.” She pushed herself up to stand. “But I think I’m going to go get ready for the day.”

“Y/N…” Bucky reached out to stop her but she pulled away.

“I’ll see you guys around.”

She quickly disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Bucky sighed.

“Do not get discouraged, Barnes,” T’Challa said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Like you, she just needs time.”

~~~

When Y/N exited the bathroom, she was relieved to see that both T’Challa and Bucky were gone. She did notice that there was some food and a small note on the small table near the door. She walked over, slowly picking up the note.

Y/N - I’m sorry that you found out about me being here the way you did. I understand if you don’t want to be near me. Just know that I will wait however long it takes for you to be ready to talk to me. Cause I understand. I’m going through things too and need time. I’ll be here though, whenever you need. - Bucky

Y/N sighed as she set the note back down. He was clearly trying to get better, to heal from what had happened. Why was it so hard for her to do so? She decided that she needed to go clear her head again, so she headed outside. Y/N wandered around the kingdom, through the streets and market, until eventually, she found herself back at the spot she had run into Bucky the night before. Looking around, she tried to see if there was anyway she could tell where he had come from, or where he had been going.

Y/N turned around, observing her surroundings. She stopped when she noticed a small clay house, not too far away. It was just off the bank of the river with a large tree in front of it. As Y/N slowly moved closer, she noticed a small fenced off area with a few goats. She froze when a man came out of the house, holding some hay, and threw it to the goats. She must’ve been too obvious because Bucky turned, meeting her gaze.

Slowly, Bucky walked over. He stopped far enough away for her to still hear him but wasn’t too close, just incase. Her eyes didn’t stray from his figure.

“How are you?” He asked. He’d been worried since this morning.

“I’m… fine,” she answered. “I’m good.”

“That wasn’t very convincing.”

“Yeah… I definitely think I’ve been better.”

Bucky nodded. “I know the feeling. Do you, uh… do you want to come inside?” He motioned to the house.

“I, um…” She was nervously playing with her fingers as she took a small step back. “I… don’t know…”

“That’s okay. Do you want to stay out here?”

“I don’t know…”

“Okay. What do you want to do?”

“I think… I… I want to apologize…”

He quickly was confused. “Apologize? What do you have to apologize for?”

“For the way Tony acted. He shouldn’t have done what he did.”

“You shouldn’t be apologizing for Tony. Plus… I deserved it. I killed his parents. You should be mad at me too. You were friends with Howard.”

“I’m not mad about that, cause I know that was HYDRA’s doing… I was only ever mad that Steve knew and kept it a secret from us… from me…”

“How— how is Stark?”

“I… I don’t know…. I haven’t seen him since Siberia.”

“Why? I thought you two were a… a couple.”

“Because… he…” Emotion took over her eyes and throat. “He… I…”

“It’s okay.” He stepped forward. “You don’t have to talk about it… you don’t owe me that.”

“I feel like I need to talk about it though… I haven’t really said a whole lot about it since then…”

“Only if you’re ready.”

“I… I don’t know… All I know is that I miss talking to you… I… we used to tell each other everything…”

Bucky nodded. “We did. Why don’t you wait here and I’ll go run and get a blanket for us to sit on. Is that alright?” Y/N nodded in response, not able to met his eyes or open her mouth. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

He rushed away, back to his house. He quickly grabbed a few blankets and snacks, just in case. When Bucky left his house, he paused as he watched Y/N nervously looking around. He wasn’t used to this side of her. Yes, he had since it before, growing up, but she had always quickly hidden it behind her strength. Bucky laid a blanket down underneath the tree. As he set everything else down, Y/N walked over.

“I thought it would be nice to sit under the tree,” Bucky said as she neared.

Y/N simply nodded. Bucky motioned for her to sit down and she did. She leaned up against the tree, nervously playing with the edge of the blanket with her left hand. Bucky watched, noticing the scaring on her hand.

“Your hand…” he whispered. Y/N looked at him as he studied her hand. “How… what happened?”

“When I fell from the plane,” she answered quietly. “I was holding onto the Tesseract. A power source. It burned my skin.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She shook her head slightly. “It’s not as bad as not having a left hand.”

“True.” He let out a small chuckle. He looked over where his arm was suppose to be. “Shuri’s made me two new arms. I just… I don’t want it yet. Even though it’s not the arm HYDRA gave me, it reminds me of all the things I’ve done.”

“It wasn’t you. HYDRA did those things.”

“That’s what Steve said.”

“Have you…. Do you know where he is?”

“No. We’ve had some small phone conversations here and there, so that I know he’s alive. But we haven’t seen each other since I went back under.”

“I haven’t seen him since Siberia…. Is he… is the team with him?”

“Sam, Natasha, and Wanda are. Clint and Scott took a deal for their families.”

“Good for them.” She nodded, looking off in the distance.

The two sat in silence, simply letting themselves try and enjoy each others company. Bucky watched Y/N as she took in the area around her. He could tell she was trying not to look at him, for whatever reason. But he was okay with that as long as she wasn’t running.

This went on for weeks. Each day, Y/N would find her way to Bucky’s small house, never entering, and they would sit under the tree. Sometimes they would talk, about the old times mostly and the new inventions Bucky was still getting used to. But other times, they sat in silence. And that was perfectly okay.

~~~

Y/N had been in Wakanda for a little over 5 weeks. She had spent the day at Bucky’s once again, enjoying her time there. She was tired, so falling asleep wasn’t hard for her. It would be staying asleep that would be hard.

She had seen the scene before her, before. People screaming, dust or ash floating around. A Stone covered gauntlet snapping its fingers. Y/N snapped up in bed, panting and sweating. Her mind replaying the scene over and over. She trembled as she threw her legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand. Taking a few unsteady steps, she eventually fell to the ground.

Moving her hands to push herself up, she realized that the ground was dirt. Y/N’s head snapped up to look around. She quickly noticed that she was in front of Bucky’s house. A portal must’ve accidentally opened as she fell. Y/N picked herself up off the ground, debating on whether or not to go back to the palace. Honestly, she really didn’t want to be left alone. But she didn’t want to put Bucky in an awkward position.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N slowly made her way to Bucky’s doorway. There was no real door, just a curtain, so there was no place for her to knock. As quietly as she could, she slipped through the curtain. It surprised her to see a modern kitchen designed to look like it fit in with the clay house. There was a small table near it. Looking the other way, she noticed two other doorways. Taking a brave step, she went over to on of them, peeking through the curtain. It was Bucky’s room. He was seemingly asleep on his bed. Not wanting to wake him, she backed up. As she did, Y/N accidentally pulled on the curtain, causing the rings holding it to the pole to make a sound.

“Who’s there?” Bucky’s voice called out. Y/N froze. “I know someone’s out there.”

Y/N waited a few long seconds before swallowing and answering, “It’s me…” She opened up the curtain to see Bucky sitting up on his bed. “I’m sorry to wake you… I’m just going to leave.”

“No!” He quickly stood up. “Don’t. Is everything okay?”

“I… I’m fine. It’s silly.” She turned to walk away but Bucky quickly halted her with a hand to her arm.

“I’m sure it’s not silly if it brought you here.”

“I… I had a nightmare. But I don’t want to intrude, so I’ll just—“

“You’re staying.” Bucky grabbed Y/N’s hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Y/N shook her head. “Not really. I want to try to go back to sleep.”

“Okay. You can take the bed.”

“I don’t want to push you out of your bed.”

“It’s fine. I can take the flo—“

“Sleep with me.” It was quiet for a couple awkward seconds. “Not like that! Just… I don’t want to push you from your bed. I’ll stay on my side and you stay on yours.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

With a nod, Bucky led Y/N back into his bedroom. He pulled back the blankets and they both slipped into the bed. They both awkwardly laid there, staying on their sides while staring at the ceiling. Eventually though, the warmth radiating off of Bucky’s body, lulled Y/N to sleep, with Bucky slowly following.

next chapter >

NOTES: from now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

#the avengers x reader #avengers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #t'challa x reader #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #avengers imagine #bucky barnes imagine #Bucky Barnes #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader

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greekbros · 4 years

Text

"greek-Bros: Leopards"

Dionysus: *just cuddling with his like 30 leopards and tigers*

Apollo: *comes over from Delos to visit but finds dionysus straight up trying to assimilate with the big cats* ...um....doing good there dio?

Dionysus: can't talk, doing leopard stuff. *Lays on his back purs*

Apollo: ......well I just came over to say h-OW! *a young leopard play nibbled his ankle* your pets are out of control.

Dionysus: not now apollo, I must commune with thee cats. *Plays with one of their paws. *Softly and quietly* peets.

Apollo: *takes a deep breath* ok fine...just don't over do it.

*days later*

Apollo: *after playing a small consert to some of his followers* -and now wonderw-*gets tapped on the shoulder* ?!

A satyr: um...yes are you apollo?

Apollo: .......yes.

Satyr: yeah can you help us? Lord dionysus hasn't been seen in days and some of our cattle have disappeared.

Apollo: oh my fucking self he's been eaten by his own cats. *says in a monotone voice but his body betrays his worry, gets up and runs to his chariot*

*later*

Ares: *sharping his sword*

Artemis: *scoping out the landscape*

Hermes: *sitting down knowing damn well this is going to all go stupid.* .....you guys DO realize this could be just dionysus going on a "walkabout" right?

Ares: don't care. He's long gone, and I'm gonna take his head.

Artemis: Ares, we were told by dad NOT to kill him.

Apollo: *sees the rest of the gods and screechea to a halt* WHERES DIO-*gets shushed by Artemis*

Artemis: shhhuuuuuu there he is. *Points to a disheveled and feral looking dionysus*

Hermes: oh cool he's COMPLETELY reverted back to a primal state.

Ares: well there's no saving him now, his head going to look really cool.on m-*gets hit in the head by Artemis*

Artemis: moron, ok, I've set traps in various locations around Delphi. We should be able to capture him.

Apollo: looks like he hasn't drank in days?

Hermes: as long as you don't rope me into being a distraction I'll be just fine.

Artemis: That's a perfect idea! Go down there and see if you can get dionysus to follow you.

Apollo: if you say no, I will personally find a way to make every step you take feel like a bad case of HOT FOOT.

Hermes: .......damn it. Fine. *Runs down the hill to get dionysus to follow him but gets caught in a net trap* FUCK!

Dionysus: *grunts and growls, then runs back into the forest on all fours with the rest of his leopards*

Artemis: ......maybe we shouldn't of asked.

Ares: I c-

Artemis and Apollo: NO!

Ares: fine. *Puts his sword away*

*later*

Apollo: *writes in a note pad* "Day 48 of hunting down dionysus, supplies are getting low, team moral is at its lowest, and we haven't found any traces of dionysus in the past week, I fear may have lost hi-"

Artemis: Apollo it's been 7 hours you twink, it's not like as if this is going to last forever.

Apollo: In that case you're a twink!

Artemis: No I'm femine-butch.

Apollo: Wait we're twins wouldn't that mean we're both femine-butch and twink?

Ares: hey I found something. *Points to claw marks on a tree*

Hermes: epic, now all we need to do is find di-*feels a drop on something on his shoulder and sees the glowing eyes of like 30 big cats plus dionysus*

Ares: ....should we run?

Hermes: oh no that would be rude Ares, we should invite them over for some tea.

Ares: w-

Hermes: IM BEING SARCASTIC YOU ASSHOLE RUN! *obviously does what he does*

Ares: *his flight or fight mode is still calibrating after hermes's comment* but I don't like tea....

Dionysus: *leaps from the tree at Ares*

Ares: COME ON YOU FUZZY BA-*gets nearly crushed under dionysus and two other leopards* *with the wind knocked out of him* fuk you no surrender....

Artemis: *hearing the commotion* We will discuss this later!

Apollo: FINE! *followers her*

Hermes: *hiding in a tree and sees the twins* oh good you're here!

Artemis: What the fuck are you doing can't you tame animals or something?!?

Hermes: NOT LEOPARDS WHOVE BEEN BROUGHT UP ON WINE AND GOAT MEAT!

Dionysus: *completely in the mental state of a leopard* gggrrrrr

Apollo: *suddenly remembers a trick he saw dionysus do a month earlier* .....*takes a small glass lens he keeps to see small print, makes a little light and shines a small lazer like beam next to some of the big cats*

Ares: DUDE THAT TRICK WORKS WITH ANTS!

Apollo: shut up. *Points it at another direction*

Dionysus and several of the cats: ◉w◉ *stare at the little light, some tries to paw at it*

Apollo: *moves the light away from Ares*

Artemis: ... holyshit how did you?

Apollo: come on, follow the light....

Dionysus: ◉w◉ *leaps and tries to get the light*

Apollo: perfect.

Ares: dude you supposed to burn them m-

Hermes: DUDE SHUT UP.

Ares: *feels the weight of the Leopards off of him* oh cool.

Apollo: *slowly walks and makes a following of big cats and dionysus follow the light*

*later after calming the big cats and tying down dionysus*

Apollo: ....ok let's see if this works.

Hermes: *has two amphoras of wine and tries to feed one to dionysus but he keeps biting it* .....*opens one up and just slips it on his head* there you go.

Apollo: Hermes!

Hermes: what he will lick it off his face look.

Dionysus: *licks some wine and slowly gets back to his normal state of mind* Holyshit dudes.....I WAS ABLE TO BE A LEOPARD! You guys should try it sometimes it's really enlightening. It was like a journey into my inner mind and shit.....plus I got more play time.

Ares: Fuck you man you and your stupid cats nearly killed me...*sees apollo staring at him because he isn't considering the people* .oh and have been randomly killing livestock for like several days. That's ugh...not cool too I guess.

Hermes: see...I told you guys he was on a thing. Besides I've probably never seen these animals actually kill anyone without dionysus telling them....for all we know they were just roughhousing.

Ares: *being the king of roughhousing, grumbles under his breath* dude fuck off I know what roughhousing is and I'm pretty certain that was no fucking roughhousing.

Some Satyrs and Maenads: *all huddle around and hug dionysus for being safe and sound*

Dionysus: awwww guys it's ok, also there's a feild specifically for my Leopards dude I was hunting there the whole time.

A maenad: it's true my lords, the livestock we were referring were from the local farmers.

Apollo: ..... seriously?

Dionysus: *a leopard comes to lick some of the wine off of him* yeah, I taught them not to go after farm animals. *Cuddles with the Leopards* ain't that right Conney?

Apollo: ....hmmmm so....you weren't actually in any danger or being the danger?

Artemis: *coming back from one of the farms* yeah...those weren't Leopards...um... dionysus are there wolves out here on Delphi?

Dionysus: no why?

Artemis: *looks at the mountain* ........ugh...no reason.....*feels an ominous presence in the air*.....Hmmm.....

Hermes: ....... Artemis....

Artemis: yeah?

Hermes: do...you think.... It's him?

Artemis: hopefully not.....dad said he hadn't seen him in decades let alone recently.

Hermes: ....do you think it's connected to the disappearances in Sparta and Athens?

Artemis: let's just hope those are just disappearances of a different nature...

Apollo: *notices the weird dark edgy superhero dialogue Artemis and Hermes are having* .....*sigh* this is why I stay at home.

Ares: *getting gnawed on by one of the leopards* OH GODS STOP IM NOT A CAT PERSON!

Leopard: *purrs like crazy*

#to be continued....?#dionysus #greek bros #greek gods #greek mythology #greek myth memes #ancient greek #apollo #artemis #hermes #ares

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hillnerd · 4 years

Text

puppies for sale

Rating: PG AO3 ff.net Summary: Ron goes to pick up the kids from the Burrow, which should be an easy thing- but there are puppies for sale down the road. Domestic Weasley-Granger family fluff. not beta-ed. we die like men ;) ------------------

“Mum, I’m here!” called Ron, as he stepped out of the floo to his childhood home, spelling away the soot before he tromped it all over and got an ear-full for it. The Burrow always remained the same, the only sign of the passage of time was the people inside, and the occasional photo or children’s artwork being changed out on the walls. A fragrant baking smell wafted through the house, and he could faintly hear the sound of children laughing.

“In the kitchen, dear!”

He happily trounced over to see what his Mum had been baking, hoping she wasn’t saving it for anyone. He hadn’t gotten in much of a lunch and his stomach was fiercely growling.

“Something smells good.”

“Fig rolls,” she said with a satisfied smile. Like his dad and all the rest of their older redheaded relatives, her hair wasn’t graying, just fading into a pale rose color with little white streaks here and there. “You look hungry. Help yourself to some rolls and a glass of milk.”

Ron gave her a kiss on the cheek before taking a still warm fig roll from the plate and quickly tucking in. He gave an appreciative sigh. “Can you write up the recipe for these?”

She took out a card from her recipe box and quickly duplicated it onto a spare slip of parchment.

“How was the shop?”

“Chaos as usual,” he said, wiping some crumbs from his beard. “But we’ve been working on some ideas recently that really have potential in defense and business markets, so I’m feeling rather good about that… Where are the kids at?”

“With your father near his shed. Don’t worry, I don’t let them go inside it!”

Ron furtively rolled his eyes. No matter how many times they all assured her of the shed’s safety, she remained staunchly convinced that everything in there could spring to life with ‘ekeltrickedy’ and murder any visitors. Why she thought only her husband could survive the death trap was beyond him, but he knew better than to question her at this point.

“Thanks for the food and the recipe! I’ll take a whack at it after the Halloween rush,” he said, heading out to find the children.

His dad was sitting in a Muggle folding camp chair Hermione had gifted him. He’d been giddy about it for months, and took it out so regularly it got banned from the house itself after he’d set it up in the dining room one too many times.

“Watch out, you might be accosted soon,” he warned Ron, twitching his head near the garden wall. There stood a few lean-tos, made from pieces of apple boxes, sticks, and decorated with a great deal of leaves. Magic was surely holding them in place, because they looked incredibly structurally unsound.

“Halt!” cried Rose, jumping from behind a tree. She jabbed a wand-shaped stick in Ron’s direction as he approached. “This is our society!”

“Yeah! Our sosety!” Hugo repeated from inside an apple box. He laid on his stomach and poked the dirt with his ‘wand.’

“It’s society,” Rose harshly whispered at her brother, making Ron shake his head at her tone. She sounded just like Hermione when she’d been a snooty first year. He’d have to work on that with her. Last thing he wanted was his little girl getting bullied for the same stuff her mother had. If Hugo had seemed at all upset Ron would have intervened, but instead Hugo had a gleeful grin on his face.

“SOCIETY!” Hugo boldly bellowed, pointing his own ‘wand,’ before laughing and flapping his hands in excitement.

“Careful now. Don’t put your eye out,” Ron said, flicking his wand to keep the flailing stick away from Hugo’s face, narrowly avoiding an accident.

“We made our own society!” Rose proclaimed. “You need to ask permission to come in.”

“Ah, well, may I enter your society?”

It wasn’t that hard to get into their society. Rose immediately took him by the hand and started giving a tour.

“Over there is our ministry, and a museum, and over here is the hospital, and over there the jail. Hugo’s been there a lot.”

“Oh? Now why is that?” Ron asked, looking over to his dad in concern. He didn’t want Hugo being picked on.

“He just liked that box the most,” Dad replied for them, as Rose had lost interest in the tour and was decorating the ministry roof with more leaves. “Rosie dubbed it a jail, and Hugo didn’t much care until she said it’s where ‘bad men go’. There was a spot of caterwauling about that, but then he found he’d rather be in a spacious apple box jail instead of the other buildings that were so cramped and falling over. Also, no spider webs in the jailhouse.”

“There are spiders in these?” Ron asked, voice going high. He began to tromp towards the ‘museum.’

“No no, only webs,” Dad laughed, patting Ron on the arm.

Not feeling as amused about the society Rose had created, he announced, “alright, kids. Time to wrap it up and head home.”

“No! We can’t go home yet!” Rose yelled, accidentally knocking her precarious ministry decorations to the ground as she ran over. “We were supposed to go look at puppies!”

“Daddy, we hafta see the puppies! We hafta!” Hugo whined, shimmying along his belly to work his way out of the apple box.

“Puppies?” Ron repeated.

“The Watsons have some puppies down the road,” said Dad, polishing his glasses. “They have them for sale right now.”

“Maybe next time.”

“Nooo, they might all be sold and gone by then!” Rose practically wailed, her face starting to turn red. Hugo’s brown eyes started to fill with tears at the idea.

Ron gave a sigh and looked to his father, who gave a shrug. He’d never hear the end of it if they didn’t get to see them.

“The Watsons…” Ron asked. “They’re the ones to the West with the goats?”

“That’s right.”

“Pleeeease can we see the puppies, Daddy?” Hugo asked, pulling at Ron’s trouser leg.

Unable to think of a reason to disappoint his children, Ron promptly told them yes. He made sure to bundle them up, as a crisp fall wind had picked up, then the three of them walked to the Watsons’ small farm.

Sure enough along the dirt country road was a cardboard sign stating ‘puppies for sale.’ Rose read the sign out loud for Hugo, and Ron had to quickly grab their hands before they dashed into the property. He helped them over the cattle guard, then walked them to the barn door where he could see old Mrs Watson shaking out a blanket. She was a stout hardy looking old woman, who had a genial face with deep craggy smile lines all over the place.

“Hello, dears. You must be one of them Weasley boys, aren’t you?” she asked, straightening her apron in a way that reminded him of his mother. Rose politely smiled at her while Hugo quietly hid himself behind Ron’s leg.

“That’s right, Mrs Watson. I’m Ron, Molly and Arthur’s youngest of the boys,” he said with a smile. “And these are mine. Rose and Hugo.”

“Goodness! I remember when you were just a sprout of a thing toddling about behind your other brothers. Can’t believe you’re old enough to have your own children!” She gave a shake of her head then squinted down at Rose and Hugo. “I imagine you want to see some puppies, don’t you?”

“Yes please,” Rose said in a burst of enthusiasm, as Hugo’s hands began to tug at Ron’s trouser leg.

“Well you go on in. We have them in the birthing stall to the right. Feel free to let yourself into it and pet them, just don’t let them out,” she said. Without prompting Rose hurried into the barn, while Hugo stayed attached to Ron’s leg. “Would you all like some hot chocolate to warm you up?”

“What do you say, Hugh?” Ron asked, craning his neck to see Hugo’s face.

Hugo pulled his father’s hand until Ron was leaning over, and whispered in his ear, “I wanna have chocolate and puppies.”

“You can do both,” Ron assured him, in a low voice. Hugo gave a small smile.

“Hot chocolate sounds lovely, Mrs Watson, thank you.”

“Alright me lovers, you go see puppies and I’ll have some hot chocolate in no time!” she said with a kindly look at Hugo.

Once Mrs Watson was gone Hugo enthusiastically pulled Ron into the barn, with Ron stooped the whole way.

Rose had waited outside the pen, though Ron wasn’t sure if it was for Hugo’s sake or because she wasn’t sure how to open the two-way gate latch.

Toddling about the hay were seven or so adorable fluffy puppies, some black and some brown. Rose and Hugo immediately were all giggles and squeals, kneeling down and enthusiastically getting investigated by the curious pups. They spent a long time getting licked and playfully nipped at, and Ron felt immensely grateful he’d decided to let them visit the pups, despite one chewing on his shoelaces and another whizzing on him. He surreptitiously spelled it away, not wanting to ruin the moment.

“Oooooh, look at its little paws!” Rose cooed, holding one in her lap, not noticing it enthusiastically teething her messy braid.

“I like this one!” Hugo said, holding a much more calm pup, who looked smaller than the rest of them. It happily nuzzled into Hugo’s arms.

“I have some hot chocolate here,” said Mrs Watson, bringing over some throw away mugs with plastic lids. “Figured if you couldn’t drink it all, you could bring it home for later.”

“Quite thoughtful, thank you,” said Ron, accepting the drinks, noting the kids had little enthusiasm for anything but the puppies still. Not wanting to be rude, he stayed next to Mrs Watson to chat, while the kids continued to play.

“How are your mother and father doing?” she asked.

“Mum’s still cooking away, Dad’s still working, but they watch the grandkids a lot. That’s why we’re here today.”

“How many grandkids are there now?”

“Hard to keep count!” he said with a smile. “But I think it’s... twelve now? I don’t think I’m leaving anyone out.”

“Christmas must be spectacular!”

“A bit crowded, but yeah, it’s quite nice.”

“I’m sure it is. I only have two grandchildren, but I love it when they visit. Had them up last weekend to get one of the puppies. Started with twelve puppies, same as your family, but now all are spoken for but one.”

“Which one?”

“The littlest one, but that Clark White down the road’s been saying he might come by to get one.”

Ron bristled a bit. He remembered Mr White, a sinister old bugger of a man. He never tended his fences, was always in disputes with neighbors, and his animals all had a forlorn look about them.

Just then there was a brisk knock on the barn door, and in came the man himself, looking surly as ever. He resembled a dried fig that had been bleached by the sun, and his thin lips were turned down in a permanent frown that only served to emphasize his jowls. He and Mrs Watson exchanged pleasantries, though neither looked particularly pleased about it.

“Which ones are available still?”

“I’m afraid only one,” answered Mrs Watson.

“Ain’t the runt, is it?” He snorted.

“It is, but he’s a hardy little thing. I doubt he’ll end up much smaller than the rest of the pups when he’s grown.”

The old man peered into the stall, and pointed a gnarled finger.

“That’s it, yeah?”

Hugo looked up at the old man and his eyes widened. He clutched the little puppy closer to himself.

“That’s the puppy, yes.”

Without preamble he opened the stall door and reached toward the puppy in Hugo’s arms.

“Now wait a second,” Ron began, but it was too late.

Hugo gave a small cry and the dog gave a sharp yipe, jerked by the scruff of his neck by the savage Mr White. Rose looked to her father with pleading blue eyes. Hugo let out a sob and buried his face in Rose’s stomach.

“Looks healthy enough,” Mr White said, roughly opening the puppy’s mouth to inspect its teeth. “I’ll take—”

“We’ll take him!” Ron cried out. Rose gasped, while Hugo kept his face safely tucked into his sister.

“What?” Mr White snapped, his severe face contorting into a nasty mix of shock and rage. Ron used the man’s surprise to pluck away the puppy and bring it to his own chest.

Ron found it hard not to smirk at the old sour faced prune. “I said, we’re taking him.”

“Really?!” Rose cried out, patting her brothers russet curls. “Hugo! It’s ok! Daddy’s getting the puppy!”

“I’ll give you five hundred cash, right now,” said Mr White, reaching into his mangy work coat to bring a wad of Muggle paper money out.

Ron’s self assured smile began to falter when he realized he wasn’t sure if he had any Muggle money on him. He patted himself, but realized there was no wallet. He didn’t have so much as two pence on him, just some knuts and galleons he decidedly could not give Mrs Watson. Panic reeled as his daughter looked at him with nothing but confidence in her beaming freckled face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr White, but I’m afraid the puppy’s spoken for already,” said Mrs Watson, shaking her head. “Plus, as you said, it’s the runt. I’m just trading it for a few of Molly Weasley’s pies.”

“You’re joking,” Mr White snarled. “This is ridiculous! I told you I wanted one last week!”

“Well you never said which one, that I recall, but my memory’s not what it used to be… Sorry to disappoint you, Clarke,” she said with a large smile.

He gave an ugly look at them all before stomping out of the barn and slamming the door behind him. Hugo’s hands went to his ears and he further buried his face in Rose’s stomach. Not wanting to overwhelm Hugo further, Ron turned to Mrs Watson.

“I didn’t mean to cause you trouble,” he said, with an apologetic look.

“Oh it’s no trouble. Any excuse to slight Clarke White makes my day a little bit brighter, truth be told.”

“Well, I can’t let you give away the puppy for a few pies. How much is the pup, really?”

“Well, I’ve been asking three hundred. They’re purebred, good guard stock, with all their shots and de-worming and such. But I meant what I said. You just have two of Molly’s pies here some time before Christmas and we’ll call it quite even.”

“I’ll make sure you have them whenever you want. Thank you, Mrs Watson. And I’ll add in something more than just the pies,” Ron said, before slowly approaching the children.

Rose was still stroking Hugo, whose hands were firmly stuck to his ears. Ron knelt down and brought the puppy up between them. “Let’s sit down and sip our hot chocolate, and pet this new puppy of ours. We don’t have to deal with that mean, scary old man again, I promise you.”

It took some coaxing, but Hugo finally removed his hands and stroked the puppy’s fluffy little head, worrying the ear of the dog between his fingers. After some more calming down they drank most of their hot chocolate, bid Mrs Watson a fond goodbye (she was kind enough to give him a collar and enough kibble for a few days), and walked back to the Burrow, puppy buried in Ron’s coat. Even being a ‘runt’ and ten weeks old it was too heavy for the kids to carry for long.

Both his mother and father shook their heads at him for buying the puppy, but he didn’t want to bring up Mr White in front of the children so held his tongue. They flooed home, and Ron set about making a nesting box for the pup. Hugo and Rose were eager to help make it as cozy as they could with long abandoned stuffed animals and blankets.

“What should we name him?” Ron asked them, as the little pup sleepily walked in a circle before toppling onto his side to sleep.

“Broomstick,” said Hugo.

“Quaffle,” Rosie offered.

“I’m sensing a theme…” said Ron, looking about the nearest shelf for a quidditch book. “Perhaps we can name him after a famous quidditch player?”

“We could name him after Aunt Ginny!”

“He’s a boy, though,” Rose protested.

“Names are just names, they don’t have to be ‘boy or girl’ names,” Ron supplied, remembering an article Hermione’d given him to read about it a few years prior. “But I don’t think Aunt Ginny wants to share her name with a dog.”

“Why not name him after Viktor Krum?” Rose said with a smile.

Ron couldn’t deny the idea of having his dog named Krum wouldn’t be that bad, but then again he didn’t want to deal with Hermione’s wrath should she find it insulting.

“Hmm… Someone we don’t know?” he prompted.

“The Cannons!” Hugo crowed. “Wait I know!”

“Chudley!” they all three chorused together.

Ron gave a hearty laugh that made Chudley open his eyes before promptly falling asleep again. “You definitely are my children!”

Hugo lettered, with help from Rose, Chudley’s name across the side of the box. Only one of the letters was backwards, which was quite the accomplishment. Rose decorated it with a variety of stickers and hand drawn flowers, stars and Cannons logos.

Hermione owled to say she was running late. He would have preferred the ‘we have a dog now’ reveal to happen with the children present so she couldn’t give him as much of an earful, but her schedule had been quite mad at the Ministry recently.

The children were exhausted from all the excitement, so he managed to get them fed, bathed and asleep early and without much fuss.

Ron put on the radio, sat on the sofa and took out a notebook to make some notes for the Wheezes marketing campaign for Halloween. Chudley was curled up in his box with old Crookshanks curiously peering down from the hearth.

“You be nice, you old ginger bastard,” Ron said with a warning look. Crookshanks turned his yellow glare at Ron before jumping from the hearth onto the sofa, butting his head against Ron’s leg. He rolled over to show his old pudgy tummy.

“Oh I know that’s a trap! But nice try,” said Ron, remembering quite vividly the last time a vindictive Crookshanks had pretended to want tummy rubs.

The flames of the fire brightened, and he smiled knowing Hermione would be home in a moment. Crookshanks quickly schooled himself into a ‘good cat’ position for her, giving Ron the opportunity to rub the cat’s fur the wrong way tail to head.

“That’s what happens when you try to trick me into getting stabbed by your claws.”

Hermione flooed into the house, and a smile curled his lips. He hated when she was kept at work longer, but the one silver lining was that it always led to her hair going a bit mussed and wild. Today was not an exception.

“Hello, love,” he murmured, eyeing the ringlets around her face. “Did you already eat? I have Hugo’s favorite ‘spagooters’ ready and can heat it up in a jiff.”

She gave a tired but contented smile and collapsed onto the sofa beside him, giving Crookshank’s chin a scratch as the cat purred and preened for her, pitifully meowing for attention.

“We should call it spaghetti. I don’t want Hugo learning the wrong words for things.”

“Hugh knows it’s spaghetti,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Plus there’s nothing funnier than seeing that look on your face when we chant for spagooters.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to see them tonight... It was horrible at work. That abuse allegation mess I was telling you about last week is really coming to a head and some of those damn Wizengamots are just… I thought I couldn’t be shocked anymore by anything awful that happens, but then they really just prove they can sink to an even lower level than I’d ever thought possible! The way they sit there and act like over one hundred and fifty allegations of abuse is nothing is beyond me. They’re so bloody corrupt and uncaring I’m left truly shocked and speechless!”

Despite being speechless, she was able to rant about the Wizengamot for another fifteen minutes. While she ranted, he managed to get her shoes off, find out she had not eaten, and bring a meal. She ate around the ‘spagooters’ while nearly flinging tomato basil sauce onto his shirt as she gesticulated about the injustices in the world.

“So is there anything in place for victims?” Ron asked, taking her plate into the kitchen.

“You mean for victim support?” He nodded at her. “Nothing official yet, but I’m seeing what we can do. The Wizengamot has many in denial of there actually being victims, let alone that they need help and counseling.”

“Maybe we can figure something outside of the Ministry. Perhaps we could do a fund or something through Wheezes? I could talk to some other businesses or something... Have the proceeds go to some foundation or other?”

“That’s a lovely idea,” she said with a small sniff.

He leaned over the couch and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll talk to George in the morning.”

Chudley’s box gave a bit of a shudder and she finally noticed it.

“What’s that?” she asked looking over to the box.

“Er…” His hand went to the back of his neck. “That would be Chudley.”

“I gathered that much, since Chudley’s written on the outside of the box,” she said, raising her eyebrow at him and walking over to peer inside the box. “Ron…”

“So… I didn’t get a chance to ask if this is alright, but I bought us a puppy.”

She pursed her lips and said nothing as she stared into the box.

Ron felt a small touch of frenzied dread at how quiet she was.

“Normally I wouldn’t make such a big decision without you, but we were with Muggles and this old bleeder Mr White was about to buy it and I just knew he’d be treating it like shit because I’ve known him since I was a kid and he always treats his animals horribly, and the kids were crying as this old man made the puppy cry and buying it was the only way I could save it from him in the moment. I didn’t have my mobile on me, and even if I did I don’t think I could have reached you in time. It all happened really fast, and the kids were looking at me like ‘you can fix this!’ and I just had to, and Hugo had his little hands on his ears and- and if we have to find it a new home I completely understand and will make sure it’s all on me with the kids and not you at all, because this is really truly on me and—”

“Hush,” she said with a small laugh. “I think you’re upsetting Chudley.”

With that she reached into the box and gently cradled the little pup. She rubbed his little snout and scratched behind his ear making the dog’s tiny tail wag something mad.

“So you’re okay with us keeping him?” Ron asked hopefully. She nodded and continued to pet the small pup, who was crawling up her body to lick her jaw. Ron’s face split into a grin. “You won’t have to lift a finger for him. It’ll be me doing everything! Well me and maybe the kids a bit.”

“I can’t turn down a deal like that, can I Chudley?” she asked as the dog continued to lick at her. Crookshanks went to the top of the mantle to glare at them. “Be nice, Crookshanks! From the sound of it he was rescued from a dire situation!”

“He really was. I’m not just making excuses to have a dog.”

“I expect to hear the whole harrowing tale of why we needed to save Chudley later,” she replied, putting the pup in his box before casting a calming spell and accident-proofing his blanket.

“In bed?”

“I was thinking we could expand the tub tonight and catch up there.” She had a saucy smile on her face he couldn’t resist. He quickly took her hand and they laughed all the way up the stairs.

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author’s note- let me know what you think! :) or reblog if wording is hard

#romione #ronald weasley #hugo weasley #rose weasley #fanfiction #hermione granger #next gen #chudley #puppies #dogs of tumblr #my writing #fan fic

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nutbrain · 4 years

Note

I dont know if your still doing request but maybe clash and mavrick being cute all together, You don't have if you cant.

I haven’t been taking them recently, but I also haven’t written these two before, so I figured I would give it a shot! Hope you enjoy 😊

It had been a long day. Clash sat, feet kicked over a short ledge, arm that wasn’t cut up resting on her shield as she scowled at the minor lacerations curling over her left arm. Training hadn’t gone as Clash had hoped and to say that she was peeved would be an understatement. During the session, she’d been so preoccupied holding an angle with her shield, Clash hadn’t noticed Thermite’s explosive lighting up to her left. It was a small (necessary) mercy that their training gear wasn’t as dangerous as its real life counterpart, but it didn’t stop the debris from pelting the Brit shortly before she was taken out of commission by a sandbag “shot” to the head.

Still trying to think over her mistakes, Clash’s frown deepened as she picked up the sounds of footsteps approaching. She’s already barked at Doc for wasting time fretting over her, so that had better not be the Frenchman coming back to pester her. Instead of a worried doctor, she was greeted by the quiet American settling down to her left. The same man who had been the cause of her distraction earlier.

“What do ya want, ya bloody wanker?” Clash asked, hardly attempting to hide her contempt. He’d been the cause of many of her eliminations recently, his ability to burn holes in the reinforced wall behind her shield making her an easy target.

“To compliment you. If your team had the communication that mine did, I would have been in a disastrous position. You had me pinned good.” Clash had hoped to find some hint of sarcasm in Maverick’s statement. Instead he seemed to be genuine, fueling the irritation growing in her belly.

“I don’t need your niceties. We lost. It’s a good learning experience. Even if my teammates can’t get their act together, I should have heard that device. I would have been dead in the field” Clash snapped. Her brooding over this provided no additional input on how to improve in the future, aside from situational awareness, something which Thatcher had been riding her about nonstop recently. Maverick only chuckled.

“But still, you were doing a great job holding me there. And I was an excellent distraction if I do say so myself.” He winked before his eyes flicked towards her arm, frowning. A quick rummage in his pockets produced a minuscule first aid kit.

“At least let me do the honors of providing medical care. I’m not up to Doc’s caliber, but he seems to have gotten your goat earlier.” Maverick’s laugh was good natured, eyes smiling at Clash as he picked through and found a large bandaid and a small tube of neosporin.

“I don’t need your help.”

“No, you certainly don’t, but it would make me feel better.” His voice was hopeful, persuasive, and nudging a bit at her heart strings. Clash frowned for a moment before holding out her arm begrudgingly. Maverick beamed at her as he wiped of them dirt with a cloth dampened by his water bottle and deftly applied the antibacterial ointment. It took a large bandaid accompanied by three smaller ones to cover all the cuts to Maverick’s satisfaction.

“I suppose you’re going to kiss it better next?” Clash’s voice utterly dripped with sarcasm as she watched Maverick gingerly lay on the final bandaid. The man hummed shortly, before grasping Clash’s hand and laying a soft kiss along her knuckles.

“I’m not sure if the research supports kisses for wound healing, but I’m happy to provide if the placebo effect is there.” His wink was nothing less than flirtatious as he patted the back of Clash’s hand and stood. A tad floored, Clash did nothing but gape at Maverick as he stood and walked off with a friendly wave. She watched him go, left to wonder if she was distracted by the angle she was holding or perhaps by the man she was holding it against.

#ask #r6s #rainbow six siege #r6s clash #r6s maverick #I missed this ask because i’m terrible about checking my inbox #I hope it’s what you had in mind!

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loving-jack-kelly · 5 years

Text

Percy Jackson Died

Percy Jackson died.

He was old enough, he supposed, older than so many of his friends he’d watched die, but not really old. Old enough he was tired, and suddenly finding himself in the lobby he recognized from when he was twelve years old was disconcerting but not particularly surprising.

After all, he was a half-blood, and being a half-blood often got you killed in very nasty ways.

But still.

Percy Jackson died.

Charon remembered him.

“Drown in any bathtubs recently?” he asked dryly, but he waved Percy’s apologies for not having a coin to offer him. “You paid me for passage once and it clearly didn’t stick.”

So Percy Jackson died, and he crossed the River Styx on the ferry, and this time, when he arrived in the Underworld, Cerberus was completely visible.

Last time he came to the Underworld to see Hades, he’d entered the fast-moving line and stepped into the fields of Asphodel. This time, he waited in line to see the judges.

He’d saved the world more than once, they’d better give him something better than eternal stasis.

“Percy Jackson.” Daedalus greeted him warmly, arms full of blueprints and a full toolbelt wrapped around his waist. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Before Percy could respond, he was pushed to the front of the line and was standing in front of three men he had a feeling he should recognize but he didn’t. He didn’t have to speak at all, the three judges talked to each other while flipping through papers Percy couldn’t read, and without actually acknowledging him at all, the one in the middle hit a green button and Percy found himself on the inside of the gated community he’d only seen from the outside.

Percy Jackson died and was sent to Elysium. For a little while, it held his attention. Pretty much anything he wanted, he could have. Blue Coke, straight out of the bottle, better than the blue Coke at Camp Half-Blood. Pizza just like the pizza from his favorite place to go with his mom. Infinite activities, everything he’d ever wanted to do but hadn’t been able to when he was alive. Skydiving, cliff jumping, he got to pilot a plane.

He got to see old friends. Beckendorf and Selena Beauregard, who’d found each other and were happy again. Demigods who’d died in the second Titan war who wanted to hear from him how it had ended, to know what really happened. Heroes who died in the second giant war who wanted to know everything about Camp Jupiter and all of their friends who’d outlived them. Hunters who’d died in battles he hadn’t even known about while he was still alive.

But Percy Jackson was the son of Poseidon, lord of the sea. He didn’t like being contained in one place, and even if Elysium was a paradise for heroes, it wasn’t the same as being alive.

So Percy Jackson died, and Percy Jackson was sent to Elysium, and Percy Jackson chose to be reborn.

Zak Mason was born to a single mom.

He was an ordinary baby, almost. He was born with blue eyes, but they turned brown. He laughed and cried and pooped and spat up. He started preschool with a choppy haircut he gave to himself, and loved sitting on his mom’s lap to listen to Dr. Seuss books and watching anything fast-moving and colorful on TV.

When he was six, Zak’s basketball team won against all of the other first grade teams in their town, and a big picture of his gap-toothed smile holding the trophy he’d helped win with his first three-point shot held the place of honor on the fridge for almost a year.

Sometimes, Zak Mason had nightmares he didn’t understand. Of burning pain covering his entire body, of monsters and shifting Earth and bottomless pits, of faces he didn’t recognize twisted in pain or looking down at him as he fell, of flashing swords and screams and bursts of arrows whistling towards an enemy he couldn’t quite make out. He woke up and forgot the nightmares quickly, but they always left him almost wistful for something he couldn’t quite remember, even with how terrifying they were.

As Zak grew up, he noticed things nobody else seemed to. People who were just...different in ways nobody else seemed to understand. He saw a horse with wings, flying high above the clouds while he was on an airplane. A man he swore only had one eye that winked at him when he passed him on the bus. A woman with a forked tongue poking out of her mouth on a corner who’s smile made him shiver and walk faster.

And when he was eleven, almost twelve, a man with goat legs showed up and took him away from his mom. Just for the summer, but it was still the longest he’d been away from home.

“You’re a half-blood,” the man who called himself a satyr said. “You need to learn how to defend yourself and survive.”

His mom hugged him tearfully, but helped him pack his bags and sent him away, all the way to New York from their quiet little town in Wisconsin.

He expected it to be awkward. He didn’t know anything about what this satyr, whose name was Ash, was talking about. Gods and nymphs and a camp where he would learn to swordfight and find out who his dad was? None of it made any sense at all, and so Zak spent the trip to New York dreading whatever this camp was going to be.

He and Ash walked until he saw a tree, and Zak knew, just like that, that he was home. There were plenty of trees around, but this one was tall and proud and straight, and seeing it sent a jolt of some kind of unidentifiable pride down Zak’s spine.

And Zak and Ash passed the tree on top of its hill, and Zak felt like he was home. They looked over a valley full of cabins, a lake, strawberry fields, a big blue house with a wrap-around porch, a climbing wall that seemed to be on fire, and a thick forest.

Everything that didn’t make sense on the trip here clicked in Zak’s head. This was right, this was where he was supposed to be, that was the Big House, and the climbing wall was beatable if you knew the trick, and that was the armory even though it just looked like a shed.

“How do you know all that?” Ash asked, looking confused.

Zak paused.

“I don’t know,” he said.

But this was home.

He met Chiron, the centaur, and it felt like waking up from one of his nightmares. Especially when Chiron looked at him like he already knew everything about Zak and led him around the camp he already felt like he knew backward and forwards.

He was given a space to sleep in Cabin Eleven but told he’d likely be moving soon, as his dad would claim him.

Somehow, it was instinct to head for the lake during free time and climb into a canoe. He was terrible at it, but somehow it just felt right to be out on the lake with the naiads laughing at him.

What he was good at though, was still basketball. Basketball, and archery, and he picked up how to play guitar pretty quickly, too. He loved it at Camp Half-Blood, he told his mom in every letter. He missed her, sure, but they promised he’d be able to come home for the school year.

On his twelfth birthday, a flaming lyre burned above his head.

“Hail Zak Mason, son of Apollo,” Chiron announced in a booming voice, and Zak was welcomed into Cabin Seven with open arms.

So Percy Jackson died, and Percy Jackson made it to Elysium, and Percy Jackson chose to be reborn.

And Zak Mason was born, and Zak Mason was claimed.

Zak Mason still woke up with nightmares that faded from his mind before he blinked all the way awake. Of the same burning pain, but with a face that made him smiled floating through it. Of monsters he knew by name, and names he heard in stories of heroes in the second Titan war and the second giant war.

Annabeth Chase, daughter of Athena and designer of Olympus. Grover Underwood, the satyr who finally found the great god Pan. Nico di Angelo, son of Hades, and Jason Grace, son of Jupiter, and Frank Zhang, son of Mars, and Hazel Levesque, daughter of Pluto, and Piper McLean, daughter of Aphrodite.

Names that whispered “home” to him the same way Thalia’s tree did and the lake did and the entire camp did, and he wasn’t sure why.

Chiron watched Zak Mason carefully, always with an expression of almost-but-not-quite recognition. When he insulted another camper or twisted his face in a particular scowl, Chiron shook his head and turned away.

There was one name that didn’t just whisper home, it screamed it.

Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon, savior of humankind, one of the most powerful demigods of the modern age.

Zak didn’t know him, how could he? He’d died protecting a group of young demigods almost two years before Zak was born.

But somehow, Zak did.

He looked in the window of Cabin Three and saw the always empty bunk bed with a minotaur’s horn hanging above it and a ballpoint pen on the pillow and he knew the stories behind them without having to ask.

He’d dreamed them, he knew it, even if he’d forgotten the dreams. Rain and lightning and a woman who disappeared in a flash of golden light, and a sword that had killed a thousand threats to people Percy Jackson loved.

Zak stared at the pen sitting on the pillow and knew it belonged in his pocket. It didn’t surprise him when he woke up with it on his own pillow the next morning, and it didn’t surprise Chiron when it continued to do so every time Zak tried to return it to the little shrine to the fallen hero called Percy Jackson.

When he practiced with Riptide in the arena, it was like every sword fighting tactic he hadn’t been able to master with any other sword came naturally.

People whispered when they saw him fighting with Riptide. Whispered of Percy Jackson, who had fought the god of war and won when he was twelve years old. Who had defeated monsters Hercules himself couldn’t. Who’d wandered Tartarus with only Annabeth Chase beside him and come out alive. Who’d stopped Kronos and Gaea and was the reason camp was so busy and full of life. Who’d given his life to save people he cared for and who’d been willing to go to the ends of the Earth or further for his friends.

And those stories felt like home in the same way camp did, in the same way all those names did and in the same way his nightmares did.

Because Percy Jackson died, and Percy Jackson made it to Elysium, and Percy Jackson was reborn as Zak Mason, son of Apollo, who would surely prove to be as much of a hero as the first body his spirit had inhabited.

Because a spirit like that of Percy Jackson couldn’t be contained to Elysium, and couldn’t be contained to one life of heroism. Not when there was the choice to be another hero whose name would feel like home in his next life when the River Lethe tried again to wipe away memories that couldn’t be erased completely.

And a spirit like that of Percy Jackson could never be anything less than a Hero of Olympus, even if it started over in a new body with a new name.

#Asper Yells #txting #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #chiron #Greek Mythology #i wrote this #pjo #hoo #pjo fic #pjo fanfic

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anneshirleycuffbert · 5 years

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Anne’s letter to Gilbert - #3

[for an index to the first two shirbert letters and awae shorts, click here!]

Dearest Gilbert,

Thank you for the chamomile tea. It could not have come at a more perfect time.

Half the girls have caught colds and I am afraid I will be next to fall victim to their sickness, seeing as Diana has contracted it. Nevertheless, I swore to love her as long as the sun and moon shall endure. When I was an orphan staying at the Hammond’s–who had three sets of twins! three!– I nursed them all back to good health when they had croup. A cold is nothing compared to what the Hammond children went through that bitter February, so I’m positively certain we shall all be well in no time.

I believe taking care of someone because of and despite their illness is one of the most beautiful and valiant things a person can do in their lifetime. I suppose that is what began to soften my heart to you that day I came by to drop off your books whilst your father was ill. From the short time I talked to him, I felt that he was kindred. May I ask, do you miss your father terribly?

Marilla and Matthew do their best to hide their aging and all that entails from me, but I know better. They are not getting any younger and I dread the day that will inevitably come when I will not see Matthew feeding the goats or Marilla making her famous plum puffs. When my imagination conjures up the image of an empty Green Gables, I must stop myself then and there lest I plunge into the deepest depths of despair and never escape the nightmare. I’ve never told this to anyone, not even Diana. How my greatest fear is not being able to pursue my passions, which are too numerous to count if I tried, but of losing my dear Matthew and lovely Marilla. I was afraid that no one would understand, but I think you do.

I haven’t made my mind up yet which is worse, for a person to never know love or for them to have known it and lost it. But when I am at risk of letting these pesky thoughts run my heart to the ground, I think on the happy things. Matthew polishing his most unusual radish and Marilla and I buying material for my dress. I think of the day you and I marched to the town hall and protested for the right for freedom of speech alongside our classmates. I think of you, Gilbert Blythe, and how you love me despite my many faults and flaws. I’m still pinching myself.

Bash was most elated to see me when I visited, and Delly has much grown since the last I saw her that you’ll have trouble deciding whether to laugh or cry the day you return. Although she is still a baby, I see dear Mary more and more in her. She possesses an unusual resolute wisdom and I patiently await the day when I can converse with her and unlock all that lies in her imagination and mind. And Elijah– oh, he adores his baby sister. He takes her for morning strolls around the farm so that Bash can sleep in after long days of working. Miss Hazel, Elijah, Delly and I walked all the way to where the stream meets the Lake of Shining Waters and found Miss Stacey fishing with some of her students and Rachel Lynde, of all people! Miss Stacey sends her warmest regards and a reminder to keep the promise you made to her.

Jerry certainly made a point to tease me about you. I asked him about the post script he wrote to you, but he infuriatingly would not reveal its contents, saying that I must learn to accept that I cannot always get what I want and I should thank him for teaching me this lesson. The nerve! I didn’t thank him, of course, but I will keep his words in mind and practice them by refraining from asking you to divulge the information I desire. To answer your question, Jerry had made it a habit to spell my name without an E and one day I was made to believe he did it for the purpose of annoying me, rather than simply being ignorant to the proper spelling–which I may have been able to tolerate–so I might have snapped at him. Okay, I did snap at him but he only found it hilarious. Now he overcompensates with a capital E.

As for your request to visit me at Queen’s and escort me to Avonlea, you have my enthusiastic approval. Please be advised that Mrs Blackmore has strict visiting hours for suitors, who may only visit between the hours of 2:00-4:00pm on Saturdays, in the parlor. (But I wouldn’t be too worried because Mrs Blackmore has already taken a liking to you, and I suspect it’s because chamomile tea is her favorite.) The girls and I have become much acquainted with the parlor, for many students at Queen’s have developed a taste for the Avonlea scholars. Mrs Blackmore, it turns out, has quite a number of redeeming qualities under her intimidating exterior. She has a no-visiting policy for suitors during exam season and when there is sickness in the house. One of the benefits of having half of my housemates ill near exam season, is that we finally have a respite from the boys who’ve made it a habit to visit.

I do feel sorry for Moody and Ruby, who I never knew until recent how devoted they are to each other. Ruby, one of the fortunate spared from sickness, was caught trying to sneak out of the house after hours. We all presume it was to meet Moody under a nearby willow tree, but Mrs Blackmore has no solid evidence and therefore no collateral to prohibit him from visiting again once we’ve all recovered from our colds. I think Mrs Blackmore does not really want to expel Moody Spurgeon from the house, because when he visits he usually plays us a few songs on his banjo and Mistress Mang–our term of endearment for her–dearly loves music.

How are you and Benjamin Frederick Wright getting along? I am intrigued to meet him. Dr Emily Oak, as well, for as you said, she is a kindred spirit. I figure she must be if she’s worked her way, beating all, to become a doctor working at an acclaimed university.

I joined the Poetry Reading Club and the Writing Club and found many kindred people there. Yesterday I was asked by one of my professors to consider joining Theatre and another to think on applying to be one of the editors for the Queen’s Verdict, the college’s newsletter. I’m still thinking on it, seeing as I’m already in two extra-curriculars. And, as you very well know, the last time I was involved with a school newspaper, there were many negative consequences. I don’t think I could bear to disgrace myself in Charlottetown.

I hope you aren’t holing yourself in your books and studies for too long, Gil. It’s important to take time to be at leisure and refresh your soul. Promise me that you’ll take a walk, talk to your classmates, and try something new. Maybe explore the city with your dear roommate. I heard they have a camera at U of T, so if you ever get the chance, have a photograph of yourself taken! In regards to your all-inclusive apology, it is wholeheartedly accepted. The slate has been wiped clean.

As I write this letter, I am sitting under one of my favourite trees in all of Charlottetown. I will introduce you to her when you visit me. Oh, how I wish tomorrow would come sooner than later because then I would be one day closer to seeing you again. But I must admit, I do appreciate our correspondence via letter, as it helps me filter my words and choose them carefully. I’m afraid of how I might act and what I might say when we are reunited, given my horrible habit of callously spewing out the words I think in the moment I conceive them. I miss you terribly and I do not trust myself to act proper when I see you in person. But Mrs Blackmore is determined to make a lady out of me yet, so only time may tell.

Take care of yourself, Gilbert. I love you. Come home someday.

Anne

P.S. word of the day: Retrouvailles - the joy of reuniting with someone after a long separation. (A bosom friend who is studying French is just as handy as any foreign vocabulary dictionary)

P.P.S. Oh, darling Gil, do you not know? In order for a duel to be classified as such, there needs to be a prize. I propose the loser gives the winner a kiss. And as Rachel Lynde says, pride comes before the fall—so pucker up, Slateface. I hereby engage in this long-distance duel.

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lolol I know I said I wouldn’t be posting during exams, but writing this was like a mini-break from studying so I hope you enjoy! I’d love to know what your favorite part of the letter is!

This is Letter #3! for an index to the first two shirbert letters and awae shorts, click here!

#i miss them sm already im crying #anne with an e #awae #shirbert #shirbert letters #awae letters #gilbert blythe #anne shirley cuthbert #anneshirleycuffbert #anne x gilbert #awae season 4 #awae spoilers #awae fic #renewannewithane #renew anne with an e #renew awae #awae:dlu

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ladyfawkes · 4 years

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Fresh Chapter: Chapter 4 - Shattered Chapter 4 word count: 1273 Total word count: 6538 Excerpt from Chapter 4: “Pathetic,” seethed the terrifying and enormous goat-faced creature who had just thrown her to ground, yet again, “Useless pathetic vermin. Although I suppose I do have you to thank for freeing me at long last, don’t I?” continued the creature, its voice dripping with sarcasm. Cassandra had become the scapegoat and living ragdoll-plaything to a very moody and cruel ancient demoness. Suddenly the ugly beast reached down, grinding the knuckles of its enormous black claw against Cassandra’s back and proceeding to crush the young woman’s broken ribs even further into the rubble-strewn cavern floor. “Thank you,” the monster spat through clenched teeth. As Cassandra struggled to move, she experienced more intense agony than she’d ever felt in her life. ====================================== Essentially, this story is a “what if....” type-rewrite of the last half of Season 3. In other words, it is non-compliant post-Cassandra’s Revenge. Story Summary: Post-Cassandra's Revenge AU. Grievous injuries occur to more than one character during Cassandra's fight for magical dominance. Yet not every wound is apparent right away.In the aftermath from Cassandra's Revenge at Black Rock Tower, Eugene is trying to use his rare alone time to process all that had happened. Thankfully, he has Lance to keep him grounded with his own irksome ways.One enormous weight had been lifted and Eugene's psyche was flying because he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Rapunzel reciprocated all of his feelings for her. He also witnessed exactly to what lengths Rapunzel would move heaven and earth to fight for him. Amongst his euphoria for Rapunzel, however, he must also figure out how to forgive Cassandra.

Chapter 4: Shattered Searing blue-white pain tore through every nerve ending. Cassandra groaned with immense torment as her already-bruised and broken body slammed face-forward into the floor of the cavern beneath them. All remaining sense was knocked out of her for a time. "Pathetic," seethed the terrifying and enormous goat-faced creature who had just thrown her to ground, yet again, "Useless pathetic vermin. Although I suppose I do have you to thank for freeing me at long last, don't I?" continued the creature, its voice dripping with sarcasm. In the past however-long it had been (it could be one day, it could've been a week, it could've been a fortnight - Cass had lost any real sense of time after her Fall) Cassandra had become the scapegoat and living ragdoll-plaything to a very moody and cruel ancient demoness. Suddenly the ugly beast reached down, grinding the knuckles of its enormous black claw against Cassandra's back and proceeding to crush the young woman's broken ribs even further into the rubble-strewn cavern floor. "Thank you," the monster spat through clenched teeth. As Cassandra struggled to move, struggled to breathe, struggled to even think - she experienced more excruciating and intense agony than she'd ever felt in her life. Tracks of dried salt smeared her entire face, head, neck, and upper chest….for Cass had wept more silent tears since her tragic Fall than she could recall ever having cried during her first 25 years of living. Her heart thundered in her chest, a rhythmic pounding in which she found little comfort. Surely, she couldn't live much longer under these conditions. Once again, Cassandra found herself wishing for her own death. After all the wicked things she'd been conned into doing the past several months, the dastardly way she had mistreated Rapunzel…she cringed outwardly, recalling her abominable behavior at Eugene's first real birthday party….and even more recently repeatedly trying to kill Rapunzel …..and even came within a hair's breadth of killing Eugene minutes later…. By this point, the penitent young woman was resigned; being held captive and immobile left nothing to Cass but fitful nightmares and ruminating about all of the terrible things she'd done. As a traitor, Cassandra deserved no less than a death sentence. It's what her own father would've said, it's what Rapunzel's father would've said…..and it was definitely what Eugene's father would've wanted as well. Hell, it's even what Cassandra the soldier herself would've demanded less than a year ago, had she been the one to find a traitor in their midst rather than becoming one. Although Cassandra had tried to catch herself during her Fall, she had clearly failed. By trying to move a limb, turn her head - any motion under her own power - Cass could only succeed with inducing even more nausea and vertigo. The eardrum-ringing ever-present throb in the back of her head was easily the worst of all. Very close behind were her multiple broken ribs...She could feel them jabbing into her gut and lungs. Her armor too had mostly failed, only barely managing to keep her alive from her 1000-foot drop. Something about the Moonstone shattering into multiple shards. And after the newly-freed Enchanted Girl had touched her physically for the first time, Cassandra's mind had been instantly flooded with cruel imagery. The young woman had finally learned and understood exactly who this disguised and deranged monster truly was….it was none other than Zhan Tiri!!! And only then the grievously injured Cassandra could tell that the demon's psychological iron grip on her was finally loosened. Her injured mind was no longer possessed by the ancient demon. This very moment in the cavern, Zhan Tiri was utterly furious with her but Cass couldn't figure out why, exactly. Without doubt, someone as powerful as the ancient demoness shouldn't care this much now that the Moonstone had effectively succeeded with killing another useless human. After all, it had to have been the demoness who manipulated Cassandra into shattering the stone in the first place. That was a crucial piece of info Cass hadn't discovered until it was far, far too late. Was the Moonstone's destruction not the demon's ultimate goal after all? And why oh why wouldn't Goaty McSquidbottom just get things over with and put Cassandra out of her misery instead of torturing her? Cassandra gasped again painfully as her whole torso abruptly flared to life with an instantaneous fiery heat; this molten energy simultaneously crackled and flowed through her like an electrical current and in turn, leapt outward and powerfully zapped the monster's claw. Cass sensed rather than saw the bolt of energy arc from her back and up Zhan Tiri's huge arm; the evil demon roared at the sudden nasty shock she'd just received. That was...new, Cassandra blinked and thought numbly to herself, as the incensed evil demoness flailed about dramatically behind her. The young woman contemplated if this was anything close to what her victims felt when she had elected to zap them deliberately via the Moonstone's power. So….it turned out that Cassandra's crystalline armor was still struggling valiantly to keep her alive, determined to keep on fighting against the latest tortuous onslaught from the demoness. That fact, in turn, had to mean the Moonstone powers were still at least nominally functional. But that didn't mean the egregiously injured Cassandra was in conscious control of it. Cass couldn't decide which was more ominous….the fact that the Moonstone was going rogue or the fact that at this moment she'd be better off dead, as long as it meant the Moonstone couldn't manipulate her to hurt others anymore. Because Cassandra knew that one way or another, if she couldn't somehow extract the embedded shards of dark crystal out of her body, and quickly, she'd certainly be better off dead in either case. Cassandra's eyes squeezed tight against the excruciating pain and rapidly rising heat still emanating from her malfunctioning bodysuit. Yet she determined her armor itself wasn't responsible; rather the energy was pulsating in every direction from what felt to be those infernal crystal shards embedded within her chest wall. Each new energy pulse was roiling through her and outward across her armor. The young woman was also afraid to look up for fear Zhan Tiri would just abuse her again out of spite. By this point in time, Cassandra had wished 10,000 times over that she'd never heard of the Moonstone. And just a moment or two before Cassandra lost consciousness that last time, her poor body unable to withstand any more, the last sound in the whole universe she expected to hear filled her ears. "Oh geez….!" a man's voice swore explosively in a string of epithets from a ways off down the cavern. No! No! No! Cassandra screamed internally, irrationally angry that she was hallucinating again. Of all the people to hallucinate, why did it have to be him? She clamped her eyes shut even tighter, knowing she was unable to stave off the encroaching darkness for much longer. Nonetheless, footsteps rapidly drew nearer to her and in spite of every instinct telling her what she was perceiving couldn't possibly be real, that same voice spoke again, this time just above her. "Dear Jiminy Cricket on a busted crutch! Cass!??! What have they done to….where are…..if only I could help you somehow!" And although the injured young woman could only manage to crack open just one eyelid a few millimeters before she fainted…..the brief image Cassandra saw burned itself into her psyche. It was Eugene Fitzherbert's riding boots. "Cass!? Talk to me, please!" The figure above her dropped to one knee before silence finally enveloped Cassandra and everything faded to black.

#tangled fanfiction #rapunzel's tangled adventure fanfiction #rta fanfiction #alternate universe #Tangled AU fanfiction #Cassandra #whump #Cassandra whump

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brideylee · 4 years

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Chateau Quarantine

Sophia Coppola smokes a cigarette while she waits for an omelette she has no intention of eating. It’s a gloomy marine layered morning, you can barely see across Sunset. She’s been in lock down for three weeks and while she normally loves the moody, brooding decadence of the Chateau Marmont, its elite solitude is giving her a bit too much time to reflect. She thinks about the concept of crying as she watches a long torso-ed model skinny dip in the pool from the penthouse. There are no rules anymore, not that there were many in the first place. The hotel was shuttered to the public as of three weeks ago, and those who were already there could stay indefinitely. Sophia lives alone in the tower suite with the three bedrooms and the wrap around porch, known by some as “the Deniro”, but Robert himself couldn’t tell you why. Any legends or gossip about the Chateau were just bread crumbs to keep the public hungry and mystified. The real Chateau for the privileged few who used it, was an unceremonious respite for excessive loneliness, addiction, and often not great sex. The Chateau had a reputation: look but don’t fuck. Everyone’s genitals were rendered useless from anti-depressants.

She thought she would be filming by now. Her cast is stranded too, with little guidance other than “we’ll wait it out.” The film she wanted to make stars Hugh Grant and Ewan McGregor as two estranged brothers coming together for their father’s funeral. Iman was set to the play the mysterious woman who shows up at the funeral who they then realize was their father’s mistress. It was going to be a slow movie about the brothers coming to terms with their father’s death and equally so falling in love with the woman he hid from them. All this would be suggested through intimate long takes, and funny, stylish, improvised montages. Always subtle and romantic without the sap, this was the tight rope Sophia liked to balance on. At the end of the movie, both brothers are mildly changed, but not entirely. She has a sweet spot for the immovability of people’s psyches, particularly men.

Sophia watches impartially, as the naked model floats on her back in the calm pool. It is so cold and early to swim, is she on drugs or is everyone at this place even more numb than they think? She wondered if her film was too male, too disembodied from her personally to mean anything. Tapping into the male gaze, was an ability she was born with. Her father’s point of view was all she interacted with as a kid, and the underside of his specialties became her focus: the lost parts of men when they are too weak to hold up the heavy crown of their egos, who they were when they could let themselves feel outside of their work. But given the state of the world, and the molasses nature of time during lock down, Sophia started to question if what she always found to be her strength was just simply trauma. Was her whole profession a way to resolve some genetic creative stifling that took place in the shadow of her dad? Surely her body of work contains more than that. It’s not all a selfish attempt at repair. Is any art not selfish? "Maybe I should make a different movie, something that everyones gonna like for once.” She thinks to herself. Thank God, her goat cheese omelette has arrived.

Later on, the gothic lobby is empty besides the cast of her film and the elegant model behind the reception desk standing like a hollow sculpture, frightened by the chaos that lurks outside. Ewan McGregor, drunk off of five Marmont Mules, is showing Hugh Grant an app that maps the stars and constellations. Ewan has gone on and on about a camping trip he took around Scotland and how amazing the stars were, but when pressed for details about where exactly he was or what he saw or what year he did this, he can’t seem to remember anything at all.But that doesn’t dampen his excitement about the app. “See, that, there is Orion’s belt!” Ewan enthusiastically points out, his cute smirk displaying his bottom row of sweet corn kernel teeth. Ewan just recently learned about the stars. Until the age of 47, Ewan had been referring to them as “night freckles.” Many think this is why he didn’t have a fun time acting in Star Wars, space simply befuddled him. Hugh and Ewan are dressed exactly the same: navy blue beanie, black jeans, a tight blue thermal, and desert boots- the actor man uniform they give you after you play opposite Nicole Kidman or Renee Zellweger.

“That’s brilliant,” says Hugh Grant completely perplexed by the app and confused at Ewan’s rambling. Hugh sticks a handkerchief up his nostril with his pointer finger and wiggles it around somewhat violently. Iman clocks this with a blink of disgust, her silk, gold blouse glistens with god-like royalty in the amber glow. “Can you turn your face away? That’s how the virus is spreading.” Her voice is deep and she rarely uses it because it changes the direction of the wind and messes with the tides. “Aw, fuck me. That’s right, isn’t it?” Hugh Grant turns away and starting blowing his nose and coughing obnoxiously. Hugh is acting like a resentful brat because he knows he wont be able to have Iman. He decides he’s gonna pick a fight with Sandra Bullock via face time later to blow off steam. Iman is thinking she was right all along, she should never have agreed to this. She was already sick of the “beanie twins”.

Hugh had been rattling on about how the movie needed a sex scene or at least a sexy scene and went on to say that Sophia had some sort of block. Iman felt that both Ewan and Hugh, however innocently, were exploiting their acting roles to gain real life experience, and there was no way in hell, she was going to kiss either of them. Her kiss would make them immortal and Iman knew their souls needed more lifetimes to grow. Plus, she liked the script the way it was- underwritten and open for interpretation. Her character is symbolic of the side of their dad they didn’t get to meet- spiritual, graceful, embodied. It was a soulful choice not to show any nudity or sex, one that could lead Americans to try to use whats left of their iPhone stolen imaginations.

Meanwhile Michael Cain, who was supposed to play the dead father, is staring at the beautiful Victorian tapestry hanging behind her. “It’s like it’s right out of the Cloister’s.” Michael says under his breath. Michael is sweet, Iman thinks as she watches him stare at the tapestry with wonder, his mouth agape, and a lil warm milk spilling out of his left eye. Iman and him have known each other for years and he always reminded her of her husband: his fierce devotion to his craft, his rigorous intellectuality that does a bad job hiding an animalistic sexuality. Both men contained so much and no one can handle a man like that besides a mystical siren like Iman.

Hugh and Ewan’s chatter dies as their drinks empty. “If I were to be honest with myself…” Hugh begins. “Better later than never…” Michael Cain interrupts without cracking a smile, a dryness a la Maggie Smith. In fact, fuck, this was Maggie Smith. No one had realized. Hugh winks at Michael/ Maggie and continues. “ I don’t think were going to be filming any time soon, folks. I think we are being held hostage a bit by Miss Coppola.” Ewan stares off with a thinking face like no one has ever had a deeper thought before. “That is interesting to think about. There is some kind of bratty assumption that all this will fade away soon enough. And we’ll be back on set. But what if it’s not for another year or so?” Ewan is really getting worked up “What if we live here for the rest of our lives!!” His eyes are big and dazzling, it’s like he’s thinking of the most ideal outcome for the rest of his life.

Suddenly, Sophia joins them at the table. “There they are, my little hunchbacks!” This is what Sophia affectionately calls her actors, the origin is unknown. Sophia has a strange new confidence around her. Usually, when she walked into places, she would feel like a Nat Sherman cigarette, like only some select tall New Yorkers in the back would still appreciate her. “Hello, love! Someone slept well.” Maggie Smith as Michael Caine chirped. Even when Maggie-Michael said something sweet, it still felt like someone was aggressively tickling your ribcage.

“I have news.” Sophia sits down, and smiled large and toothy, a stark contrast to her usual chic, despondent stare, a look only afforded to artists born with trust funds. “We’re not making the movie.” Hugh taps the table. “Well, I believe I won that bet.” Ewan’s jaw drops, destroyed. “You mean we cant live here together forever?” He runs his hands through his hair, petrified. Iman is quiet, which can mean many different things and all things at once, she is eternally the glory of God, a forgotten pyramid at the bottom of the ocean that if unearthed would explode us into 5D ascension.

“We are making a better movie! A super hero movie!!” Sophia exclaims. Sophia gets up close in the faces of her cast, pitching them on her new idea. “It’ll be a real heroes journey- good guys versus evil! Fun CGI! Sexy starlets and fun on trend jokes!” She turns to Michael Maggie, her mouth inches away from their milky eye, and says- “And much much more!” Sophia climbs up on the table now. “The adults will love it, as well as the little ones!” She does an Irish jig and starts spinning around and then poses with her arms up as though at the end of a musical. It was not fun to watch. Iman cuts her off-“I don’t trust what is happening.This is not reality. This is delusion. A karmic spell.” The power of Iman’s words blows the power out of the Chateau, pipes burst, the fire alarm goes off, and Joel Madden of Good Charlotte in room 304 stops jerking off for a second. Sophia is still catching her breath from her presentation, her sweating, arms stretched to the ceiling. She gulps as her eyes meet Iman’s. “Why don’t you just write from my character’s point of view?” Iman says as softly as she can without causing chaos. Sophia freezes. Her whole body calcifies and turns to ice, then crumbles onto the table. Ewan and Hugh watch in absolute horror as Iman drops some of the ice into her water. She knows she shouldn’t have said yes to this project and looks on lovingly at Michael/ Maggie who has dozed off.

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