#his scars come up in the book exactly once for a joke and never again

[dyrewrites]

The Mountain and The Runner

"Runner" is a misnomer, Delmas takes a cab as much as possible.

But he is quite fast, despite what the softer physique might suggest.

So there's a thing in Pale Blood what comes up a few times, and that is Delmas' old career, as a holo-boxer (meaning his matches were projected in the center of Upper Dolor and he was kind of a big deal).

When he was boxing, he was known as The Mountain ("because no one could topple him") and was just as big but also kinda shredded and hard as his namesake. He also had long hair, took better care of his beard, and lived in the sun so was a little less pasty. He was also a bit of an asshat that took advantage of his groupies.

Ten years later and he's a softer mountain, with shorter hair (there's reasons but they're amusing and so I won't spoil them), who lives in the slums with the smog that refuses to let any sun in (but enough to terrify full-blooded fangs)...and he is still a force to be reckoned with. When he can be assed to try. He is also decidedly less of an asshat.

I wanted to try and draw both of these versions of this character...for man practice, and also because I like him quite a bit and he's a lot of fun to write.

I hope they amuse you.

[bg-brainrot]

WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 3: What it Means to Love

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence

WC: 2.9k words, 3/?? chapters

Summary: Now 29, you're still trying to piece together parts of your past. In particular, what exactly was your relationship with Astarion?

A/N: Spoilers for the Pale-Elf quest end, also an fyi that I didn’t want to just retell the quest, so it focuses a lot more on present-tav looking-in.

Ao3 | [Ch2][Ch4] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

Despite your best judgments, you’ve begun acting against your parent’s advice. They’ve told you on more than one occasion, learning too much of your previous lives can lead to heartbreak, to suffering. It can affect the course of your current life in ways that you won’t understand until it’s far too late.

You’d listened for a few good years, of course. But every time you enter a trance into one particular past life, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to it. The previous life in question is, of course, the one where you met Astarion, the silver-haired vampire. So you caved and did what you find easiest in this life: cracked open a book.

General information was surprisingly easy to come by, as you were apparently incredibly famous– saved-the-realm famous.

After finding this out, you’ve taken to calling this life the Hero’s life. You had, allegedly, saved the city of Baldur’s Gate almost two and a half centuries ago, alongside the companions that appear in your memories. Even Astarion, with his snark and sass, seemed to be part of the credited heroes.

As for the vampire in question, that man wouldn’t leave your waking or trancing thoughts, no matter how hard you tried. You’re not sure if you find his persistent appearances annoying or endearing at this point. 

You’ve learned a lot about him over the years. Useless facts, like his favorite poetry, his love of embroidery, his preferred wine. One night you spend all four hours of your reverie quietly sitting next to him, tending to your weapons. Every once in a while you’ll think, Surely, there can’t be any more memories with this man? But somehow he will always appear to you again a few nights later.

What bothers you is that so many of them are aimless and mundane, joking, traveling, sitting together. They aren’t helpful, which frustrates you endlessly. The point of your reveries is to help you live your new life, and you’re simply not seeing how these fit in. They certainly feel out of place given the other things you’ve learned of that particular life– the dangers that seemed to lurk behind every corner, the constant feeling of a life on the edge of death. 

You also find that, no matter how many times you meet him, spend time with him, you are never certain: were you in love?

It’s a question you aren’t really equipped to answer. You don't suppose you've ever been in love before, and at 29 years of age, it seems a bit too early in your long-lived life to bother. What you do know is that second memory in the woods, it was not love. 

It all feels so ludicrously fake until a few moments begin to change your mind. Once, he cries your name, charging into combat to save you. Another night, he quietly holds your hand, surrounded by a world shrouded in shadow. A separate encounter, you expect things to escalate to another desperate attempt to get lost in each other, but instead you lay down together, entering your reveries side-by-side. After these moments, the memories feel like they take a turn: all lingering looks, soft touches and, above all else, real, genuine conversations.

After a while, you’d learned of his time as a vampire spawn under a cruel master. You’d learned of his scars, his family, and his hopes and desires. Seeing the man behind the smile felt like a sucker punch to the gut, to both you and your past-self.

For your past-self’s part, you see them open up around him– certainly more than they have in any other memories. As a result, you learn more about them than ever. They tell him their worries: about facing an incredible evil, about not making it out of the whole ordeal alive. They’re a relatively young elf, they still have so much life ahead of them, and apparently this is all being ruined by a worm in their brain.

As if they didn’t have enough to worry about with that looming over them, each of their companions seems to have their own troubles that seemed to need your attention. You only live their life a few hours every week, and you can’t imagine bearing the burdens that they do– it’s clear that you possessed a strength you can only dream of now. They seem willing to make any number of sacrifices for these people and it makes you feel strikingly inadequate, easily overshadowed by their spirit. If I’d lived through their hardships, you think. Would I be this strong?

After a time, your trances surrounding Astarion turn to more concerning subjects– of devils and profane rituals, of the truth behind the machinations of Astarion’s master, Cazador. Gods, you hate Cazador. Everything you’d learned of that man made you want to meet him and give him his comeuppance. You hope at the very least that your past-self ensured he died without mercy, that the man’s wicked life finally caught up to him.

Tonight, you get your wish.

When your eyes open in your former self’s body, the first thing you notice is Astarion. The pale elf is ahead of you, his back turned, hands clenched in fists at his sides.

The second thing you notice is the amount of worry you feel. Your past-self seems frozen in place with it, and you can feel your body barely resisting the call to jump into action. Not sure what you’re witnessing, you wonder if you’ve stumbled into a lover’s quarrel.

Then you hear his voice. “Do not slouch before me, boy! Have you no respect for yourself?”

You’re certain that the instinctual rage you feel at that voice is something that defies lifetimes. Your past-self is brimming with it, their blood pumping in their ears as they watch the scene unfold before them.

Distantly you register him goading Astarion, Astarion responding with a fury matching your own. Despite the anger burning in both of your bodies, through your very soul, you can’t help but look at the man and balk. Wait, is that him? you think. That’s Cazador? He looks pathetic.

He looks like nothing more than a sniveling aristocrat, a dime a dozen in large cities like Neverwinter. You wish you could take control of your memories and tell him as such. Perhaps you’d spoil his outfit and sneer at him or ruin his standing among the rest of the nobility. More permanently, you’d like you just rain sunlight on him and watch him burn. Unfortunately, you’re only along for the journey, so you watch as your past-self and Astarion confront the man.

“A pity you amounted to so little, despite my efforts,” the man says, his words harsh, his tone belittling. It reminds you of one of your old Evocation teachers. He’d act mighty, tell you all that he’d done for you, then leave you to the wolves come examinations. That man ended up blown to bits in a miscast spell, and you hope you’re about to see a similar fate befall this vampire.

You’re in the midst of your musings when the pale elf recaptures your attention. Astarion’s response is passionate, holding the unfettered hatred of two centuries of torment, “NO. No. Fuck you. And fuck everything you’ve ever done to me!”

The words snap you out of your own thoughts, forcing you to focus on the scene before you. This isn’t for your enjoyment, and the villain isn't here to give you failing marks. Cazador is far crueler than any man you’ve met in your entire waking existence and this is a life or death situation. You suddenly feel so small in the middle of this, woefully out of your depth.

Your past-self is more than prepared for the situation though. They say that you’ll make the man pay, and their voice is colored with a righteous fury that you can only feel second-hand. Your own anger seems petty in comparison.

“I will not speak to cattle. This is between me and the boy.” Cazador sneers as he dismisses your words.

“You son of a bitch!”

Then Astarion is charging at him, your arm is outstretched as if to stop him, but he’s long gone and your fingers grasp at nothing. Dread fills you as you see Cazador stop him in his tracks, a glowing red magic emanates from his staff.

Cazador spits more venomous words at Astarion, all the while bathed in the red glow of the ancient ritual. You can feel your body straining against every impulse to rush forward and attack the vampire lord where he stands. But they hold back, and you can sense that it comes out of concern for Astarion– an odd reasoning in your mind. Surely Astarion would want you to focus on killing Cazador. 

Before your past-self decides on a course of action, Astarion is being flung, tossed like a ragdoll across the cavernous room that Cazador calls his lair. You watch, helpless, as magic envelopes him, stripping him down to be a mere component for the ritual.

“No! Stop him! Get me out of this!” you hear Astarion shout.

He’s about as far away from you as the ritual circle will allow, trapped by a flick of a madman’s wrist. So you’re surprised to feel a calmness come over you as your past-self assesses the situation. You’re not privy to their thoughts or considerations, but, having seen so much of their past now, you’re reassured that they will get out of this alive and well. Hopefully with Astarion in tow.

Cazador either doesn’t care about your calm confidence or is simply too self-absorbed to notice. He raises his arms in triumph before beginning the profane ritual, “Witness the birth of the Vampire Ascendent! Ecce dominus!”

All hells break loose as the pact magic of Mephistopheles binds each of Cazador’s sacrifices to sigils on the floor. Several creatures of the night come forth, ready to do the vampire lord’s bidding. Werewolves bear their teeth at you, bats fly up onto the platform, and ghouls flank Cazador on either side. It’s a frightening sight to you, and unlike anything else you’ve witnessed in your memories or life. For once, you’re glad you’re not in control, because you’re not certain your legs would be willing to move.

Defying all logic, the first thing your past-self does is run for Astarion. Past each and every one of these creatures, past Cazador himself– they sprint like there’s no one else in the entire world. Perhaps to them there isn’t. Because you feel it now. You feel adrenaline, panic, fear, but, smothering all the rest with its strength, is pure love.

You hadn’t known what it might feel like, but now that it hits you like a wild Bulette, you can recognize it clearly. It had been there in those small moments, an underlying feeling that never quite reached the surface. Looking back, it’s almost as if your past-self had been trying to stifle it, an unruly bud of emotion that couldn’t be trusted in their fight for survival. Here, faced with the possibility of losing Astarion, there was no use in trying to hold back the flood. And there is no possibility of them leaving this place without him.

“Astarion!” they call out once they reach him. He’s bound by those same red bindings that Cazador used earlier, floating above you.

“Help me!” he cries, and the desperation in his voice is piercing. Your eyes look back and forth, inspecting his restraints in seconds, before you simply grab him and pull. 

It’s not the most elegant solution, but it certainly is effective. Astarion falls atop you, and you distantly hear Cazador’s angry shouts. It hardly matters to you now. “Are you alright?” you hear yourself ask him, relief and concern fighting for precedence.

“I’m fine, thanks to you,” he says, lifting himself off the ground. He looks at you, red eyes filled with determination, and your relief wins out. “Let’s go stab that bastard.”

The rest of your reverie is spent in grueling combat. You feel your past-self fight to their limits, fueled by equal parts anger and love. You’ve learned plenty from them in terms of how to fight and what a real fight feels like. But this? This was revenge. It was messy, it was brutal, and it filled you with an odd sense of awe.

After Astarion deals Cazador a near-lethal blow, you think to yourself, thank the gods, it’s over. You reverie didn’t end though, because it was anything but over. Cazador hid into his damnable coffin, Astarion followed, and you watched.

Watched as Astarion tore Cazador out of hiding, threatened him with his own blade, taunted him with his own ritual. Watched as your past-self pleaded with him, tried to assure him that he didn’t need to sacrifice anything to be worthy. Watched as Astarion tried to convince you that this was necessary to be truly free of Cazador.

You could feel your past-self’s emotions, tumultuous as they are, settle on understanding. You don’t understand– how could you, ill-equipped as you are– but you’re glad that they do. They reason with him, try to persuade him to give up on the ritual as only they know how. 

Both of you breathe a sigh of relief as he says, “You… you’re right. I can be better than him. But I'm not above enjoying this.”

Then a torrent of emotions you hadn’t realized were being held back finally burst through the dam. As Astarion stabbed Cazador, delivering blow after blow, you felt sorrow, comfort, joy, sympathy… pain. The pale elf cries, knelt before his former master, your former-self weeps with him.

You wake up in tears. You’d been looking forward to Cazador’s demise, but something about it leaves you feeling hollow. You’re exhausted by how utterly out of your depth you had been. It was every bit of your energy to hold on to the memory and bear it witness, all you could do to try to comprehend the hurt that Astarion felt.

Despite being out of your reverie, a deep pain in your chest remains. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt this before, but you’re nearly certain that this is what heartbreak feels like. It’s almost as if his pain was your pain. Seeing him break down like that was akin to you breaking down, and even now, the tears keep spilling.

You don’t like to admit when you’re wrong, and you’d like to believe that that happens rarely enough that it doesn’t matter. However when it comes to this man, you might need to admit that you didn’t always have enough context to make judgements.

Now that you do, you understand your past-self more than you expect. They were willing to sacrifice anything for him, put their life on the line for him. Something about Astarion makes your heart race, your mind spin, and your very soul weep. What it is about him hardly matters, what matters is that your past-self is trying to push you toward him and for the first time, you think you’d like to listen.

You’d like to begin even more extensive research. This time not about who you were, but about what happened after the events at Baldur’s Gate– More importantly, what became of Astarion after this. You’re too far from Baldur’s Gate to properly investigate or understand what’s mere myth or actual history, however you do know that, as a vampire, he wouldn’t die of natural causes. You’ve yet to dream of his death, so he could very well still be alive.

I should at the very least find out what happened to him, you think. Another, more sensible side of you thinks, Wait. You don’t even know how this life ended. Things could have ended poorly between you, he may even have killed you himself.

Even if you did find him, even if he did love your past-self, you also know that it’s not you who he knows or would care to see. Despite all of that logic, a dangerous, near-taboo thought comes to you, Should I just go find him?

You’re still young though and you understand that this is likely a foolhardy idea– that the exact thing that your parents have warned you against is happening right now. So you decide to consult with them before you make any decisions.

They indulge you a bit, willing to help you with some research, encouraging you to maybe even write a letter if you find the right words. However, they come with a clear warning: no good will come of it if you meet with anyone from a former life. You’re not the same person. It’s been decades, maybe centuries since they’ve last seen you, and they may not be the same person they once were. Don’t ruin your current life by chasing a previous one. Don’t go to Baldur’s Gate.

You nod, figuring that they’re correct. They have centuries of experience, seen countless elves go through what you’re going through. This is only sound, mature advice. That advice carries you for quite a while, staying your hand when you go to practice a divination spell or when you think to seek a teleportation circle to Baldur’s Gate.

However, after decades and decades of dreaming of this man, you find your will wavering, crumbling into dust. One reverie in your 99th year of life finally breaks through the last of your resistance.

[strayheartless]

what are some of the recipes witch angeal has made from his "family recipe" book? any fam favorites? any faves the boys have?

hello! I'm so sorry its taken me so long to answer, I've literally been agonising over Recipes trying to figure out what Goth Witch Angeal would bake 😆.

(I will say that insporation for much of this comes from Sweeny Todd, the curious creations of Christine McConnel and a handfull of Grims Fairytales.)

Okay, so Angeals Go to recipe is meat pie. The thing about this AU is I like towing the line between fantasy and realism with these Characterisations, so you never really know whether they are just Goth and Wiccan or actual storybook witches.

The meat pie started as a joke to scare the local church goers. in the early days of Gen and Angeals relationship, Angeal grudgingly went to church with Genesis in order to "present themselves properly" to the community. Genesis Grew up Catholic, and He is actually still quite religious in a rather hethenistic "Chriso-pagan" kind of way... The crusifix shaped scar at his Clavical that he's had for over 200- I mean... 2 years doesn't seem to deter him from standing on hallowed ground.

They'd been invited to a pot luck, and the woman that had extended it to them had done so incredibly passive agressivly. people like that grated on Angeal... so he'd turned to Mimsy (the recipe book) who immidiatly flipped to the page on meat pie.

To this day the people of the church don't know whether they ate human flesh or not...

The Fam as some more "normal" faves:

Angeals recipe for tri-chocolate brownies is Zacks favorite

Edger is a big fan of both his seed loaf and his mouse mix (its exactly what you think)

Genesis is fond of his Red velvet Cake. he does not use food dye to colour it red. do with that information what you will.

Sephiroth adores his Sea food Risotto, as well as literally anything with Chocolate in it. If anyone ever left Sephiroth in the woods, the only reason he wouldn't get eaten by the witch in the gingerbread house is because he too is a witch.

Cloud would eat Angeals Harvest special Pumpkin pie for every meal for the rest of his life if he could. allas Angeal will not let him.

food traditions include:

Angeals secret Ham recipe (no you may not know) at Yule. They don't eat turkey for many reasons. the main one being Zack complains it sucks allthe moisture out of his mouth. the second main one being Genesis prefers his meat extremely rare... for reasons.

During Imbolc they tend to eat deviled eggs until Zack hits food coma status. once he starts he can't stop.

During Litha they eat Honey cakes Which are some of Angeals personal favorites. usually this is with homemade mead or elderflower wine.

Mabon is all about soup. mostly pumpkin, sometimes carrot. Angela will absoloutly admit to getting the pumpkin soup recipe from a childrens book.

Samhain is all about spice and warmth, so Chillies, and Stews, and cornbreads, and soups and all kinds of things. There is also a lot of Pomigranits involved. Cloud seems to like sitting on the kitchen counter, feeding everyone who passes the seeds. Thats why They all refer to them as their personal persephony.

Beltane is again all about the Honey as well as fresh fruit and veg. Strawbery cream cake must be consumed. it is the law. And Angeal is 100% aware it is an aphrodesiac, thats why he bakes it. feeding Sephiroth strawberries is always fun.

[planetplutoxe]

I offer you all a staged duo angst headcannon:

What if only characters who wanted to restart got amnesia and those who were happy with what they had and want to continue from where they left off remembered everything?

And what if c!dream chose to start over and c!punz didn’t?

(Quick drabble based on this headcannon below)

Bright light faded and ear-piercing ringing dulled as Punz regained consciousness. The first thing they noticed was the soft ground below him. Not like the hard obsidian that he fell onto in the prison. Their head pounds, something doesn’t feel right. It takes a few tries, but Punz eventually opens his eyes. Stinging a bit as they try to adjust to the sunny field lying in front of him, something they can barely remember having ever seen on the server.

“What the fuck did Tommy do this time” Punz hurriedly mumbled under their breath while quickly getting on his feet. Everything ached so much it was like he had just fell off a cliff.

Which he would know from personal experience funnily enough. One of the many deaths they experimented with while testing the limits of the book.

His head turns side to side, eyes darting around, hoping to spot a bright green sweater, a mask, a sign, something. They don’t know what Tommy did or where they are but they do know Dream has to be around somewhere.

This is all just a minor bump in the plan. Once he finds Dream they can hunt down Tommy and Tubbo together and continue right where they left off. Punz hesitates at that thought, okay... maybe not exactly where they left off. He can remember moving towards Dream, wanting nothing more than for him to agree, to nod, to return the look Punz gave him and smile. But Dream stayed silent. He stood still with his head switching between looking at Tommy and Punz before deciding to hang low and stare at the floor instead. The look Dream briefly gave him, however, was not the one they wanted. Not the smile they so desperately wanted to see again. It was sad. It felt almost pitiful even. Like he had just told Punz their dog had died. Before Punz could dig themself deeper in that memory, he hears a familiar sound. One he missed so much. It was Dream’s laugh. Not the crazed maniacal laugh Punz grew used to, but the genuine one that Sapnap and George had heard so much. He approaches towards the sound and sees bright green and red in the distance coming toward him.

“You’re such an idiot Tommy, of course I have a house. We literally share a base!” exclaims a voice Punz assumes is Dream, but why would he be so happy talking to Tommy? They stare confusingly at the two getting along, Dream wasn’t even wearing his mask. What the fuck is going on. Distracted by... whatever the hell it was he just saw, they didn’t notice Dream approaching them.

“Hey you okay?”

Punz looked up at Dream and realized how different he looked. His scars were healed over, his eyes shined brighter and something about him just felt... happier. Seeing Dream like this made Punz feel happier too.

“Are you new here too? My friend, Tommy, and I have a base not too far away from here if you need somewhere to stay.”

Punz froze. He looked up, hoping something on Dream’s face indicated that he was joking. But Punz knew he wasn’t. It all started to make sense.

Dream lost his memory, he didn’t remember the book. He didn’t remember the plan. He didn’t remember Punz.

But Dream was happy. He was happy with George. He was happy with Sapnap. He was even happy with Tommy.

And Punz will never be enough.

[heathfall]

Once again, shoutout to @badgerstep because I wrote this entirely in his DMs and then put it on AO3.

This was written for the 20th anniversary of Into the Wild! It was posted on AO3 on Saturday, but I didn't get around to posting it here until today (Sunday my time).

I'm so happy to have been around and experienced the 20th anniversary. Warriors means and has meant the world to me for years.

(Entire fic under the read more line!)

Summary:

The sun filtered through the trees, dappling the leaves with light. The two apprentices made their way through the forest, separated only by a few feet of oak and pine. "Kittypet, I have a question for you," Sandpaw said. *** Two apprentices go hunting. Sandpaw has a burning question for the newest apprentice of ThunderClan. Set mid-Into the Wild. Written for the twenty year anniversary of Warriors.

Relationships:

Firestar & Sandstorm (Warriors)

Characters:

Firestar (Warriors)

Sandstorm (Warriors)

Tags: The Prophecies Begin: Book 1: Into the Wild, The Forest Territories (Warriors), One Shot, Drabble, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, StarClan (Warriors), ThunderClan (Warriors)

The sun filtered through the trees, dappling the leaves with light. The two apprentices made their way through the forest, separated only by a few feet of oak and pine.

"Kittypet, I have a question for you," Sandpaw said. Her voice was muffled by the mouse she carried. Firepaw twitched an ear, half paying attention to her and half paying attention to the scent of a vole. It was somewhere around, and he was determined to catch it and prove to Lionheart and Tigerclaw that he could catch just as much prey as Sandpaw, the older apprentice, could.

"Why did you choose to join the Clans?" she asked. Firepaw was surprised to hear no derision in her voice, but instead a gentle curiosity. "You had a soft life with a warm bed and more food than you could ever hope to eat. Why would you give that up for a life you knew nothing about?"

Firepaw sat back on his haunches and thought for a moment, keeping the vole's scent in his nose. "I always knew there was something more out there for me," he said at last. "I would dream each night of stalking in the forest and catching a mouse and then wake up each morning and have to eat pellets. They would feel stale and wrong in my mouth. Being a kittypet is a gentle life, but not the one I wanted to live."

Sandpaw joined him and sat down, her tail tucked over her paws. Her pelt was like pale embers in the gentle sunlight. "You weren't born under Silverpelt. Your ancestors don't walk with StarClan. You didn't grow up knowing of the warrior code." There was still no scorn in her voice, only confusion. "You didn't even know if the Clans would accept you. If you weren't intercepted by Graypaw, you'd have had your fur torn off."

Firepaw twitched his ear again, the one Longtail had nicked a few moons ago. The wound had healed nicely, but he would always hold the battle scar. "Longtail would beg to differ," he joked. "Anyway, ThunderClan did accept me. I chose to come with Bluestar, and I chose to stay. I have a name like yours and am an apprentice like you. I live my life exactly the way you do. Isn't that enough to make me as much of a warrior as you are? I know what else I could be, and I chose to be here."

Sandpaw was silent for a long while. Firepaw rose to his feet, scenting the vole again.

"I suppose I had never thought about it like that, Firepaw," she said at last, her voice so quiet he almost thought he imagined her saying his name for perhaps the first time.

A rustle in the leaves distracted him. He pounced and came up again a moment later with the vole he had been hunting. Sandpaw picked up her mouse and the two carried along their way.

The day was warm, the prey was running, and their mentors would soon be wondering what was keeping them.

[velvetcloxds]

MUTUAL ATTRACTION| S.B.

Pairing: Sirius Black x Plus Size Fem!Reader

Word count: 2800 words.

Warnings: Bullying, negative body image, negative comments about body, mentions overweight/plus size reader being bullied, degrading nickname for reader

Summary: Reader doesn't believe that Sirius Black truly likes her, thinking that his interest in her is part of some joke to embarrass her for being a plus sized girl. Sirius finds out why she feels this way and attempts to convince her otherwise.

A/N: This is completely self-indulgent, so feel free to scroll past it if it's not for you. Mxx.

“Shove off, Sirius,” Y/n mumbles, the words meeting the ears of a rather confused Sirius Black as he treads out of the classroom behind her. He scoffs lightly as he falls into step next to her.

“Why are you always so mean to me, love?” He muses with a light tone, lightly brushing her shoulder with his own. “Truly, if you continue on like this, I may just think that you don’t like me and give up,” He notes, earning a side glare from her as the pair slip past some first years rushing towards the class they just exited.

“How close are we to that happening?” She questions quickly, pausing briefly at a pileup by the stairs. “Just a general timeframe for the sake of my sanity?”

“I think I could hold out a bit longer,” He confirms, and she shakes her head with a soft sigh.

“You’re that committed to this ploy?” She asks him softly, the crowd starting to move again as a professor guides students into the right directions.

“What ploy?” Sirius asks, brow raised as he stares down at the girl.

“This ploy,” Y/n explains, gripping her books in her one arm as she gestures between her and Sirius. “Convincing me that the great Hogwarts player has somehow decided to court me,” She further explains, rolling her eyes at the boy who holds a confused stare. “I’ve been at this school for six years, Sirius. I’ve outlived all of the pranks, all of the bullying and all of the weight jokes, even this one specifically. And though, to be honest, you’ve held up much longer than the other bastards at this school, it still won’t work.”

“There seems to be a rather large miscommunication happening here, love,” Sirius defends, just barely catching a glance of Y/n’s glare before she starts walking away. ‘I’m not trying to prank you, Y/n. There is no ploy,” He announces as he starts following her. She scoffs. “I like you, is that honestly so hard to believe?” He questions carefully, a hand delicately gripping her elbow to keep her from stepping into her next class. She extends a shy glance at the gentle gesture before carefully pulling away.

“Yes,” She notes plainly, not even sparing Sirius the briefest look before disappearing into the steady stream of students heading to potions.

Sirius lingered for a mere moment before walking to the Gryffindor common room in a haze, shutting the door behind him in a rush as he waited to be acknowledged by James and Remus, currently studying for their DADA quiz.

“She doesn’t like me,” Sirius announces as he falls onto his bed, his friends looking up from their work as he does.

“Who?” James questions, shoving his textbook to the side at the newfound excuse from studying.

“Y/n,” Sirius clarifies and lifts his head to look at his dark-haired friend. “I don’t get it, I’ve been a complete gentleman,” He notes and both James and Remus scoff playfully, locking eyes to share a knowing look. “What was that?” He asks, lifting himself to lean back against his headboard. “What was that look?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Remus answers, also sliding his textbook close, folding his arms over his chest.

“I think what Remus means to say, is that you are the furthest thing from a gentleman poor Y/n will find,” James offers with a sly smirk and Remus looks down to hide a small smirk tugging at his lips as well.

“I’m offended,” Sirius muses with furrowed brows. “Utterly scarred by your insinuation,” He adds with mock hurt and shakes his head when the boys laugh in reply. “Besides, it’s not my adventures with the girls that worries her, I think it’s my adventures with you bunch that’s making her question me.”

“I don’t blame her.” Remus says as he refocuses his attention on his books. “We aren’t exactly the posterchildren for antibullying.”

“Why does that matter?” James asks before Sirius could and Remus sighs, lifting his gaze once again to explain.

“You’ve been practically stalking this girl for a month now and you’re telling me you haven’t noticed how she steers clear of Lucius Malfoy and his friends,” Remus shakes his head. “He has been bothering her for years.”

“That bastard,” Sirius mumbles and drags a hand through his hair. “Why?”

“Well take your pick, she’s a Hufflepuff and a muggleborn and as of lately, he’s been enjoying pointing out that she’s a plus size girl in a sea of smaller girls.” Remus explains which earns a slow nod from James who is now realizing how obvious Y/n’s misfortune has been.

“Wait, you’ve noticed this too?” Sirius asks with a pointed glare at James. “Why haven’t anyone said something to me?”

“Hey, it’s not our fault you’re this oblivious.” James points out and Remus nods slightly.

“Well, bloody hell, I don’t blame her either,” Sirius sighs softly, sinking back onto the bed again. “She probably thinks that I’m just another asshole taking a turn to make her life horrible.”

“Well, do you really like her?” Remus asks to which Sirius nods quickly, hair falling around his head as he moves against the bed. “Then prove her wrong.”

With Remus’ words echoing in his head, Sirius makes his way to the class he left Y/n at, a slight skip in his step due to his newfound knowledge and his plan to not only prove his intentions are pure, but to put an end to her struggle.

“Watch out,” A voice whispers behind him and he pauses, looking back to see his friends stumbling after him.

“What are you doing?” Sirius questions, pulling a hand through his hair as the boys still in front of him.

“Helping,” James explains, patting the raven-haired boy on his shoulder as Remus joins him in leading Sirius on his mission.

Y/n was unaware of the three boys heading towards her current classroom, she was however very much aware of the blonde boy that was in the same class with her at the very moment. Lucius whispered something to the boy at his side, his eyes never leaving hers as a soft laugh echoed from the group surrounding him. He musters a sly smirk as he moves to wave at her slowly. Y/n looks down at her textbook, hand shaking slightly as she adds another ingredient into her cauldron, stepping back just in case an unexpected reaction follows.

“Are you okay?” Lily Evans asks from her side. Y/n tilts her head when she hears the sincere question coming from a girl that may as well be a stranger. She nods slowly.

“I’m fine,” She replies too quickly, Lily stepping closer towards her just as another fit of laughter echoes from Lucius’ side of the classroom, a slight frown tilts into Lily’s lips as she watches the scene unfold, Y/n seeming to grow more anxious as Professor Slughorn announces the end of the class.

“Do you want me to walk out with you?” She asks, settling a hand on Y/n’s shoulder causing her to tense under her touch. Y/n frowns, closing her textbook as she turns to Lily.

“I’m fine,” Y/n repeats her earlier statement, managing a small smile before walking to the door and out of the class in a hurry, her books tightly pressed against her chest as she hears a group of determined footsteps following her, not even noticing the curious gaze of Sirius Black as she passes him in a rush. She pauses for a mere second to consider her route before turning the corner that leads her to the Hufflepuff common room, knowing that even if Lucius does catch up with her, he won’t be able to follow her inside.

“Y/n…” Lucius muses, his mocking tone slicing at her nerves as the hall around her starts to clear, her pace picking up as her heart beats in her throat.

“Where are you going, Piggy.” Another voice chimes in, laughs filling the air as a result of the comment. Y/n tightens her grip on her books and takes in a shaky breath, considering hiding in a cupboard or classroom, trying her luck in finding the room of requirements, but a sharp hand pulling her back empties her head of plans and thoughts, panic shivering though her body as her books drop to the ground in a loud thud.

“He asked you a question,” Lucius notes as he breathes into her neck, pulling her hands behind her back to keep her from running. “Answer him,” Lucius demands, not needing to raise his voice, the closeness of his body against hers fulfilling his flare for fear.

“To the common room,” Y/n admits, voice controlled as she looks at the ground, slightly struggling against his hold.

“Trying to skip out on our daily meetings?” One of his friends ask and Lucius smiles against her ear.

“Pity,” Is all he says as he loosens his grip, throwing her to the ground next to her books where she shuffles back towards the wall, desperately looking around for an escape, the boys making sure to surround her in a way that she couldn’t identify a single one. Lucius removes his wand from his robe, smiling as he points it directly as her, eyes dark as he considers which spell to begin with.

“Step away from her,” A voice commands and Y/n’s eyes shoot up, meeting the beautiful pair of brown ones first before she carefully rakes her gaze over the other two boys standing next to him, wands in their hands. “Now!” Sirius adds coldly the sharp shout filling the entire atmosphere. Y/n flinches at the guttural laugh dripping from Lucius lips. He looks from the girl on the floor to the boys in front of him and grins.

“How sweet,” He notes, bending down slowly where he reaches forward and settles a strong hold on Y/n’s chin, forcing her to keep still as his fingers pinch into her skin. “Defending her honour,” He laughs again. “You’re a few years too late, Black.”

“I know,” Sirius admits, voice forced as he tries to control himself. “But you’re done,” He steps forwards, paying no mind to Lucius’ friends turning to point their wands at him instead. “You’re done hurting her and scaring her, you’re done trying to dim that light,” He pauses briefly as he stills but inches from Lucius’ face, his eyes meeting with Y/n’s for a second as he shakes his head at the soft tears that roll down her cheeks before looking at Lucius. “I will not leave her side, not for a second.”

“But if he does, she’ll have us,” Remus declares from behind him and James nods in agreement. “And Lily and Peter and Marlene and every other person that we know will have her back.” He adds and steps closer to Y/n as well, James moving with him as they shove past Lucius’ friends and still next to Sirius.

“Get her,” James instructs, and Lucius moves aside, grinning still as he mockingly lifts his hands in surrender, his friends doing the same. Sirius wastes no time as he moves towards her, hands carefully latching onto her shoulders as he gently guides her to her feet, removing one hand to gather her books. Y/n avoids the boy’s gaze, numbly wiping at her cheeks to remove evidence of briefly cascading tears as she stumbles slightly.

“Go,” Sirius demands calmly, hands sliding down to the small of Y/n’s back as he faces Lucius, his cold tone earning a surprised reaction from everyone. “And spread the word too, Y/n is under the protection of the marauders, if you cross her, you cross us,” He notes simply, Lucius’ friends nodding quickly before collecting themselves and scurrying away. Only Lucius pauses as he extends another sly smile towards the girl in question.

“Very well,” He comments lightly and shrugs. “I’ll see you around, little Piggy,” He offers with a wink before walking away, Y/n’s hands nimbly grabbing hold of Sirius’ arm to keep him from going after him.

“Are you okay?” Remus questions when he meets the girl’s gaze, she nods slowly in reply.

“You guys didn’t have to do that,” She notes, reluctantly stepping away from Sirius and taking her books from his hold. She shakes her head. “I appreciate it, I truly do. But all you’ve done is shift his attention and tactics to you,” She explains and the boys nod, small smiles tugging at their lips as they look at Sirius who hasn’t removes his gaze from her for even a second.

“We know,” James confirms and shrugs. “But you’re important to him, which makes you important to us,” The dark-haired boy states plainly before tapping Remus’ shoulder, silently inviting him to leave.

“Thank you,” Y/n almost whispers, loud enough for the boys to hear though as they leave her and Sirius with kind smiles and gentle shrugs.

“I didn’t know,” Sirius informs her not missing a beat. “I’m an idiot for not noticing, but I swear I didn’t know.”

“I know,” She sighs, shyly looking down to her feet as his gaze intensifies on her face. “I also know that you’re not like Lucius Malfoy, despite your questionable activities with those friends of yours.”

“I wish I could’ve put a stop to it sooner,”

“It wasn’t your place to do so,” She notes and then shakes her head when she realizes how forward it sounded. “I meant that I could’ve done it myself. I know the spells and to be honest if that didn’t work, I could have just sat on the boy,” She jokes lightly, expecting Sirius to smile only to be met with a rather misplaced frown.

“You thought you deserved it?” He asks after a lingering second and she nods. “It that why you refuse to believe that I truly like you?” She nods again, slower this time, eyes back on the floor as an embarrassed tint of rose meets her cheeks.

“I don’t like myself very much, Sirius Black and I’d be damned if I tried to pretend that anyone could like any part of me when I can’t even do so myself,” She moves her hands to fiddle with the corners of her books. “There’s a lot not to like, is all, and I mean that literally,” She gestures to her body. “There’s a lot,” Sirius scoffs, tilting his heads as he looks down at the girl in front of him, quite unused to this level of honestly.

“You are a phenomenal girl, Y/n,” He notes honestly and moves a hand to her arm, fingers sliding down over her robe to intertwine with hers. “I can’t possibly explain to you what I see when I look at you, but you clearly need some enlightenment," He smiles softly. "I see the dimple on your right cheek when you laugh at Dumbledore’s comments, I see those worn-out band shirts that you wear when you’re studying in the library after everyone has left, I see that little twinkle in your eyes when someone asks you for help with their work, I see how excited you get when they have croissants at breakfast and I see how fragile you look when you’re staring up at the candles in the dining hall alone. I see you, more than you see yourself maybe, but I have yet to see a single thing that hasn’t made me completely and utterly mad about you, Y/n.” Sirius' voice is almost a whisper, his adoring tone causing a bashful smile to sink into the girl’s lips as he waits for her eyes to meet his.

“You like me,” She notes softly, more to herself than to him as she looks down to where his thumb is moving rhythmically across her hand, the movement causing shivers to tickle through her body.

“I like you,” Sirius clarifies, other hand lifting to the crook of her neck, delicately shifting the hair away from his fingers to caress her skin, keeping her in place so she doesn’t look away again. “And I’ll like you enough for the both of us for now, but I will not let another day pass without reminding you just how relentlessly extraordinary I find your very existence,” She smiles, nodding almost mindlessly as she steps forward, not quite ready to kiss the boy just yet, but yearning for the softest touch as leans into him, her books against his chest as his hands remain where there are, only shifting to be sure she’s comfortable against him. She smiles into his shirt, allowing the sweet sensation to consume her when he places a delicate kiss to the top of her head.

“I like you too, Sirius Black,” She announces carefully, tugging numbly on the hand that is folded around hers. “I like you too.”

Hi there, more of my work can be found on Wattpad under @mjoubertt. Mxx.

Masterlist 

[danses-with-dogmeat]

could you do the anxious tics prompt with fo3 and new vegas companions? sorry, i think i’ve asked you to add characters a lot but i just really love your writing ^^”

FO3 and FONV Romanced! Companions react to Lone's/Six's Anxiety Tics

Here you are, my love. Please never feel bad about requesting more people! It's honestly what I live for, and I loooooove making content for the FO3 and NV folks, since I feel like there's a lot less written about them in general 😊

So thank you so much for the ask!

Here is the prompt with FO4 Companions!

FO3

Butch:

     The flash of large red-framed letters had caught Butch’s attention as the pair stood waiting to speak to Doc Church outside his clinic in Megaton. “Whatcha got there, babe?” he had asked, before realizing that it was, in fact, exactly what he had thought. Lone blushed as they looked up at him, hiding behind the pages of their comic book. “You really kept that? After all these years?” They had nodded to him, explaining that it was a sort of security blanket for them, that they could always count on reading the same story, seeing the same happy ending each time they looked between the pages, each time they felt uncertainty or stress, they could count on Grognak to see them through it. He grinned whenever he saw them with it, often curling up beside them, or leaning his head on their shoulder to try and read along with them. In these cases, Lone had to read the pages slower than they normally would, reading the same comic book over and over for the last 10 years means you can skim through it pretty quickly, but they don’t really seem to mind. Now they get to watch as this person that they care so much for enjoys the comic book they relied on and adored for so long.

Charon:

     The ghoul was curious about Lone’s tendency to nap directly after dealing with stressful situations, but he decided not to voice any inquiries. His companion would explain themself if they wanted him to know more. One day, they did. Lone had thanked him for always looking after them while they rested off their anxiety, and mentioned that it was something they couldn’t help. Charon had nodded at them, acknowledging their gratitude, before his blue eyes had narrowed in his effort to process the rest of what they had said. It seemed strange to him, sleeping off nerves... Wouldn’t that make it more difficult to sleep? He decided that the logic of it didn’t really matter, whatever it was that caused it, he would look after his partner as they took the time to rest. Soon enough, they would beckon for him to join them, leaning against his shoulder or laying their head in his lap as he kept watch over them. A scarred hand would come to run softly through their hair, or graze lightly over their arm as they dreamed away their anxieties alongside their watchful partner.  

Clover:

     Lone wasn't quite sure why, but it seemed to them that Clover was always so handsy whenever they became anxious. They had to admit, they didn't necessarily mind it, but she always seemed to get frisky at the most inopportune times. Meanwhile, Clover just can't seem to figure out why Lone is always casting hints her way in the middle of stressful situations. She gets it, she totally is picking up what Lone is putting down every time they draw their bottom lip between their teeth and gnaw away so suggestively, but do they really have to do that right now?! Once Clover finds out it's just Lone's way of coping with their anxiety, she feels sort of foolish… but that doesn't stop her from getting a little turned on whenever Lone does it, even though the timing is usually inconvenient for both of them. But after the trouble and stress has passed, Lone will certainly need to blow off some steam, right? If that’s the case, Clover is more than ready for it. 

Cross:  

     Cross often noticed when Lone had trouble focusing, she tends not to miss a thing, especially when it comes to her Lone. When she sees her partner struggling to keep their attention trained on the person speaking to them, she usually will step in and ask if the person can speak to her companion again at a later time. Her direct and clear way of speaking is a relief for Lone when they are experiencing tension, as their listening becomes almost ineffective when they are being spoken to during times of high stress or anxiety. Paladin Cross understands this, and pays particular attention to speak slowly and with great care in these times. Due to her affinity for speaking this way normally, she and Lone tend to never have issues with communication; which evidently, tends to keep Lone from becoming anxious when they’re around their partner.

Fawkes:  

     Within his first couple weeks of traveling alongside Lone, the mutant noticed their need to constantly snack. When he decided to inquire about it, and they hesitantly explained their habit to stress eat, he wasn’t sure he understood it, but he knew that he had his own ways of dealing with his nerves, which came in the form of wringing his hands whenever he became anxious. So, if this is how Lone deals with it, he will accept it without question. It wasn’t until one fateful day, when Lone had realized they were completely out of snacking material and they were on the brink of a breakdown, that they realized Fawkes had taken their words to heart, as he reached out a large hand, filled to the brim with an assortment of their favorite snacks from one of his pockets. All this time they thought he only kept ammunition in there, turns out, their partner always had a well-stocked stash of their anxiety-repellent hidden away for cases just like these. They smiled coyly as they took a box of snack cakes, and a tin of crisps, settling down beside Fawkes as he lightly ran his hand up and down their back as they leaned into him, their breathing already beginning to return to normal with each passing moment.

Jericho:

     The ex-raider always thought it was a little annoying, the way his companion would stutter at him every time something got dicey, or when they had to deal with some sort of verbal confrontation. It was painful to watch, and when he brought it up to them, and they stuttered back an embarrassed response, he realized it was well out of their control. It would still bug him, and he might make an off-handed comment about it every once in a while, but the more he saw that those comments weren’t funny to his partner, the more they glared at him as he laughed at his own rude jokes, he decided he should refrain from such talk. Lone hadn’t developed a thick skin like most wastelanders he was used to, and certainly not like most raiders; and he would have to constantly remind himself of that. After his realization, he wouldn’t say a word about their stutter again, and God help anyone who did. You mention his partner’s stutter, you’ll probably have one too by the time he’s done with you. If you still even have a tongue, that is.  

FONV:

Arcade: 

     The doctor almost flinched at the feeling of Six’s fingers wrapping around his thumb the first time they did it, but he managed to keep his composure and simply utter a sarcastic comment in response to their sudden action. But when their stress passed, and they explained that it was a tic of theirs that they had trouble controlling, he immediately understood. Not only was he a doctor (so you know, he has pretty extensive knowledge regarding things of this nature) but he’s also had his own lovely tangles with anxiety in the past, and can’t really blame Six for their habit (despite the fact that he has absolutely no tics of his own to deal with). However, his understanding of it doesn’t mean he isn’t going to make some sort of humorous comment on the action whenever it occurs. At Six’s annoyed expression he says that he is simply trying to lighten the mood a bit, maybe distract them with his humorous musings. Six thinks he must not have a clue that he exercises his own coping mechanism (ahem, sarcasm) whenever their gesture makes him uncomfortable, so they end up trying to keep themself from grasping onto his thumb to the best of their abilities. But, to be honest, they’re relieved when Arcade begins reaching over his hand to them in times of stress, his eyes avoiding theirs, and his comments going unuttered, but his thumb extending outward to allow easy access nonetheless. This gesture usually results in a kiss on the cheek for the doctor when his partner has gotten through their bout of stress.

Boone: 

     He had noticed it when he first met the courier, the way they couldn't look him in the eye. Boone hadn't been sure if it was just him, considering his constant need to wear sunglasses and his somewhat stoic demeanor, or if it was the way they were with everyone, but either way, he didn’t mind in the slightest. When he found that it was a result of their anxiety, he simply nodded to them in understanding, and the pair went on their way. The sniper honestly wasn’t big on direct eye contact himself, another boon of wearing sunglasses was being able to keep your eyes trained wherever you liked, and so people tended not to notice his own habit of avoiding eye contact with them. He threw the idea out to Six one night, and soon enough the pair wore matching sunglasses nearly all the time. And though, as he said, he didn’t mind Six’s habit one bit, the knowledge that they only looked people in the eye when they felt completely comfortable and at ease with them made it all the more special when they did decide to look into his eyes when the pair was talking, or sharing a tender moment. In those little instances, Boone liked to study the details of his partner’s eyes, committing their warm and vibrant glow to memory, paying distinct attention to their unique shape, and the way their pupils dilated as they gazed back at him. He only wondered if they noticed his eyes doing the same in return as he took in the details of the one he loved.

Cass:  

     The caravaner always tends to offer some form of alcohol to Six whenever she sees their leg shaking in such a way. Cass is familiar with the side effects of withdrawal when she sees them, and she'll try to help her partner to the nearest drink as soon as she can. When Six finally asks her about why it is that she offers alcohol to them when they’re feeling stressed, mentioning that it maaaaaay not be the most healthy coping mechanism for anxiety, she is a bit confused. They were anxious!? Strange, she only tends to shake like that when she hasn't had a drink in a while. With the knowledge that it’s a nervous tic of theirs, Cass uses it to her advantage to better tell when her partner needs to take a load off, or blow off some steam. At the sight of their leg thrumming away, she’ll give their thigh a pat to get their attention, and then ask if there’s anything she can do to help them. As luck would have it, a stiff drink does tend to give Six the time to calm their nerves, so that trend isn’t completely abandoned once Cass has found out the truth about Six’s habit.

Raul:

     "What's the matter, boss? Can’t find the right word? Lo siento, mi corazón, English isn't my best language, but I can try and help if you want." Raul is… confused at first. Whenever Six snaps their fingers, he can't seem to figure out if they're trying to find the right word to say, or if they happen to be looking for something, maybe they're trying to keep time, or make a beat? Maybe they’re counting something, trying to remember a phrase? Once they tell him it’s just a nervous tic they have, Raul looks a little embarrassed at the fact that he didn’t assume this earlier on. The ghoul tries not to pay much attention to his partner’s habit, since he knows it must make them a little self conscious when people point it out, but sometimes he can't help but snap along, trying to make a little song to go along with their own improvised rhythm. When Six does finally notice his contribution, Raul just likes to wink at them in response, flashing a playful little smile as they blush in embarrassment at the fact that he caught them doing their nervous tic.

Veronica:

     When Veronica noticed that her partner had pierced ears, she was ecstatic. Ecstatic, and jealous. She always wanted to pierce her ears, to find or make her own pretty little earrings to decorate herself with, but alas, ear piercings were certainly not within the limits of Brotherhood dress and decorum. Given her interest in them, it’s no surprise that she noticed the way Six twisted the backs between their fingers, twiddling the bits of jewelry absent-mindedly whenever they became stressed or nervous. Often times, Veronica would reach a hand out to gently pry their fingers from their earring, pulling their hand to her lips so she could give it a small kiss before bringing it to settle somewhere else, to keep them from damaging the little bits of jewelry in their ears that she envied so much. 

[helliontherapscallion]

Hello! For the event, can I please get a Philza x male reader who has old scars from self harming? Like, the reader was like "Yea, I had problems with my self esteem". And Phil just comforting him? Thank you!

Food Fights and Comfort

Warnings: swearing, self harm scars, and self harm mentions (nothing graphic)

“You have no idea how hard getting that enchantment was,” Tommy groaned out through a mouthful of half-chewed food. Wilbur reached over to slap him upside the head, “don’t talk with your mouth full. No one wants to see that.”

“Fuck off Wilbur I can do what I want!” Tommy shoved more food into his mouth, chewed it up, and opened his mouth wide facing Wilbur. Your older brother wrinkled his nose in disgust before he shoveled some mashed potatoes onto his spoon and flung it at Tommy where it collided with his shirt. Tommy looked at the brunet with rage before he swallowed his food and scooped up some mashed potatoes and drew his spoon back. Philza’s hand on his arm and his warning glare made him freeze.

“Tommy, if you throw that I swear to god I’m gonna ground you for a month.”

“But- but he started it! I-”

“Let me finish. And Wilbur’s grounded from his guitar for two weeks.”

“C’mon! He-” Wilbur was cut off by Philza’s angry glare, “don’t make me extend it to a month, Wilbur.”

Technoblade leaned over to Tommy when Philza wasn’t looking and whispered in his ear, “if you do it, I’ll do your chores for two weeks.”

“Make it three and you have yourself a deal,” he hissed back at the pink haired teenager.

“...Fine, just do it.”

You silently watched as Tommy genuinely considered it before picking up his mashed potato-armed spoon and flinging the potatoes at the tall brunet next to you. They splattered on his yellow sweater making Wilbur look at him in offense before scooping his food once more and returning fire, his elbow knocking over your mug. The steaming contents of the mug splashed onto you and scalded your arms, soaking through your thick sweater.

A startled yelp left your mouth as you leapt up from your seat frantically trying to brush off the offending liquid unsuccessfully with your hands. The table fell silent as they watched you.

“Shit, I’m so sorry (y/n), I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine, Wil, accidents happen. If you all would excuse me, I’m just gonna go clean myself up.”

“Here, let me help you-” Wilbur pushed himself up from his chair only to sit back down when Philza put a hand on his shoulder.

“No, you stay here and clean up this mess. This is exactly why I didn’t want you two to have a food fight, someone always gets hurt.” He walked over to you with a small, reassuring smile, “c’mon.”

You grew increasingly nervous as he led you to the bathroom, your hands pulling your sleeves down repeatedly. He didn’t know about your scars, they were something you struggled with accepting even though it’s been almost a year since you’ve stopped. You were lucky, he had adopted you just at the beginning of fall when you could wear long sleeves as much as you wanted without getting weird looks.

After sitting you on the counter, he turned to rummage in the closet for the first aid kit. From your short time here, you could already tell that the family would go through first aid kits fast. It was a very accident-but-not-really-accident prone family.

He let out a triumphant laugh as he found the box and turned around to look at you, wiggling it in the air, “found it! Now, let’s patch you up, yeah?” When you made no move to push your sleeves up, he furrowed his brows and looked at you a bit closer. He could see the shame and anxiety on your face as clear as day, confusing him to no end. From your short time living with him, you were always an open book, telling him anything whenever he would ask.

“Kid, why’re your sleeves over your hands? I’ve got to see if you have any burns, so if you could push them up I can put some ointment on them.”

You hesitated, the last time you had shown someone your scars was when you were still at the orphanage. You had shown your best friend at the time, and they exploded at you. They told you that you were a freak, that you were an emo for self harming. They ended up spilling everything to the other orphans, and word spread fast at the orphanage; every day was the same there, so they craved new information like it was an addict’s drug.

That began the assault of ‘show us your wrists’ and ‘barcode scanner’ jokes being thrown your way. You became the outcast of the orphanage as fast as you became the loved one. You weren’t sure if the adults knew about it, but if they did, they turned a blind eye to the torment you were going through. It was a miracle that you managed to stay clean during that entire time, you were so close to relapsing. If it hadn’t been for Philza adopting you when he did, you would’ve fallen back into your old ways.

You knew Philza would never do that, as he was one of the kindest people you’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. However, you had thought about your ex best friend and reflected on what they did to you. Philza had something they hadn't, however, he had your complete trust.

You prepared yourself for the looks of horror and potentially getting thrown back into the orphanage and hesitantly pushed your sleeves up to your elbows. When Philza saw this, he gave you a reassuring smile and quickly got to work on your slightly burnt forearms.

The entire time, he said nothing about the blatantly obvious scars that littered your wrists. This confused you since there was no way that he didn’t see them. Before you knew it, he tied off the bandages and put his hand on yours gently.

“Those should heal soon, you just gotta keep putting ointment on it and let it breathe for a while each day. If you want to, we can go downstairs and finish our dinner.”

You snapped yourself out of the daze you were in and cleared your dry throat awkwardly, “sure, that… that sounds good.”

“Great,” he gave you another smile before he went to leave the bathroom, “I’ll meet you downstairs, just come down when you’re ready.”

“Wait!” You hadn’t meant to say it so loud that it scared the blond, but the anxiety and paranoia that almost blocked your throat forced the word to be louder than intended. He jumped slightly and looked back at you with a soft, yet questioning gaze.

You pushed your sleeves down and fiddled with the ends of them, “you’re not going to say anything?”

“I’d never force anybody to do anything they’re uncomfortable with, it’s just not the right thing to do. It’s always better to let people open up to you whenever they’re ready to,” he said, walking over to you again and standing in front of you. “The same goes to you, I’m always going to be here to listen whenever you’re ready to talk about it.”

You shrunk in on yourself slightly and nodded, contemplating on whether you should tell him about what pushed you to that point, how you were treated when you had opened up about it for the first time. Eventually, you swallowed past the lump that had formed in your throat, “I’ll take you up on that offer.”

And so you told him everything about your previously declining mental health and how the others treated you during your stay at the orphanage. Though he concealed it well, you could still see his anger when you told him about the jokes made at your expense. He never interrupted you to ask questions, he never gave you any sign of malice, he patiently waited for you to continue whenever you paused, and he always showed you that he was actively listening to you whenever you looked at him.

A part of you expected him to kick you out of his house and take you back to the orphanage, but he offered you nothing but his full support. Talking about it, though it was hard, was far easier to do compared to your previous experience. He was an easy person to talk to, radiating a welcoming and judgemental free aura.

“You’re not going to judge me?” You questioned him when you were done, anxiety gripping at your chest. He put a hand on your shoulder and shook his head, “no, you couldn’t help it; it’s heartless to judge someone based on their struggles… You’re a strong person, (y/n). It takes a lot to get yourself out of that cycle and I’m so proud of you for how much you’ve grown and persevered through what life’s thrown at you.”

“I- thanks Dad,” you wrapped your arms around him and squeezed him lightly. Without a second of hesitation, he quickly reciprocated the hug. He tucked your head underneath his chin and rubbed your back in small circles, “any time, I’m always going to be here for you. I love you so much, son.”

[everythingharrypotterblog]

charmed [7]: ‘night changes’ (remus lupin x reader)

a/n: i got rejected from my top choice university program today so if im gonna be unhappy, might as well make u guys happy and release parts 5 and 7

brief summary: y/n and remus are both teachers at hogwarts and this is his first transformation where he is under wolfsbane. y/n remains in human form as he transforms. werewolf or not, all y/n ever feels is him.

series summary: set in the prisoner of azkaban, including its major plot points. remus and y/n get hired by dumbledore last minute to teach at hogwarts, defense against the dark arts and charms respectively. not wanting the students to know they are married, they navigate the challenging year through hidden glances, hand holds underneath the table and loving moments in their offices. even with all their efforts to conceal their relationship, their chemistry does not go unnoticed by the student population of hogwarts, who grow fond of the pair as they offer them some of the best classes they’ve had in a while. their relationship as newlyweds is strengthened as teaching the next generation of wizards unlocks a sea of memories of their love story. for the second time in his life, remus holds hogwarts responsible for some of his happiest memories. he’s given the chance to create them with the love of his life, y/n, who has taught and continues to teach him that every part of him is lovable, remaining forever under her charm.

series masterlist here

join taglist here

7.

previously, in part 1:

“No, you don’t understand, it’s incredibly, extremely dangerous for a human to be around a were-“ Remus had tried to say, before Y/N had stood up and with a crack, disappeared. A single white dove hovered where she had stood, its wings flapping slowly to stay afloat.

“Y/N?”

With a crack, Y/N had appeared again.

“I didn’t know you were an Animagus.”

Y/N grinned. 

“What, you thought James, Sirius and Peter were the only ones to ever succeed at it?”

Remus still grimaced, shaking his head and looking down.

“It’s still too dangerous, I won’t risk it. I couldn’t possibly think of hurting you, I’m too dangerous-“

“Remus, stop it. You didn’t hurt Peter as a rat back in the day, you wouldn’t hurt a flinging bird either. Plus, I got a serious height advantage on you anyway.” Y/N raised her eyebrows at him teasingly, transforming back again into the dove and flying up to the ceiling. Lupin wasn’t convinced.

“Y/N, you shouldn’t-“

The dove reappeared as Y/N and kneeled between Lupin’s legs, taking his face into her hands carefully. 

“Please? Let me be there for you. Let me try-“

“I-“ Remus winced in his crippling self-doubt.

“I promise, if I ever feel unsafe, I’ll fly away. I promise.”

Remus nodded. “I love you.”

Y/N was taken aback, but surged forward to press her lips against his.

“I love you too.”

It was the first time they had said that to each other.

+

The first full moon of the Hogwarts term was now but a day away. As it drew nearer, Remus got paler and grew more irritable, as it always was. 

The students never noticed, as he remained their kind Professor Lupin to them. Remus valued the staff and Dumbledore in extremely high regard, so he mainly kept to himself to avoid conflict.

However, his short temper was not 100% appeasable. 

He was presently in his office, leg anxiously bouncing. He couldn’t help but jitter as restless energy coursed through him. The door opened, and he  jerked his head in its direction, to see Y/N walk in, slightly anxious as well.

“Hi, love.” She said, making her way to him.

“He’s late.” Remus muttered.

“It’s Albus Dumbledore, what do you expect- maybe he had a Wizarding War in Luxembourg to stop before this or something.” Y/N joked, dragging a chair beside her and taking Remus’ hand.

His leg stopped bouncing. 

+

1980.

Remus sat in an armchair in the House of Black’s library, attempting to distract himself before the night would come, a transformation night.

Loud voices reverberated across the walls, and he usually wouldn’t have minded, but the full moon made him more irritable.

“Will you guys stop yelling!” He called out across the hallway to the room where James, Sirius and a couple other Order members were talking over each other.

Sirius shared a look with James and they shrugged, making a motion with their hand asking the others to lower their voices.

“Hi, guys!” In came Y/N’s voice, as she walked through the door after a day of work, setting down her jacket. She joined the table for a few snacks, before inquiring, “Where’s Remus?”

“Ah, in the library.” James said mindlessly, shuffling the pack of cards they were playing with. He spotted Y/N head for that direction, and attempted to add, “But I wouldn’t disturb him if I were-“

But Y/N already walked in the library, wanting to see her boyfriend. She found him buried in a book, sitting slightly uncomfortably in his clothes, as if his body was having pre-transformation aches.

“Hi, love.” She said gently.

Remus peered up from his book and instantly smiled, uncrossing his legs and patting at his lap. Y/N took a seat on him, and he wrapped his arms around her comfortably.

“How was work?” He grumbled, mouth kissing up her arm and shoulder.

“Oh, just the usual.”

He listened to her talk about her day, hugging her as she sat in his lap.

James heard faint sounds of their light voices from the other room, and laughed. Sirius shook his head, both of them amused by their friend’s drastic change in demeanor.

“Little fucker.”

+

Dumbledore appeared in Remus’ office not long after Y/N joined, with a goblet of familiar-looking blue smoke.

“Remus, Y/N. I took the liberty of bringing you your last dose myself, Severus has already done so much. So, you wanted to talk about the logistics of your upcoming transformation.”

Remus nodded, leaning forward and taking the potion.

“This is your first time with Wolfsbane, so we cannot be sure on how it will affect you. However, I trust that it has been brewed properly, so it should do its function, which is to maintain your mental state when you transform.”

“So technically, he could just stay and hide here in his office and wait for the night to be over?” Y/N asked Dumbledore, thumb rubbing over Remus’ hand.

“Yes. If the potion has been brewed correctly, which I am sure it has, Remus should transform into nothing but a harmless wolf. Of course, because this is your first time, if you still wish to go outside and-“

“Yes.” Remus interjected, once he finished the last of the potion. “I wish to still use the Whomping Willow, just to avoid all potential risk.”

“Very well.” Dumbledore smiled, bowing his head. “I have complete trust in you, so you do as you please.”

“And I should… I won’t forget who I am, I won’t lose my mind?” Remus asked.

“No.” Dumbledore confirmed. “Your mental state will stay intact.”

“Then, I can technically be in human form with him.” Y/N gasped as the idea jumped into her head. She was immediately met with startled looks from both Dumbledore and Remus, Dumbledore merely intrigued and Remus looking downright terrified. “I mean, I could be with him. Me, a human.” She added hastily.

Glancing at Remus’ fervently opposed look, Dumbledore merely stood up.

“I will leave that between you two to discuss. Goodnight, and good luck.” He said. “Oh! And one more thing.”

His eyes twinkled. “I hear talk amongst the students since the start of term. About you two.”

Remus and Y/N looked at each other nervously.

“Something about spotting their Charms and Defence teachers always being present in each other’s offices…”

Y/N mouth dropped in shock, trying to figure out how students could even know where they spent their nights, before Dumbledore laughed heartily, shaking his head.

“I kid, I kid, I have heard nothing of the sort. All that has reached my ears are the raving comments about your classes and subjects. Keep up the good work, Professors.” Dumbledore chuckled, and vanished into the fireplace.

Y/N stared dumbfounded at the spot he disappeared, before letting out a laugh.

“I-“ She blinked. “He is so weird, and can you believe, I almost let slip that I’m an Animagus-“

She stopped once she looked at her husband, whose expression was grave.

“Wha-“

“You cannot stay in human form with me.” He shook his head.

Y/N stayed silent for a second. “Why not? If this potion works, and we know it will, your-“

“We can’t be too sure!” Remus sighed. “Werewolves, we hunt for humans. We look for victims to bite, to… to-“

“If the potion doesn’t work, then I’ll just transform into a dove, like always.”

Remus met her eyes in a worried gaze.

“I’ve been a bird countless of times on your transformations, you’re still gonna let me do that, are you?” Y/N raised her eyebrows. “You even said, werewolves look for humans, animal companions are harmless-“

“Which is exactly why you can’t be in human form, darling! The extreme danger that would put you in, you have no idea.”

“I have no idea?” Y/N pursed her lips, instinctively reaching out to her bicep, on which lay a tiny white scar.

Remus glanced at it too, with almost hatred and remorse in his eyes, as he sighed, hand tracing over it and kissing it.

+

“Maybe you should transform right now, my love.” Remus said anxiously as he, Y/N, James, Sirius and Peter walked through an abandoned part of the woods.

The sky was dark, and the clouds radiated a faint shimmer indicating the full moon would appear soon.

“I won’t transform until I absolutely need to.” Y/N said firmly, hand holding onto Remus’ tightly.

“She’ll follow our lead, Moony, don’t worry.” Sirius said.

Unintentionally, they stopped at a small hill, deeming the timing to be right.

“Y/N, it’s not too late, you could just Disapparate away, I-“ Remus said to Y/N.

“Remus. Stop. I’m not scared.” Y/N smiled at him, cupping his cheek. “You’re still you. And I love you, all parts of you. Nothing will change that, or you and me.”

Remus nodded, breathing quickly and pulled her in for a kiss, before the other Marauders beckoned Y/N to back away slightly as the moon started to peak.

The night changed in an instant.

The opal orb shone in the sky and in the moonlight, Y/N watched as Remus’ tall silhouette trembled, his body morphing into a werewolf.

Y/N was in awe. His body lengthened. His shoulders were hunching. Hair sprouted visibly from his head and neck and his hands curled into clawed paws. Straightening up, he howled to the sky, the sound echoing into the rest of the night.

Y/N’s mind went blank. The Marauders had transformed as she kept her eye on Remus. For a second, the werewolf’s eyes met hers, but before she could do anything, he lunged for her.

Adrenaline shot through her body as the werewolf made a swipe towards her, a big black dog jumping in between them just in time for Remus’ sharp claw to slightly graze her shoulder before she transformed with a crack, into a dove and flew up, batting her wings.

+

“I’ll never be able to forgive myself for that.” Remus whispered painfully, finger tracing over the small permanent scratch near Y/N’s shoulder.

“But I’m fine.” Y/N pursed her lips, eyes looking into Remus’ face imploringly. “Because I knew that it wasn’t you. And after the night ended, you cared for me so tenderly and lovingly. Gently. Because that is the real you.”

+

Remus soaked a warm towel for the millionth time as he sat Y/N on the toilet next to the sink to tend the small scratch she had acquired from him.

“Rem, it’s okay, do you realize that I’ve broken literal bones before! This is nothing.” Y/N said, letting him clean the patch of skin before taking both of his hands in hers. He kneeled in between her legs.

“I could never forgive myself for this, I’m so sorry-“

“Please. In the best way possible, shut up.” Y/N smiled, eyes welling up at the unnecessary look of remorse plaguing Remus’ face. “That wasn’t you. And nothing that I saw or felt last night changes who you are to me now.”

“You don’t…see me as a monster? You don’t even feel a tiny bit scared being with me right now?” Remus teared up.

Y/N smiled, eyes crinkling and letting tears fall down her cheeks. “I just feel you.”

+

Y/N woke up from her nap the night of the full moon to find Remus’ side of the bed empty. Eventually, she had gotten Remus to agree to let her accompany him as she always did, but in human form this time.

Getting up, she spotted Remus already at the door. She crossed her arms.

“Are you running away?” Y/N frowned, her husband jumping at getting caught.

“No, I-I figured I’d head out earlier.”

Y/N walked towards him, squeezing his shoulders.

“We talked about this. It’ll be okay.” Y/N reassured him. She saw the fear still in his eyes but he nodded, blinking some away and reaching to get Y/N’s coat for her.

They walked in the chilly night air, making their way to the Forest. Although this felt completely new, they had never done this at Hogwarts and they were expecting new results tonight, there was also a sense of déjà-vu present in the air.

Y/N had been helping Remus with every one of his transformations during their entire marriage and before, ever since she was 18. It’s been almost 13 years that they were in this together.

We're only gettin' older, baby

And I've been thinkin' about it lately

“Thank you for being here.” Remus said, squeezing her hand. “And I don’t just mean tonight.”

Y/N squeezed it back tightly, beaming at him. The moon was close to being fully out, and they stopped on a small hill overlooking Hagrid’s Hut where it would appear in full view.

Does it ever drive you crazy

Just how fast the night changes?

“Remember, if I make any sudden moves, you transform on the spot, okay?” Remus looked down at her, eyes full of conviction. Y/N nodded.

They both stood there, waiting, anticipation through the roof. They felt nauseous, from nervousness. The clouds began to fade, and more moonlight shined onto them. Slowly, they let go of each other’s hands and took a couple steps back from each other.

Everything that you've ever dreamed of

Disappearing when you wake up

The first beam of light hit Remus as the full moon emerged.

But there's nothing to be afraid of

Even when the night changes

His neck began elongating, thick hair growing from his head and covering his back. His shoulders hunched as he grew taller, breaking through the material of his clothes. 

It will never change, baby

Y/N watched from a short distance as Remus morphed into a towering creature. Her incantation was ready in her head, just in case she had to transform into the dove.

It will never change, baby

Slowly, the full-fledge werewolf straightened up from its hunched over position. His eyes met Y/N’s and her body tensed, remembering. Instead of lunging at her, he sat down, his human-like eyes expressing gentleness. Y/N took a tiny step towards him.

“Remus?” She said, voice trembling.

The werewolf nodded.

Taking steps closer, she shakily got down onto her knees to join him on the ground. She lifted a hand, tentatively, and inch by inch, approached it to cup his cheek. At the contact, they both breathed out in relief.

“I just feel you.” Y/N smiled, tears flowing from her eyes.

It will never change me and you.

to be continued

a/n: as always i’d love to hear what u thought or what ud like to see of the series:)

tags @bicyhot1  @pink-hufflepuff  @legitlaughingflamingo @brod16  @gerardonmyway  @blueleonor  @suranne-doesstuff  @rxmusblxck  @spxllcxstxr  @littleemo477  @just12randomfandoms  @svnkissdd  @norrreee  @m4r13l3y  @jess6578  @rorysreallyrandom  @the-nightingale-not-the-lark  @archeve19  @wolfstarslovechild  @pan-pride-12  @x4kai4x  @chrrybmb-mp3  @reggieluna  @happyslittlekitten  @missemilygilmore  @all-things-fictional @strangefirething  @abitofeverythinggg  @yeahshewayout  @imfreeeeeee123  @harold-pothead  @lunnybunny12  @ellieblack11  @tugabooos  @joyfulbiscuit  @justonemorechapter07 @wonderwoman292  @skateb0red  @secretsthathauntus  @siriusblackswhoree  @sabonbonn  @untraveled-road  @annabeljareau  @valiantobservationkitty @diffbeanofbrand  @theeicedamericano​  @spencerreidlove  @flannellover67  @wishiwasdeadric  @becks7401​  @katsav17  @emmy-kitty13  @purritoqueen  @girl22334  @monicafebyana​  @talsiaa​  @sierrax023​  @axva03  @uhh-dk  @nataliahgrace​  

[quokkacore]

everywhere at the end of time | z.cl

summary: in his old age, chenle can’t remember any of it anymore. but you do. you do, and it burns.

pairing: zhong chenle x fem!reader

genre: ANGST, fluff, slice of life, parents au

warnings: dementia, themes of grief, depression, language, suggestive content, period typical sexism, mentions of domestic abuse (not from chenle!), traditional gender roles, body image, kind of implied postpartum depression

word count: 3.8k

a/n: this was inspired by the caretaker’s everywhere at the end of time, a compilation of albums meant to simulate memory loss from dementia when listened to in one sitting. i listened to half of it yesterday, and it was so haunting i needed to write about it. if you decide to listen to it, please be careful. several analyses i’ve seen about it talk about how it can be very emotionally distressing. i personally didn’t feel too upset by it, but be aware.

There was a boy who smiled at you once, from across a dance hall. Long, long ago. His grin, boyish and playful, made your face heat up and your body turn to giggle to your friends. And then, suddenly, he was walking over to you, and reaching out his hand to you. He didn’t seem nervous at all. He looked like he had not a care in the world, as if life were a calm ocean with soft winds and he were a sailboat.  

“My name’s Chenle,” He’d said, speaking loudly over the music, “Wanna dance?”

Swing was the thing back then. You barely had time to tell him your name before he pulled you onto the dancefloor and spun you around like there was no tomorrow. You were quite literally swept off of your feet, flying across the hardwood floor as the two of you laughed and danced. When the song was over, you were out of breath. You weren’t quite sure if it was because of how hard you’d danced or because he managed to steal your breath and your heart within a matter of minutes. 

Up until then, you were damn sure that love at first sight was impossible. But you were suddenly very sure that love at first dance existed. You’d tell that story for years to come. How you danced a few more songs, how he took you to the side and you spent the next hour or so talking. How your girls tried to tug you away, saying that it was getting late, but you simply didn’t want to leave. You were hooked on him, and he was hooked on you. He begged to see you again, and you very quickly found a napkin and a pen to scratch down your home phone number on. 

You said you’d wait for his call, and had left with a lovestruck look on your face. The entire way home, the girls didn’t let you hear the end of it. That he seemed sweet, he was quite the dancer, and my, was he handsome. You probably looked like a fool, mind turning to mush at how gentle his hands were on his waist, how contagious his laugh was, how tentatively he’d listened to you speak.

Once. Long, long ago. It’s all just a burning memory, now.  

There was a boy who kissed you, once. It’d been a few months after you’d met. He’d been careful, and you’d bided your time. When he called for the first time, he was very respectful when your father had picked up. The two of you spoke for however long your parents allowed it, talking about anything, everything. 

Childhood stories of how he got the scars on his knees. Times you’d gotten into trouble at school. How you were both turning 18, and how adult responsibilities were starting to set in. How Chenle was set to inherit his father’s business and he was terrified of failure. How you desperately wanted to study but your parents wouldn’t let you, because men don’t like it when girls are smarter, and how would you have time to find a husband if you had your nose stuck in books all day long?

Desperately, you both needed a break. Your parents let him take you out because he was a Zhong, and the Zhongs had money, and because he seemed quite taken by you. That was exactly what they wanted. 

Chenle was a gentleman first and foremost when he stepped into your home. He spoke with your father about politics while he waited for you to finish getting ready, complimented your mother, and opened the front door for you as you were leaving, promising to have you back by ten o’clock. 

One date turned to two, two to three. On the fifth date, when he took you on a walk in the park, he took you to the gazebo to sit on a bench in it. The birds were chirping, and you felt content, despite the dull ache in your feet because of your heels. 

Chenle looked down, before meeting your gaze. “I wanted to ask you something,” He murmured. You tilted your head to the side, uncrossing your legs.

“What is it?”

He took your hand in his, leaning closer. “I really like you,” He admitted, “And I wanna be with you. You’re sweet, and fun, and you’re so beautiful. I think about you all damn day, and I think I’d die without you here.”

He smiled fondly, those dimples making an appearance once again. “Be my girl, maybe?” 

Your heart did a backflip, and your yes had tumbled from your lips before you could even really think about it.

And then finally, on your seventh date, when he’d taken you to a bookstore and bought you a book about the Amazon rainforest, he kissed you in his car. He tasted like mint and his lips were hard against yours, but not forceful. Like he’d been waiting eons to kiss you and now he simply couldn’t hold himself back anymore. His hands held your face the entire time.

When you pulled away, you no longer saw a boy in front of you. You saw a young man in his place, watching you with reverence and desire.

“I’ve been waiting to do that ever since I first laid eyes on you,” Chenle whispered. 

“Well then, don’t just sit there,” You answered, nuzzling your face into his hands, “Kiss me again.”

Kiss you he did. The memory feels like a dream, a sweet one at that. A bit fuzzy but you can recall the softness of his hands if you think about it hard enough. 

It’s a memory. Sixty something years later, at least you still have it.

There was a man who teared up at the sight of you in white, once. 

He asked you to marry him a year and a half later. Your parents loved him, because he was kind and respectful and rich. His parents tolerated you, because you didn’t talk back too much and your family was respectable enough. Of course you accepted. Who cared about what your parents thought? You adored this man, with his high pitched laugh and his cheeky words. He worshipped the ground you walked on, with your caring attitude and your loving smile.

You were shaking the whole time, trembling like a wet chihuahua on a winter day as your father walked you down the aisle. You watched as his best man, Jisung, whispered something to him, and he nodded, blinking furiously. He looked awestruck, mouth agape and eyes glossy. 

When your father left you at the front of the altar with Chenle, your lover squeezed your hand. “I love you so much,” He whispered to you, just before the ceremony could officially begin.

For the first time ever, you saw Zhong Chenle get nervous. His voice was shaking slightly, and you could make out a single drop of sweat on his forehead. You squeezed his hand reassuringly, unable to say anything back as the officiant began the ceremony. He knew what you meant.

Your vows were the traditional cookie cutter vows, the good old fashioned “I do”s. You didn’t care. You knew you’d whisper your own vows to him later tonight. You knew he would do the same. 

After that, you danced the night away. Drunk on champagne and love for each other, you could barely remember the party. Jisung gave a lovely speech. You knew that the band played the song you’d first danced to on that one fateful night. Your girls danced with his boys, and he pressed kisses to your cheeks and the top of your head.

You remembered what came after better, after everyone went home. Chenle stole you away to the honeymoon suite to peel your dress off, take off your veil and press kisses onto your hips, and whisper promises of everlasting love against your neck.

That’s all gone now. Even though it’s gone, you’re glad. Because years later, you remember. You look at the faded photographs in the scrapbooks and remember the moment they were taken. They’re all you have now. Because even though Chenle is still in your home, he isn’t Chenle. 

There was a man who had taken care of you, once. You’d had your doubts about love, about married life. All of them stemmed from your parents’ marriage. Late night arguments, slamming doors, hands laid on your mother that left her reaching for foundation to hide the bruises during the day. Chenle was there to cast most of them to the side.

Most of them, because no matter how much you love each other, marriage is never a walk in the park. You tried to study. Chenle was paying for your education, much to his parents’ disapproval. Three years into your marriage, and two years into your studies, you got pregnant. Chenle was ecstatic. You, not so much.

It was hard for you. Your body changed, it became hard for you to concentrate. You ended up dropping out because it was simply too much for your mind to handle.

A few months later and you were recovering, trying to adjust to not getting any sleep and having to take care of a tiny human and the house all day while Chenle was off at work. And he doesn’t just want one, he wants two more.

“God, Lele, at least wait until Jiali can sleep on her own,” You huffed, trying not to be too loud. You had finally managed to get your daughter to sleep after a particularly fussy day, and if she woke up now, you were pretty sure you’d start crying too. 

“But why not?” He asked, sitting down. “Don’t you want to give Jiali brothers and sisters to grow up with?”

“I do,” You answered, trying to ignore the throbbing in your head. “But I’m too tired to handle another pregnancy right now. It’s way too much, Chenle.”

Chenle sighed, resting his face on his chin. “It can’t be that hard—”

“Are you joking?” You snapped, standing up, “I’m awake in the morning to make you breakfast and feed Jiali. Once you’re off, I have to make the bed, change her diapers, clean the floors and the bathroom. I have to make sure Jiali isn’t getting into trouble and figure out why she’s crying—and she cries so much, Chenle! I haven’t gotten a full night’s sleep since before she was born. I barely have time to take care of myself, much less another baby. I make breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and tend to the garden, and bathe her when she gets dirty, and—”

“Y/N, I think you should—”

“I can’t handle another baby!” You cried, “I can’t, I won’t!”

A high pitched wail rang from the nursery, and all the fight you had in you drained instantly. You hadn’t realized how loud you were being. 

“I’ll be right back,” You murmured, voice breaking. Before you could walk towards the nursery, a gentle hand on your wrist pulled you back. Chenle’s gaze had softened, cupping your cheek and wiping at a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. 

“No, I’ll go,” He said quietly. “You go clean yourself up. Take a nap, I’ll make sure she gets back to sleep."

You didn't have it in you to argue.

About an hour later, he stepped into the bedroom, where you were curled up on the bed. You weren't asleep. He sat down on the other side of the bed, caressing your arm.

"I'm sorry," He whispered, bowing his head. "I wasn't thinking straight. I just got so excited at the thought of us finally having a family, I forgot to think about how you were doing. If you don't want anymore kids—" 

"Lele," You murmured, "Of course I want to keep building our family. But I need time. I'm always so tired now. Let's wait until Jiali is off to school and then try for another one. I'm begging you."

He leaned over you, and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. "Whatever works best for you," He answered.

You kept your promise. Once Jiali was off to preschool, you got pregnant a few months later. By the beginning of next year, you had a baby boy—Yanlin.

This time, Chenle was more mindful of your wellbeing. He came home from work earlier, helped out around the house, told you to go out with the girls every now and then. 

Over the years, you had one last child, a girl named Mei. The kids were more than a few handfuls, but the two of you managed. 

Things were by no means easy. There were nights when Chenle decided to sleep on the couch because of a disagreement that had grown into something bigger. Insecurities about your body that grew into jealousy of his secretary, who was younger, more beautiful. Issues with the in laws as the both of you had problems setting solid boundaries.

But at the end of the day, he was your everything. This life you'd built for yourself made it all worth fighting for. You saw it when he tossed Mei up into the air, catching her as she giggled, "Again, daddy, do it again!" 

Or when he talked to Jiali about the family business, how if she wanted, he'd teach her everything. When he helped Yanlin get back to sleep after he'd had a nightmare, singing him to sleep with that soft, gentle voice of his. When he looked at you from across the dinner table, years of domesticity and love growing into all of this.

Chenle was your home, the father of your children, a pillar you leaned on when things got difficult. You were the same to him. No argument could take that away. 

The kids grew up and went to college. Much to your father in law's dismay, Yanlin didn't care much about the family business, while Jiali did—he hated how Chenle encouraged them to do what they wanted instead of pushing the status quo. 

Times were changing. More and more women went to college, and you wanted for your daughters what you yourself weren't allowed to have: a good education, a professional career. 

Since time flies like birds migrating for the winter, soon all of the kids were grown up, and you and Chenle were left in an empty house. By then, the two of you had started to change, too. Gray hairs started sprouting from your heads. Your backs started to hurt with more frequency. Your faces were starting to sag. 

And still, you loved each other. You found new things to do with this new freedom. You read more books, spent more time in the garden. Chenle started singing around the house more, something he didn't even realize he was doing. 

When you turned fifty, Chenle took you on vacation to Malta, and Chenle decided to officially announce his retirement, handing the business to your oldest. From here on out, the two of you had time to simply do whatever you wished. Chenle had saved a lot of money over the years, allowing the two of you to live comfortably. 

Your kids married, and had kids of their own, and the two of you spoiled as much as you could. You'd bake cookies with your grandkids and spend the holidays telling them stories of your youth. Their favorite story was how you met their grandfather, and you fluffed the story up to make them laugh. 

"He was the handsomest man I'd ever seen," You told him, "Tall, sweet, funny, the best shincracker I'd ever danced with."

"What's a shincracker?" One of your grandkids asked. You blinked, before letting out a fake sob, raising your head up.

"I'm so old," You wailed, the kids giggling at your theatrics. When you looked down, you smiled. "In my day, that's what you called someone who danced very well."

The four of them ohhh-ed in unison, and someone in the kitchen doorway laughed. "So, I was the best shincracker you'd ever danced with, huh?"

"Honey, I've told you that a million times!" 

He walked over to you, patting the heads of your grandkids as he passed them. "Your grandma looked so surprised when I asked her to dance," He said to the children, "But she was the prettiest dame there that night, I couldn't not dance with her."

"What's a dame?"

Chenle stared at you, eyes wide. He lowered his head. "God, we're old!"

Now, most of your grandkids have grown up, and barely have time to visit. But you have the photographs hung up on the wall, of past birthdays, holiday parties, of your wedding. 

They work to help you remember. But now, Chenle can't even get out of bed to look at them.

There was an old man who'd broken down in front of you, once. He'd been having trouble remembering where things were, like his keys and his glasses. Initially, it didn't worry you, since you'd been having similar issues. You only started to worry when one night at dinner, you brought up the fact that Mei had called to ask the two of you to dinner next week. He'd looked confused, and stared at you like you were from outer space.

"Who's Mei?"

You scheduled a doctor's appointment the very next day. It took about two months for everything to reach the same conclusion: early dementia. Chenle had gotten very quiet as the doctor handed you some pamphlets on treatments and the different stages. The whole drive home, he said nothing. 

It was only once you got home that he sat down on the bed and crumbled to pieces. You walked over to him, and caressed his hair when he pressed his face into your stomach. 

"I don't want to forget," He sobbed, "I don't want to." 

He tried to fight it. Once the family knew, everyone started visiting more frequently. In the beginning, he could remember your grandchildren's names. Jobs and school were a bit difficult but there were eleven of them—it was hard for you, too. 

On the occasion he did forget someone, it frustrated him. He'd have to excuse himself from the table for a few minutes, and the energy in the dining room would change completely. Suddenly everyone was aware of the ticking clock, and your family was starting to crumble.

You wanted desperately to hold it together, to super glue it and force it back into place. But so many things were out of your control, on top of Chenle's diagnosis. Mei was going through a divorce. Your youngest grandson, Lijie, was having behavioral problems and Yanlin looked to you for advice. 

Chenle tried to hold on. You watched your husband pore endlessly over the family photos, trying to place names to the faces. He remembered his parents. He started to ask you where they were. You didn't know how to tell them they'd passed over thirty years ago. 

He wandered through the house like he was lost, and you knew he was trapped somewhere in his mind, everything disintegrating slowly around him. Sometimes he'd come up to you and give you a kiss.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," He murmured. 

Some days were better than others. He would sing old songs from your youth, and try to dance with you in the kitchen. You both still remembered the steps but were too stiff and slow to do them properly. 

Eventually, one of your grandkids came to live with you. Daiyu had studied to become a nurse, and now, Chenle needed around the clock care. It was simply too risky for him to be left alone. He'd try to go outside, saying that he was late for a meeting, or that Jeno—who had passed two years before his diagnosis—had invited him to his house to watch the game. 

He forgot how to hold a spoon, how to walk properly. After four years, he became bedridden, speaking in slow, short sentences. You'd read to him after lunch, from books you'd acquired over the years. He seemed to enjoy one book the most: a battered old copy of a book about the Amazon rainforest. 

You knew your Lele was in there somewhere. You could see it when Jiali and her husband came to visit, and he asked her about the secret handshake the two of them had even though he couldn't remember her name. When you reached for his hand, he would press a kiss to yours, unsure as to why he was doing it. And when you walked past the bedroom, sometimes you could hear him humming to himself—a lively, fast tempo song that a boy had once asked a girl to dance to, lifetimes ago. 

There was a man named Zhong Chenle, once. He was good at dancing and a lovely singer, he was a loving father and husband. He's gone now. In his place is someone who has his face, but isn't really him. He can't remember how to speak. When you read to him, his lips move, but no sounds come out. His eyes drift across the room, looking for things he doesn't know the name of. His hands are gnarled and his fingers twitch, itching to do something, anything, but unsure of how to do it.

The last time you spoke to your Chenle had been three years prior. 

"Do I know you?" He asked, voice small. You smiled at him, biting back tears. No matter how many times he asks you this question, it hurts every time. You'd learned to play along with it. Telling him the truth would only scare him, confuse him further.

"My name is Y/N," You told him, "I'm an old friend. We used to go out dancing together."

His eyes were void of anything until a second later, recognition pooled into them.

"Y/N," He sounded out slowly, "We should—we should go dance again someday."

"Someday," You agreed, nodding, "But now we have to wait until you're better."

"Until I'm better," He answered with a smile, dimples making your heart crack even further.

All he—and you—could do now was wait for the end. Truthfully, you've made peace with it. You'd be heartbroken to see him go but happy to see him finally rest. He started his decline seven years ago, and the past five have been spent like this. It's sad enough to see him in this way, to watch Daiyu try to feed him when he barely even remembers how to eat anymore. A shell of who he once was, a living ghost.

The family knew, old friends knew. That was all that mattered to you. That there had been a man named Zhong Chenle once, who wasn't scattered in the wind. 

Once. Long, long ago. It's all just a burning memory, now.

[honeymooneyy]

my moonbeam

credit to @iaminlovewithagingermilf on tiktok! inspired by her post on 6-6 enjoy :D 

Sirius always kinda knew he was gay. 

Sure, he didn’t exactly know there was a word for what he felt, but it had always been boys for him. Whether it be his surprisingly sweet next door neighbor, or the cool older guys at his family functions, or the quiet boy next to him on the Hogwarts Express. 

It didn’t take him long to make friends at Hogwarts, and he treasured them all in their own ways. James was basically his brother, and the two were inseparable by the time their first year at Hogwarts had passed. Peter was the only suitable opponent in Wizard’s Chess Sirius had yet to find and the boys spent hours on the game. And then there was Remus - Sirius always did have a soft spot for him. 

It hadn’t been love at first sight, nor the second, but it didn’t take long for Sirius to be entranced by his dorm mate. From his mysterious scars to his faintly freckled skin to his way with words, Sirius was head over heels. 

He didn’t quite know it at first, but by the time he was heading into fifth year, Sirius was painfully aware of this crush that had been only growing for the past four years. And so he reverted to his only way of coping with strong emotions: joking about them. 

The boys were used to Sirius being a flirt, but he had never fully directed it toward Remus. This year, however, he did just that. 

He wasn’t certain Remus even noticed at first, because he didn’t really pay him much attention. Like the day Sirius found a bubble charm and was intent on sending them towards Remus who was sprawled out on the floor, studying for some Potions test. 

He was laying on his stomach, hand cradling his chin as he squinted down at some recipe. Every now and then, he’d pause and scribble down a couple notes before continuing to tap the end of his quill against his lips. It was driving Sirius insane. 

And so he decided it was the perfect time to try out a bubble charm he had found. Much to his delight, it worked on his second try and soon enough, bubbles were cascading down and around Remus as he worked away. He didn’t realize they were even there at first, as they settled down on his golden hair. But then they were drifting down to his textbook and popping, leaving little wet rings. 

“Sirius,” Remus groaned, swatting at the bubbles that continued to rain down around him. “I’m trying to study, just like you should be.” 

“Take a break.” 

“I took a break a half hour ago. Go do that in the common room.” 

And then he returned to his school work, pulling his amber eyes from Sirius’ silvery ones and ignoring him once again. Sirius pouted at that, and sent out  another wave of bubbles. He knew that if it were anyone but him, Remus would’ve snapped, but he had special Sirius privileges.  

Instead, Remus just sighed, looking up at Sirius again, “C’mon, Pads, stop that. Why don’t you come study too?” 

“I studied enough, and so did you!” 

Remus gaze was unwavering, and so was his restraint, “I really need to study, so quit it.” 

Sirius grinned, flicking his wand and waggling his eyebrows, “Make me.” 

Remus just rolled his eyes at him, wordlessly turning back to his work. 

Sirius wasn’t quite sure what Remus’ sexuality was. He had never dated anyone in their years at Hogwarts, but Sirius suspected it was because of his monthly issue, and not the lack of options. Sirius was definitely not the only one eyeing up Remus, but it seemed the others weren’t making any moves for a reason. 

It was basically tradition that Remus braided Sirius’ hair for him, seeing as he was one of the only ones allowed near his hair. Usually he helped comb and braid his hair up in their dorm, but the two had ended up in the common room for once. Remus was perched on the couch, halfway through Sirius’ hair when a couple girls passed by, giggling about how cute of a couple they were. 

While Sirius’ heart leapt at the fact that people thought they might be dating, he didn’t show it on the outside. Especially when he could see Remus frowning out of the corner of his eye. 

“We’re not dating,” he called out to the girls who seemed genuinely surprised at his answer and glanced at Sirius for an explanation. 

Sirius took his chance. He gasped, clutching a hand to his chest, and turned to face Remus, hair yanked out of his grasp. “How could you say that, my moonbeam!” 

Remus just stared at him, then the girls, before shaking his head and reaching out to direct Sirius back to his spot on the floor. “Hush if you want your hair to be braided.” 

Sirius decided Remus’ lack of disgust at the thought of dating him was a win. Sure, he told the girls they weren’t dating, rightfully, but he didn’t seem upset or anything. Maybe, just maybe, could he also be... 

Instead of trying to figure out Remus’ sexuality, he kept up this act of dating Remus, despite his unwillingness to play along. It was honestly too much fun, and Sirius loved the small moments he could have before Remus would shut it down. 

Somehow, much to the exasperation of Remus, Sirius always picked times when he was studying to latch onto him. 

Remus was reading some sort of transfiguration textbook that was humongous and perched on his lap as he leaned back into the plush couch of the common room. There were plenty of empty seats next to him, but Sirius couldn’t be bothered with them. Instead, he pushed Remus’ book aside to plop down onto his lap, legs stretched out over the empty seats. 

Ignoring Remus’ oomph, Sirius slung an arm over his shoulders and took on some posh accent, “Oh, Remus, how I have missed you so! Too long have we been separated!” 

That got Remus to smile and he reached up to lightly shove Sirius’ forehead, “What’s that accent supposed to be, hm? Is that Rich Sirius surfacing?” 

“It’s no accent, it’s who I am! And I can’t stand to be apart from you any longer!” To finish off his little act, Sirius leaned in to press a sloppy kiss to Remus’ cheek and laughed at the way he cringed away, wiping at his cheek. 

“Shove off,” Remus groaned, but his tone was light-hearted as he pushed Sirius off his lap to continue reading. 

Sirius continued to drape himself over Remus and poke fun at him, cooing about their “relationship”, and somehow, as the weeks passed, Remus began to give in. 

This time, there truly were no seats open when Sirius perched on Remus legs, peering down at the book he was reading. Instead of shoving him away or sighing, Remus just adjusted his arm so it was wrapped around Sirius’ back so he wouldn’t slip and fall off the couch. 

It was such a small action yet it warmed Sirius’ heart and a smile pulled at his lips as he snuck a glance at Remus. He seemed unaware, eyebrows drawn together and lip pulled between his teeth as he continued to read his book. Feeling brave, Sirius shifted in his lap to drop his head onto Remus’ shoulder before gauging his reaction. 

Remus didn’t say anything but his cheeks began to flush pink and it made Sirius’ stomach flip. Was Remus Lupin...blushing? 

And so as he continued to tease Remus and invade his personal space, he couldn’t help but notice the clear change in Remus’ behavior. He definitely didn’t blush this often before, and since when did he join in on Sirius’ joke and also press a kiss to his cheek? 

Maybe it was time for Sirius to do some digging on Remus’ sexuality.

[wherethewordsare]

Sign Sealed and Delivered

Part 2 to This Fic Here

It had been easy for Jaskier really. There were so few people in the world that he had truly trusted, but giving Geralt his cloak had felt as natural as breathing. He knew what his clan would say if they knew, the traditions that he was breaking by giving his cloak so freely to not just a land walker, but a witcher, a monster hunter, would have been beyond scandal. He just hoped that some part of Geralt didn’t realize what Jaskier had truly done.

It wasn’t every day you asked a witcher to accept a betrothal pact.

He had never felt safer though once Geralt held his cloak, knowing that as long as he lived, the cloak would be kept safe. What he hadn’t expected, however, was the way Geralt had asked him to return to Kaer Morhen with him for the winter.

“I want to keep it there. I don’t feel right traveling with it. What if something were to happen? You’d be at risk as long as I was?” There was a worry to the crease of his brow that softened Jaskier to near puddy. “But I want you to know that it’s safe. It only makes sense that you come with me.”

“Of course I know it’ll be safe, dear heart, that’s why I gave it to you,” Jaskier laughed, hoping that the heat he felt in his face wasn’t showing too much.

“Please?” Geralt asked softly. His hand twitched on his thigh as they sat by the fire, the autumn settling in around them.

Jaskier looked over and nearly lost his breath. Golden eyes stared back at him with a warmth he hadn’t been expecting. “Yeah, alright. I’ll come with you.”

That was how Jaskier found himself following his witcher up into the mountains as the first frosts clung to their bedrolls each morning. After the first particularly cold night, Jaskier woke up to find Geralt slipping into his bedroll and wrapping an arm around him.

“‘S cold, and it’s only going to get colder,” was his only explanation as he settled in against Jaskier’s back. It made sense to stay together for warmth and it wouldn’t be the first time but something felt different about this time that Jaskier couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was the way Geralt’s hand splayed over his ribs like he wanted to keep him safe. Maybe it was the way his cold nose buried into Jaskier’s nape.

It became a routine quickly for them to share a bedroll, to walk a bit closer along the path up, for Geralt to give small reassuring touches to Jaskier’s arm or the small of his back when the ground grew uneven.

Once Jaskier’s feet found a patch of ice before his eyes could and he would have been flung down into the slush of mud had Geralt not grabbed him around the waist and pulled him close. They stood like that for a moment, Geralt looking particularly smug and ready to say something to match the mischief in his eyes.

“Not a word, witcher, or so help me, only one of us is making it to this keep of yours,” Jaskier sniffed, righting himself though Geralt still had yet to let go.

“Hmm.” Geralt kept his council but still smirked as they continued their way. He hadn’t mounted Roach once since they had set off, keeping beside Jaskier the entire trek. He pointed out species of trees and roots that only grew on the mountain, ones that he used for certain potions, ones Eskel used for cooking, and ones Lambert used for other purposes that made him scrunch his nose.

“We have narcotics in Oxenfurt, Geralt. I’m not some naive village waif you’ve picked up along the way,” Jaskier only laughed when Geralt shot him a look. “Oh please, Remember when you picked me up just outside of Foam that one year and I stuffed myself on those rolls from the market?”

Geralt stopped walking, looking around him as if he had just noticed where he was. “This was a mistake. I realize you and Lambert should never meet. I won’t survive the winter.” He looked almost forlorn though the corners of his mouth tilted slightly.

“Sorry, was that a joke? Are you making jokes right now? Who is this? Where is my Geralt, hmm?” Jaskier was still laughing though fairly winded as they hiked the steep incline. But then Geralt was looking at him, his eyes soft and the smile almost fond.

“Your Geralt, hmm?” He took a long stride ahead of Jaskier before reaching back and offering him a hand up. Roach was wandering up the hill slightly ahead of them, sure of the path she was taking.

Jaskier snorted, looking away. He felt caught somehow though, as a selkie, he had already given himself away if Geralt knew. Did Geralt know? There was no way he could know. Selkies weren’t exactly common anymore, and on top of that, they made a habit of staying clear of land usually.

After that, they had found it hard to keep a conversation going. Jaskier had been surprised to find that Geralt became such a conversationalist. He wondered if it had to do with them getting closer and closer to his home. When they finally arrived Geralt looked at him, almost grinning before walking down the slope. He must have seen someone Jaskier couldn’t because he was shouting for someone.

Another witcher appeared. “Well, pretty boy, finally made-” The witcher stopped, looking at Jaskier with a raised eyebrow disappearing into his dark hair. “Well, hello there. Geralt didn’t mention his bard was-” he didn’t get to finish the statement as Geralt’s fist connected with his stomach.

“Good to see another year hasn’t done anything about that mouth, Lambert,” Geralt grumbled as Lambert heaved, still bent over. It suddenly dawned on Jaskier that that time outside of Posada, Geralt may have held back some.

“Leave off of him, Geralt. He’s just mad his cat isn’t here.” Another witcher appeared at the gate, a series of scars across his face.

It happened so quickly. One second the three of them were standing there, nearly perfectly still, the next there was a brawl spilling out into the courtyard beyond them. There were curses and fists thrown in every direction. Jaskier simply looked at Roach who laid her ears flat and huffed, otherwise unbothered.

“What have I walked into, Roachie girl?” He looked around and could make out the stable. “I think this might take a moment. Let’s get you seen to.”

Jaskier led Roach away from the courtyard and into the stable, finding a clean stall for her alongside three other horses. Looking around he noticed that there had been room enough for many more but otherwise, the stables were empty.

“I guess when there aren’t many witcher’s left, there isn’t need for witcher steeds, hmm?” He said softly, undoing her tack. He had watched Geralt do this enough times that it was easy to get her settled though she would nip at him unless he bribed her. “You can’t keep doing this to me. You’re going to get me in trouble.”

“You do that by yourself, plenty, Bard.” Geralt deadpanned from the door. “Move over, you’ve missed a good portion of her flank.” He took the brush from Jaskier but didn’t push him away, letting him stay in the small space. His face was a mess of mud and blood and marks.

“You win?”

“Hmm, I don’t think so, but the season has just started. I’ll get Eskel back,” He mused, brushing down Roach. She knew better than to nip at him for sugar. Jaskier gave her some anyways.

“Got to stop spoiling her, Jask,” Geralt sighed but he didn’t make an effort to stop him. He picked up their bags, carefully slinging the one with Jaskier’s cloak in it over his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll show you-” He licked his lips and looked down for a moment. “Come on.”

Jaskier followed him, his eyes not being able to take in enough at once. The hall though in a state of disrepair still held the ghosts of its grandeur. They went in near silence, Geralt only turning every so often to make sure Jaskier was still following. There had been a handful of times when he had to stop to wait for him. The walls were nearly a maze, and the stairs didn’t seem to have a rhythm or reason to them. After several flights, they stopped outside a large door and Geralt set their bags down.

“If you don’t want to stay here, I can find somewhere else. I just thought since-” He didn’t say anything else, pushing the door open slowly and sliding in before Jaskier. He stepped back to let Jaskier look around, taking in the simple four poster bed, the little bit of furniture, the large bay window that looked out over the mountains.

On the mantle a few small personal objects made up the only decoration of the place. It took him a moment but Jaskier recognized a few of them. There was the small wood carved wolf’s head he had given Geralt during a festival years ago, an ornate flask that Geralt said wasn’t practical but apparently hadn’t tossed away like Jaskier had suspected. There was a pressed flower laying on a book, the bright blue of the bloom faded slightly but Jaskier thought it looked familiar.

“This is your room,” he realized, whirling around and taking in the large bed again and Geralt still standing by the door. He hadn’t set his bags down just yet, watching Jaskier.

“Yes,” he said simply.

“You want me to stay here, in your room,” Jaskier’s heart pounded against his ribs so hard he knew Geralt could hear it.

“Yes,” Geralt looked down, frowning.

“With you?” It was too much to hope for but he had to hear it.

“There’s another room down the hall if you would rather. You don’t need-”

“I’d love to, Geralt. I mean, stay here. With you, if you’d-” something bubbled up in his chest, light and floating like sea foam. The room already tasted like him. “If you’d have me, of course.”

Geralt didn’t say anything, only set his bags down finally and began to unpack. Jaskier made himself comfortable on the bed, watching as potions and clothes made their way to where they belonged. Their kettle and pots were hung by the hearth and Jaskier’s things seemed to be put away along side Geralt’s. The last bag was placed beside Jaskier and he knew what was in it.

“I could keep it here, if this is where you think it would be safest,” Geralt almost whispered. His thighs were pressed against the bed and he hovered over Jaskier slightly.

Jaskier bit his lip, knowing full well that laughing was not the response here. He reached up tentatively, his hand wrapping around Geralt’s wrist as he slowly pulled him down. He kept his fingers loose so as to not make the witcher feel trapped. “Geralt,” he said softly, shifting up on his knees, they were nearly chest to chest now. “I know I’m safest where you are.”

He let Geralt close the distance between them, his mouth slotting against Jaskier’s in a firm line, crowding him back onto the bed. Jaskier let himself be maneuvered, the laughter he had been holding back spilling over, bright and warm and safe as Geralt wrapped his arms around him.

The mattress wasn’t the most comfortable and the furs needed airing out and they both still had weeks of travel clinging to their clothes but Geralt was kissing him breathless and the ache he had been carrying for well over a decade finally slipped away from his chest.

Finally Geralt pulled away, his hand sliding up to trace along Jaskier’s brow, fingers brushing back his fringe. “I’m going to earn that trust, over and over,” his arm still around Jaskier’s middle gave him a light squeeze and he dipped down to press another kiss to his face before sliding out of his arms again.

Jaskier made an indignant sound in protest which only made the witcher chuckle. “Oh no, you don’t! Years I’ve been waiting for this! Where do you think you’re going?” He groused, reaching for Geralt again.

“Dinner,” Geralt hummed smugly.

At the mention of food, Jaskier’s stomach growled and he flopped back into the pillows with a groan.

“Come on, I got to tell the others I came home with a seal-wife.”

Geralt caught the pillow that came flying at the back of his head with very little effort and it only made Jaskier more petulant as he tried to burrow down into the musty furs. “Go to land, Jaskier, it’ll be fun, Jaskier. Fall for an ass hole of a witcher, Jaskier,” he muttered but he couldn’t help the smile that was threatening to split his cheeks.

There would be time enough for the other things he wanted. For now, Jaskier could sit through dinner with witchers and know that he was safe and wanted but still free.

[sidespart]

The Fall of King Romulus Part 8

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him…

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Feedback appreciated.

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue Chapter 1   Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

“From today, you shall have your own rooms.”

“But why?” Remus wails “it’s not fair!” Remus looks up at him, his small faced scrunched and red, tears threatening to fall, “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“I-“ Roman frowns. He feels too big. Shouldn’t he be the same size as Remus?

“You’re the future king, Remus” their father rumbles, “Your training needs to begin - without distractions.”

“Don’t cry.” Their mother tells him as Remus’ tantrum echoes through the room. She runs a cool hand over Roman’s forehead soothingly.

“I wasn’t.” Roman murmurs.

His mother’s hand turns cruel, pushing his head back, another hand gripping his chin.

“You need to drink, c’mon Roman drink this down for me, please?”

Roman chokes, twisting away. Hot liquid scalds his throat and drips down his chin. There’s a hand in his hair again, stroking gently until it grips tight, forcing his head back “He doesn’t look much like the Prince.” Marcus grunts.

“The mad Prince – Remus of Notaleveale!”

“But.” Roman whimpers, “that’s not-“

“Is he awake?”

“Your father is sick.” Julius tells him. The practice room is high in the north tower, always just too cool to be comfortable, but Roman feels hot. For some reason, water is rushing down the walls. Droplets splash onto his skin and sizzle where they land.

“We’re going to find a way to fix this my Prince, I promise.” Julius smiles at him, his eyes kind and unlined by age.

“What if you can’t.” Romulus whispers, voice breaking. He is the right size now he thinks. He had to tilt his head to look up at Julius who hesitantly pulls him close, letting the boy muffle his dry sobs on his shoulder.

“Then…we will find a way to help you live with it – and I’ll always be here to help you.”

He pulls back to smile at him again, but it’s not kind anymore. The skin flaking away reveals the rictus grin of the skull beneath, and Roman howls, trying to twist away whilst large hands hold him down -

“It’s okay! Roman, it’s okay!”

- he feels something cool on his eyelids, a strong scent of mint mingling with the rot of Julius body-

“Sleep.” a voice murmurs.

When Roman wakes, it’s somewhere he doesn’t recognise. Scratchy sheets pin him down to a bed as effectively as chains. A pale man with violet eyes is pulling at his arm, his arm which hurts. Roman whines, trying to tug the limb out of the pale man’s grip, but his body feels too heavy to obey.

The pale man is trying to talk to him but nothing he says makes sense to Romulus, it’s like listening to a foreign language.

“<My dad’s dead.>” he tells the pale man, because that seems important.

“Roman? Are you awake?”

There’s a hand on his forehead, the voice is saying something about water but Roman ignores it, trying to chase the thought.

If their father was dead, then why was he still Prince Remus?

The next time Roman woke up it was dark. The pale man had disappeared, but there was another figure lying in the bed next to him. The man’s bulk caused the mattress to dip towards him and his snores were so loud they made the whole bedframe vibrate with each exhale.

Turning his head carefully, Roman found himself looking at a face full of scars and freckles. A pale shaft of moonlight from the open window illuminated the man’s ripped ear and a nose that had obviously been broken at some point in the past. Even in sleep, he looked fearsome.

‘Patton’ Roman’s tired mind supplied, and he felt a relieved smile twitch over his face. It pulled at the cut Niki left him, making him bite back a whimper of pain.

He let his head fall back against the pillow. Everything felt heavy, even the air. The room seemed to melt at the edges. But if Patton was sleeping then they must be somewhere safe.

He dozed for a time, listening to the comforting rumble of Patton’s snores, until a withered pair of hands reached for him. The lady of the house began to gently wipe the sweat from his face with a cool cloth.

“<Am I dying>?” he asked her in their own language.

“<You can try.>” She told him dryly, “<Those three will probably end up chasing you down to the underworld too.>”

The lady brought some extra cushions and stacked them behind him, helping him to sit up. From his new vantage point he could see Logan on the floor, one giant book open on his lap and three more stacked beside him. He looked like he had fallen asleep mid study session, his head tilted back against the wall with a thin string of drool hanging from his open mouth.

Roman thought of the last time he had seen him, pinned to Lucius' chest, his eyes wide and frightened behind his glasses, and had to close his eyes. He breathed deeply through his nose until his panic subsided and glanced at Logan again.

He was so relieved to see him whole that might even forgo teasing him about the drool.

The lady brought him a pewter mug filled with something warm that smelt pleasantly of honey and helped him to lift it to his lips when his hands began to shake.

“<When I invited you for tea, this isn’t what I pictured.>” she teased him with a smile.

Roman didn’t smile back, eyes still roaming the room.

“<Where->“

“<Your elf is fine>” she told him, sounding amused “<I sent him on an errand. He would have worn a hole in my best rug if he stood here pacing much longer.>”

Roman did smile then, grip loosening on the mug which she deftly caught before it hit the blankets.

“<I lost my brother.>” he told her, eyes growing heavy again.

“<That was careless of you.>” she said, “<What are you going to do about it?>”

Roman didn’t answer, falling back asleep with the honey still coating his tongue.

The next time Roman woke up, daylight was streaming trough the open window and the last tendrils of fever seemed to have left him. Whilst he still felt tired, the unnatural heaviness was less and his mind was clear.

Unfortunately, his clear mind immediately occupied itself by cataloguing every single way his body was in pain.

His cheek throbbed, the small cut from Niki having been split wider by the force of the hit from Julius’s walking stick. His back and shoulders we’re equally bruised, and protested every tiny movement he made as he tried to resettle himself against the pillows. By far the worst was his hand, which felt like it was still burning.

Choking down any whimpers of pain he focused instead on the strange pressure on his chest.

Opening his eyes revealed the culprit. A grey cat with snow white paws was sitting primly on his sternum. Mittens looked deeply put out by Roman’s attempt to get comfortable and gave him an unsatisfied meow of protest when he continued to move.

“Good morning” Roman whispered, giving him a conciliatory head rub with his good hand, “Did you happen to count how many horses ran me over?”

“Roman!” The bard looked beyond Mittens to see Patton perched on the end of the bed, beaming so wide it almost distracted from the redness of his nose.

“You’re -ah-achoo – you’re awake!”

“Yeah.” He smiled, attempting to rearrange the pillows one handed. “Hey Pat’.”

“Guys!” Patton called, “Ro – achoo – Ro -acHOO – he’s awake!”

There was a thundering of footsteps on stairs and then Virgil all but exploded into the room, eyes wide “How awake is he? – does he recognise you? Patton I told you to put the damm cat outside!”

“Aww but it’s his hou -ah -ah -house,” Patton pouted.

“He recognises you.” Roman added, giving Virgil a half-hearted wave “Also his voice works.”

“Shame.” Virgil snarked but the grin on his face was too wide to hide his relief.

“You. Go bother the pigeons’” he shooed the cat as he came to sit on the edge of Romans bed. Mittens gave him a pointed meow before slinking out of the room, pausing only to rub against Logan’s ankles as it passed him in the doorway.

“How’s your head?” Virgil asked - he reached over to a small beside table and picked up a glass of water, holding it up for Roman to sip.

“Fine.” Roman whispered hoarsely, taking the water from him and drinking greedily.

“What about your hand?” Patton asked, kneeling on his other side, “I’ll ask Mama Tay to brew you some more willow tea, for the pain.”

“Great.”- Roman handed the glass back to Virgil shrank against the pillows as they both peered at him – “but I’m fine, honestly don’t worry yourselves-“

“Fine?” Virgil rolled his eyes, “You look like you went three rounds with a centaur and lost. Badly.”

“Okay, well, that’s rude.” Roman rolled his eyes right back, lifting one arm to try and bat Virgil’s hands away as they reached for him “Get off, Virge I’m fi-“

“Roman.” Logan was the only one who hadn’t come forward to paw at him. He stood in the doorway, most of his face obscured by the shadow. “Let Virgil check your injuries.”

Roman sighed, the fight going out of him. Obediently, he dropped his arms and tilted his head towards the half-elf.

“Oh sure,” Virgil murmured, running skilful fingers over the cut on Romans cheek and the surrounding swelling “you’ll listen when Logan tells you.”

“It’s the glasses,” Roman joked, his voice tired, “gives him authority.”

Once Virgil had finished his inspection of Roman’s face, he insisted at poking and prodding at every inch of him see how his other injuries were healing. Roman sighed but put up with his fussing with as much grace as he could. Virgil removed the bandages on his hand, packing fresh herbs next to the skin and rewrapping it gently with new cloth. The bruises and welts on his back and shoulders had begun to heal, turning from purple and blue to a sickly looking yellow. Virgil smeared something that smelt horrendous on the few welts that hadn’t scabbed over before stepping back, declaring the injuries extensive but, for the most part, superficial.

“Like your lyrics.” he added slyly, which got a squawk of protest from Roman and a giggle from Patton.

His hand was the most concerning. Virgil had him gently flex his fingers -causing Roman to hiss with pain despite his best efforts – before helping him into a sling and giving him strict instructions to hold it still until the herbs had done their work.

As Virgil worked, Patton kept up a running dialogue; happily filling Roman in on the day to day running’s of Mama Tay’s house. How she’d let him use her kitchen to cook for all of them and let Logan take over her small library (although the scholar was still only permitted to call her Mother Octavia). He giggled his way through a story about Mittens’ on going attempt to court the tabby cat who lived across the street – apparently he had attempted to show off by taking on street rat twice his size and spent the rest of the day sulking in the pantry after being summarily chased off.

Between Virgil’s gentle ministrations and the soothing sound of Patton’s voice, Roman found himself slowly relaxing.

Remus wasn’t in the city. His friends had come for him. They’d beaten the bad guy and got away.

He knew he couldn’t just ignore everything that had happened. His friends were eventually going to want some sort of explanation. The thing that had worn Julius face had been able to find him once – he didn’t know how, or how to stop I happening again.

Most importantly, he was no longer sure that Remus was safe.

But for a little while at least, he was with his family. He was safe. Things could start to go back to normal.

“Roman.” Logan said. He was leaning back against the closed door, a look on his face Roman couldn’t quite decipher. “Stand up.”

“Slowly,” Virgil added as Roman rose to his feet. The healer cast a glance back at Logan, confused, “what’re you-“

“Roman.” Logan cut him off. “Stand on one foot.”

Romans whole world seemed to narrow down to the glint of light reflecting off Logan’s glasses.

The rush of blood in his ears sounded very much like the rush of water in the pipe room.

Julius looked at him coldly, ready to categorise each whimper of pain as his leg began to shake, muscles cramping -

Patton’s hand suddenly griped his elbow as he wobbled, breaking the illusion.

Mama Tay’s bedroom was far more cluttered with blankets and knickknacks than Julius practice room. Logan was the one in front of him – face full of gleeful satisfaction as his theory was confirmed.

“I’m right aren’t I.” he breathed, looking dazed – “You can’t diso-“

Remove yourself from anyone who might ask you about your curse. Put as much distance between you as you can.

Roman attempted to fling himself towards the door- immediately realised that this was a bad decision as he still only had one foot on the ground – and pitched forward towards the floor, free arm pinwheeling crazily.

Patton dived to catch him, one big hand grabbing his injured shoulder casing Roman to yell out in pain, which in turn caused Patton to instinctively release him. He found himself falling again, this time crashing into Virgil, who had come running to help. His injured arm exploded in pain as he fell against the other man’s chest.

“Roman! What the hell- Logan?”

“I’m sorry!” Logan’s delight at being proved right had quickly turned into alarm “Stand properly – I mean, stand however you think you should. Um-“

“Roman are you okay?” That was Patton, gently easing him off Virgil “Oh gosh I think you’ve opened your stitches again!”

Roman groaned.

A few moments later Roman was, once again, propped up on the bed. Patton sat next to him, holding his good hand loosely whilst Virgil smeared more of the horrifying smelling salve over the reopened cut on his cheek.

Logan, hands firmly clasped in front of him like a guilty school boy, was filling them in on what he thought he knew.

“Roman cannot disobey a direct order – when Lucius Amata met us on the stairs he was able to compel him not to move.”

“Who?”

“The Marquis of Orenlla!” Logan huffed, exasperated – “The kidnapper!”

“De.” Roman muttered.

“What?”

“Marquis de Orenlla.”

“Hmm,” rather than start an argument of etymology, Logan simply pulled a square slip of card from his waistcoat pocket and started crossing something out with his quill.

“Seriously?” Virgil asked, exasperated “Flashcards?” He twisted the lid back onto the salve pot with rather more force than was necessary “Logan, you didn’t even believe in magic until yesterday and now you’re saying – what exactly are you saying?”

He glanced at Roman, almost fearfully ‘That he’s -that he’s under a spell or cursed or- what?”

“Roman,” Patton’s voice was gentle. “Is that true?”

Roman met his eyes. Patton’s face was as kind as ever. For now.

Never tell anyone about your curse.

But they’d never set rules stopping him discussing what people already knew.

Even so, he braced himself for pain before he nodded.

Patton looked like he might cry.

“So –what?” Demanded Virgil, who had started pacing back and forth down the short length of the bed. “He did that? This Lucius guy?”

“How do we stop it? Do we….kill him?”

“Patton!”

“Well I don’t know!”

“It wasn’t Lucius.” Roman muttered.

He risked a glance at Virgil who was nodding fervently, shaking both hands out in front of himself as he tried to process everything, “No. He – you had it before right? That’s how he was able to get you to go with him.”

Slowly, Roman nodded.

“Was it before we got to the city?” Logan asked. He hadn’t moved from his spot by the door, a thoughtful frown on his face as he gently rotated the flashcards in his hands.

“The forest!” Vigil yelped before Roman had a chance to respond. “When you disappeared right? I knew you were out of it that night! That’s when it happened?”

“Oh, Roman.” Patton gasped, “You poor thing. Has this has been going on for days?”

Roman couldn’t help it; he started to laugh. Drawing his knees to his chest he hunched over them, his shoulders shaking. “No.” he managed to gasp out. “No, not the forest.”

“So…when did it happen?” Patton asked uncertainty. Roman could easily picture the three of them glancing at each other, trying to put the pieces together. He kept his eyes firmly on his knees. He didn’t want to see the moment of realisation.

“Before the forest?” Virgil asked hesitantly. Roman nodded without looking up.

“When I met you…” Virgil continued after a moments silence, “you wouldn’t come back into the tavern with me – you said you didn’t want the innkeeper to tell you to play another night.”

“I remember that.” Logan said “You met us on the road. I thought that was odd at the time. I assumed you were going to lie in wait to rob us.”

Roman could hear the understanding seeping into their voices. He’d been cursed since they met him. He’d been a liability since they met him – they’d hired someone to protect them who could be ordered to throw his sword down by any foe who happened to try. They were going to feel so betrayed. They were going to be so angry with him.

How could he have not told them?

“Oh, Roman – how could we have not noticed?”

Romans head shot up. “What?” he croaked.

Now Patton really did look like he was going to cry, his eyes suspiciously watery. “You’ve been dealing with this all by yourself for – for years?”

“So- “ now Virgil was the one shaking – “So any time I’ve told you to ‘shut up’ you-“

“If you don’t give a timeframe it doesn’t matter much.” Roman blurted quickly, wanting to remove the look of horror from Virgil’s face – “I mean when I was younger it maybe would have but, but I’ve learned work around it so –“

“Younger?” his rambling did not seem to be soothing Virgil’s panic. “How young?”

“Er. Well.” He glanced between the two of them “From when I was a baby. I mean, I don’t remember not being like this.” Patton and Virgil were staring at him with identical slack jawed expressions. Roman wished the bed would swallow him up and spit him out onto he street. “But hey – I was apparently a very agreeable baby – stopped crying so soon as you asked!” he grinned awkwardly, give them a thumbs up with his undamaged hand.

They did not look reassured.

“So, have we ever –“ Patton started,”-have we ever made you do something you didn’t want to-“

“NO! No, Pat - you’re always so polite and if, if it’s not an order it doesn’t count so-“

“I’m not polite.” Virgil muttered.

“You don’t order though.” Roman said quickly, “You’re too-“ he tried to find a nice way to say ‘too riddled with anxiety to give directives’ – “awkward.” he finished sheepishly.

Virgil bristled. “I told you to get lost.” He snarled. “In the forest.”

There was a silence. Roman found himself staring at his knees again and forced his head up to meet Vigils gaze.

“Well. That was unfortunate. But it was fine – you’re both good trackers, you found me easily enough so-“

“But what if we hadn’t!?” Virgil all but yelled, “What if you’d just been lost in the woods till you starved to death or-“

“Virgil.” Patton soothed, “Calm down, he’s fine.”

“He’s not! He’s not safe with us! How many times have we done something to, to-”

“It’s fine.” Roman announced calmly, cutting Virgil off before he could work himself up any further. “You don’t have to worry anymore.”

“What doe that mean?”

“It means – I won’t travel with you anymore. You don’t have to worry about protecting me I’ll just-“

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Roman no!”

“Are you going to order me to stay?” He snapped.

That shut everyone up.

He glared at the pair of them. “Well?”

“No.” Patton said calmly “Of course not. It’s just that-”

“What happens if you disobey an order?” Logan interrupted, causing the other three to jump.

The scholar had been standing so still, gazing off into the distance whilst the argument went on around him, that Roman had almost forgotten he was there.

“I cant.” He answered eventually, trying not to feel resentful of Logan for causing this whole mess.

“But what if you try?” Logan said, “If I told you to raise your hand and you tried to keep it down – “

“It would hurt.” Roman gritted out.

“Hurt how? Can you describe it?” Logan tucked his flashcards away and pulled out a notebook, quill at the ready. Roman gaped at him.

“Logan.” Patton interrupted, “I think maybe Roman needs a break from questions right now-“

“But if we don’t know the parameters of his condition then how are we supposed to fix it?” Logan argued.

“I’ve tried. To fix it.” Roman growled out.

“But you were by yourself before.” Logan said dismissively “Now you have me, well, all of us, working on the problem. I’m sure we will be able to –“

“I wasn’t by myself.” Roman said coldly.

Logan really did remind him of Julius sometimes. They had the same stubborn determination to get the answers they were seeking. But Roman was not going to be anyone’s pet experiment again.

“I am Prince Romulus of Notaleveale.” he announced grandly, as If he was reclining on a throne instead of uncomfortable bed. “I have had the finest minds of the fae and human worlds look into my curse, I hardly think a failed apprentice and a couple of backwater deserters are going to have more success.”

He swept an imperious gaze over all three of them, amused to find they had finally been shocked into silence.

“I will be returning to my kingdom. Your services will no longer be required.”

Part 9

[aceofshitposts]

I started writing this a few days ago but I don't know if I'll actually finish it lmao but here have a bunch of tim pining and stephanie laughing at him

-

Love stories are a dime a dozen. Hundreds of books filled with beautiful poetry describing the shape of their love, songs that flow like water whether it's the gentle bubbling brooks of new love or the storming sea of heartbreak. There's a thousand ways, a million guidebooks to help along the way.

It's not that Tim can't appreciate a good romance movie or belt out a good break up song with Stephanie or Cassie, it's just that it was never really his thing. Romantic gestures are often lost on him, paraphrasing from Stephanie herself, and he just… hasn't always seen the point.

It's like every single cliché came and ganged up on Tim in the back of an alley, leaving him concussed and without his wallet. If the Tim from six months ago heard about this yadda, yadda, yadda. Everyone knows the drill. The fact still remains that Tim sees Jason helping a single mother and her twin toddlers with their groceries, smiling at the kids and making them laugh, and Tim feels like his heart just got punched.

It keeps happening.

In what may be a display of stalking behaviour Tim hasn't done since he was twelve, Tim keeps watching Jason… do things, Normal Things! And every time it's like the lights just got a little brighter; Tim swears at one point the clouds part literally just to spotlight Jason as he flips through a book in the park. It's a disgusting slap in the face by the universe practically screaming, "look! The object of your affection is right there!"

It's horrible, really, having feelings. Bruce might have the emotive range of a root vegetable but sometimes Tim thinks he's on to something.

The real problem here is that he's not just attracted to Jason. Tim is familiar with that feeling, he's only human after all, fuck you Kon and Bart and all the computer brain jokes; attraction is easy. It's familiar and messy in a way that is totally uncomplicated, like ticking items off a list.

Love is everything all at once. It's easy to be in love with Jason and the way he laughs, easy to love the way he dances and sings in his kitchen the odd time Tim has stayed over after patrol. It's easy to love Jason when he kneels down in front of a scared six year old girl and tells her everything is going to be all right because he's gonna keep her safe.

It's hard to be in love with Jason when he's reckless, when he runs into gun fights without so much as a thought of his own safety. It's hard to love him when he's bleeding out in front of Tim's eyes, when Tim is screaming himself hoarse that Jason hasn’t even said goodbye. It's hard when they're fighting, it's hard when Jason fights with Bruce, it's hard and it hurts when everything in Tim wants to fix it, fix it, but the world doesn't quite work that way no matter how much he's tried.

It's hard but it's easy. It's easy but it's frustrating but it's wonderful but it's…

It's Jason.

And nobody else has ever made Tim feel a wider range of emotions than him.

This has gotten off topic.

The point is, Jason is into all that sappy, romantic stuff. He doesn't look it, except in the way he totally does once you get to know him, and considering the lives he and Jason live Tim feels like he owes Jason this one bit of normalcy compared to the majority of their interactions.

"Hasn't he tried to kill you, like, multiple times?" Bart asks when Tim tries to confide these things with his best friends. He's looking for support, dammit.

"Yeah," Tim says, dragging out the word in a way that probably isn't comforting to any of them. "But I also beat him up with a crowbar once, so, there's that."

There’s a loud moment of silence after which Kon throws his arms in the air, loudly declaring, "Bats!" and stomps right out of the room. It’s such a succinct reaction that Tim can’t help laughing because, yeah, bats. The problem is that Tim’s still one of them and this is honestly one of the tamer things that has happened in their lives.

Regardless, Tim isn’t interested in scarring his friends with what is normal in Gotham so he goes a little closer to home.

Stephanie, naturally, laughs directly in Tim's face.

"Please, Steph, I need help," Tim pleads, whines really, as she clutches her stomach, "I don't wanna mess this up."

"Oh, you passed 'messed up' approximately fifty miles ago," Stephanie wheezes in response. Tim socks her in the shoulder.

"Come on, he's better now!"

Abruptly Stephanie stops laughing. She levels him with a serious look and says, "and what about you?"

Ah.

Well if there's one person you can't hide your emotional inadequacies from, it would be your ex.

"I really like him, Steph, that's why I'm here. I'm trying."

Stephanie studies him for a moment more before pulling Tim into a tight hug.

"I just wanted to make sure," she says into his hair. "Anyway, great, you finally want to make a move! I've had enough of you waxing poetic about Jason."

Tim pulls away, making a face at Stephanie. "I do not wax poetic."

"You're right, you are definitely no poet. You will need to wax though, I know a guy if you want-"

Tim punches her again in the shoulder, face feeling like the surface of the sun. Stephanie dissolves into a fit of cackling laughter.

They spend the evening like that, Stephanie laughing at all of Tim’s pain and Tim trying to come up with a plan.

"I don't understand why you're so hung up on this whole 'normal' thing," she says while doing actual air quotes with her fingers and poking him in the ribs with her foot. "We all dress up in skin tight kevlar at night and kick ass."

"That's exactly it though! I just want this to be… ugh. Like I'm serious. It's not just post patrol adrenaline, or whatever."

Stephanie crows with delight, narrowly missing kicking Tim in the head as she sing songs, "oooh, you've really got it bad! I cannot wait to talk to Babs and Cass about this."

"What? Don't tell Babs!"

"Bold of you to assume she doesn't already know," Stephanie chirps cheerfully.

It's then, of course, that Tim's cell phone dings with a message from the one and only. A single, ominous :) and nothing else.

Tim suddenly understands Kon, feeling the desire to throw his arms in the air while loudly declaring, "Bats!" and stomp out of this obviously bugged room (and right into another, if he's being honest.)

[marvelmana]

-Mumza goddess of death prompt

TW: suicide attempt

So after Wilbur's revival Dream with his God compex realizes that the power to bring people back to life isn't enough. So while Wilbur prepares to break Dream out of prison, Dream sits down to remember what more was in the revive book. His eyes shoot wide open as he remembers a short but powerful ritual to summon the goddess of death herself.

So after Wilbur breaks him out somehow. Wilbur and Dream are met by the rest of the SBI family. They didn't come together. Tommy came to stop Wilbur and maybe kill Dream. Techno and Phil just came to get Wilbur so Sam doesn't kill him. As always with this family they start arguing and Dream runs away. They follow him to the L'manhole where he manages to preform the full ritual to summon the goddess of death. Now all the others are terrified because they don't know what Dream did. All they know is that the nice and chill night suddenly became the worst storm they've ever experienced and a weird portal looking thing has started to form on the glass. Tommy starts yelling at Dream to stop. Philza aswell because Dream doesn't know what power he's messing with. Dream explains that he knows exactly what power he's messing with and tells them what or...rather who he has summoned. To Dream's surprise everyone but Tommy seems relived that he's summoning the goddess of death. Tommy's worried because he has no idea that he's the son of the goddess. Before any of them manages to say anything a dark figure emerges from the portal with dark wings as she flies up to the night sky. The wind that had made it hard to stay on your feet suddenly stops and the portal disapears. Dream does his evil laughter and then does his evil monologue but gets cut off by the goddess of death striking him down with one hand and pressuring her foot against his neck. Phil watches her and falls in love all over again. But before there can be a wholesome family reunion Tommy draws his sword out and points it at the goddess' neck.

"Who are you!? What do you want!?" He yells demanding answers.

The goddess melts at the sight of her youngest. He's so cute with that diamond sword, thinking he's so cool. When she doesn't answer Tommy gets frustrated and yells at the top of his lungs

"ANSWER ME!!!"

He was meant to intimidate the goddess but his yell only comes out as a broken cry. The goddess' heart breaks as she sees all the pain and frustration in her youngest son's eyes. There's something in his eyes that is not supposed to be there. There's something that's not meant to be seen in the eyes of a 16 year old. Before she can ask, Phil steps forward.

"It's been a long time, love" he says and takes off his hat.

The goddess smiles at her angel.

"About 16 years, but who's counting?" She jokes completely unbothered by the blade at her throat.

Then the twins comes in to have a small talk with their mother. None of them mentions that she's their mother. Tommy slowly takes away his sword and starts backing away. He takes one look at the unconscious green man by the goddess' feet and then at his brothers and father. This is their business. He should get going. He only gets a few steps away when one of his family members ask where he's going. He tells them that he's going home. The issue with Dream seems resolved and they're all busy with and old friend Tommy doesn't know. At first the goddess is confused as to why her youngest doesn't recognise her. But then again. When he left the end he was only a few months old. The twins had been just around 7. The goddess, who's name was Kristin smiles gently at Tommy and slowly walks up to him. She tells him that she's his mother. Tommy looks at his father and brothers who nods confirming. Normally you'd think Tommy would be excited to meet his mum. But when all his family has brought him is pain, he's not excited to see what a new family member who's also a goddess, can do. So he does the most rational thing he can think off. He runs. He runs with fear of his life. Tommy doesn't wanna die again. The mere thought terrifies him. So he runs, hoping to find someone to help him, anyone. Tubbo, Ranboo, Puffy hell he'd even take the help from Sam now. As he runs past his house he looks behind him to see 4 individuals chasing him. He starts screaming for help as he jumps out the edge by the bench with a water bucket in hand. Kristin who doesn't know Tommy's incredible skill with water MLGs panics and dives after him with her wings. She catches Tommy before he reaches the ground. Tommy starts squirming in her grip hoping to get away. Kristin tries to reassure him that she's got him. Tommy begs her not to hurt him. Telling her that he won't get in her way, that if she just lets him go she'll never have to see him again. Kristin feels as someone shot through her heart with an arrow. And she tells Tommy in what she thinks is a comforting voice, that she's never gonna let him go and that he's safe. Tommy's beyond terrified but lucky for him Tubbo and Ranboo is on a walk towards them. Tubbo and Ranboo immediately gets their armour on and orders Kristin to put Tommy down and that if she hurts him, she's gonna regret it. Kristin gets put off guard by the sudden company. Tommy uses that to his advantage and gets out of her grip and runs past Tubbo and Ranboo who's like protecting wall in front of him. Wilbur tells them to fuck off and that it's a family buisness. That just angers Tubbo even more.

"Family buisness!!!?" He yells almost in shock "You gotta be kidding me! Tommy just started healing after everything Dream did to him and after everything YOU did to him!! Why can't you just let him rest!?" Tubbo yells in anger

That's when Kristin's had enough. She demands an explanation and Tubbo just answers "I'm not gonna explain shit. Who do you think you are?" To which Krstin stretches out her wings and says in a lower tone

"I am the goddess of death. Protector of the end. And his mother" she says and looks at Tommy.

Tubbo and Ranboo looks back at Tommy who just shruggs. Because honestly he has no idea if it's true or not. But Tubbo and Ranboo decides to play along. They answer with a bit of attitude what has happened to Tommy since he came to this server. Everything from the disc war, to L'manbrug, to exile, to the egg trying to kill him and then celebrating his death, to what happened in the prison. After everything is explained the goddess of death is furious. She shoots up in the air and Phil has a very troubled face expression. When asked what's wrong he tells them.

"A father's rage is strong enough to conquer the world. But a mother's rage is stronger"

Kristin is mad at the server for driving her family apart and hurting her baby. So with the power within her she pulls up the egg and it's roots, along with the enire prison, Eret with his castle and Dream's unconscious body. The storm comes back, this time with thunder and rain. Tommy sees this and is terrified. But he's also worried about Eret. It's true he wronged him but Eret has changed.

"We gotta stop her!" Tommy yells.

"She's the goddess of death, you can't stop her!" Techno yells.

But it's no use. Tommy grabs Ranboo's trident. He launches himself in the air and jumps from bits of earth and structures in the air. His main focus is to help Eret out. Eret is ready for his doom. He knows he's not been the best person. But before that happens he hears someone call out his name. It's Tommy. Tommy gives Eret the trident and tells him to get out of here. He hears distant screams of the eggpire and the egg. Tommy doesn't care that much for the egg. But as annoying as Badboyhalo is with his no swearing rule, he's a good guy and Tommy do have good memories with the him. So with no trident Tommy jumps between the rising blocks to get to the people. He sees Dream's unconscious body and for a moment he thinks about it but then shakes his head. Dream is not his priority. Tommy doesn't see himself as a hero. But he's not one to simply watch someone die if he can do something about it. Tubbo knows this. He curses when Eret gets down on the ground and tells them what Tommy did for him. Tubbo looks to Ranboo who nods. He brings up a water splash potion and splashes himself. His eyes widen and a foreign language comes out of his mouth. Tubbo grabs ahold of his husband before he can teleport away without him. Ranboo has gone complete silent. If you can even call him Ranboo anymore. Tubbo has only seen Ranboo like this once. It was terrifying since the half enderman hybrid had been walking towards Tubbo's cabin in snowchester where Micheal was. Ranboo had been covered in water scars and yet he wasn't talking. Just calmly walking towards Micheal. Before he could get there though Ranboo collapsed and woke up with no memory of how he got to Tubbo's cabin. So now, on a floating piece of earth, in the eye of the storm Tubbo had to trust whatever this version of Ranboo was. He called for Tommy but got no response. Suddenly the foreign language comes out of Ranboo as he points with his free hand to some egg rootes. Tommy's jumping between the broken peices towards peoplenof the eggpire.

"Let's go and help that idiot out" Tubbo says and Ranboo teleports them behind Tommy.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!?" Tubbo yells which scares Tommy. He turns around and smiles at the sight of maybe the two only people he trusts.

"I could ask you the same!" He yells back to be heard over the load weather.

"We came to help you. Ranboo can you get those guys back on the ground!?" Tubbo yells

Ranboo doesn't say anything but when he teleports closer and grabs badboyhalo and Hannah Tubbo knows he got through to him. Tommy's confused at how strange Ranboo was acting. Ranboo's not much of a fighter but still here he was, standing tall. And how the hell can he teleport without enderpearls? Tommy decides that there's a better time to ask. Instead him and Tubbo keeps the rest of the eggpire safe. During that the egg starts speaking to Tubbo and Tubbo is obviously trying to shut it out but it's hurting him. So once Ranboo gets back Tommy is quick to push his best friend onto his husband and yell at Ranboo to get him to safety. Tubbo doesn't get a chance to object before he's suddenly on the ground again. He struggles against Ranboo and begs his husband to take him back. Tommy knows what's keeping Ranboo from coming back. He can see it. So instead of wasting time, he makes a waterfall with his only waterbucket and puts the rest of the eggpire in it. In his head he repeats the same three words over and over again "Please don't drown". When the people is as safe as they can be in a situation like this Tommy turns to his mother who has definitely grown a couple of feet. Tommy gulps and watches as Dream's body literally explodes in front of his mum's dark eyes.

"Hey!!" He yells and draws his sword again.

Kristin turns to see where the voice comes from and her gace immediately goes soft. But it turns confused when she can't see the rest of the wronguns.

"I'm not gonna let you hurt anyone else!" Tommy says with his blade in front of him

"The mortals needs to be taught a lesson. You'll come to understand when you're older. You're just a mere child" she says calmly

Tommy smirks. He may be young, but he's not stupid. Tommy knows the blade would do nothing to his mother. So he takes a deep breath and holds the sword against his own throat. He doesn't want this. But he won't let his mother hurt people because of him.

"I may be young! But I have seen wars, I have witnessed my best friend's execution, I have been exiled, I have been tortured and somewhat manipulated. I'm not a child anymore!!" He yells

"You wouldn't. I can see the fear in your eyes son. I can feel it. You don't want this" Kristin says but her voice is everywhere as she gets closer to her son.

"I am not a child. I'm a soldier without a mission. Which makes me desperate. So if I have to die to protect them that's something I'll have to do" Tommy says and stares at the eyes of the beast

"I would never hurt your fatber or brothers" Kristin reassures

"I wasn't talking about those idiots. Listen this place is a hell hole! And sometimes it's hard to get out of bed. But you know what!? It's my home. You've just killed the guy who were the source of my problems. You've done enough!!" Tommy yells and pushes the sword closer to his throat. He can feel it slowly digging into his skin. The goddess of death panics and does a quick movement with her finger and before Tommy knows it he's flying in the air, unable to move an inch. His sword is still in his hand but he can feel an invisable force trying to take it from him.

"Tommy. Drop it!" Kristin hisses

Tommy won't drop it. He could see the fear in her eyes once the blade was pressed against his throat. If he could just move his arm he could put the sword back at his throat. But he can't the force pulling away his sword is strong. But Tommy's always been a fighter. He actually manages to withstand the force but doesn't notice the goddess shrinking in sice and flying up to him to grab the sword herself. After taking the sword she throws it down and stares at her youngest. One thing's for sure, her family is not safe here.

Good ending: Tommy and the others talks Kristin down and she goes back to the end but visits every now and then

Bad ending: Kristin sees how much this place is hurting her baby and the rest of her family. So she takes them to the end where they can't leave. Phil would've been able to, if it wasn't for one of his wings being broken.

[immortalecstasy-blog]

The Man From Willow Creek - Time Stamps - Chapter Six

Pairing: Mountain Man! Dean/Author! Reader

What happens after his happy ending? Come back and visit Y/N and our favourite mountain man as she returns to the remote cabin in the clearing of Willow Creek.

First Chapter / Previous Chapter

WC ≈ 35,000 Total A/N: Thank you to@redweddingsandbowties for checking for typo’s, and to everyone who left a comment on the original work for fuelling my ego and creativity, both of which are normally in short supply!

Warnings: 18+, Character Death, Alcoholism, Smut, Fluff & Angst Read on AO3

Or...

“Are you sure?” Y/N asks, the can of shaving foam in one hand and a razor in the other.

“Have at it.” Dean confirms, tipping his head back in the chair.

“Should I cut it shorter first?” She asks, her voice an octave higher than usual.

“No, it’s fine babe, just go for it.”

Biting on her lip, Y/N fills the sink with hot water. When its full and the mirror has started to steam over, she leans over and kisses him, long and slow. Dean’s hands automatically find her waist.

“What was that for?” Dean asks when she pulls away, grinning up at her. She leans back down and peppers his beard with little kisses, making exaggeratedly kissy noises.

“Saying goodbye?” He laughs.

“Hmmm. Are you sure you want rid of it?”

“You want me to show you that photo again?” He teases, “Would that help?”

Y/N pictures the photograph in her mind’s eye, and grins. “Nah, I’m sold. I wanna see that jawline. I just… are you sure you don’t want to do it yourself?”

“I trust you.”

“Yeah well, I don’t.” Y/N only half-jokes, filling her cupped hand with shaving foam and then hovering over Dean’s face.

“No, I think I’m going to cut it shorter first…”

“Y/N. If Dr Piccolo had hesitated before she took over from that anaesthetist in the second book, what would have happened?”

“Do not compare shaving your beard to holding a live bomb– you are not helping. No, Ozzy, go away…”

Dean chuckles, closing his eyes and tipping his head back.

“Dean, tell him he’s got to go.”

“You tell him.”

“My hand is full of shaving foam.”

Dean opens one eye and then waves to get Ozzy’s attention, signing for him to go lie down in his bed. Ozzy sighs, plodding from the room just in time for Delilah to appear curiously at the door.

“Keep your boys out of the way, will you?” Dean asks her, and she considers him for a moment before slinking off.

Once Dean is lathered in shaving foam,Y/N rinses her hands in the sink and dries them off, before holding her hand out, palm up.

“Razor.”

Dean laughs at her serious tone, handing the razor over and putting on a stupid accent that she thinks is supposed to be German. Maybe? “Scalpel.”

The razor hovering by his cheek, Y/N holds her breath. Then, after a few steadying (shaky) breaths, she gets to work.

“Don’t you dare pretend I’ve cut you.” She warns quietly, concentrating. Dean has to fight off a grin, that was exactly what he had been planning. But she must notice the twitch around his lips.

“I’ll take off your eyebrows.” She threatens, still speaking quietly as she shakes the razor clean in the sink.

“You would never.”

“Don’t underestimate me.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

With her tongue stuck out in concentration, she made short work of one side of his face.

“You want to see what you look like with a moustache?” She asks when she’s done both cheeks, about to start on the underside of his chin.

Dean laughs, “I’m not sure I could pull it off.” Then adds, “I don’t think anyone call pull one off.”

“Jesse James?”

“Cowboys don’t count. Different era.”

“Uh huh. Sam Elliot?”

“Yeah, okay.” Sam concedes, “But he’s basically a cowboy.”

“You’ve got the boots.”

“Do you want me to have a moustache?”

“Ew, no.”

Dean shakes his head, and Y/N jerks the razor back, “Well don’t move – I’ll take your chin off.”

When Y/N is finished and she’s washed away the last remnants of shaving foam, she studies him carefully, drinking in every detail. Her hand hovers over the scar under his chin before touching it gently. Unable to stop herself, she then ran her hands over his jaw and then his top lip.

“Verdict?”

“You look like you’re five.”

“Hey!”

Y/N grins, “No, you don’t. You look sexy.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

. * * *

“Is your face cold?” Y/N asks, her own face buried in his coat collar. They were outside, despite the fact that the first day of spring was still a few weeks away, and the heavy snow showed no sign of leaving them any time soon. But it was a cloudless night, and the dogs has been restless all afternoon.

“I’m good.” Dean answers, watching the glow of the flames. Y/N closes her eyes, tucking herself closer to him as she feels the warmth from the fire across the exposed side of her face. Without the usual tickle of his beard, she quickly falls asleep against him.

When Y/N wakes up the next morning, she’s in bed. Dean is still asleep beside her. In the beginning, Dean had almost always been up before her, and she had rarely got the chance to study his sleeping form like the psycho little stalker she really was.

But more often nowadays, he was still sleeping when she woke.

He looked younger without his beard. There was a scar on his chin she had never seen before, a slight dimple. His lips – his beautiful pouty lips – looked even fuller, softer.

The furrowed lines on his brow had left him years ago, but in sleep he looked even more relaxed, carefree.

She stared at him for a psycho stalker amount of time before slowly moving in to kiss him on the nose.

His nose wrinkled, his face scrunching up, and Y/N smiled to herself. Watching intently as his hand came up to rub at his face, and then tucked itself beneath the pillow.

She slipped out of bed, and the dogs all seemed to rise as one entity to follow her downstairs, apart from Delilah and poor Ozzy. Y/N crouched down and took hold of the scruff of his neck, giving it a gentle shake. The lanky puppy awoke instantly and rose to his feet awkwardly, like an uncoordinated deer, tumbling over his own humongous feet that he was yet to grow into – even though he was already three times the size he had been when he arrived.

“Delilah – you coming?�� Y/N whispered, looking back to the bed, where Delilah’s head had appeared from behind Dean. She yawned and rested her head on Dean’s shoulder. Y/N nodded, and she and the rest of the pack headed downstairs without her.

She appeared in time for breakfast, silently joining the queue.

With Dean still asleep, Y/N avoided the loud coffee machine. It had always been loud, but it seemed exponentially so nowadays, and was probably due replacing. She had orange juice instead. Grateful to hear Dean’s bare feet pad down the stairs just as her toast was done.

She turned the coffee machine on and buttered her toast, handing one of the slices to Dean before putting more bread in the toaster.

He grumbled a good morning, ruffling his hair with a yawn as he took two mugs out of the cupboard and set them down on the counter, the slice of toast held between his teeth.

Y/N leant against the worktop and ate her breakfast, watching Dean make coffee. Fall had turned rapidly into winter this year, and a chill seemed to have taken up permanent residence in the cabin despite the draft proofing and near-constant fire. Even with her thick flannel pyjamas Y/N wasn’t fully warm, but Dean hadn’t pulled a shirt on. Only wearing the novelty batman pyjama bottoms Sam had gotten him last Christmas. They were a little long, and the hems had frayed where he’d constantly trod on them.

He had a bit of a pouch on him these days, though somehow the V of his hips had remained intact. Y/N had developed a little bit of padding herself, but both of them viewed it as an accomplishment more than anything.

He handed her a mug of coffee with a kiss to forehead, stepping over Ozzy to reach her.

“Did you carry me to bed last night?” She asks, and Dean hums in confirmation.

“You should have woken me up.” She scolds, “What about your back?”

“What about it?” Dean asks, shrugging. Y/N rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her coffee, but she can’t hide the little smile growing in the corners of her mouth.

“You got plans?” Dean asks, adding liberal amounts of milk and sugar to his coffee – Y/N had converted him to her ways the year before.

“Split up and look for clues?” Y/N offers, “Nah, I’ll take the dogs out for a bit, and then I’ve got a video call with Eileen this afternoon. That’s it. You?”

“That Eileen’s idea?”

“Yeah.”

Dean nods, “Yeah, no, no plans. Nothing. Just… chill day.” Dean tells her with a ‘smooth sailing’ hand gesture.

“Okay. You coming for a walk?”

“No – I’ll give the place a bit of a tidy up.”

Y/N levels him with a glare, “Don’t you dare watch any of those old films I thrifted without me.”

Dean puts his hand to his heart, covering his anti-possession tattoo, “wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’ll kill you.” Y/N warns.

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Don’t test me.”

Dean laughs, finishing his toast just in time for the toaster to pop out some more, but he doesn’t make his usual beeline for it.

“You not hungry?”

“No, I’m good.”

Y/N laughs, reaching over to press her palm against his forehead, “You feeling okay?”

Dean bats her hand away, “I’m good.”

“So was all that eating power in the beard, or…?”

“Shut up.”

Y/N laughs again, picking up her coffee mug to take upstairs with her while she got dressed. Still chortling at her little joke as she left the kitchen.

“Don’t make me spank you!” Dean calls after her.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time!” She calls back, already halfway up the stairs.

She dresses quickly to avoid being exposed to the cold for too long, layering up her outfit until she was uncomfortably warm. The jumper Dean had salvaged for her when they first met was so thin now that it was almost translucent, but it was still soft and comfortable. It was unlikely to make it to next winter in one piece, so Y/N was making the most of it.

She wondered if the brand still sold anything similar and made a mental note to ask Mandy the next time they had a virtual girl’s night.

Y/N finishes her coffee and heads back downstairs; Dean was already making up a thermos of coffee for her to take with her.

“You’re the best.” She told him, taking the thermos he offers out to her and kissing his cheek. It’s odd, kissing his actual cheek instead of the beard, so she does it again, just to help herself get used to it.

As she closes the door, the dogs start to converge to her right, anticipating a walk down to the creek, so Y/N heads left instead, just to mess with them. It was a steeper walk into the trees in this direction, but they hadn’t taken Ozzy ‘up the top’ yet, and she felt like mixing things up.

She attaches Ozzy to Flash today, knowing Dean would be happier if Hughie had full mobility when they were outside the warding. His nose was to the ground the moment they passed over the invisible barrier and started hiking upwards, scrambling over rocks and twisted tree roots and Y/N was out of breathe and sweating beneath her layers.

She forces herself to keep going for the last few minutes until she reaches ‘her rock’. She shimmies clumsily up onto it and then fishes out her thermos as the dogs bustle around on the ground beneath her, and from her amazing vantage point, she looks out across the treetops.

When her coffee’s gone and she’s had her fill of the scenery, they make the easy downhill journey home.

Y/N opens the front door, the dogs brushing past her legs as she pulls off her scarf. She takes the bag of dog treats out of her coat pocket and turns to toss it onto the table when something out of place catches her eye.

On the table is an open ring box, complete with ring.

Her brain momentarily blanks before she puts the treat bag down on the table and unzips her coat, noticing Dean leaning against the kitchen doorframe behind her.

She hangs up her coat and then steps back towards the table, and the ring box.

She holds out for as long as she can bear it, but Dean doesn’t say a word.

“Is this for me?”

“Nah, it’s for Delilah. I thought we should make it official; you think she’ll like it?”

Y/N takes the ring out of the box and examines it carefully. It’s clearly handmade, but skilfully done. There’s no stone. The twisted metal band spinning into two perfectly intertwined knots. It’s so beautiful that her throat closes up, and she can only nod in response.

“There’s only one problem though.” Y/N says thickly, watching his face drop. “Dee doesn’t have fingers.”

Dean’s slackened jaw returns to its usual chiselled beauty – seriously, she loved his beard, but how had she let him hide a jaw like thatfor so long?

“Shit.” He says quietly, “Didn’t think of that.”

He pauses, watching her twist the ring this way and that to examine his handiwork. “Maybe you should wear it then.”

“You think?” She asks, meeting his eye for the first time since finding the ring box sat open and waiting.

“Yeah.” His voice is gruff – gruffer than usual if that’s even possible.

Y/N slips the ring onto her ring finger, and then closes the ring box. She sticks her hand out to examine it, noting the perfect fit and wondering how the hell he managed it.

“Yeah, I think that works.” She says after a moment of watching the twisted metal catching the light, wriggling her fingers.

“Me too.”

Y/N grins, walking over to him and taking his clean-shaven face in her hands, the cool metal pressing into his cheek. He dips his head to kiss her, snaking his hands around her waist.

When they break away, she laughs and gives her eyes a quick swipe.

“Lunch?” She asks, and he grins. She tickles his chin, unable to tug his bead like she normally would, and passes by him, her fingertips tracing his shoulder.

Dean cranes his neck to watch her leave the room, gaze alternating from her perfect ass to the ring nestled on her finger, and nods to himself. Satisfied.

“Puppy?”

“Hmmm?”

“We’re out of bacon.”

Dean tips his head back and groans.

. * * *

Later that evening, they were sat inside in front of the log fire, the old couch dipping low under the combined weight of the two humans and two and a half dogs (Dipshit definitely only counted as half).

Delilah was at her usual place across Deans feet, Flash beside her, leaning on Y/N’s legs.

They had half-planned another evening outside, but their afternoon had disappeared between the pages of the Bestiary, and it was too easy to pile onto the couch, stick The Italian Job on (the 1969 classic, not the terrible remake – or worse, the sequel), and lounge the rest of the evening away.

Dean had his arm thrown carelessly over the back of the couch, hand hovering near Y/N’s shoulder, who had her feet propped up on the table, alternating between watching the film and waking up her laptop to check for any new mail. Sam was supposed to be sending them the recipe for the vampire cure, as Dean could only remember the ingredients and not the quantities.

The email arrived just as the film ended on its literal cliff-hanger.

“Is that why they call them cliff-hangers?” Y/N asked “Like, this film.”

“Nah, The Perils of Pauline did it first.”

“The what?”

“The Perils of Pauline.” Dean repeated, “Cas told me about it. It was this serial thing in the early nineteen-hundreds.”

“I thought you said Cas didn’t know anything about… anything?”

Dean nodded his head, “After Megatron-“ he leaned forward and tapped Y/N between her brows “- info-dumped his brain.”

“That’d sure make anti-plagiarism easier.” Y/N noted with an exaggerated stretch.

“Still arguing with that author?”

“Enemies to lovers is an age-old trope. It’s not ‘stealing work’. But no, Becky’s sorted a lawyer if we need one, but it’ll get thrown out way before that, no one seems to be worried. It’s the media coverage that’s going to be a problem.”

Dean moved his hand from its place hovering over her shoulder to stroke her side comfortingly, absentmindedly squeezing her love-handles.

“You’ve dealt with bad press before; people like to complain. It’ll be fine.”

“Bad press, huh? Like, dying or attempting to murder the president.”

“The devil. Okay? And anyway, that’s all water under the bridge.”

“Uh huh.” Y/N teased, and then stiffened “Hey – wait…”

“What?”

She looked down at the ring.

“Is this… symbolic?”

“What?”

“I…” She flushed, struggling to form the question brewing on her tongue.

“You’re… twice? Dead…”

“Couple hundred…”

“Right, okay.” Y/N agrees, rolling her eyes at his nonchalance “But… dead, and a fugitive… can we…”

“Get married?” Dean pre-empts, raising his eyebrows.

Y/N nods.

Dean holds out his hand to shake, “Dean Campbell, clean drivers licences, no priors, model citizen – nice to meet you.”

Y/N takes his head, “Y/N Y/L/N, actual model citizen.”

Dean shakes her hand, his smirk growing as her smile grew and grew until it looked like her face was about to split in two.

“You look like a dork.” Dean tells her when her smile reaches cartoon proportions.

“And you look like a tween magazine cover.”

Dean holds his hand to his chest as if fatally wounded. “That hurts. Definitely not the worst insult I’ve heard though.”

Y/N shakes her head, before getting to her feet to return the DVD to its case.

“You want to watch something else?” She asks

Dean hums noncommittally, before suggesting “Early night?”

Y/N laughs, “Dean, it’s gone eleven.”

“That’s early.” Dean defends, getting up to let the dogs out.

When their night-time routine is done, and they’re nestled up in bed Dean’s hand snakes up Y/N’s waist to her shoulder and then down her arm, encircling her wrist before sliding over her hand and finding the ring with his fingertips. Y/N twisted her hand around so that their fingers could lace together, bringing their hands up to her face to kiss the back of his hand before tucking them both under her cheek and burrowing into the pillow. He shuffles in closer, his weight pressed against her bare back.

“I love you.”

“I know.” He whispers back, “I love you too.”

“I know.”

Dipshit climbs over them, trying to squeeze himself into the infinitesimal space between them, and Dean twists his hand free of hers to shove him off, before finding her fingers again in the dark, feeling the new ridge of her ring in the web of his fingers. Next Chapter