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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years

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Cliche Mini-Series: Patronus

Draco X Reader

Requested: @shadowsingeraxolotl Okay, so they're all in 8th year or something and everyone are practicing their patronusus and they match and everyone is in awe because they are the most powerful ones they've ever seen? Like an alternate soulmark but better because they realize that Draco is so soft

A/N: Y’all sure do have a lot of cliches you want to see, so here’s the first one that sparked my interest. It will not be the last I promise, but please enjoy these two kids falling in love and healing after the war.

Okay so it’s 8th year

Everyone is a little tense, and the castle looks new but everything just feels wrong

McGonagall created an entire new wing for the 8th years so that they could get away from the haunting that the war left in the old castle

And the House Cup was done away with and first years were allowed to pick houses and others were allow to declare house-less or switched as they saw fit fight me on this I dare you

Which meant that the few 8th years who decided to come back all declared to be house-less because f*ck destiny and who they were supposed to be. They just wanted to be kids goddamnit

That doesn’t mean that you’re not a little surprised when Draco declares house-less. You thought he’d want to stay Slytherin

You catch his eyes and there’s no light in them and your heart just hurts

War was hell, and being trapped on the wrong side had to be the depths of Tartarus

McGonagall keeps a dozen Mind Healers on staff this year, for obvious reasons

Which is where you run into Draco often. You’re craving a therapy session and he has to—court mandated.

You wave and he gives you a curt nod. He’s in most of your classes now that you were both house-less so you’re peers, maybe acquaintances

True to Harry’s nature, he’s suspicious of Malfoy at all times, and well maybe you pick up a few habits of looking after Draco as well—but in a different manor

You make sure he eats, and gets to class, and stays awake in class for that matter, then you make sure he gets to bed. All by gentle questions or offering to go with him to meals or class etc (“hey, I haven’t eaten dinner, wanna come with?” “You have Flitwick with me... wanna walk together?” “It’s late, I’m sure the book will be there in the morning,” “I made too much tea, do you want some?”)

He notes your kindness but only mentions it to his Mind Healer. He’s confused as to why you’re being kind and doesn’t know if he likes it or not (he’s also a bit better with his emotions since he’s in therapy) y’all get therapy it’s amazing

“Well, you could ask her about it,” the Healer suggests. Except he didn’t understand how much Draco could not do that because he wasn’t confrontational anymore

Instead he decides to extend the same kindness to you. As an olive branch. You spill ink all over your paper in shock when he asks you to dinner. He quickly vanishes the ink with a flick of his hand

Now you two sort of get dinner together. Like all the time. It’s just something that normal and routine. You talk about your days, your classes, and Draco feels... normal. Like you’re not gawking at him, not afriad of him, you don’t hate him, and he’s pretty sure this isn’t some sort of ploy

fuck canon. Remus Lupin isn’t dead and neither is Sirius. I am the queen of this blog and my word is law.

Remus teaches DADA because he loves teaching and now that the job isn’t jinxed and McGonagall knows he needs a break from 24/7 Sirius to maintain his sanity, he teaches

And of course he adores his 8th years

He teaches a wide range of defense spells, but to pass his class with full marks all you have to do is summon a patronus. Corporeal or not.

Draco, though still quite flawless in about everything else, struggles with casting a patronus. A lot of 8th years do as well, so he’s not singled out, even if he is a bit frustrated

Remus understands that after a war this is hard for his kids, so he allows them to take a day and go to the lake instead of class for fun in the sun and to make new and safer memories

“Aren’t you coming?” You ask Draco who’s sitting alone in the common room sulking. “No,” he mutters. “Why not? Lupin is taking attendance, you have to come,”

“No, I don’t.” He snaps.

He really doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want to swim. He doesn’t want to take his shirt off or wear short sleeves. He doesn’t want to be gawked at because of his Mark or his numerous scars. He’d rather save himself the panic attack.

“Come with me?” You try weakly. “You don’t have to swim. I’m not going to, but maybe just sit out there? We can read? Or talk? Or something?” You know it’s a lost cause. You sigh. “We’ll miss you Draco—I’ll miss you,” you offer a small smile and head down to the lake downcast.

And maybe Draco misses you with each step that you walk away from him. Maybe it’s so unbearable that he curses himself and you before stalking down the the lakeside beach.

Meanwhile you’re perched under a tree reading a book. “Couldn’t get him to come down huh?” Lupin asks. “Sorry Professor,” you give a weak smile. “Don’t worry about it. I know it’s gonna take Draco a bit longer to get on his feet again. In fact I’d be surprised if—” Lupin stops mid sentence.

“Professor?” You ask. “Well I’ll be a mandrakes uncle,” Lupin grins, nodding to someone in the distance. You turn and see a familiar head of white blond hair heading towards you.

Ignoring Lupin completely you jump up and run over to Draco, pulling him into a hug, before remembering yourself as you take a step away awkwardly.

“I’m glad you came,” you stammer. “Me too,” his cheeks are flushed slightly pink as you two sit under the tree together.

True to your word, you two do read. He reads some sort of wizard classic literature and you read a muggle classic: Pride and Prejudice because you need a break from magic and spells

Draco asks you about your book and you explain a bit of it to him, saying that he would probably enjoy it, despite its muggle origins. He eyes the book and you skeptically but asks if he can borrow it when you’re finished with it

You two are mostly left alone for the afternoon, except always under the watchful eye of Harry who is still convinced that Malfoy is up to something

Your patronus charm is now incorporeal. You jump excitedly and the charm falls. Draco, who’s next to you, is quite surprised by the hug he gets tackled with by a very elated you.

Which leads to more awkward blushing and apologies.

“So you and Malfoy?” Harry asks one night while you’re alone. “I... I don’t like it.” “Oh come on Harry, don’t you think if he was going to do something he would have? He’s just trying to move on like the rest of us,” your voice is venemous and cold as you glare the golden boy down.

Draco sees you and Harry talking alone at night and gets the wrong idea before rushing away not understanding why that hurt so badly. He feels betrayed. You were the one person he thought was on his side and now you were skirting around with Potter.

You notice immediately that Draco has closed himself off to you and you worry. “Is everything okay?” “Ask Potter,” Draco snaps. “You seemed pretty cozy with him the other night.”

Then it hits you. “We’re you spying on me?” The thought is quickly dismissed. “Draco, Harry came up to me bitching about you. And I told him to drop it and leave you alone because you deserve your place here like the rest of us,”

Well you hadn’t said exactly that, there was a bit more swearing involved but the sentiment was there

“You... you defended me,” he’s in disbelief. “Yes,” you groan. “Now will you stop sulking and come and get dinner with me?”

“I’ve already eaten,” he mutters. You raise an eyebrow at him. “Draco,” you press. “Please,”

“I’ll never understand how you can tell when I’m lying,” he grumbles, standing. “You don’t look me in the eye,” you laugh, walking towards the great hall.

The trips to the lake become a Friday thing for 8th years and Remus. To give the kids a break and to let them blow off a little steam.

You know Draco isn’t comfortable going again and you don’t want to either so, you talk to Lupin and work out a deal.

“Are you coming?” You ask him, dressed in your old quidditch robes. “You’re going to the lake in that?” He asks skeptically. “And no I’m not going,”

“I’m not going to the lake,” you smile, perching on the back of a couch. “So, are you coming?”

“Where are you going?” He asks. “Oh come on you’re a smart bloke, put two and two together.” You laugh and take off down the hall towards the quidditch pitch.

You’ve done a few laps when Draco joins you in the air. “This is stupid,” he declares. “Yeah,” you smile. “But it’s fun!”

Draco sighs and his resolve fades and soon he’s smiling and chasing after you in a one on one game of catch-the-snitch

And honestly it is fun. Draco’s laughing and flying with you and he almost forgets that he’s supposed to be Seeking.

And when you fly closer to him, staring into his eyes, beaming, he does everything he can to remember to keep flying. You’re inches from him. You reach out and his heart is stammering.

Then you grab something next to his head and laugh victoriously showing him the snitch.

“Oh come on that was cheating!” He whines, chasing after you towards the field floor.

“It’s not my fault you were staring at me like I was Potter!” You call back. “Although I hope you don’t hate me,” you land softly on the grass and Draco is caught off guard by your words and why would he ever hate you and he crashes into you

“Draco!” You scold, and he thinks he’s hurt you and that you’re crying but no you’re laughing hysterically beside him

“I—are you okay?” He stammers, gaping at you. “I’m fine,” you laugh sitting up. Until you put pressure on your wrist and well maybe then you’re not fine

Draco feels awful and takes you to the infirmary, letting Pomfrey heal your broken wrist. All the while the roles are reversed and you have to convince him to calm down and that you’ll be okay man that boy is a mess

“B-but I hurt you!” He exclaims. “It was an accident Draco!” You fold your arms. “I’m not mad, please don’t be mad at yourself,” your voice softens as you take his hands. “Please?”

His eyes catch yours and he nods and you smile at him.

Since this is an every week thing, you and Draco have a rivalry going on of who’s won more matches. (The smack talk and banter is real, but all in good fun. It leaves you both laughing and smiling and onlookers completely confused because “uh, he just called you slower than a spider in roller skates” “Yeah, and he knows that it’s still faster than his blond arse” “My arse has nothing to do with it” “Oh I beg to differ,”)

Winter turns to Spring and now showers are 100% necessary for you Friday afternoons after you matches with Draco.

You pause in the locker rooms after one match and notice that Draco has shed his robes and is now shirtless before you, his back turned. Your breath catches in your throat as you see the scars that paint a gruesome image on his skin.

You don’t think he knows you’re there but his tired voice barely speaks: “I know you’re staring. It-It’s okay. I’ve... I’ve come to terms with it myself. And I think I’ve come to terms with you knowing as well.”

He turns to face you, a mask of calm on his face, his eyes holding yours.

“Harry did this?” You breathe out, taking a step toward him, your hand coming up and hesitantly tracing a scar that bends around his shoulder.

“Harry, my father, my aunt... you stop keeping track after a while,” His eyes are downcast letting you know that he knows exactly what scar is from whom.

Your hand trails down and brushes over his Dark Mark. He flinches, but his eyes don’t leave yours.

“Thank you,” You whisper. “For showing me... for trusting me enough.”

Draco’s patronus is now incorporeal.

You cheer and he wraps you into a hug this time and you’re shocked for a moment before hugging him back

You’re currently tied on your catch-the-snitch matches and today marks the tie breaker and the winner it’s just too hot to keep doing it during class time in the afternoon.

“D-Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me, tomorrow?” Draco stammers one Friday afternoon. “Sure,” You smile, “A bunch of our friends are going, were you planning on not going?”

Draco purses his lips because of course you’re going to make this hard for him.

“I meant with me. Just me. As a... date?” He’s flushed bright pink and it has nothing to do with the heat.

“I thought you’d never ask,” You grin and zoom off after the snitch and he’s left chasing you wondering and asking what the hell you meant by that.

He ends up catching the snitch and is completely distracted from his victory because what did you mean you thought he’d never ask????

“Draco, stars above you’re so dense,” you dismay and grab the front of his robes and pull him over and press your lips to his

It causes him to let the snitch go and pull you closer. And maybe the two of you spend the afternoon kissing thousands of feet above the ground.

You two enter the Common Room, hand in hand and a cheer is let up as well as bet money being exchanged. Draco is flushed pink, and so are you, but you just smile and roll your eyes back Hogwarts is starting to feel like home again

And oh he absolutely spoils you at Hogsmeade the next day. And you have to admit, as much as you like gifts, it’s so much more to see him happy about buying them for you.

Harry is sulking about the entire thing, and now has been jeering at you and Draco and most times Draco stops you from punching the golden boy in the face.

“I did it to him for years,” Draco murmurs. “Doesn’t make it right,” You hiss back, glaring at Harry.

A few others take the same idea as Harry and start to taunt Draco about his long sleeves in the warm weather. Draco never rises to the bait but you can see that it wears at him. You just hold his hand a little tighter and maybe send a few wandless, nonverbal hexes their way,

It draws the line one day when Harry with a few other 8th years stop you and Draco in the halls. Draco, you can tell is close to having a panic attack because it’s not the first one of his that you’ve witnessed and you just go off

“What is wrong with you!?” You scream at Harry. “At least he’s trying to get better! At least he’s changed! You might have saved the world but you’re nothing but a bully!” There are tears in your eyes as Draco places his hands at your waist, steadying you and himself. “And maybe he would wear a t-shirt if you hadn’t tried to kill him a few years ago with Dark Magic that left its mark all over him! Did you ever think of that!?”

Harry is gaping at you, shocked. Draco pulls you down the hall and it’s not far before he’s breaking down into a panic attack in your arms. You stroke his hair as you let him cry out all his tears, then you walk him through breathing exercises and five-things-five-senses (Grounding)

After this Harry backs the fluff off (and eventually apologizes and goes to Mind Healing himself because you were right, he needed to get better too.)

You and Draco become more comfortable around another and in public. Which leads to cuddling in the common room or kissing in the halls And no one can deny that you and Draco are just sweet and perfect together

Out of the blue but not really because Harry had a hand in it Lupin talks privately to Draco about his scars and they sort of have a therapy session themselves. Sirius talks to you and gives you advice about how to help Draco through overcoming his fears and self doubt about his scars and now you two have sort of been adopted by these two dads)

It’s the last day of DADA and Lupin makes all of his 8th years cast a patronus and you and Draco do it together and everyone stares in complete and utter awe at the two dragons coiling around each other filling up almost the entire room

You and Draco are in shock too, but soon, smug smiles fall on both of your faces because, yeah... those are two souls sworn and bound to protect another. Two fighters. Two dragons.

You also tease Draco about his name and the dragon for the rest of his life which always ends with him growing frustrated and kissing you to shut you up and then the both of you get a little carried away... but it’s fine. The castle is enormous and there are plenty of empty classrooms

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years

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Creatures in the dark Part 3

Pairing: witch!Steve x Reader

Warning: yandere, obsession, kidnapping, dubcon.

Words: 2116.

Summary: A monster dressed in human flesh was waiting for you in the woods.

Part 1

Part 2

P.S. Kinda not sure about this one, but I hope you're going to enjoy it!

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"Come on, love, you know you've lost." Steve murmured against your lips, kissing you again as he caressed your back with his palm. "You have to keep your promise."

"No, I don't! You cheated!" You groaned and tried to evade his kisses, cursing yourself for carelessly using all the blackberries you gathered in the forest yesterday.

"Just a little bit." As he pressed one more kiss to your chin, the boy casted a bonding spell, and the blue light slowly wrapped around your body, making it glow softly. "You know your enemies aren't going to play fair. If you really want to be a strong witch, you have to remember it."

He shut you with a kiss, eagerly swirling his little wet tongue in your mouth and moaning when you gripped his horns again - although it often brought him some pain, he just loved it when you clenched them in your hands, kissing you even more ardently.

"You hurt me." You said with irritation, your knees still burning from your fall.

"Then hurt me in return." His feverish whisper made you tremble with need as you kissed the boy willingly, slowly grinding your hips against his and watching him blush and moan. You'd lie if you said you didn't enjoy that sense of control you had over him as you were on top of Steve, guiding him with your hands on his antlers. "Yes, just like that, ahh... You're so good to me, love."

Since you were unable to move away from him because of the spell, you thought you could indulge yourself a bit more and forced the boy to keep his head higher, kissing his pretty pink cheeks. He let out a soft sigh, his hands on your back and hips as he gently touched you, pressing kisses to your face.

Well, technically, you did lost him in that fight after Steve taught you how to summon the wind, despite him using a few tricks to outpower you. You lost all the blackberries trying to get to him, and now there wasn't much you could do to push him away. Thankfully, the boy wasn't trying to really hurt you, and you were still taken aback by his peculiar behavior.

"Sometimes I think it's all a dream, and I'm afraid when I wake up, you won't be here." Steve whispered to you and moaned lightly when you grinded your hips against his cock.

"You know I can't run from you." You grumbled and bit down in his lower lip softly, drawing a symbol on his forehead with you ash-covered fingers. "Why are you scared, anyway?"

"You don't know how it is," he said quietly, averting his eyes, "when all you do is wandering in the dark. No one to talk to, no one to touch, no one to share your concerns with, no one to ask advice from. You are all alone in the whole world, and no one cares if you're alive or not."

You stilled on top of him, watching his face and furrowing your brows. Steve looked pitiful. But why, dear Gods, would you pity the monster who kidnapped you from people you loved so you would wander the woods with him?

"You can conceal your form. Why not to go to the people and pretend you're one of them?" You asked, your tone icy.

"Because I'm Yeev's son." Steve gave you a weak smile as you stared at him, hard. "I can't leave the forest for more than a few days. Don't think I didn't try, my mother had paid with her life trying to bring me back to people."

You fell silent, thinking whether he lied to you or told you the truth. You didn't know much about Steve's past as he was never eager to talk about it, but you knew his mother escaped Yeev when his son was a child, still. Since he was alone for a long time, you suspected something had happened to her.

"Kiss me." He demanded harshly, and you immediately attached your lips to his, following his command and cursing the magic he used silently. This time Steve was almost trying to eat your mouth with his, sucking and biting, his hands on you as he started stripping you of your clothes impatiently.

You let out a groan, pushing his chest, but the more you struggled, the closer bonding spell was bringing you to him. Soon you could feel the cold air on your skin as your lower part was completely naked, covered only by the skirt of your dress. Steve growled when he pushed his already hard cock past your dripping folds, entering your cunt gently but then losing his patience and slamming his hips, thrusting into your core painfully as you moaned.

"Steve, it hurts, it hurts!" You pleaded when you felt the tip pressing into your cervix.

"I'm sorry, love." His voice was low when he bit his lips, shivering from pleasure and trying to withhold from moving, giving you time to adjust. "It feels so good inside you, ahh... Sweetheart, bite me."

You leaned closer, brushing your nose against the boy's neck and sucking his skin, touching it with your teeth carefully as the dark spot bloomed on his neck beneath your lips. You couldn't bring yourself to hurt him badly, and Steve growled, squeezing his eyes shut as he caressed your ass under the skirt. He was painfully hard, basking in the warmth of your soft body, but stayed still to give you time to adjust. You were too good. You couldn't harm him despite all the hate you threw his way earlier.

"I don't care how much you're going to hate me." He whispered against your lips hot from kisses, feeling your soaked walls clenching him like a vice. "But I won't let you leave. You can hate me, hurt me, but you're gonna stay here, with me. Do you understand?"

You moaned on top of him, gripping his antlers again to stabilize yourself on top of him, his back pressed to the huge oak tree.

"This is not right, S-steve." You said feverishly, bucking your hips as the pain ceased.

"It's not." He agreed, kissing you on the lips briefly. "But if you're going to feel better hurting me, then do it. I can take it. I'll take anything."

You moved up a little on his cock, gasping when the boy slammed his hips into yours impatiently, gripping your thighs and picking up the pace. Although he took your virginity not so long ago and it was still painful to have him all inside, it felt damn good when Steve was taking you like that now, hitting that spongy spot that made you mewl on top of him. Slamming that little monster beneath you against the tree with your arms on his antlers, you tried taking initiative yourself, massaging your walls with his cock shamelessly. Steve moaned openly at that, his cheeks red with embarrassment and need, saliva glistening on his pouty lips.

"Yes." He whispered, closing his eyes, a sickly sweet smile on his face. "I'll keep you close. Like t-that, ah. You're mine, my girl, m-mine. Ah!"

You moaned simultaneously with him when he hit your cervix with the leaking tip of his cock again, and suddenly the boy moved over, pressing your back to the ground and getting between your legs as he thrusted harder, touching that spot again and again until you were starting to see stars.

"My girl." He growled lowly above you, something animalistic, possessive in his gaze. "Mine alone."

He grinded his pelvis against your clit roughly, making you squirm beneath him as Steve pounded into you, speeding up. You felt his cock twitching inside, ready to fill you up to the brim. The symbol on his forehead started to glow warmly, and you threw your hands around his skinny angular shoulders, bringing him closer, feeling his hot breath on your skin as you moaned his name. When Steve's hand found your clit, your inner muscles contracted around his cock so hard you screamed, your voice echoing in the forest as you cummed hard, nearly delirious from the intense pleasure. The monster boy above you groaned, chasing his own orgasm and finishing soon after you, his knuckles turning white as he nearly fell down on top of you, pressing his fists into the ground.

You were slowly coming from your high, your body going colder as you shivered on the ground, barely covered by the grass. Steve was near, getting his breath back when you snuggled closer to him, seeking warmth.

"I'm cold. Do something." You whispered as you hid your face in the crook of his neck. Now he felt so small, feeble. You felt the urge to cuddle with him, throwing your arms around his back.

Turning his head and looking at you with such naked love and affection, Steve left a kiss on your head, saying something in a language you had never heard before. Immediately you felt the heat rising beneath you as if the grass were turning into a warm bed, and you whispered a quiet thank you, relaxing against his body.

"Next time we're going to do it in bed, Steve." You exhaled tiredly, keeping your eyes closed. "Maybe I can't run from you, but you will have to become more civilized."

"And if I say I like being a beast rather than a man?" The boy smirked and then moaned right when you yanked his antler down. "Yes, yes, I'll get you a bed! A whole house!"

"Good." You murmured and brushed your soft lips against his cheek, moving your hand down to gently massage his head where the antlers were growing, making him tremble with delight. "If you want me to be yours, you will have to listen to what I say."

Grinning widely at you at you like a kid, Steve gave you a peck on your cheek and got up with a groan, giving you a hand to help you stand up. As you rose from the ground, brushing the dirt off your dress and gathering what Steve had left on the grass in haste, you sighed, watching the boy try to erase the symbol from his forehead.

"Love, you don't have to do this every time you lay down with me." He pouted as he came closer, asking you to wipe the ash off his skin silently. "I assure you, I can control myself. I won't harm you."

Rubbing his forehead with your thumb, you rolled your eyes, "My thighs still hurt, you know?"

"Then I can put some balm on them-"

"And jump on me in the process. Honestly, I have never thought such an innocent-looking boy like you can do all those... filthy things." You grumbled as he laughed at your words, picking up his lantern from a stump and watching you clean yourself and dress. "Arghh, I'm tired. Let's find a place for a halt before it gets too dark, monster boy."

He smiled, lowering his uncomfortably adoring look and taking your hand in his, leading you somewhere further into the woods from the clearing, his lantern lighting the path. It took you a couple of fights to prove you were worthy of defending yourself, but once you followed him on his way to the forest Steve wasn't trying to hurt you. Instead, he started teaching you magic as the power the Plague had given you was growing. You realized you had a good chance of outpowering him one day.

"Will you like me more if I become more civilized?" He suddenly asked you, picking up a few blackberries from a bush on his way and handing them to you. Furrowing your brows, you expected it to be some trick, but nothing happened as you hid them in a pocket of your dress.

"Maybe." You said honestly, looking at his deceptively feeble body. "I don't know how much human you are since you're the son of an evil spirit, but as long as you try to be good, I promise to stay with you willingly."

"I will try! I promise!" He snapped his head so fast his antlers trembled a litlle. "I'll build you a house and make you a soft bed. I promise I won't put spells on humans unless they hurt you or me."

Smiling to yourself, you rubbed his hand with your thumb as you kept walking forward, a few blackberries in your pocket. You knew the path you were taking wasn't easy, but maybe it was worth a try. It was certainly better than hurting each other all the time, wasn't it?

THE END

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#steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #steve rogers #captain america #yandere #skinny steve rogers #pre serum steve rogers

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hufflautia · 4 years

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Believe me darling, the stars were made for falling

Hello! I didn’t expect to post this “fanfic” because I didn’t write it specifically for fanfiction, if that makes sense. Today, (well it is technically tomorrow for you or perhaps you’re not viewing this on the day that I posted it. today is 12/11 (technically its 12/12 because its 1:39 AM rn lmao i did my makeup and it took longer than expected)) my creative writing teacher told us to write a short piece for a character that I created for the class. I wrote it and I thought about posting it because I liked the idea of it, and I felt as though the main character had slytherin vibes. I also really like the ending, and I wanted to share it with others.

This is not a typical slytherpuff story. It has no magic involved. Slytherin and Hufflepuff are normal people like you and me, aka muggles (or maybe you’re not a muggle( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) who knows?). The story has nothing to do with Harry Potter. Thus, I am creating another section for my masterlist and it will be labeled “somefink special” because its not technically harry potter related. However, it will always have Hufflepuff and Slytherin in it, because I made sure to change the names from the original character. Stories like this is just a work of art that I would like to share with others, so I think of it as somefink special (and somefink is not an actual word, its supposed to be “something” but i just think the spelling is funny). I’m not sure if I will post more stuff like this, as in stuff that doesn’t relate to harry potter but still has my usual characters. Heck, perhaps I’ll write fanfics like this but for other character ships like Slytherin x Ravenclaw or the other ones. We shall see.

Anyways, this “quick” author’s note is running a little long, so I will end it here. I hope you guys enjoy reading this! TOODELOO

FYI, this is not my “monthly” fanfic. In other words, this isn’t the only fanfic that I will be posting for december. I will still be posting The Queen and the Dragon soon (around Christmas). I am almost done with the college process, I need to revise some of my essays and I will finally submit it. After that, I will continue writing the long story. I am currently stuck at a difficult scene that will require a lot of thinking, hence the delay. OK BYE NOW, THIS IS THE FOR-REALSIES TOODELOO :D!

***WARNINGS: Drug abuse, addiction, and suicidal thoughts

Summary: Slytherin is hanging out with her favorite person in the entire world: Hufflepuff, her darling little sister. They lay beneath the stars, comfortable silence drifting upon them like a soft blanket that wraps around them, keeping them safe from outside forces that threaten their moment of contentment. This small pocket of tranquility is rare—and Slytherin knows this. She knows it all too well. As if on cue, it breaks into shattered pieces when she overhears their parents arguing. Again. Dread stealing her breath, a familiar urge rises once more, an urge that is more destructive than she realizes. She wishes the overwhelming feeling of anxiety would go away. And it could—with the help of a couple of pills.

Slytherin smiled, a feeling of mirth warming her heart when she saw the smile plastered on her sister’s face as they laid on their backs against the porch floor, staring up at the stars. She took a hold of Hufflepuff’s hand, her touch slightly sweaty but cold at the same time. She didn’t mind and merely gave it a light squeeze. A cool night breeze blew past them, the wind’s touch like gentle kisses against their skin.

This was nice. This was really nice. Slytherin hardly had any time for herself this week, because she was busy with exam after exam, stress piling on top of her before she could even take a breath of air. To her relief, the burdens finally lifted because it was Saturday, and she didn’t have to worry about school. She was with her sister, and that was all she needed. In fact, she was so comfortable and content that she didn’t even think about the drugs. A pestilent part of her, the part that was created the moment she swallowed the white pill down her throat, urged her to go inside. To walk nonchalantly towards the bathroom with a pace that was fast enough so that she would get to where she wanted to go quickly but slow enough to not attract any attention. To snatch her mom’s bottle of Xanax and hurry to her own room, making sure to lock the door before sitting on her bed. To pop the drug into her mouth and allow the artificial feeling of euphoria to overtake her.

But that destructive part of her settled down, for she was with the person she loved most. Their surroundings dark enough to see the hazy glow of the stars above, they laid there, gazing upon the night sky. Aside from the soft rustling of the trees nearby and the occasional giggles that spilled from her sister’s mouth because that’s just how 10-year-olds were, it was quiet and peaceful.

But like most things, it didn’t last for long.

“You fucking asshole!”

Through the walls, Slytherin could hear her mother’s muffled words, her tone hot and angry. Whenever her parents argued, they would spit curse words out like poison, the dreadful toxin targeted at each other with the intent to kill and destroy.

She sighed. For once, just for once, why couldn’t things be normal? She desperately wished that the comfortable silence that drifted upon them could come back, and she would gladly welcome it with open arms.

However, she felt Hufflepuff squeeze her hand, and she knew that the peace that she had known a few minutes ago would not return. Not for a while. Squeezing her hand was a nervous habit of Hufflepuff’s—a habit that Slytherin was well aware of. Even if she tried her very best to shield her darling sibling from the atrociousness of their home-life, it was essentially impossible.

Her sister was young and so terribly innocent. If she could, she would take all the pain that Hufflepuff endured from living in a dysfunctional household and pour it into herself. That way, she wouldn’t have to suffer.

But this wasn’t a fairy tale. Slytherin didn’t have magical powers to take their suffering away. She couldn’t give her sister the happy ending that she deserved. This was reality, and they would just have to endure this for a while.

“I’ll be right back,” she whispered before opening the porch door and stepping into the dungeon that she called home. Dread seemed to choke her as she neared her parents’ room, inhaling sharply at the sound of shouts that seemed to boom from the walls.

Gingerly turning the knob of their door, she peeked inside. Tears trickled down her mother’s face, her slightly red eyes ablaze with anger. “I can’t believe you would cheat on me again!”

Her dad started to mutter something lowly but she cut him off. “Do you have any idea how much this affects me,” she said in disbelief. “How much this affects your children?”

She suddenly caught sight of Slytherin, who immediately felt a sinking feeling in her chest when she was caught lurking. The feeling intensified when her mom walked towards her.

Slytherin immediately withdrew and tried to close the door but her mom opened it enough to fixate the full force of her anger onto her daughter. “Why can’t you mind other people’s business,” she hissed before slamming the door shut, leaving her in complete darkness.

There it was. The breaking point. Her face contorted into a grimace as she tried to will the tears away. Her sadness quickly morphed into annoyance. “I hate her,” she thought angrily as she walked to her room. “She’s gonna wish she didn’t say that when she finds me dead on the fucking floor.” Her chest heaved with sorrow and a torrent of emotions clashed within her. A million thoughts zoomed through her head. Fucking bitch, I fucking hate you. I hate everything. I wish I was never born into this family. I hate my parents, I hate my mom, I hate my dad. Why the fuck did he have to cheat? Were we not enough?

She was frustrated and resentful, but most of all, she was broken inside. She needed to calm the raging storm of anxiety within her—and she knew exactly what to do.

Hiding the bottle of Xanax in her pocket, she walked towards her room. Just as she was opening her door, she felt someone close their hand over her wrist. She looked back and saw Hufflepuff, who looked at her with furrowed brows.

“Are you coming back,” she asked in a small voice.

Slytherin swallowed with difficulty. If things had gone differently, she would have gone back to the porch with her sister and continued their night of stargazing. If her parents weren’t completely psychos whose hate for each other shook the household, she wouldn’t be addicted to the drugs that controlled her life.

“I have homework to do,” she responded. “Ask Gryffindor to go outside with you, okay?”

Her sister nodded and started her way to their other sister who decided not to join them on the porch because she had cooler 13-year old things to do.

Slytherin watched her retreating figure before closing the door and twisting the lock in a flash. She exhaled slowly as she took a seat on the edge of her bed.

“Finally,” she breathed out in a whisper as she uncapped the bottle, gently shaking it so that a couple of tablets spilled out onto her hand. She had never taken so much, and she knew that as she poked the contents with a finger. But she needed this. Her family—more specifically, her parents—were fucked up, and there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn’t fix her father’s constant infidelity. She couldn’t control her mother’s temper. Hell, she couldn’t even take hold of her own life, for the white rectangular capsules held the reins, the power. And she would gladly let it take control. Just for a little while longer.

Slytherin tossed the pills into her mouth and took a sip of water to ease them down her throat. She fell back onto her bed with her arms spread out on either side of her, forming a crooked ‘T’ shape. As she stared up at the ceiling, a blissful smile slid onto her face.

She could see the stars again.

Comments and reblogs are a writer’s gold!

MASTERLIST ; sometimes links don’t appear on posts. if you can’t see the link linked to “MASTERLIST”, the masterlist itself is pinned to the top of my blog. check it out if you haven’t already :D

Author’s note: HELLO AGAIN! I hope you enjoyed reading that. The story is dark and sad, so I will include some wholesome pictures to rid you of the lingering sadness that you might be feeling right now.

you can probably tell that i’m a dog person lmao :’) I hope you are feeling better! I am not sure if I will turn this into a series; there is a chance I will because I will have to continue writing stories in english class for this character. i actually have another story for the character (her name is Faye) and idk if I should post it. Let me know if you want me to release it!

Did anyone else feel slytherin vibes from... well, slytherin? Technically it’s Faye, but I changed the name for the purpose of posting. In my opinion, the slytherin in her is presented in the fact that she cares a lot about her sister, aka Hufflepuff, and slytherins typically care a lot about those close to them. it was also shown in the sense that she isolates herself, but then again, anyone can isolate themself, regardless of their hogwarts house. maybe im just overthinking this. After all, if I had changed the name from Faye to Hufflepuff, that could still work as well.

In fact, I might even change the names sometimes, depending on what is happening in that moment. Faye is pansexual, and I was talking to my friend about the story, and she said maybe she’ll get a gf, so maybe ill keep Faye’s name as Slytherin and have Hufflepuff (DIFFERENT HUFFLEPUFF FROM THE LITTLE SISTER OF COURSE) be the girlfriend?? idk, we’ll see.

Anyways, let me know what you thought of this fanfic. Should I do more like this, as in post my future works that arent actually related to harry potter but is set in the real world?

OH GOSH BEFORE I FORGET, THANK YOU FOR 700!! I guess this will be my thank you present, because I like to write fanfics as a present whenever I hit a follower mark. I intended The Queen and The Dragon to be the thank-you present for 600, but we are well past that, and the fanfic is long overdue. I had planned to change the fanfic to “thank you for 700” but i plan on posting it near christmas, so i will consider it as a “MERRY CHRISTMAS, HERES A FANFIC:D”.

As always, I appreciate you very very much. Thank you for reading this and being caring enough to do so. I appreciate that very very very much, and I am sending you some gucci vibes! It is currently 2:34 am and i should get some sleep. goodnight! love you all! BYE

TAGS:

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amlovelies · 3 years

Note

34 for chargestep

thank you for the prompt anon 💜 I started writing this from Ric’s point of view but then changed my mind and rewrote the whole thing

34. The feel of fingers brushing together by accident

from the sensory prompt list

presque vu

fandom: fhr

pairing: Ricardo Ortega/nb!sidestep (Vesper Bui)

rating: T reference to death and some language Vesper is a jerk. angst

words: 2.2k

read on ao3

The coffee shop is a familiar sight. You could squint and almost pretend it was seven years ago except the awning has been bleached by the sun. You remember the trees as thin anemic things, and now they tower over your head. Large enough to conceal you as you watch Ortega pacing near the entrance.

He hasn’t noticed you yet; you could still walk away. Stand him up, maybe then he’ll quit asking, quit trying. You shouldn’t even be here. Why was it so hard to resist him?

You know why

. It’s should be easier now. It should be easier to tell him to fuck off and leave you alone. You know how this story ends. He’ll leave you behind. He’ll drag you out into the world, make you a person, make you real, and then leave you

. You catch a thought of a woman walking by. She’s a pretty young thing, long legs on display, hair falling in shining waves over her shoulders. She’s noticed Ortega, recognized him. Trying to working up the courage, debating with herself, should she approach him? It’s not every day you see a super hero in the flesh. It would take nothing, just the tiniest tweak, give her the confidence and make her walk over. He never could resist a pretty face. He’d forget all about meeting you for coffee. It would be the smarter thing to do.

You don’t do that. Instead, you make her forget, add in a little anxiety, a certainty that she is going to be late to quicken her step. Instead of doing the smart thing and walking away you let yourself be drawn to him. Inexorable.

“There you are,” his smile is wide.

“Did you think I stood you up?”

A nervous chuckle, “maybe a little. It’s good to see you.” He means it. Or at least you think he does. So hard to interpret like trying to identify an object by feel alone. Familiar shapes that itch and scratch at your memory. A chill down your spine as you walk inside. Like stepping into your own past, but then you look closer. It’s not the same. The walls are the same color, a soft brown, and the layout remains the same, but the décor is more modern. The tables sleeker, lower backs on the chairs, more outlets for people working off laptops. So similar but not the same. You can’t go back.

He frowns when you order a red eye, gets ready to say something, but you shoot him a glare which shuts him up. He’s the one who suggested coffee; he can’t act concerned when you order it. Probably noticed the slight tremor to your hands. So observant sometimes, and then at others so willfully obtuse.

Maybe he only sees what he wants to. The bags under your eyes fit the narrative he wants. The one where you are just a broken shell of the person you used to be. Just waiting for him to come along and put you back together. An insomniac with jittery hands instead of bloody ones.

“I thought for sure this place would have gone out of business,” you say before taking a sip of your coffee. It’s good, rich and earthy with just a hint of caramelly sweetness from the espresso. It’s a world of difference from the gas station drip and instant crap you’ve been mainlining for the last few years. “You’re really leaning into the nostalgia factor here, Ric”

“Have to use all the weapons in my arsenal,” he says with a wink.

“You never were any good at tactics, old man.”

His smile is wide much more dangerous than a familiar cup of coffee. Always too contagious, that was how he drew you in. Made you believe you could have a life.

“I don’t know from where I’m sitting it worked. I got you here, didn’t I?” Smug. Always so smug and confident, taking up too much space. Somehow feeling too close even though there’s a table between you and he’s not leaning forward. “Besides, I didn’t have to be good at them, I had you.” Now he is soft and that is worse. Trying to catch your gaze, a hand sliding out as if to grab yours.

A twitch, an urge to reach out. To take his hand and pretend he didn’t leave you, pretend you could be a person, that you can feel. No. shut that door. Shut it down hard. “Someone had to save your reckless ass. It’s a miracle you only got me killed once.” You scoff.

You aren’t looking at him as you say it. Maybe you should be, get to see the hit land. You want to hurt him, right? To punish him, because this is all his fault

. A strangled sound, and you can’t help but look up. He looks worse than he did when you visited in the hospital. “Are you ready to give up now?” you keep your voice cold. Maybe this will make him open his stupid eyes and realize you aren’t his old friend. They’re gone. Just as much as Anathema

. “No,” his voice is determined but you recognize that smile. You’ve seen it a dozen times. When a fight was going south, when things looked hopeless. He’d flash that smile, and somehow, you’d always made it out. Well almost. “I’ve got a thicker skin than that, Bui.”

“Idiot,” you shake your head. It had felt so good to hurt him at the gala. Why did it feel so bad now?

“Sure,” he agrees, “but you’re still here.”

You are still here. It used to be so easy. You’ve felt nothing but rage for so many years. Nothing but the fire inside you, and then he walked into that stupid diner. Emotions had never been your strong suit. Even when you were trying to be a person it was still hard. Still hard to understand what you were feeling or how you were supposed to act. He was always the worst of it. At least with others you could take cues from their mind. He gave you nothing, gives you nothing. “I never said I wasn’t an idiot too,” you say with a sigh as you run a hand down your face.

“Walk?” He’s already standing as if he knows your answer. Part of you want to be petulant to stay, to not follow his lead, but you stand up too

. The park across the street isn’t busy. There are a few kids on the playground, looks like it’s gotten a new corporate sponsor. For all it’s shiny new colors it still looks much like you remember it. There’s a woman on a bench reading a romance novel and sighing wistful as she thinks of her new coworker. Some teens are buying weed behind the bathrooms. Nothing dangerous and it’s easy to make the two of you pass unnoticed

. Walking is good. You don’t have to look at him, but you are still aware of him. Walking too close, he never had any respect for personal space

. His fingers brush against yours. You could call it an accident, but you can feel his eyes on you. You wait, sure he has something to say, but for once he keeps his mouth shut. Just the gentle knock of his knuckles against yours. Are there scars there from where he broke himself against your armor? It had made you smile once thinking that he’d be marked. Marked by you the same way you’ve been marked by him. Now you aren’t so sure

. “I don’t know how to do this,” the admission is quiet, and you hate how your voice sounds. It’s a small vulnerable thing like the pieces of yourself you left on the sidewalk seven years ago

. “Do what?”

“Talk-“ a frustrated sigh- “be around you. Have friends.” You lengthen your stride, but he keeps up easily. Of course, he does. Nothing you do ever seems to really shake him, but he could always get under your skin “Maybe you just need practice?”

Instead of an answer you walk over to a nearby bench and take a seat. You take a sip from your coffee to avoid speaking. It’s growing cold, but you hesitate to finish it. You still need it. Need something to keep your hands busy, something to fill the awkwardness between you

. “Do you remember the kites-“ he begins to ask gesturing to the open field and large tree in front of you

. “Yeah, I do,” You smile before adding, “I still think we should have invited Sentinel.”

“No,” his answer is firm, just like it had been back then, but his voice is lighter than it’s been all morning. “That would have been cheating.”

“Easy to say when you weren’t the one who had to climb the tree,” you say with a laugh. You’d been taught laughter as a technique. It was a tool, to be deployed at the right moments, to set others at ease. So different from the involuntary reaction it was around him. He was always too good at drawing it out of you. “Who knew the Marshal of Los Diablos would struggle so much with something so simple as flying a kite.”

He bumps his shoulder against yours, “I didn’t want to rob you of part of the experience.”

You remember he’d waxed philosophical about the importance of doing it the old-fashioned way. Of running to gather speed and watching it begin to soar behind you, that it was more fun if it took a couple tries. Empty words about childhood magic and how he hoped you could recapture it, that he could show this little piece that must have been missing from yours. He would never really understand it wasn’t just about kites, or making s’mores, or playing pirates. It wasn’t just particular experiences you were missing but the whole thing.

You’d never had a childhood. There was nothing to recapture because you never had it in the first place. Just like you’d never had a name until he teased and cajoled you to give him one. All you had was incubation tubes and handlers and endless white walls. There was nothing magical about the chains on your wrist, the chains on your mind, the monsters that stalked the halls

. “Bui?” you hear his voice as if from a distance. There’s a child crying somewhere and you know it’s because of you. The park has emptied. The romance novel lies forgotten on the bench, too much of a hurry to get away from you. Unable to stand even a hint of your memories. Good, they should run.

You’re the monster now.

He doesn’t seem to notice the effect you have. He’s only looking at you. Eyes wide and a concerned wrinkle between his brow. This is something he could never understand. How could he? He’s untouched. Untouched with his unknowable static mind. You wish you could take it in your hands and twist it into a shape you could recognize. Something that you could interpret and begin to understand, but it always slips out. Like trying to grab mist or sunlight. You can feel it against your skin, against your shields, but you can’t affect it.

“It’s fine.”

You don’t need to read his mind to know he doesn’t believe you. Ortega may be a fool, but he was never stupid.

His hand brushes against yours again. Slower this time, lingering, letting his finger drag along yours. It tingles. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it was his mods acting up, but you’ve been shocked by him before and it felt nothing like this.

It’s an itch under your skin driving you to some sort of action. To punch him in the face or pull him in and kiss him. You don’t do either, just pull your hand away.

“You don’t have to do that.” His voice is quiet, gentle, just like the touch of his hand had been.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are. I can see you’re pretending to be fine when you aren’t. I know you better than that.” There’s something in his eyes, something begging you to give in, to let him in.

You want to. Some small stupid part of your brain remembering how it felt. How it felt to be real, to be more than just an instrument of vengeance. To be a person. To laugh.

You shake your head, “not anymore.” You know how that ends. Rising form the bench, you burn away that little voice, the one that wants to stay, to take his hand, to let him care about you. All you have is your fire. You won’t let his stupid brown eyes and fond memories douse the flames. He’d be disappointed if he did anyway. Can’t he tell there’s nothing left of you but ashes?

“Vesper,” he calls after you begin to walk away.

“Just give up, Ric,” you don’t turn around as you say it. You just start walking, one foot in front of the other.

He doesn’t get up, but his words follow you as you exit the park, “I won’t.”

It’s just like him to get the last word in.

#tumblrs formatting is going to kill me #ask #anon #sensory prompts #oc: vesper bui #lovelieswrites #if: fhr #fhr ortega

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fantasy2739 · 4 years

Note

Angsty Douxie focused fic!

We all riding the angst train I see. There’s not really any comfort here so uh... enjoy:

Douxie had thought he was going to leave with Nari but Steve has come up with an actually viable solution. She could go to Akiridion V for a bit. Douxie did think it was just so Steve could see his girlfriend and Eli. But Nari would be safe for a while at least. Claire was ecstatic that he was staying, offering the guest room in her house before anyone could stop her. Her parents agreed after Claire explained that Douxie was her magic teacher and his home above GDT Arcane Books had been blown to bits. So it looked like he’d be sticking around to teach Claire some magic. It wasn’t a terrible idea given that most world ending events seemed to start in Arcadia.

Claire was an excellent student, which she put down to him being a good teacher. Douxie wasn’t so sure, he knew nothing about shadowmancy after all. He was just reading the books and correcting her stances.

“This spell looks complicated.” Claire commented.

“It’s a nightmare spell.” Douxie explained. “When the shadow bolt comes into contact with a person they’ll be confronted by their worst nightmare.”

“Like pixies?” Claire asked.

“Exactly like pixies.” Douxie agreed. “But unlike pixies a hard knock to the head won’t get rid of it. You’d need the counter or strong will power to break free.” Claire shuddered.

“Maybe I shouldn’t learn it.” She said.

“It’s your choice Claire.” Douxie said gently. “It does sound nasty.” He didn’t fancy being on the receiving end of it. He had a few ideas of what he’d see and none of them were appealing.

“It might be useful against the Arcane Order though.” Claire trailed off. Douxie gave her a smile.

“I won’t make you.” He promised. “It might be useful but it’s up to you.” Claire smiled back, feeling reassured.

“I want to try. Even if it’s just a last resort.” She said. Douxie nodded.

“We’ll just aim at trees.” He said, not wanting to subject anyone to their worst fears. Claire agreed quickly and they started to try. She hit several trees in quick succession. Some withered, while others did nothing. Claire was getting frustrated when some did nothing. She growled at the trees, accidentally shooting bolts out of her hands. One hit Douxie right in the chest. He dropped like a stone to Claire screaming his name.

“Hisirdoux.” Merlin said, waking Douxie up.

“Master?” Douxie asked, stirring slightly. Merlin sighed, looking down at his apprentice in disappointment.

“My Hisirdoux, can’t you do anything I tell you to?” He asked. “I told you to protect Nari. I told you to keep the Arcane Order from the Genesis Seals.”

“Nari’s safe.” Douxie replied, sitting up. “She’s far away.”

“And how do you know that?” Merlin asked sternly. “You left her. You abandoned her. It was bad enough I had to die for you, and now you can’t even complete my dying request.”

“I-.”

“You never listen.” Merlin continued. “You were a terrible apprentice compared to Morgana. She may have had her issues but at least she could listen and use magic. Your parents were right to throw you away. I never should have taken you in.” Douxie felt tears forming.

“You... you don’t mean that.” He got out. It couldn’t be true, Merlin had been proud of him.

“Have you ever known me to say something I don’t mean?” Merlin countered. “You have always been a disappointment Hisirdoux.” Douxie sobbed at that.

“Master I...”

“Oh is little Douxie upset.” Morgana sneered. Douxie’s head snapped up. She was dressed in gold armour, helmet hiding all but her smirk. “How sad to realise no one ever truly loved you.”

“That’s not true.” Douxie whispered to himself through tears.

“No? Why don’t I show you?” Morgana asked in a mocking tone. She waved her hand and there was Claire talking to Jim, Steve and Toby.

“I don’t think I need him.” She was saying. “If I could read the books I’d tell him to go away. He’s a terrible teacher.” Douxie mumbled no. Claire liked him. He was sure she did. It didn’t stop the doubt though.

“You learnt Troll, I’m sure you could learn wizard speak.” Jim assured her. “Then we can tell him we don’t need him anymore. For Merlin’s apprentice he seems kinda useless.” Douxie winced. He was trying.

“Yeah he did nothing in Camelot.” Steve chimed in. “He doesn’t compare to the Palchuk.” The others laughed.

“He was so needy for Merlin’s approval too.” Toby added. “Did you guys notice? How sad is that?”

“It’s not true.” Douxie said, shaking his head and shutting his eyes as if that would block it all out.

“See little Douxie, they don’t care about you.” Morgana mocked. “They never will. Even Archie only stayed with you so he could meet better wizards.”

“Archie would never.” Douxie gasped. Tears were falling thick and fast. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. They cared about him. He knew they did. But what if they didn’t, a small voice in the back of his mind muttered. What if they hated him? Thought he was useless? He’d made so many mistakes. He was a terrible apprentice. A terrible teacher. Voices were overlapping. People he cared about screaming at him.

“Useless.”

“Pathetic.”

“Oath breaker!”

“Can’t do anything right.”

“Nightmare child!”

“Waste of space.” Douxie tried to cover his ears but the voices were inside his head. Every bad thing he’d ever done. Every mistake he’d ever made. Every lie, omission, scam and cheat he’d pulled. He didn’t want to hear this. He screamed to block the noise out. And he just kept screaming.

Douxie woke up screaming with hands holding him down. His vision swam as tears spilled out like a flood. He could make out Jim and Claire, with matching worried expressions. Claire’s parents were in the room, wide eyed.

“Douxie calm down!” Jim yelled. “It’s okay, you’re awake now!” Douxie sucked in a deep breath. He wasn’t. He wasn’t where he’d been before. Merlin wasn’t there. Nor was Morgana. He stopped straining against Jim’s hold, not bothering to stem his tears. Gut-wrenching, heartbreaking sobs filled the room. Claire knelt down next to him.

“I’m so sorry Douxie. I didn’t mean to hit you.” She apologised. “I’m so sorry.” Douxie didn’t stop crying. He didn’t think he could.

“Go away.” He choked. “Please go away.” Claire looked like she was going to argue but Jim put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her outside, following her parents. Douxie curled up on his side and sobbed.

#fanfiction #submissions #asks #toa #tales of arcadia wizards #tales of arcadia #toa wizards #claire nunez #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #toa archie #toa morgana #toa merlin #jim lake jr #steve palchuk #toby domzalski #we’re riding the angst train folks #no comfort here #the amount of pain i put this boy through

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snusbandxknifewife · 4 years

Text

Not me seeing this post:

And starting an entirely new Jurdan AU based on it lmao. Rated E for “Excessive Mentioning Of Sex Toys”

~~~

Dun dun.

Jude looks up as the front door of her father’s business, Lawn & Order, opens. The bell, added by her eldest sister in an effort to annoy their father, has been going off all day. Work is piling up on the receptionist desk and she curses to herself, knowing that more paperwork means less time outside.

A USPS delivery man walks in, hauling a hand truck nearly overflowing with boxes. Sweat drips down his face, pooling at his collar as Jude decides that maybe a little time in the AC isn’t too bad on a day as hot as this one.

“Sign here,” the obviously exhausted man says as he turns a clipboard towards her.

Funny, Madoc didn’t tell her they’d be getting a delivery today.

Still, she shrugs and absentmindedly signs the clipboard as the man unloads the hand truck with a dramatic groan. She should get up and help him, and, on any other day, she probably would. But today is for licking wounds and pouting.

The clock ticks quietly as Jude considers how she has to file papers and phone customers and clean the shop, just to go home for family dinner where her sister will undoubtedly be moaning about her cheating ass of an ex.

Not sure why she’s surprised, considering he cheated on JUDE with HER.

Taryn and Locke had been a thing officially for only three months, but they’d been sleeping together behind Jude’s back for much longer than that. The very idea makes her skin crawl and she would much rather spend her valuable time cutting someone’s lawn with nail clippers instead of playing nice with her poor heartbroken witch of a twin.

“Have a good one!” Jude clocks back into reality as the USPS man walks out the door, taking his hand truck with him and leaving her to the quiet of the AC unit and the court room tv playing in the corner.

Sighing, she gets up from her leather stool and walks around the counter to pick up the boxes. They look innocent enough, simple white USPS priority mail boxes that she expects to contain samples of seeds or maybe replacement weed whacking string trimmers. She could use some of those, the weed whacker she takes in her truck hasn’t been working as well as usual and Mrs. Mitsgunmins is kind of an asshole about precision.

She lets out a groan as she picks up the top two. The boxes are a lot heavier than she thought they’d be. Puzzled, she sets the two boxes on the counter, leaving behind the other two as she goes on a hunt for some scissors. Making it almost to her father’s office, she cusses audibly as she remembers the hunting knife she keeps in her boot.

It’s been a long fucking day.

Jude hums along to a commercial as she walks back to the counter, pulling out her knife along the way and slicing the tape of the top box. With a whistle, she opens the box and frowns at finding a bunch of little cardboard boxes stuffed inside. What the hell did Madoc order?

Her whistling stops in horror as she picks up one of the packages and spins it around, only to find bold neon print plastered along the front: XXX RECHARGEABLE NIPPLE CLAMPS

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Jude screeches at the top of her lungs as she drops the box and jumps back. Why the hell does her father need some hundred-or-so sets of rechargeable nipple clamps? Why do nipple clamps even need to be charged in the first place?

Taking a moment to steel herself, Jude moves towards the second box—staying as far away from the nipple clamps as possible—and reads the label for an explanation.

Ohhhh, these are for next door. The delivery man must’ve mixed up the addresses.

Letting out a sigh of relief, she pushes the nipple clamps back into their box and closes the lid, checking the other labels and seeing that all four boxes are meant for next door and thanking her lucky stars that Madoc didn’t suddenly decide to get his kink on.

Looking out across the driveway to the innocuous white building beside Lawn & Order, she rolls her eyes. The Sinful Serpent—complete with its shimmering golden apple sign—has been the bane of her father’s existence since it opened a year ago. Every day she has to hear about how he hates sharing space with some gross sex shop. While adult stores aren’t really Jude’s thing, she hasn’t cared too much because she hasn’t had to interact with the store or owner.

Until, she supposes, today.

She stacks the boxes back up and picks them all up with a grunt, thankful for the workout routine that her work provides as she curses the delivery man for taking his hand truck with him.

Only one car is in the parking lot of the sex shop and she celebrates the fact that nobody will see her going into the store. The last thing she needs is people recognizing her workplace on her shirt and bothering her or her dad. It’s already bad enough listening to old men ogle her when she goes to do landscaping work.

The front door is hooked up to an electronic bell that sounds like the twinkle of magic. As she pushes her way into the Sinful Serpent, she lets out a sound of surprise. Whatever she expected a sex shop to look like, this certainly isn’t it.

The entire store is decorated to look like a forest at twilight, with displays cut into bookshelves that look like giant trees and murals depicting faeries dancing through delicate nature landscapes wrapping around the walls. The lighting is low, except for where spotlights illuminate the wares. Over along one wall, by where the lingerie and exotic dancing costumes are, is a stage with a pole, the whole area bathed in blue light and covered in decor like coral. Between the entrance and exit door, the area for the registers resembles a castle.

“Give me a moment,” a voice calls out from within the castle. “I’ve got to check your ID.”

Jude panics, the very suggestion that she might be a customer in a store like this sending her brain into red alert. “I’m not here to shop!”

“The hell you here for then? Last I checked we didn’t have a gloryhole.”

She all but screams, short circuiting at being faced with a worse option than shopping at a store like this. As she tries to think of what to say, a young man pops up from behind the counter and surveys her, his kohl-lined eyes narrowed as he tries to figure out what her deal is.

He’s dressed in all black, his button up shirt undone halfway down his chest, exposing edges of tattoos that she doesn’t study enough to identify. His bottom lip and septum are pierced, as are his ears—which appear to have been elfed, because they end in sharp points. When he crosses his arms in front of his chest, his fingers are covered in glittering rings.

And he’s grinning at her.

“I uh, um,” she shakes her head, and then remembers the heavy boxes she’s hauled all the way over. “I work next door and, uh, the mailman,” she trails off again, her cheeks flaming as she lowers her voice and mutters, “I think he mixed up our addresses.”

His smile widens and his eyes look dangerous as he tilts his head. “And why would you think that?”

She glares at him and he chuckles lowly.

“We didn’t order these.”

“Can you be sure?” He asks, raising one painted nail to tap thoughtfully against his chin. “A landscaping company and adult entertainment store must have some overlap. Ropes and chains come to mind.”

“We don’t need rechargeable nipple clamps!”

“Everybody needs rechargeable nipple clamps,” he counters, his smirk replaced by reverent intensity.

She lets out a frustrated noise and slams the boxes on the counter, her back cracking in protest. “I don’t!”

“Woah! Stow the seriosity, Sunshine,” he lifts his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just playing with you.”

Grinding her teeth and digging her nails into her palms, she does her very best to keep from choking him out as he leans across the counter, his falling shirt collar exposing a necklace with a snake pendant hanging at his sternum.

She goes to spin on her heel and leave, but stops when a door—hidden behind a painting of a faun and nymph doing unspeakable things—opens, revealing a pretty young woman with blue hair pulled up into a messy bun.

“Cardan I can’t find the damn nipple clamps. I thought they were supposed to be delivered today?”

“Don’t worry, Nic,” the young man calls back with a smile. “Sunshine here brought them over.”

Jude, bristling at the title, misses how the woman momentarily blanches when she lays eyes on her. Quickly recovering and putting on a stony face, she walks over to the castle counter and inspects the opened box.

“You look familiar,” she observes and Jude zeroes in on her carefully cool tone. “Don’t you work at that coffee shop downtown? Bean There, Done That?”

“You’re thinking of my twin, Taryn.” Jude bites her tongue, doing her beat to avoid sounding annoyed at being confused with that backstabbing little—

“Sunshine here is our neighbor, Nicasia,” Cardan cheerfully announces. “She got our order and was kind enough to haul it over.”

“My name is Jude,” she grumbles.

He ignores her, leaning in conspiratorially and stage whispering in Nicasia’s ear. “She has insisted that she doesn’t need rechargeable nipple clamps, so surely they must belong to us.”

“Everyone needs rechargeable nipple clamps,” Nicasia whispers back.

“That’s what I said!”

Jude, rooted in place from the pure horror of listening to this conversation, watches as Cardan picks up a pair of scissors and opens a second box; pulling out a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs and grinning when he notices her watching him. Nicasia raises a perfectly groomed brow at the situation before grabbing the box of nipple clamps and heading to restock the shelves.

Once again, he leans forward, fingers spinning the handcuffs around as he smirks at her. “Now that the packages are handled, what can I do you for?”

Jude frowns, sure that he misspoke. It’s then that her phone goes off and she celebrates any excuse to get the fuck out.

Emergency situation at Dr. Wullworth’s. Need you to take over cutting at the Collethes. -Madoc

“I’m good, I’ve got a lawn to trim,” she says, turning off her phone and tucking it back into her pocket.

“Awe, Sunshine, you ain’t gotta clean up for me.”

She tilts her head in confusion before shrugging and turning to leave.

“Gotta go out the other door, Sunshine,” he sighs, almost like he’s disappointed. Weird.

Jude still tries the door, but it won’t open from this side, so she grabs ahold of her pride and walks around the castle counter, moving as quickly as she can and keeping her head down to avoid getting any further education.

“Bye,” she waves her hand awkwardly as she hits the exit door.

“Bye, Sunshine.”

~~~~~

Mostly setup for the AU. Yes all the last names are keysmashes. Yes I did go on early 2 bed’s website and choose random buttons until I found a sex toy that seemed a little odd. (The nipple clamps are rechargeable because they vibrate.) Big thanks to the discord server for helping me with ideas!

Tag list: @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @hizqueen4life @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @thewickedkings @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @cheekycheekycheeks @queen-of-glass @b00kworm @doingmyrainbow @andromeddea @jurdanhell @thesirenwashere @illyrianwitchling @courtofjurdan @clockworkgraystairs @st00pid231 @booksandlewks @fateandluminary

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

#jurdan #Jude Duarte #cardan greenbriar #tfota #tfota fanfic #sex shop/landscaping au #tyrannosaurus lex writes #literally just crack

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hermannsthumb · 4 years

Note

Hello!! If you're not too busy and are so inclined, could you do 24, 27, 37 for the fall prompts? For Newt and Hermann o b v i o u s l y. Thank u so so much!! Keep up the great work xoxo

24. Warm Sweaters + 37. Cold

from autumn fic prompts here

im cheating a LITTLE and not filling the “27. corn maze” part because I wrote it last year and im def not inspired enough to do another HAHA. and also...because I want to work towards finishing my @theloccent bingo card belatedly with Spooning and Huddling for Warmth. SORRY I TOOK SO LONG, ive had a weird summer and i just moved/started grad school last week, it hasn't been very conducive for writing. set ambiguously before they're transferred to the HK shatterdome

----------

“I must say, Newton,” Hermann says, “I believe I sorely underestimated your abilities.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Newt says, gloomily.

“You went above and beyond what I expected.”

“I get it,” Newt says.

“It takes a true sort of talent to screw things up as much as you have.”

“I get it,” Newt says.

Hermann is not smirking--he’s too angry right now for that--but he does have a somewhat unpleasant curl to his mouth that’s making Newt boil hot with embarrassment all the same. Sort of a sneer, maybe. “I get it,” Newt says for the third time. “I’m a fuck-up, I’m a walking disaster, I--” He kicks the front of the rental car hard with the end of his boot, relishing in the dull thud that echoes from it, and less in the dull pain. “--can’t even figure out how to patch a fucking tire.”

“Or drive,” Hermann offers, helpfully. “You can’t drive, either.”

“Neither can you, Mr. Speed Demon,” Newt shoots back, but he knows it falls flat. After all--when their connecting flight got cancelled, Hermann wasn't the one who insisted they leave the relative safety of the airport to peel out into a snowstorm in search of a hotel. Hermann wasn’t the one who insisted on driving the rental. Hermann isn’t the one who got them lost down some shitty little road in the middle of nowhere, with snow piling up all around them, and he definitely isn’t the one who got distracted behind the wheel trying to adjust the radio and didn't see a patch of ice in time and sent the car--well. The point is, they’re down two tires, probably an engine, most definitely their only mode of transportation, and sure as hell aren’t near any hotel.

Around them is snow as far as the eye can see. When they get home (and that’s if they ever make it back to the airport), Newt is requesting a transfer to the LA Shatterdome ASAP. “Well, Newton?” Hermann says. He’s bundled up in his stupid parka and more scarves than Newt even owns. Newt can barely see his face. “What’s your next brilliant plan? Build an igloo?”

Not a bad idea, at this rate; the snow is no joke. “I’m thinking,” Newt grumbles. His breath puffs out white in front of him. “Tow truck,” he says. “We need a tow truck.”

“Astute,” Hermann says.

Newt ignores him and pulls his cell phone from his pocket. No bars. Right, of course, middle of fucking nowhere. “Do you have any reception?” Newt sighs.

“I didn’t bring my mobile,” Hermann says.

Newt’s eyes snap up to fix on him incredulously. “You didn’t bring--?! What the hell, man?”

“I had no need for it on the trip,” Hermann says. “We’re meant to be at a conference. I didn't think we’d get lost.” He doesn’t even have the audacity to look ashamed. Newt debates hurling his cell phone into the snow bank in frustration, but decides against it, because it did kind of cost a lot.

“Unbelievable,” he says instead. “Fucking unbelievable. Fine. Let’s go find--”

“You’re not saying we ought to walk somewhere?” Hermann interrupts.

“What other options do we have?” Newt says. “Freeze to death? There’s gotta be at least a gas station or something nearby--I could find someone to tow the car, while you--” He looks Hermann up and down, from his oversized Oxfords to his twenty scarves to his pathetic red cheeks. Hermann’s leg gets stiff as hell in the cold; there’s no way he’d be able to make any kind of distance right now, and who knows how long they’d be walking. There’s also no way Newt’s leaving him behind. “Come on,” he finally sighs, and touches Hermann’s elbow tentatively. “Let’s just get back in the car. It’s warmer in there.”

Maybe he’ll go off by himself once the snow stops. Or maybe, if they’re lucky, someone will stop by and offer them a ride before that. “Only barely,” Hermann says with a scowl, but he obliges.

Newt doesn’t get back in the car right away, though. Instead, he pops the trunk, pulls out their duffel bags, and begins feeling around the backseat. They’ve only had the rental for a few hours, and Newt isn’t exactly the most skilled around cars, but he thinks... “What are you doing back there?” Hermann says.

“One sec,” Newt says, and when he tugs a little lever off to the side, the seats fold down. Another tug, and they fold back into the trunk, leaving the back half of the car entirely flat. “Oh, awesome!”

"Newton?”

Newt ignores Hermann and begins digging around in their duffel bags. He has nothing but a few spare sweatshirts and boxers in his own; Hermann’s proves far more promising. “Score,” Newt whistles, and pulls out two--three--four ugly sweaters. “Holy shit, dude, we were only supposed to be there for a night. Why’d you pack so much?”

“I like to be prepared,” Hermann says. “Which you clearly know nothing about. Hang on--” He cranes his neck around his seat headrest to frown at Newt. “Why are you--?”

“You’re a regular Boy Scout,” Newt interrupts. He climbs into the back of the car, kicks his boots a few times against the back fender to knock off all the snow, and shuts the trunk behind him. “Come on,” he says, unlacing his boots, “get back here already. I’m cold.”

Hermann stares at him.

Newt shucks off his leather jacket and pulls one of Hermann’s sweater over his head instead. It’s insane how much of a difference it makes--maybe Hermann has been on something all these years when he tells Newt he needs proper winter wear or whatever the fuck. He pulls on a second one for good measure, pleasantly surprised to find he can still move his arms, and then pulls on a second pair of his socks over his first. “C’mon, Hermann,” he says. “Time to share some body heat, dude.”

Hermann grumbles, and he shakes his head, and he tucks the hood of his parka down over his face (like being unable to see Newt means Newt will just magically forget he’s there), and then--finally--he turns back to face Newt again. “This is ridiculous,” he declares. “We must have other options.”

Newt lays down and stretches out on his side, blinking up at Hermann coyly. “You’re making it weird for no reason,” he says. “It doesn’t have to be weird, you know.” It can be perfectly natural--two dudes, who sometimes fight, and sometimes do things a little more amorous than fight, sharing body heat. That's all. “It’s just biology. Cats do it, penguins do it--”

“No,” Hermann says.

He comes to the backseat anyway. Newt likes to think it’s because he’s too irresistible.

“I call being big spoon,” Newt says happily, and he tucks himself around Hermann’s bony--and, at the moment, puffy--back before Hermann can protest. One leg, he nudges between Hermann’s, making sure not to put any weight where he shouldn’t; he settles the arm wrapped around Hermann at his waist, splaying his hand somewhere around Hermann’s upper abdomen. “There. Isn’t that nice?”

“Hmph,” Hermann says.

Outside, the storm rages on around them, snow piling up on the windows and frosting them over where it hasn’t landed yet. The last dregs of the heat in the car die out. Newt tucks himself a little closer to Hermann, inhaling his shampoo, the slight damp scent his fuzzy parka hood always has. Hasn’t the guy ever heard of dry-cleaning? “Feeling cozy?” Newt mumbles.

“You’re shivering,” Hermann tells him.

“Am I?” Newt says.

He is. Huh. Hermann turns over with a grunt, then unzips his parka and tucks Newt into it in one fluid motion. Newt winds his arms around Hermann instinctively. “There we are,” Hermann murmurs. “Let’s get you warm.”

The zipper goes back up with some difficulty, pressing Newt so tight against Hermann’s chest he can barely move. Hermann’s chin bumps his forehead. Newt looks up to find his wide mouth parted slightly. “I think I want to kiss you,” Newt says, surprising himself.

“Hm?” Hermann says.

“I want to kiss you,” Newt repeats a little louder, and that gets a reaction--Hermann’s eyebrows leap to his sweaty bangs, and his whole body stiffens. “Listen--listen. Uh. The best way to share body heat--you know--it’s stuff like that. Kissing, and--”

“I am not having sex with you in the back of a bloody rental car,” Hermann half-shouts.

Newt wriggles around a little until he can steal an uncoordinated kiss from Hermann, landing it somewhere to the left of his mouth. He has better aim with his next one. “I won’t tell anyone if you don't,” he promises.

“We are not,” Hermann says, but the next kiss, he instigates himself.

They’re rescued half an hour later when a local knocks on the window and asks if they need a lift; the bed and breakfast Newt was so sure he was leading them to, as it turns out, is only a five minute walk away, hidden from view by some trees and the snow. “At least we had some fun bonding time,” Newt tells Hermann sheepishly in the lobby.

Hermann scowls, but to Newt’s delight, requests a single queen for them both.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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lockewrites · 4 years

Text

Our Own Entertainment

Astarion x F!OC || NSFW (Not actual smut, but very suggestive foreplay) || 2338 words AO3 & FF

Aurella and Astarion struggle to keep themselves entertained during a rather boring party.

The campsite was bustling with tieflings, singing and dancing, party already in full swing before Aurella and the rest of them arrived. Zevlor stood at the entrance, greeting them as they approached.

“I hope you’ll pardon them,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “They meant to wait for you all. But it’s been some time since they’ve had cause to celebrate.”

A sudden burst of laughter sounded near the fire, and Zevlor smiled, even as Aurella walked past him with little acknowledgement.

“I’m glad to see they haven’t forgotten how,” she heard him say to Serilda.

Aurella headed for her tent, eager to strip off her pack and armor and change into clothes she inexplicably stumbled on when visiting the tieflings the first time. She wore a deep red, linen shirt that was slightly too large; it hung loose around her chest, but she shrugged and tucked it into her waistband.

Returning to the party, her gaze fell to a pile of crates that the tieflings seemed to gravitate toward. She waded through the mass of already inebriated people and reached the boxes, smiling at the bottles upon bottles of what had to be alcohol. Without a second thought, she grabbed a few bottles; she’d need them if Volo’s singing wasn’t going to end anytime soon.

Bottles in tow, Aurella climbed onto the rocks near the center of camp and settled down on the cold surface, giving herself a good view of the party’s going-ons. Serilda was no longer near Zevlor, in fact, Serilda was nowhere to be found. It didn’t surprise Aurella; her sister didn’t seem the type to appreciate the chaos of drunks or fun in general. With a long swig, and a sour grimace afterward, Aurella simply watched. Her lip curled with every sip, the vinegar-tasting wine disturbing her senses, but drink enough, and she knew she’d no longer taste it.

The children ran around, occasionally bumping into a staggering adult, some of the others danced to Volo’s ‘song’ and others ignored him entirely, playing games that involved drinking if they lost and drinking if they won. Lae’zel was chatting with Wyll, and the way he leaned toward her made it seem like he was quite interested; Gale shared his thoughts and likely unwelcome history lessons with two of the tieflings, one carried a lute; and Shadowheart was probably still standing near her tent behind Aurella, keeping to herself. And it seemed someone had a mind to keep her company; the scuffing of boots on rock and a soft grunt sounded behind her shortly before kicking aside her empty bottles.

“Well,” Astarion’s soft voice said, now beside her, “this is rather boring.” He sat next to her, his armor also gone and replaced with a dark tunic.

“Just sitting here?” she asked. “Or the party in general.”

“Both.”

“To be fair,” she said, interrupting herself with a drink, “I’m only here until I get drunk enough to cause issues.”

He chuckled. “Do you really need to be drunk for that?”

She shook her head. “No. But it provides me an excuse for when Serilda inevitably scolds me.”

“She certainly seems the sort.” He took one of her bottles and pulled out the cork before taking a drink.

Aurella could feel his eyes on her, and just as she glanced at him, he turned away.

“You know,” he said in between sips, his tone growing contemplative, “I never pictured myself as a hero. Never thought I’d be the one they toast for saving so many lives. And now that I’m here…” He took another drink and scowled, his lip curling just enough to crinkle his nose. “I hate it. This is awful.”

She laughed. “I completely agree. Though, slaughtering the goblins was fun.”

“True,” he replied with a smile. “That was fun.”

“I’m sure there’s more fun to be had. Relax and try to enjoy yourself.”

“Enjoy myself?” he remarked, his sneer returning. “There’s a worm in my brain, I’m surrounded by idiots, and all I’ve got to drink is wine that tastes like vinegar. All I want is a little fun. Is that so much to ask?”

“Hmm.” She pursed her lips a moment. “Vampires are strong, right?”

His brow raised, and there was a look of amused intrigue at the question. “Of course, darling. Why do you ask?”

“Can you throw this high into the air?” She handed him one of the full bottles of wine. “Somewhere over Volo’s head.”

Astarion hesitated but eventually stood, eyeing Volo before looking at the empty air above him and launching the bottle just as requested.

While still sitting, Aurella lifted her hand and pulled it back, a red light emanating from her palm for just a moment before she thrust it forward, releasing a blast of magic. It caught the bottom of the bottle, bursting the glass and pouring wine all over Volo and his closest audience members.

They shrieked and shouted at the pair who simply let out barks of laughter.

“Oh, sometimes it’s the simplest of things,” Astarion said.

Aurella continued laughing, ignoring the angry words being screamed at them. One of the men hurled a bottle at Aurella, she stopped laughing just in time to see Astarion’s hand reach in front of her and catch it. She violently flinched and lost her balance.

“Shit!”

Unable to catch herself on anything, she slipped off the rock and landed with a hard grunt between the stone and a log. She rubbed the back of her head and groaned as she sat up.

Astarion stood on the other side of the log, laughing hysterically. “That was quite the entertainment!” he said.

“Which part?” she asked, still rubbing her back. “Drenching Volo or me falling?”

“Oh, take your pick.”

“Arse.”

He laughed again and offered his hand; she took it, the cold of his skin still jarring to her. Now on her feet, she brushed off her backside and pulled a twig out of her hair.

“I had meant to tell you earlier, my dear,” he began, voice taking a low, husky tone as he straightened her shirt and let his fingers linger, “that red certainly suits you.”

His fingers drifted up her sternum and to her neck, pushing aside her blonde hair and leaving a trail of cold; he stopped where two puncture wounds marred her skin, barely brushing over them before pulling his hand away. She suppressed a shiver and caught herself from leaning for his absent touch, instead plastering a smirk on her lips; the pain of her fall was entirely forgotten.

“You know,” he began, returning her grin, “rather than throw yourself off any more rocks, we could always amuse ourselves in other ways.”

“Are you going to throw yourself off a rock next?” she asked, crossing her arms. “That’d be rather amusing.”

He rolled his eyes. “There are far better ways to wind up bloodied and bruised,” he replied. “Just you and me. Getting a little closer, so to speak.”

She sucked in her lip, appearing to contemplate her answer. “Maybe,” she finally said. “If you say ‘please.’”

His brow furrowed, but the smile remained. “What?”

Tilting her head, Aurella said, “I fell off a boulder, and you laughed at me. My ego’s hurt. I could use a little begging.”

The smirk softened, and his eyes widened as his eyebrows reached up toward his hairline. “Please.” His hungry grin immediately returned.

She leaned her body toward him, ignoring the heat building in her cheeks; her hand reached out and hovered just over his waistband, taunting him a bit before jabbing his stomach with her finger.

"Okay." Her eyes crinkled at the corners as he shook his head.

"Cheeky little pup." He pulled away from her. "Let's wait until things quiet down."

"All right."

"Now, how to kill time?" he muttered, looking past Aurella.

She turned toward the mass of tieflings. "I don't know about you," she said, "but there's an interesting game of cards going on over there, and I see a few coins on the table. I wouldn't mind winning some gold from drunkards." She glanced back at him. "Or horny vampires."

"I suppose there are worse ways to waste my time," he decided. "And just so you know, I cheat."

“So do I.”

The pair was side-eyed as they approached, Aurella’s stunt still fresh in their minds, but at the dropping of their coin purses on the table, the tieflings welcomed them. They were dealt in, and it didn’t take long for the two to settle into a routine of counting cards and stowing aces; the tieflings were too far into their drinks to notice, but Astarion and Aurella watched each other, tutting whenever they caught the other.

How much time had passed, Aurella wasn’t sure, but things had quieted, most of the tieflings were in bed or making their way there. Astarion had wandered off during their last hand, claiming to need some air. After a few more rounds, she dumped her winnings into her coin purse and disappeared into her tent. She waited, anticipation building with each torch being blown out and each body shuffling into a bedroll.

When silence finally fell, she left her tent and tiptoed around the scattered sleepers, following the general direction she’d seen Astarion take. She walked out of the clearing and found herself surrounded by trees and a chill the open area lacked, but she saw no sign of the vampire. Continuing forward, she took careful steps over the roots and around the tree trunks; she had no doubt he knew she was there, and he was simply toying with her.

Just as she considered turning back, a hand snaked around her waist, and a cold pair of lips whispered in her ear.

“I’ve been waiting,” he purred. He pulled her flush against him and brushed his lips against her neck. “Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to have you.”

Aurella placed her hand on the one resting on her waist. “I wouldn’t say you have me just yet.” Her stomach flipped as he chuckled against her skin, one of his fangs just barely grazing her.

“Don’t I?” he asked. “You’re here. And… I don’t think you want to talk.” He turned her around to face him, hand now pushing into her back, keeping their lower halves pressed together. “I think you want to be known,” he said, dipping a finger under her chin and keeping her fixated on him. “To be tasted.”

She smirked despite the color pooling in her face. “And what do you want?”

“What do any of us want?” he replied, his lips matching her own taunting. “Pleasure.” His thumb gently pushed her head to the side as he leaned down and kissed her neck, rougher than before. “Yours. Mine.” He spoke between breaths. “Our collective ecstasy.”

He pulled away from her, his eyes searching her face. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he asked, quickly falling back into his perfect grin. “To lose yourself in me?”

The red of his eyes seemed brighter, more threatening, nearly every inch of her being screaming at her to flee, but all she felt was curiosity and a burning desire to give herself to him. She had no snarky retort, no witty remark. She simply breathed a soft, “Yes.”

“I thought so.”

His lips claimed hers as he grabbed either side of her waist and lifted her, guiding her legs around his torso. With a few steps forward, he balanced her against a tree as their mouths and tongues fought for dominance; he tasted of turned wine, the campfire’s smoke, and metallic threats. The bark of the tree dug into her skin through her top as he pushed against her, leaving no room between them. His hands ran down her torso and began pulling at her shirt, untucking it from her waistband.

Before he could slip under, Aurella reached back and gave a hard push against the tree, knocking them off-balance. They toppled backward, Astarion landing under her with a grunt, Aurella still straddling him.

He looked up at her, brow raised in confusion and then interest as she grabbed the hem of her shirt and lifted it over her head, leaving her torso completely exposed. He sat up, digging into her waist for leverage, and pressed a cold kiss between her breasts before traveling upward to her throat.

Just as he pulled away to look at her, she grabbed his shirt and yanked him forward, kissing him again as she gathered her hair with her other hand and pulled it over one of her shoulders. They paused for breath, and she took the opportunity to bare her neck to him, the invitation obvious. His words had promised pleasure, but he could offer pain in equal measure and, in that moment, it was just the same to her.

The vampire’s eyes widened, pupils dilating further as his tongue flitted over his lips. He kissed her again and wrapped her in an embrace as he pulled them both back to the ground. In one fluid motion, without breaking the kiss, he rolled them over and braced himself on top of her; his mouth wandered from hers, lining her jaw then dipping below to her neck, kissing where he’d bitten her before.

Her fingers brushed against his ribs and moved up his side, reaching for his back; she felt something raised through his shirt, but he twisted slightly and grabbed her wrist, pinning it to the ground above her head just as his other wrapped around her neck.

She reached for his hand with hers, digging her nails into his skin, but she didn’t attempt to pull him away, rather she held him in place and forced him to grip her tighter.

After one last kiss to her neck, his fangs reopened his previous bite; the sharp pain quickly subsided to euphoria, and she let out a pleasured moan as he took his fill and she readied for her own.

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate spoilers #aurella emberlin #fic: aadrabble #ship: you don't know you're falling #alxxiis actually wrote something

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scarpool-gmk · 3 years

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Title: Godly Marine: Killed Author: Scarpool Fandom(s): NCIS, Percy Jackson & the Olympians Pairing(s): Gen Rating: PG/K+ Summary: Chapter 10 (12/13) — Staff Sergeant Michael Kahale, Marine Corps Mechanic and Son of Athena, was murdered. Annabeth Chase is determined to find out who did it and why. She, along with Percy Jackson, Grover Underwood, and Clarisse La Rue, infiltrate NCIS where they team up with NCIS Agents Leroy Gibbs, Anthony DiNozzo, Timothy McGee, and Ziva David. Complete Genre: Fanfiction, Mystery, Drama, Humour, General, Action Warnings: N/A

Annabeth sighed. "It was Michael's father, wasn't it?"

Gibbs's masseter muscles flexed. "Impersonating a federal agent is a criminal offense."

Well, she already knew the answer to her question anyway. "I know that."

"Is that all you've got to say, Chase?"

"I won't apologize if that's what you're searching for."

Gibbs jabbed a finger at her. "You lied to me! In my house!"

"Did you expect me not to? What did you want from me?"

"The truth. Honesty. Trust."

"I couldn't take that risk."

"You took that risk the moment you came into my investigation, meddling with my team."

Was this guy for real? "I had more than myself to worry about, Agent Gibbs. I had my mission, my friends, and Michael."

"Your mission? Something other than Kahale?"

"He called me because something was wrong. 'Help them,' he told me. That was my mission. Find out who needed protection and from what."

"His family," Gibbs concluded, "And you entrusted me with them, what he told you to protect."

"Justice still needs to be carried out, and by leaving it to you, I know it will be dealt with professionally and impersonally."

Gibbs took a second. "You trust me in that."

Annabeth nodded. "Yes."

Gibbs peered at her. "How'd you know?"

"About Mr. Kahale? He would have told me the truth."

"That simple, huh?"

"He knew who we were, there was little excuse. And when I figured out his family was what Michael was talking about, I knew they had to be involved."

"He's family."

Annabeth looked up in surprise.

"Greek gods have a pretty messy family tree," Gibbs said. "You were his family. The one on his god side."

Annabeth breathed out an airy laugh. He was a smart one. "He was my brother. We shared the same mother."

"Athena."

Annabeth considered him. It wasn't a question. He knew. Gibbs was definitely not to be underestimated.

"Did some research on the myths. It's part of the job when a case revolves around it, especially when they turn out to be real."

Well, that wasn't vague at all.

He was probably making assumptions again. Annabeth narrowed her eyes. Or was there something more?

"I couldn't turn my back on him. I know you understand that."

"You don't know anything about me!"

"We both know that's not true." Annabeth pointed to herself. "Child of Athena, remember. If there's one thing we're good at, it's analysis. This is your team, but it's also your family. I've been to your house- your living space says a lot- and I did my own research, Gibbs. On you. Family isn't just important to you; everything you do has your family at its core. Your rules probably don't have anything on family. Family is why you do what you do, so there's no need for rules about them. It's your drive. Your center."

Gibbs said nothing. Annabeth huffed. 'That's right. If you get to use your vague assumptions, I can one-up with deduction.'

"You do what you have to for family," Gibbs said. "You and Michael were close?"

Annabeth noted the softness that permeated his voice. "Not in particular."

"He held your contact close to him. He told you that he was heading to Peru."

"You're assuming that-"

"It's part of the fake name you created. Hell yeah, I can assume! No such thing as coincidence. You knew the ship's next dock. He must have told you; he trusted you. Out of everyone, he chose you to help. There is obviously some sort of network for you. The evidence has been working with me for two days. Maybe that's how you met, maybe not, but he has to have more connections. He decided to bring you into this, not someone older."

"I am older!"

Gibbs's eyes flashed, questioning.

"The world isn't the safest. Demigods attract monsters. They sense us. They come to challenge us. There is a safe haven, and we either make our way there or get killed off."

She turned to look at the rest of the two teams staring wide-eyed at them. She met Percy's green eyes and held it for a moment, before turning back to Gibbs.

"Look. I had a job to do, a mission to finish, and family to take care of."

"That you did."

"We understand each other, then?"

"Yeah, guess we're good." Gibbs smirked. "Agent."

Annabeth almost sighed with relief.

"And if anything happens." Annabeth straightened. This was Gibbs. Of course, he wasn't done. "If you hear anything…"

"We'll handle it. But," Annabeth added as Gibbs's entire body stiffened, "I'll keep in touch."

She saw a vein on his temple twitch in annoyance, but he stayed silent— stubborn Navy cop.

"So," Grover fidgeted under everyone's stare. "What now?"

"It's time for you to go home," Gibbs said firmly.

Annabeth saw Ziva playing around with one of her other celestial bronze knives. Ziva tried grabbing the blade, but it continued to faze through her. She shook her head and extended it to Percy. "Thank you for lending us these."

Percy looked at them. "Keep them. You never know when you might need them again."

Annabeth smiled at him. "Even though those aren't for his to give, Seaweed Brain is right. You should have them. You were able to see through the mist and should have something that actually works against monsters."

Gibbs tilted his head in acknowledgement.

"I guess this is where we part ways," Annabeth said, feeling exhausted all of a sudden, the adrenaline's and ambrosia's effects wearing off.

"Hey," Gibbs said. "This will be the last time I catch you impersonating federal officers." Annabeth smirked. Old people are so demanding. "And try not to land in any more newspapers, especially you, Jackson."

This time, Annabeth let out a laugh.

Percy squawked. "What! Just because- those times- it wasn't my fault!"

Annabeth suddenly remembered something.

"Gibbs! One more thing. Michael's body…"

Gibbs nodded in understanding. "That strawberry farm any valid?"

"You won't be able to enter." Although, Annabeth was sure he probably assumed that anyway. Probably thought he wouldn't be able to find it, either.

Gibbs grinned.

"I'll call you."

-Κλαρίς-

Clarisse watched the greyed Jarhead, and his three teammates walk away. Faithful. Loyal. Proud. That man had her respect from the beginning. He was a man trained for more than combat. It took courage to break the rules, independence to do so with solid reasoning, and leadership to have his teammates follow not because of fear but because of trust. Leroy Jethro Gibbs is a great Agent, a great Marine, a great man.

Clarisse was proud to know and say she had worked and fought alongside Agent Gibbs. Although she had to be purely honest.

"I will never step foot in an office again!"

-Αντώνης-

"Are you really going to keep this quiet, Boss?" Tony clicked his seat belt in. "I mean, this is pretty big."

Gibbs shrugged. That was a yes, then.

"I don't want any of you to lie for me," Gibbs told them. "Your reports are your own. It's your own decision."

"Well, I don't think putting down that I fought against snake ladies and such will go down very good with Vance. Not to mention how a supposed NCIS Agent is part donkey."

"Goat."

Tony snapped his head to McGee. "What?"

"He's a satyr," McGee said. "He's part goat, not donkey."

Tony was prepared to make a snide remark but held back when he took a proper look at his younger partner.

"You look a bit pale there, Tim. You alright?"

Tony's concern grew when McGee looked at him with a terrifyingly vacant expression. "He was part goat, Tony." He waved his hand in front of his chest. "Half human. Half goat."

Oh, boy. "Yeah, I get that. You should drink some water. Lie down."

Ziva gave him a threatening look. "Not on me. It is hot, and we are covered in dirt. Wait till we get back, McGee."

"He might not make it," Tony warned.

"He is perfectly capable of-"

"Do you think there are elves?"

Ziva spluttered to a stop, looking incredulous in McGee's direction.

"You know. Like, do they have other magical weapons? Gems and potions and..."

Ziva felt his face. "Oh, McGee, you are burning up. No! Don't fall asleep! McGee!"

"We gotta get back to base, Boss."

Gibbs nodded, and Tony groaned at his words.

"Back to work."

-Γκρόβερ-

Grover frowned. "Is telling him our address a good idea?"

"He already had it," Percy pointed out. It was a good point, too. It was already in their system.

"Can't we use the mist and the laptop to make them forget about us? Chiron is not going to like-"

"It will be fine, Grover," Annabeth said, halfway leaning on Percy. "I trust Gibbs."

Gibbs… That man was something else.

Grover had felt so anxious! He didn't think he could have been in Annabeth's position. Gibbs had such control over his stare. Even though he wasn't the one under it, Grover had felt the cold steel gaze he pinned Annabeth with.

All that disappeared when he felt a weight across his shoulders. Percy had wrapped his arms around Grover and Annabeth. Squishing them together. Clarisse grumbled as Annabeth held an arm out to her, but let herself be pulled in any way.

And it felt right. The four of them waddling awkwardly away. Grover felt Percy's happiness practically envelope their link.

"I'm totally gone," Annabeth said with a laugh. "I hope whoever's in the backseat doesn't mind me laying on them."

They almost fell as Percy jostled in the middle. "I don't mind!"

Grover laughed. Being with friends always felt right.

"Let's go home."

-Λεον-

The door swished open. "You called, Leon?"

Leon looked up from. 'Leon.' The Long Island team was really gone, then.

"Some disgruntled scholars are calling us cheats, Gibbs. Accusing NCIS of hiding intricate historical artifacts vital to their field."

"'Vital,'" Gibbs chuckled. "I didn't realize dealing with annoyed university professors was in the Director's job description."

"It's not. I was just made aware of the situation and went to ask Ms. Scuito about it. Now, accuse me of being curious if the knife they were all after was gone. Part of another investigation. One that I am unaware of. I go visit the good doctor downstairs, and Kahale's body has already left the building."

"Things move fast around here, Leon."

Leon felt his teeth grind together. "The chair is big, not slow."

"We solved the case, Leon."

"You did, collaborating with Long Island. Speaking of which, where are they?"

Gibbs handed him the case file. "Kahale had a run-in with the Reynosa Cartel. They went back up to follow leads on their end."

Huh, so the Reynosa Cartel is involved.

"What about on our end?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Their case. It's all in the report."

Gibbs gave another team his evidence? His body? His case?

Leon felt a bit bad for those academics. They would never see the knife nor Scuito's findings.

"So, they're fighting Reynosa alone? I don't remember giving that directive. Seems inefficient."

Gibbs raised his brow. "You are Director, Leon. You can assign tasks as you like."

Leon made a face. "Not that team. Can you believe I didn't even know there was a small NCIS department in Long Island? Apparently, something in the works by SECNAV. He's all secretive about it."

Gibbs shrugged. "It's the top dogs, Leon. They're always secretive."

Leon glared at him. Something about the way Gibbs spoke made a small part of Leon nag at him, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"We should start digging into the Reynosas. It's bad enough that they've infested our neighbor's lawn. We don't want the same in our own backyard. I want this wrapped up, Gibbs, and I expect you to lead me through every step."

"Of course."

The nag got stronger.

"I trust you put as much detail in the report about what happened."

"Of course."

Leon's grip on the file tightened. He felt like he was being played, which means he probably was. He had read enough of Gibbs's and his team's reports to recognize garbage. He was sure that's what he would find. He hadn't even opened the thing, but he could already smell the stench. Leon should take Gibbs's badge, break up his team, file a report. Do all the things he swore he would do when he took the chair. But he couldn't. Not yet. With SECNAV also waving his secrets around, Leon had to be patient about this. Had to be smart.

"And you found out about all the Greek stuff?"

"It was a part of his life. He and his family lived like these stories existed. Had to fight them to survive." He carried a bit of a faraway look on his face. "We finished it for him."

Gibbs missed the skeptical look Leon threw his way "What were you fighting?"

Gibbs snapped back to reality. Replacing the lost-in-thoughts look with a mischievous one. "Hellhounds, harpies, a hydra." Gibbs grinned. "I took out a Cyclops!"

Leon ground his molars, wanting to punch that smug look off his face. Trying to be Mr. Funny, huh? 'It doesn't suit you, Gibbs.'

"Really?" Leon said. "And what happened to all of them?"

Gibbs mimed an explosion with his hands.

"Poof!"

-Περσεύς-

Michael's shroud was a silken sheet designed as the flag of the United States of America. The cords tying the body were embroidered with grey owl tassels. It was beautiful and patriotic, but it had turned to ash long ago. The fire burned low, surviving on the remaining cinders. Most of the campers had left. Only a few stragglers remained.

Clarisse stood by the forest, staring moodily at the smoke rising into the clouds.

Grover sat far from the fire, whispering with Juniper.

Annabeth sat nearest. Percy couldn't figure out the face she was wearing. Troubled, perhaps? The bonfire was a neutral grey. Lost in thought then.

He sidled up next to her. "It's over. Mission complete."

"I know. It's just…"

He gave her a smile, hoping it wasn't as awkward as it felt. "You are overthinking about what's going to happen next. I know you. You're going through every detail of what happened."

"It's just- It's so odd to see a network between mortals and monsters. I can't shake the feeling like I'm missing something."

He nudged her side. "You're overthinking it."

Annabeth rolled her eyes at him and leaned over. "I'm compensating for your lack of thinking."

"Hey!" Percy pushed her but put no force behind it. He was glad she wasn't frowning anymore. "Seriously, though, I'm sure you've thought about it enough. If anything does happen, it's nothing we can't deal with, and we'll get through it together. I promise, Wise Girl."

Her eyes sparkled from the fire's light. "Thanks, Seaweed Brain."

Like magic, the fire burned brighter, turning a colourful shade of pink.

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#scarpool #fanfic #fanfiction #Godly Marine: Killed #NCIS #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #PJO #Crossover #gen fic #PG/K+#Writing #Complete

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let-it-raines · 5 years

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CS JJ Day 22: what a plot twist you were (1/1)

Emma’s life is solid. She has her few friends, a job that pays decently enough, and a schedule that works for her. She doesn’t want any of that to change. But when she gets a call saying she’s been left a house in Storybrooke, Maine, she ends up leaving Boston intending to deal with the house and then return to her life like nothing has changed.

Intentions never quite work out, however, especially when she runs into a blue-eyed bartender who just might entice her to stay.

Rating: Mature

a/n: This story is the result of late night baby feedings, leaving plot notes on my phone in the middle of the night, and then not understanding what the heck the notes section on my phone means when I wake up in the morning. Thanks to the ladies at @csjanuaryjoy for bringing some joy to January 💙

Found on AO3 | Here |

-/-

Thick bunches of trees with deep green leaves line the road. They’re on each side of the concrete, dark gray with a faded yellow line in the middle, and she can’t see anything in the woods through the fullness of the forest. She’s never seen anything like this, not that’s so natural, and the darkness of the sky and the gentle rain falling down make it almost haunting.

She’s not lost, but it sure as hell feels like it.

“Keep going for another five miles,” her GPS says in the British accent she can’t figure out how to change.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma huffs, turning up her radio and increasing the speed of her wipers. “I got it.”

In a split second, the rain turns from gentle to harsh, water beating down against Emma’s old bug’s windows so hard that the glass may break, and if she could see the sides of the road, she’d turn off the road and wait the storm out. She’s got a bag of Chex Mix and several bottles of water in the back. She could definitely wait it out. But she’s also ready to get to where she’s going and out of this car, so she pushes through and keeps driving until she reads the sign in front of her.

Welcome to Storybrooke.

Finally.

Emma’s phone rings in her passenger seat, and she reaches over to press it, hitting the buttons to put it on speaker.

“Hey, Rubes.”

“Emma Swan,” Ruby huffs out, “where the hell are you? I got home from work expecting you to be here so we could eat entire gallons of ice cream, and I do mean gallons and not pints, but you were gone. I thought tonight was our pity party night.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m…going on a trip.”

“You have never gone on a trip that wasn’t with me.” “I like to try new things.”

“You’re a liar. You hate new things. Seriously. Where are you?”

“Storybrooke, Maine.” “What the hell is a Storybrooke?”

“I don’t know,” Emma huffs, peering forward to try to see where she’s going. Buildings are starting to come into view, short ones all pressed together like some kind of Hallmark movie downtown where they decorate for every holiday with an insane budget that’s not at all realistic. Maybe this is the place where they shoot those movies. The name of it sounds made up enough. “It’s just somewhere new.”

“I repeat: you are a liar.”

Emma hums as she tries to ignore Ruby and look for a place to stay tonight. It’s only ten o’clock, but everything seems to be closed, all the storefront lights turned off to cloud the town in near darkness.

Of-freaking-course.

“Look, can I tell you about it later, okay? I don’t really want to get into it. I should be home next week.”

“Next week? How are you going to be – ”

Emma ends the call and switches her phone onto silent. Ruby is going to keep calling until Emma answers again, but she’s too tired to explain it tonight. All she wants is a warm bed and possibly a shower. She probably should have looked up hotels in this town before she came, but it was a last-minute decision fueled by the need for a change of scenery.

She pulls into a parking lot between two buildings and then stares up at the neon sign on one of them. It might be the only light on. “Who names a bar The Rabbit Hole? This town keeps getting weirder.”

There she goes talking to herself again. Maybe she’s the one who is getting weirder.

Sighing, she shuts off her car, grabs her phone, wallet, and keys before running inside the building, only getting slightly soaked. The lights inside are dimmed and it smells of cigarette smoke and spilled beer. Sweat is also likely in the air, but it’s better if she doesn’t think too much about all of the disgusting things that have been spilled in this place. The bar isn’t full, only a few people playing pool or throwing darts, and Emma ignores them to walk up to the bar and sit down on a stool.

“Can I have a glass of whatever your strongest whiskey is?”

“That’s like asking to light a fire in your stomach.”

“Whiskey,” she repeats, tapping her nail against the bar top.

The bartender hasn’t even turned around to look at her, but he nods his head, reaching up on a shelf to grab a bottle and then pouring her a glass. She doesn’t bother looking at him either, simply taking the glass and downing half of it so that it easily burns, most likely lighting a fire in her stomach. She should be asking about a hotel room and getting out of here, but the reality of the past few days is starting to hit her enough that she needs a drink.

Boyfriend cheated.

Couldn’t catch her skip that would have paid rent for the next two months, something that’s been happening a lot lately.

Received a call from a lawyer saying her foster mom from when she was fifteen left her a house in Storybrooke, Maine.

That woman had been crazy. She’d been Emma’s best foster parent, one that genuinely cared, and then one day she pushed Emma into the street when there was oncoming traffic because she’d believed Emma had magic or some bullshit like that. The woman was declared mentally unstable, and yet somehow her lawyers have allowed her to give a vacation home to Emma, someone she has no relation to when Emma knows the woman had family. Sisters, she thinks.

Walsh cheating and the skip being elusive suck, obviously, but they haven’t quite shaken her to her core in the same way.

Her past is her past, and she doesn’t want to relive it.

So why the hell is she here?

“Are you passing through, or are you visiting?”

“Hm?”

“Are you waiting out the storm, love?” the bartender repeats in a deep, foreign accent. He sounds like her freaking GPS. “Or are you visiting the town?”

Emma finally looks up from her drink to see him. The light in here is so poor that she can’t quite make out his face, but there’s a hint of ginger in his beard covering a sharp jawline. A quick glance down shows her muscles under a tight plaid shirt, and that has her looking back up. He’s got dark, messy hair that’s been tousled one too many times, but mostly, all she can see is the blue of his eyes.

Damn.

“I could be from here,” she sighs, running her finger of the rim of her drink.

He scoffs and tilts his head to the side, tongue running over his bottom lip. “This is true. About twenty-thousand people live here, and while I don’t know each and every one of them, I do know that this bar really only sees regulars in here. It’s not often that I get to see someone new.”

“So you’re guessing I’m new on a hunch.”

“Ah, well, that and the fact that your t-shirt says ‘Boston Bail Bonds’ on it. I’m assuming that can only be found in one place.”

“Maybe I just collect t-shirts.”

The man clicks his tongue. “Maybe. Can I get you anything else, Boston?”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Another glass of this and directions to the nearest hotel.”

“That I can do for you, love.”

“Not your love, buddy.”

“Pity that.”

She downs the rest of her drink before he refills her glass and then slides a piece of paper in front of her, quickly drawing a map of downtown and where she can find a hotel. It’s a bed and breakfast behind a restaurant, and Emma commits it to memory because there’s no way this piece of paper is going to make it through the weather outside.

After she pays her tab, Emma makes her way out of the bar with the umbrella the bartender gave her, and quickly hops in her car to drive the few feet to the bed and breakfast only to find that there’s no parking and she has to park back at the bar and run across the street in this New England monsoon.

This town makes no sense.

And she could totally be staying in Ingrid’s house for free, since it is her house now, but that’s creepy and disturbed on so many levels.

Then again, so is all of the floral wallpaper at Granny’s Bed and Breakfast.

“Welcome to Storybrooke, Emma Swan,” the old woman says as she hands Emma the keys to her room.

-/-

Emma sleeps until two in the afternoon.

She doesn’t mean to, not really. She was supposed to meet with Ingrid’s lawyer about the house at noon, but apparently she can’t be a responsible adult and make her appointments on time. The moment she wakes up and realizes it, she calls the law firm and tries to reschedule only to be told that she’ll have to wait at least two weeks because Mr. Nolan has gone out of town for vacation.

He has got to be kidding her.

He’s not. He’s going to Nevada to visit his wife’s family.

Emma groans and falls back onto the springy bed. What is she supposed to do now? She wanted this over with, and as much as she deals with the law on a regular basis, it’s more dealing with scummy guys not paying child support or assaulting someone. It’s not real estate law or anything having to deal with what happens when someone leaves you a freaking house.

Her phone buzzes next to her.

Walsh Osbourne: Can we talk?

Walsh Osbourne: It wasn’t what you think it was.

Walsh Osbourne: Please, baby. I just want to talk. I love you.

Emma could vibrate out of her skin she’s so angry to see texts from him. What a douchebag. Real scum of the earth, that one.

Emma Swan: I hate when you call me baby. You should know that. I pointed it out every fucking time. We’re over, Walsh. I don’t deal with cheaters.

The little bubbles pop up, but she doesn’t wait to see the message. Instead, she blocks his number and keeps herself from having to ever hear from him again.

Asshole.

Food. She needs food. It’s too early to have another drink, but food sounds like a great idea.

After showering and getting dressed in a pair of jeans and a white sweater, she runs downstairs to the diner attached to the bed and breakfast. There’s only one other person in there, and it doesn’t bode well for Emma not getting food poisoning from the food. But the grilled cheese and onion rings end up being good, the hot chocolate even more so, and when she’s finished, Emma tips her waitress and asks her for directions to the police station.

If she’s going to be here for two weeks – because there’s no way in hell she’s going back and then doing this drive again – she might as well see if she can make some money. She knew getting licensed in Maine would come in handy eventually.

“What can I help you with, lass?”

“Um, yeah, my name is Emma Swan, and I was wondering if you guys were in need of a bail bondswoman.”

“Graham Humbert,” he says, sticking his hand out for her to shake. “We usually deal with bonds in the neighboring country. They have an office already, though, so if you’re thinking about setting one up, I’m not sure you’ll have much business.”

“I do more of the tracking down than the office work.”

He cocks his head to the side and softly smiles at her. She’s only seen two men in this town so far, and both of them have been attractive and had foreign accents.

They’re in rural Maine. That makes no sense. None of this does.

“So more of a bounty hunter then?”

“It’s a mixture. So do you have any jobs? Short-term probably.”

“Do you know how to mix a drink?”

Emma turns to where the familiar voice is sitting. It’s the bartender from last night, and in the light of day, he looks much the same but with clearer features. It’s just those damn eyes – they’re even bluer in the sunlight, and they have to be contacts or something.

“A few.”

“Well, Swan,” he sighs, her name curled on his tongue with his accent, “I’m looking for an extra hand at the bar if you’re going to be in town for awhile. If Sheriff Humbert doesn’t have something for you, of course.”

“I’m sorry, lass. I don’t think I do. You’d have to go to Easton and ask them there.”

Emma sighs and turns to the other man. “You’d hire me just like that? You don’t want to run background checks or call my references?”

He waves her away, standing from the desk and sliding over paperwork to Sheriff Humbert. “No, I’m good. I can train you this afternoon, and then if you’re dreadful, I’ll let you go.”

“Do I get to keep tips?”

His smile curves up on one side. “Of course. Killian Jones. It’s a pleasure to meet you, milady. Or, rather, to make your acquaintance again.”

Great. The guy who’s giving her a job is also some freak who talks like he’s from another century.

(Or maybe just likes he’s British.)

Killian finishes up whatever business he had in the police station, talking to Graham for a few minutes, before he asks her if she’s ready to go. They walk the few blocks back to The Rabbit Hole, which looks far seedier in the light of day, and Killian unlocks the door before holding it open for her.

“So are you a gentleman or something?”

“I’m always a gentleman, love,” he says, leaning into her and lowering his voice. “Though, don’t feel special. I do like to hold the door open for most anyone, just as I call most people ‘love.’”

Her cheeks flush red, memories of her grumbling about his term of endearment last night. “Well, I’ll try not to be too disappointed.”

He chuckles and keeps walking through the bar, flicking the light switches until the place is illuminated. It’s actually much cleaner on the inside than it was last night, the haze of the night gone, and she can see where all of the chairs are resting on the table and the floor has been freshly mopped.

“So, it’s pretty simple. We open at four and close at two. Weekdays are calm, just a few regulars who almost exclusively drink what’s on tap, and then on the weekends we’re usually a little more packed with everyone trying to unwind or find a date.”

“People come here to find dates?”

“It’s the only bar in town, so if that’s how you’re looking for a date, yes.” He stares at her, but when she doesn’t say anything back, he nods his head and keeps walking through the bar. “Restroom is back down that hallway as well as the utility closet. The kitchen is directly behind the bar. My old buddy doubled as bartender and cook before he moved. Can you do both?”

“Not unless you want your customers to get food poisoning.”

His eyes crinkle with his smile. “We’ll figure something out then, Swan.”

-/-

Her first night at the bar is hectic.

There’s a bachelor party from two towns over coming in on a Wednesday night of all things, and every one of them hits on her. They don’t do it well either. How one of them is getting married is a mystery to her because he both doesn’t know how to flirt and obviously has no respect for his future wife. Killian asks her if they’re bothering her, she tells him she can handle herself, and they move on with their night and their jobs.

That’s pretty much the only time they talk the entire time unless he’s giving her some kind of instruction. Being behind the bar is a completely different experience than the two of them being on opposite sides.

It’s quieter, much quieter.

At least she thinks that it is until it’s six nights in, a rainy Monday evening much like the one when she got here, and they have no customers.

None.

He asks why she’s in town, she evades the question again, but eventually the quiet begins to get to her, and she huffs and starts talking while focusing on getting a stain off the bar top.

“Just wanted to get away.”

“Ah, so relationship problems.”

She turns to him then. “Wait, just because I’m a woman means my only problems can be relationship problems?”

His brows arch. “I simply meant any relationship. Romantic, familial, friendship. I find most everybody who’s running from something is running for one of those reasons. I’ve never known too many people to leave a place because they were upset over a job.”

“Yeah, well that seems like something a personal thing. People run for all kinds of reasons.”

“Fair enough.” He tugs the sleeves on his flannel shirt up, rolling the cuffs until they’re at his elbows, and Emma gets a glance of toned forearms and angry red scars inching up his left arm. She wants to ask, but it’s none of her business. And asking him questions means he’ll feel more entitled to ask her the same things. “Your business is your business. Simply figured you might want to make a little conversation since we don’t have any business.”

“Nope,” Emma sighs, “I’m good.”

The next night is better, and the night after that. Though, Emma does realize that she’s now fascinating to the town as a new person, which they apparently don’t get a lot of. It’s obnoxious, but it also means the bar starts getting a steady stream of people who are curious as to who she is and what she’s doing.

At least they give good tips. She’s all about the tips.

“You’d think you had magical powers for how they’re all staring at you,” Killian mumbles as he walks past her with a tray of drinks.

“It’s creepy.”

“It dies down. Trust me.”

For a moment, she wants to ask, to get to know more about him, but she doesn’t want to open that can of warms. It’d be too difficult to close.

-/-

“This place is a piece of shit.”

“It’s certainly got character,” David Nolan says, obviously uncomfortable with her language. He is not what she expected Ingrid’s lawyer to look like, but he’s what she’s got. A forty-year-old wearing a flannel shirt and dirty boots while meeting a client is definitely unlike any attorney she’s ever met, but so far, she doesn’t mind him. “Ingrid was never here. I only met her once or twice. I think this was her aunt’s house, so it’s definitely on the older side.”

Emma nods and presses her foot down on the porch only for the wood to start cracking underneath her. The foundation of the house is probably falling apart, the windows are broken, roof shingles are falling off, there’s some rot on the columns, and she hasn’t even gotten to go inside.

“Did she not hire someone to do maintenance?”

“What do you think?”

Emma scoffs and presses against the front door until it’s opening for her and revealing dust-covered furniture and more decay. It’s not as bad as the exterior, but it’s not good. “So, what exactly do I do here? Can I refuse the house?”

“You can.”

“But if I do keep it, what happens then?”

“Well, it’s yours, and you’re responsible for it and for paying property tax. It’s not much, but honestly, I think your best option is fixing the place up and then putting it on the market. It’s basically free money.”

“There’s no such thing.”

David laughs, and she can’t help but feel like he’d be someone who would be good to have around in life. “Think on it, okay? You have some time.”

-/-

“Do you know anything about house repairs?”

“Pardon, love?”

“Home repairs,” she repeats, tipping back her bottle of water. “You look like you’re…handy. Do you know how to repair things like windows and floors or putting a hinge back in a cabinet?”

“Well,” Killian starts, “window frames I can do. Window glass repairs require a professional. Hinges I can do, though. I think I’d have to know what kind of floor repair you need. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.”

Killian quirks his brow. “Believe it or not, Swan, but I’m actually quite perceptive. You’re not asking for no reason.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

“Oh, so you’ve been watching me then?”

“I’ve been working with you every single day for two weeks.” Emma rolls her eyes at his smirk. “I notice things.”

“Funny, so do I. You’re more of an open book than you think.”

With that, Killian walks away to move across the bar to tend to a group of linemen sitting at the table in the back. They all go by some kind of ridiculous nickname, and she can’t remember any of them at the moment despite them always being in here. But the asshole probably said that line and walked away just to annoy her. He seems to like to do that, getting some kind of reaction out of her and then walking away.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? She’s an open book?

Killian’s words nag at her all night, his accent curling around each of them in her memory, but he goes on as if everything is normal. Nothing about her life is normal right now. She’s living in a strange town, sleeping in a bed and breakfast with flowers on all of the walls, and working at a bar all the while avoiding everything about her life.

“Someone left me a house in town,” Emma blurts out two hours later. They’ve only got seven people in the bar now, and she can’t distract herself by flattering men so they give her more tips. “That’s why I’m here. I had to deal with it, and then the lawyer was out of town for two weeks because apparently that’s a thing he does. But I went and saw the house today, and it’s a disaster. That’s why I asked about the home repairs.”

Killian’s mouth curls from one side to the other, and she wants to smack it off of his smug face. She also kinds of wants to kiss it.

Woah. Where did that thought come from?

(Probably from having her life turned upside down and losing her boyfriend and being left a house by her crazy ex foster mother.)

(And staying in this town instead of going home and calling her boss about her not being available for jobs.)

(Not having Ruby to complain to likely doesn’t help.)

“Are you planning on living here then, Swan?” He leans forward and props his chin in his palm while his brows reach his hairline. “Did you find me that irresistible?”

“Shut up.”

“You have a way with words.” Emma groans at him, and Killian keeps on smirking. “Look, I’ve been renovating this bar and the apartment above it for about a year now, so I know a thing or two about home renovations, as I told you. I can take a look at the house for you and answer any of your questions.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“You were asking for advice earlier.”

“But I don’t need any help!”

He holds his hands up and steps away. “I apologize, love. I seemed to have misread the situation. I won’t do it again.”

Shit.

She messed up, didn’t she? Of course she did. Why is she always so rude to people who are trying to help her?

“Killian?”

“Mhm?”

“Would you like to come look at the house with me tomorrow before work?”

He turns to her and smiles again, a little glint in his eyes. “Meet me here at noon.”

-/-

Killian tells her the place isn’t in as bad as shape as she thinks it is. Emma can’t imagine that as a giant spider crawls across the living room, but he swears that it’s true.

He also offers to help for no cost to her other than the supplies.

“Why would you do that?” “I actually quite fancy you from time to time when you’re not yelling at me, and I enjoy the work.”

And for some insane reason, she makes the decision to stay in this weird as hell town and fix up this house so that she can sell it and leave this whole thing behind her. Her life was going to shit in Boston, and she needs a break from that. She needs some kind of change and purpose, and maybe she’ll end up being able to fix this house up and sell it for enough money that she comes into an actual savings account for the first time in her life.

What a thought.

On slow nights at the bar, Emma watches videos on the best ways to paint window trim and how to buff hardwood floors. She looks into the electrical stuff too, but that seems like a recipe for disaster. Or death. Really, it looks like a recipe for her death.

Definitely.

Killian will walk by, muttering comments under his breath about the videos she’s watching and how absolutely inane some of the people are, but she ignores him and keeps trying to learn. Fixing up a house, even a rotting pit like this one, shouldn’t be too hard. It’ll be fine.

It starts with having all of the wiring inside the walls stolen, which is decidedly not fine.

“Who the hell steals electrical wiring?” Emma huffs as she and Killian walk through the house, cold morning air nipping at their extremities. “What’s the purpose of that?”

“They sell it.” “For how much?”

“Not much, but it’s something.” He hits his hammer against the hole (one of them, at least) in the drywall. “I can call Scarlet and have him fix your wiring, but we’ll have to fix the walls ourselves.”

“I can’t afford an electrician right now.”

“Don’t worry about it, love. He owes me a favor.” “A favor to rewire an entire house?”

He winks. “Trust me.”

“Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second, Jones.”

He freaking bows, throwing in an exaggerated wink too. “I would despair if you did.”

The entire month of September is spent the same way. She and Killian meet up at the house at noon with takeout from Granny’s for lunch (which is really breakfast for them since they wake up at eleven most days) and work on the house until they have to go to the bar. They’re the only two people working there right now, which has got to be against some labor law, but Emma doesn’t mind not having the days off. She likes the money and likes keeping busy. When she asks Killian about it, though, he simply hums and says that he hasn’t taken a day off since he bought the place.

She had no idea he was the owner. She thought he was the manager or something who happened to be living there.

(Not her brightest moment.)

How does a British man end up owning a bar in a small town in Maine?

She almost asks, but it’s not her business. None of his life is.

But that doesn’t keep her from learning that he’s got a penchant for rum and for double-stuffed Oreos. There’s a dirty joke there, and Killian most definitely makes it. He’s also got a penchant for making a dirty joke or sliding an innuendo into every possible situation. It’d be creepy if it wasn’t so damn charming sometimes.

But it’s not charming. Nope. It’s just…it’s who he is. That’s all. And it’s something she’s got to get used to since this is apparently the man she’s going to be spending all of her time with. It would scare her because in a situation like this, she’d usually have already had sex with him and then have some kind of meltdown. She doesn’t know why she does stuff like that, but she does.

(That’s a lie. She definitely knows why.)

Emma is not going to sleep with him, though. It’s not going to happen. Ever. She is not going to be doing the whole dating – or not dating – thing again anytime soon. Or forever.

It’s October when she starts to feel like maybe this house has hope. It’s still a mess, but it’s making definite progress.

It’s also when she realizes that maybe she doesn’t hate this town so much. It’s still weird and kooky and doesn’t quite make sense, but it’s also full of good people. David, Ingrid’s lawyer, ends up pitching in a hand on window repairs, and his wife Mary Margaret may be one of the sweetest people Emma has ever met. She bakes food for Emma and talks paint colors and cabinet stains and always has a smile on her face. Will Scarlet is always lurking around, even once the electrical work is done, and as obnoxious as he can be, Emma kind of likes him. He’s helpful and kind of funny and he beats Killian’s ass at pool at the bar every single time they play.

Killian pouts and mopes around after he loses, and Emma gets an infinite amount of joy out of it.

“You look pathetic, Jones.”

“I do not look pathetic.”

“You do.” She turns around behind the bar to tease him as he grabs a bottle of his favorite rum off the shelf and pours himself a small glass, gulping it down. “You should really learn not to be such a sore loser.”

His brow arches. “Oh, and you wouldn’t be a sore loser?”

“Absolutely not. I wouldn’t lose.”

Killian exhales with his laugh before putting his glass down and inching closer to her until his back is behind hers, warmth from his body covering her so that little bumps pop up over her skin and her breath hitches. It takes everything in her not to shiver while her stomach flips.

“Is that so?”

“It is,” she whispers, trying to keep her breath steady.

“Well,” Killian whispers right back, his scruff brushing up against her cheek and sending a shiver down her spine, dammit, “I do love a challenge.”

With that, he moves away so quickly that his heat immediately evaporates, and if it wasn’t for the swirling in her stomach, Emma would swear it was all a dream.

What the hell just happened?

There’s a low whistle across the bar. “Emma fucking Swan.”

Emma whips her hair toward the sound, and her jaw may literally drop. “Ruby?”

“Oh, so you remember me,” Ruby scoffs. She’s smiling, but there’s fury in her eyes. “I figured you’d forgotten since we only talk on the phone and you’re not living in our apartment anymore.”

“What are you doing here, Rubes?” Emma asks as she leans over the bar to hug her. At least Ruby hugs back. She doesn’t have to, and Emma appreciates that.

Ruby settles down on the stool in front of her, and Emma realizes the entire bar is staring at the two of them. “I took off for your birthday, remember? We were going to binge watch TV and stuff our faces with junk food and feel no guilt about it.”

“Shit happened.”

“And by shit you mean Walsh cheating, your job sucking, and then this crazy lady leaving you a house even though she tried to kill you when you were a teenager?”

“Ruby,” Emma hisses, “shut up. Everyone can hear you, and I don’t want everyone knowing my business.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Emma doesn’t dare look over at Killian to see if he heard all that. She doesn’t need to. She knows that he heard it all. It’s that whole perceptive thing. “Do you want something to drink? Or eat? You must be so tired after the drive.”

“The biggest glass of wine you have. You know what I like.”

Emma nods and turns around to their wine selection before Killian walks up behind her again, this time putting more distance between them. It still feels like he’s right there though, like he never really left.

“You okay, love?”

“Just dandy.”

“Well, your use of the word ‘dandy’ makes me think otherwise.”

Emma rolls her eyes and looks up at him. His eyes are stupid concerned and stupid blue, and who does he think he is being so concerned about her when he barely knows her?

“I’m fine.”

“Hey, hot guy who’s flirting with my friend,” Ruby yells out. Killian’s brow raises at her as his eyes glance to the side. He’s silently asking her for permission to talk to Ruby, and her resolve deflates immediately. She nods and steps away with the wine, leaving him to Ruby. “What’s your name?”

“Killian Jones. Are you the infamous Ruby Lucas?”

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me. That’s funny because I’ve heard nothing about you.”

“You’re obviously much more interesting than me.”

Ruby takes a sip of the wine Emma pours for her before Emma is called to the other end of the bar to deal with some of the cops who are here after their shift. Her ears never leave Killian and Ruby’s conversation, though.

“I mean, obviously,” Ruby agrees, leaning forward so her boobs are nearly falling out of her dress. Emma almost drops a beer glass. “What exactly do you think you’re doing with Emma? She doesn’t need some knight in shining armor to rescue her just because she’s a little vulnerable right now. I mean, you obviously ran a background – ”

Emma’s grip loosens until the tray of beer glasses she was holding slips out of her hands and falls to the ground, glass splitting off into shards and covering the floor.

Shit.

“Don’t move, Swan,” Killian calls out, immediately moving away from Ruby and coming toward her, glass crunching underneath his boots. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she croaks out. In truth, she doesn’t know. her heart is in her throat, and she can’t really breathe. “I’m fine.”

His eyes scan over hers, but he doesn’t dispute her words. “I’m going to clean this up, okay? Why don’t you go sit with your friend? Be careful. I’m not sure how thick your shoes are.”

All Emma can do is nod, and she’s basically a robot as she walks toward Ruby, who is still sipping on her wine and tapping away at her phone. Emma loves her, but sometimes she doesn’t think before she acts. Half the time it works out, and half the time it means Emma is stuck cleaning up Ruby’s messes.

(While Killian seems to be stuck cleaning up Emma’s.)

“What the hell?” she hisses, trying to keep quiet. “You’ve been here for ten minutes, and you’re already telling everyone shit they don’t need to know.” “I didn’t mean to! I mean, I figured he did know since you’re obviously sleeping with him as well as working for him.”

What the hell?

“I’m not sleeping with him. I’m not sleeping with anyone. And he didn’t run a background check on me. Killian’s a good guy, and he’s doing me a lot of favors, okay?”

“If you’re not sleeping with him, he definitely wants to sleep with you. Like, he’s having eye sex with you right now.” “You’re gross, and you have the mind of a teenage boy.”

“I’m speaking the truth,” Ruby nods while her mouth opens with a long yawn.

“Rubes, why don’t you go back to my hotel room, okay? It’s late, and you’re tired. I’ll meet you when my shift is over.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Emma nods, “and we can talk about what we’re going to do for my birthday tomorrow.” Ruby smiles, and Emma tries to let some of her anger fade away. This is her best friend, and she’s got her own faults just like Emma does. Hell, Emma pretty much ghosted her for two months, and Ruby isn’t even really mad. They’ve both got their issues. It’s fine. It’s life. Ruby has never done anything to purposefully hurt Emma.

Ruby takes Emma’s hotel key and leaves, and for the rest of her shift, Killian tiptoes around her. He’s timid and not making any of his jokes. There’s almost no personality to him, and for a few moments, she starts to believe that he’s mad at her. In actuality, he’s probably just realized he’s been working with someone with a criminal past for two months.

“Hey, Killian? Can we talk?”

“Swan – ” he hesitates, holding the chair he was about to put up.

“No, just, please let me explain some of this, some of what Ruby said.”

His lips are pressed tightly together. “You want to come upstairs? I have coffee there.”

“Coffee sounds great.”

They stop what they’re doing, and Killian turns on his heels to walk up to the second floor of the bar to where she knows his apartment is. She’s never been up this staircase, never even thought about it, but she follows him without question. His apartment isn’t much. It’s clean, which doesn’t shock her for how Killian is, and all of the appliances have been updated. Other than that, though, it’s pretty bare bones – brown leather couch, television mounted on the wall, coffee table full of books that should be on the tall bookshelves against the wall, and a bed with a deep blue comforter pushed back against the wall behind a half-wall.

Oh, and a coffee machine. An actual one. Not a Keurig.

That’s where Killian starts puttering around, not bothering to tell her to make herself at home or not to touch anything. His words can be flowery sometimes, but oftentimes he doesn’t say anything at all, simply letting her decide what she wants.

She kind of likes that.

Except for right now when she’s freaking out.

“So,” she begins.

“You want milk in your coffee right? I’m afraid I don’t have your preferred creamer.”

“Milk is fine. So, Killian, I – ”

“Look,” he starts, his voice gruff, “I don’t care about your past. We all have one, myself included, and it’s not great. So unless you’re a murderer or are going to rob me blind, I don’t need to know.” He turns to her as the coffee percolates and raises both brows, wrinkles appearing on his forehead. “Are you a murderer or are you going to rob me blind?”

“No,” Emma quietly admits.

“Then I know everything I need to know unless you really want to tell me why I would need to run a background check on you.”

She bites down on her lip, her stomach twirling. She never wants to tell anyone this, but the words are at the tip of her tongue. “I was sixteen, had just been taken out of Ingrid’s custody, and I was dating this older guy. I loved him, thought he loved me too, but then he stole some watches, framed me for it, and got the hell out of dodge. I went to jail for it, but I promise I didn’t do it. I’m not going to rob you blind. The only things I’ve ever stolen were some keychains and food when my foster parents didn’t give me dinner.”

Straightforward and only the facts. That’s the only way she can talk about Neal without hurling.

Killian’s brows furrow, and she wonders if he can express every emotion with just his eyebrows. It almost seems like it. “He’s a bastard. So is the bloke who cheated on you, by the way. A bloody fool.”

“I agree with that.”

Killian breathes out and turns around, opening up a cabinet to pull down a coffee mug, pouring milk and coffee into her cup before pouring black coffee into his. He hands hers over to her, and she immediately takes a sip while Killian stares down at his mug, tapping his fingers on the countertop.

And then he’s pulling up his Henley’s left sleeve until she can see those familiar red scars.

“I was in the Navy in England,” he begins. “I thought it was my calling. I loved everything about it, and then there was a damn mechanical misfiring that caused an explosion and tore up my arm and part of my torso. Hurt like hell, and I don’t know…I guess I kind of lost the passion for serving, and when my contract ended, I didn’t reenlist. Then I moved here. I’ve got dual citizenship. Mum was an American.”

“I thought you said people don’t run because of jobs?”

“I did say that.”

“Isn’t that what you did?”

“I ran because of my girlfriend ending our relationship to go back to her husband I didn’t know about and my brother’s death,” Killian corrects. The job simply happened to give me the push.”

Emma’s got a million questions, but she doesn’t think she should ask them. It’s probably best not to. “I’m sorry. That sucks.”

“Aye,” he laughs, scratching his ear. “It does. Life sucks, as you put it. That’s why I don’t judge you. That’s why I’m so willing to help you out with the job and with your house. You looked like you needed some help, and I know what it’s like to be in your position.”

Oh.

No one has ever done something like that for her, not really, and Emma thinks to herself once more that under all of his gruff and brooding and penchant for getting angry at customers, he’s a good man. She gets up and walks over to him, pressing up on her toes to lightly brush her lips over his cheek. His scruff burns against her lips, and she gets a stronger whiff of cologne than she ever has as her own cheeks heat up.

“Thank you, Killian.”

He scares her, in more ways than one, but weirdly, she almost craves that little jolt of fear, one she feels in the tingling of her lips far after she leaves his apartment.

-/-

Things shift after that night. It’s not in some monumental, earth-shattering way, but there’s definitely a difference in how Emma and Killian interact. Ruby spends the weekend with them, touring the house and sharing her opinions on what it looks like now and how it should look in the future. Ruby doesn’t get why Emma is staying in Storybrooke, doesn’t understand why she can’t get rid of the place and come back to Boston, but she still supports Emma. It’s what friends do unless they’re making batshit crazy decisions.

Ruby’s words. Not hers.

Besides, Ruby is convinced that Emma is staying for Killian, which actually would be batshit crazy. She’s not staying here for him. She’s staying here because she needs to fix up this house. She needs to fix up this house to prove she can, sell it, and wash her hands of anything and everything that Ingrid left behind.

Killian gives her the night off for her birthday, tells her to go out and have fun, but since there’s only one bar in town, they hang out at the Rabbit Hole and drink fruity drinks Killian hates making and eat onion rings he made specifically for her, mumbling something about how he knows that she really wanted to spend her day at home in pajamas eating junk food instead of hanging out at the place where she works.

She doesn’t mind, not really. Especially when Killian tells her that he’ll cover her tab for the night, throwing her a downright dirty wink and whispering in her ear that he’d take tips in other ways.

Ridiculous man. Such a cocky asshole sometimes.

When Ruby leaves town and heads back to Boston, she tells Emma to stop being stupid and to do something good with what she’s got here. If she’s going to be here, she needs to make it worth it.

Emma tries to do just that. She really does, but as the months pass and the house gets closer and closer to being presentable (and functionable) enough to sell, all Emma can think is that she’s got an apartment back in Boston and a job that will take her back if she begs just enough.

Boston is safe. Boston is…home. In Boston, there’s no man with blue eyes and a sharp wit who makes her stomach swirl like she’s got damn butterflies fluttering around in there.

Leaving Killian makes her heart ache, but admitting that to herself is something she’s barely capable of. Admitting it to him would be damn near impossible.

-/-

“Swan,” Killian calls out as she walks into the bar, “come help me get these blasted lights up. I thought it would be nice to make it a little festive in here for Christmas.”

He’s standing on a chair up against the wall, box after box of white lights scattered around his feet, and as capable as Killian is, this seems like a disaster waiting to happen. She takes a step toward him, a step toward his bright smile and slightly overgrown beard, but then she stops. She was supposed to be in and out, just like that. She wasn’t supposed to get attached.

She can’t stay.

“I sold the house, Killian.”

He drops a string of lights to the ground, small shards of glass scattering everywhere.

Shit.

“You what?”

“I’m going to sell the house,” she corrects. Her heart is beating faster than it ever has. “I got an offer from a couple from New York who wanted it as a vacation home and are going to finish the renovations and add on an extra room. I don’t really know. But it’s money that I need and that will help me out back in Boston.”

“Emma – ”

She hates when he says her first name. It makes her throat tighten and her stomach ache, and no matter how many times he says it instead of calling her by one of his many names for her, she’ll never get used to it.

She swallows the lump in her throat.

“You’re leaving?” Killian asks, obviously devastated. She hates that she knows the looks on his face and knows how he feels without even a word now. She nods. He knows her looks as well. “Stay, Emma.”

“I can’t.” “Why not? Why can’t you stay?”

“I don’t live here. I have a life back in Boston. I have friends, a job, a – ”

“A what?”

“I don’t know,” Emma groans, hot tears pricking in her eyes. When did any of this happen? How did it happen? How did she allow herself to have so many feelings? “I don’t know, but I can’t stay here. It was only supposed to be a day, maybe a week. It wasn’t supposed to be months. It wasn’t supposed to be this.”

She motions between the two of them, speaking the words that neither of them have spoken over long days working at the house, long nights working here, and too quick of times watching movies in his apartment or grabbing lunch at Granny’s or even racing each other on their runs.

She knows. He does too.

“You can see a future here, and that scares you,” Killian tells her, stepping close.

“Oh, let me guess, with you.”

“Aye,” Killian says as he steps into her space, the now familiar scent of his cologne surrounding her while the warmth of his hands presses through her jeans and then her sweater as his hands move from her hips to her shoulders. “You and I both know – ”

“We don’t know anything!”

His jaw clenches, and she knows he’s holding back. She knows him well enough to know he’s pressing down the fire within him.

“Emma,” he whispers, and her heart does that thing again that’s got to be medically impossible, “you have been the best part of my life for the past four months, and I know that I can’t ask you to stay. I have already, but I can’t honestly be selfish enough to think that you’ll stay just for me. What I can’t do, darling, is let you go without telling you how I feel.”

Her heart may be in her throat now because she can’t breathe. Not at all. Why the hell are his eyes so blue and earnest? Why is he so earnest?

She nods again, and he smiles this soft little smile that makes his eyes crinkle.

“I am rather fond of you, Emma Swan. I’m fond of the way that your smile shifts from small to absolutely beaming and the way that you laugh at your little comedy podcasts we listen to while we’re working. I’m fond of the way that you call me out on my shit and the way that you help me every day, even if you don’t know it. I’m fond of the smell of your perfume and the way I find long blonde strands of hair on all of my clothes even if I didn’t wear the shirt around you. I’m fond of the way you’ve weaved your way into every part of my life so seamlessly while I’ve had to carefully take a hammer to the bricks you built up around your heart.”

His hands trace up her neck, shivers running down her spine and bumps rising up over her skin. “I like you,” Killian continues, “and I don’t want you to go back to Boston thinking that you don’t have a life here. Everyone in this town would welcome you with open arms, but I’d be standing at the front waiting for you.”

Emma’s never been good with words, has never been an expert at expressing how she feels, but she has been good with actions. It’s why she wraps her arms around his neck, fingers tickling along the nape of his neck and into his hair, and kisses him.

She kisses him.

His lips are soft, softer than should even be possible, and his beard brushes against her skin much like it did when she kissed his cheek a few weeks ago while Killian quietly grunts into the kiss. They don’t move much, mouth pressed against mouth, but Emma finds herself getting lost in it. She imagined what it would be like kissing Killian Jones, something she would never admit to anyone else, but it was nothing like this. She didn’t feel it all over her, didn’t feel emotions swirling in her stomach and spreading over her skin, and she definitely didn’t think it would make her this happy.

She’s not sure when or how this happened, how exactly he hammered down the bricks around her heart, but she’s infinitely glad that he did.

Piece by piece and stone by stone.

“I don’t know if I can stay,” Emma whispers when she pulls back from the kiss, her forehead resting against his while her heart beats too fast. “I don’t – ”

“You don’t have to stay, darling. I simply ask that no matter your decision, you still allow me to be a part of your life, however you decide.”

Emma nods in affirmation before kissing him again, hungrily gliding her lips over his while heat curls between her thighs at the feel of Killian pressed up against her. The first kiss was soft, gentle, and while this one could still be described that way, there’s a fire simmering underneath her skin that comes to the surface with Killian’s hearty growl and the way that he starts backing her across the bar until her back is against the wall next to the staircase. Killian captures her gasp with his mouth, and she melts into him some more.

They should talk more. They really should, but they’ve talked for four months, and when Killian asks her if she’d like to go upstairs, she gladly says yes.

They shed their clothes the moment they’re in his apartment, tugging at shirts and pants as Killian finds the skin of her neck and leaves warm, open-mouthed kisses there while it takes everything in Emma to keep running her hands over his sides, feeling the warm skin and slightly marked up places. She’s already warm everywhere, gooseflesh rising, and her breathing is uneven as Killian keeps touching her.

It’s amazing.

And he’s beautiful. It’s all dark skin and lean muscle, someone who doesn’t work out much at the gym but is active, and he’s got dark patches of hair covering his chest and stomach, some of the black hiding the tattoos he has scrawled across his skin. She thinks most of the ones on his torso are there to cover up the scars from his accident, and Emma takes the time to trace her finger over the ink and over the scars, making sure to occasionally watch Killian’s face as she does so.

Of all of the times Killian has looked at her with admiration in his eyes, it’s never been quite like that.

She is so screwed.

When they reach the bed after Killian slamming his lips back into hers and whispering absolutely filthy things into her ear, his hand easily finds where she’s sensitive. He runs his fingers there, making her gasp and moan and whine that she needs more. Killian gladly gives her more.

There’s a push and pull, whispered words of want shared, and she gets lost in it.

He’s warm and thick when he buries himself inside of her, and his moan is one of the most delicious sounds she’s ever heard. His blue eyes are almost completely black now, but they’re no less beautiful. Everything about this is intimate, from the way that Killian kisses her to the controlled movement of his hips, sliding in and out in a slow rhythm that she knows is for her. A part of her wants more, wants faster and harder, but the other part of her is still catching up to the fact that this is real.

This is happening.

And she’s happy.

That might be the most shocking part of the entire thing. Emma is happy, which kind of snuck up on her without her really realizing it, and for the first time in a long time, if not ever, she can feel herself smiling during sex.

Is this what this is supposed to be like? Is this what it’s always supposed to have been like?

Killian smiles right back at her, letting his brows unfurrow from how they were folded in concentration, and then he’s dipping back down to move his teeth over her lips, a light graze that means almost everything to her all the while his hand dips down to where they are joined, the movement making her see all of those metaphorical stars.

Or, at least, something similar in blue orbs and a kind smile.

This is good. This is how things are supposed to be.

Happy.

“Killian?” she asks later. Sweat has dried on her skin, her hair curling around the temples, and she’s folded herself into Killian’s side while her legs are tucked between his calves. Her fingers can’t stop moving through his chest hair, untangling the patches, before moving down to trace over his tattoos and scars once more. She likes the way the red mixes in with the colors of ink.

“Yeah, Swan?”

She nearly giggles at the deep set of his voice, at how it’s harsh and soft all at once, kind of like him.

“I’m rather fond of you too. I thought you should know that.”

“The sex kind of clued me into that.”

“No, I meant. I – you…”

“I know exactly what you meant, love,” he promises as his head dips until his lips press into hers. “I was teasing you. You don’t have to tell me that.”

“I know, but I still want to. You deserve to hear the words as much as I do.”

-/-

She ends up selling the house to the couple from New York.

She puts away the money into her savings account, which was really nothing more than pennies and a few dust bunnies, and for the first time in her life, she has options.

Go back to Boston. Go anywhere.

Or stay in Storybrooke.

Stay in Storybrooke where the people are kind and know her by name, where the beach is nearby and often empty, where she could have a bit of quiet in her life, something that’s also been a novelty for someone who has never really had a quiet she liked. They’ve always been too haunting. This is comforting.

Stay in Storybrooke where there’s a man with blue eyes and the devil in his smile.

Only in the best way, of course, and she can’t keep her own smile away when thinking of him.

Of this life here.

So she stays. It’s what she feels in her heart is right, even if it means leaving her life in Boston behind. And she’s not staying for Killian. As great as he is and as happy as she is that she’s going to be around him, this is all for herself. After Emma tells Ruby her decision, Ruby is disappointed at first, but she promises to visit and still annoy the hell out of her. Emma doesn’t doubt it for a second.

Killian helps her find a place of her own after she tells him that she’s staying. The smile on his face has never been brighter, even when she rejects his offer to stay in the spare room behind the bar that he can renovate into a bedroom. It’s a kind offer, and she imagines she’ll be there often to spend time in Killian’s apartment, but she needs to do this on her own. It’s a new adventure, and she likes a challenge. Besides, if she and Killian keep flirting and making out like teenagers, she imagines one day she’ll be fine living with him.

Who has she become? Being so hopeful like that.

She likes it.

It’s a year and a half later when she and Killian sign the deed to a house on the shoreline, shutters falling off and porch rotting.

“So, Swan, you ready to fix up our new home?”

His fingers tangle into hers while her lips press into his jawline.

Our home.

She likes the sound of that.

“Yeah,” she smiles, “I am.”

-/-

Tag list:: @csjanuaryjoy @stahlop @shardminds @carpedzem @captainsjedi @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @xellewoods @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @shireness-says @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @spartanguard @snowbellewells

#what a plot twist you were #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #cs January joy #cs jj #captain swan January joy

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queenof-literature · 4 years

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A Sick Wild Child - Chapter One

Hi all this is my first story! This is for Linked Universe, an idea created by Jojo not me. More chapters to come soon! I hope you enjoy!

Wild felt like death. No, having cheated death hundreds of times, he could safely say this felt much worse.

Wild had the last watch of the night out of his group of nine including him. He sat in a tree that overlooked all his fellow travelers and the area surrounding them. As hard as he was trying to focus, to protect his friends, everything ached like a Moblin had slammed their fists into him a thousand times over. He was absolutely freezing, no matter what doublet or jewelry he called from his slate, he still trembled and shook so hard he could barely hold his bow. Wild prayed that a monster didn’t wander into camp, because even if he moved a single inch he felt he might throw up or pass out from the pain in his head. Overall he was absolutely miserable… but he had a job to do, and people to watch over.

As time passed Wild only felt worse, and looking forward to the day of travel in his Hyrule only increased his misery. The sun soon began to rise and Wild knew he would soon have to make his way down the tree and cook breakfast. He loved cooking and was happy to ensure he gave his friends a proper meal after so long of them somehow living without being able to even fry an egg, but he didn’t feel like he could move a single limb. But he had to hopefully make his way down the tree before anyone saw his pain. He didn’t need to slow them down, didn’t need to be a burden, didn’t need to fail. Not after… not after 100 years ago. He didn’t deserve to take a sick day, in the wild you had to keep moving.

He began to scootch back to the center of the tree in order to make his descent. All of his limbs felt like lead. He put his first leg down and crawled slowly down the tree. Already he couldn’t seem to breath, and he only grew more nauseous. He felt himself grow dizzy and everything around him began to swirl into a kaleidoscope of color. He forgot everything in that moment, where he was, who he was, what he was doing. Black started to cloud his vision and he let it, he just wanted the pain to be over. Unaware of it, he slowly let go of his branch and began to tumble to the ground, a yelp leaving his hoarse throat without his permission. He felt a sharp and sudden blow in his ribs, and he felt himself gasp as the darkness overtook him.

Twilight awoke to the sound of a yell and an odd thud within the camp. Instantly he leaped up, sword in hand. Eyes darting quickly around the camp, he could see Time, Legend and Warriors on their feet, and the others starting to wake as well thanks to the commotion. Twilight’s eyes darted around camp and landed on a sight that made his blood freeze and skin turn cold in horror. Laying on the ground on the other side of camp was Wild, face down and not moving a muscle. Twilight bolted over to his cub and slid to his knees in front of him. His logic overtaking his worry for the moment, he checked for neck and back injuries. Finding none, he slowly turned over his protege. Wild let out a pitiful whine deep in his throat that made Twilight’s heart clench. He barely noticed Time and the others circling around in confusion and worry. He only saw his protege laying stone cold on the ground.

“Hyrule!” Twilight snapped at Hyrule to get over to his cub as quickly as possible. Hyrule took no offense, he too was worried for his partner in crime. Time kneeled and gently laid his hand on Twilight’s shoulder, and placed the other on Wild’s forehead. A frown appeared on Time’s normally stoic and mischievous face.

“He’s burning up.” Time tried to keep his worry under control, he had to keep his calm for the younger boys. Hyrule also felt Wild’s forehead and winced in sympathy, but the most immediate thing they had to worry about was Wild’s fall. He slowly felt Wild’s body for any injuries. He luckily did not seem to have any broken bones from his apparent fall from his post. Hyrule then felt his ribs and panicked slightly before pushing his dread down.

“It feels like he has some broken ribs. I need a red potion and someone needs to help me lift his tunic above his chest so I can see the damage.” Hyrule commanded in what he hoped was a steady voice. Warriors and Legend both ran off to their bags to get potions, while Four watched them to make sure those two idiots didn’t get in a fight somehow.

“I’ll help.” Stated Twilight. He would do anything to ensure his cub was okay.

“Okay lift him up so I can get his tunic up to his arms.” Hyrule said as he had already begun bunching up Wild’s tunic. Twilight nodded as he gently lifted Wild up so his chest was off the ground. Wild’s face scrunched up in pain and few tears released with a whimper. Twilight and Time felt their hearts break, along with everyone else in the circle and a recently returned Legend and Warriors. Wild tried to never show his pain, and must be in a large amount of it to do so because of a simple movement. After what felt like hours but was probably only seconds, Hyrule got Wild’s tunic as high as it would go and he gently set Wild back down. He heard Wind let out a soft gasp and Twilight had to refrain from doing the same. Wild’s rib cage was covered in black and purple with many painful-looking scrapes. He looked like he had taken a million hits with clubs directly to his chest. But most prominent of all was a stab wound that appeared a few days old that had turned a sickly shade of green, obviously infected. Twilight heard Legend curse at the fact the cub had obviously hidden an injury from them, and now it had been infected. How long had he suffered? Did he even notice the infection? Why didn’t he tell Twilight? Didn’t Wild understand he could trust him? Could trust all of them? They were friends, no more than that. They were brothers. Wind and Wild were the two youngest and the troublemakers. Hyrule was somewhere in between the dumb younger one and the calm middle one. Four was the middle child done with everyone’s shit. Sky was the calmer older teen while Legend and Warriors were the two older teens that fought everyday, but would become protective over each other in an instant. Twilight was somewhere in the upper teens compared to his companions and therefore took the younger ones under his wing, but especially Wild. And Time was the oldest brother/father figure. Was Twilight a fool to believe all this? Did Wild not realize he had a family he could talk to?

Hyrule began to press into his ribs to see the damage done as Wild continued to groan and whimper and tears continued to fall. Twilight ran his hands through Wild’s hair and whispered words of encouragement, comfort and pride in his ear.

“Okay there doesn’t seem to be internal bleeding. This wound is obviously infected though and he has multiple broken ribs. I need potions.” Hyrule gave his diagnoses and no sooner that he got his final words out did Legend and Warriors kneel beside Wild. Twilight had to force himself to move to Wild’s side as Warriors gently lifted the teen’s upper half into his lap and opened a bottle, trying to ignore Wild’s cries of pain. He slowly poured some of the bottle down Wild’s throat to prevent him from choking before he realized Wild wasn’t swallowing. Legend sighed and rubbed Wild’s throat to coax the potion down, careful not to press too hard. Legend soothed his hair as Wild slowly whined and drank the potion through his sore throat, leaning into Legend’s hand as he did so. It was odd to see Legend so soft, but no one was really surprised.

Wild began to slowly heal, his broken ribs simply becoming bruised, and his infection healing as much as the potion could.

“That’s all the potion will heal with the infection running through his body.” Hyrule sighed as he stroked Wild’s cheek to try and calm him.

“But will he be okay?” Wind cried out. Four put his hand on his shoulder in silent comfort, anticipation for the answer in his eyes, and Sky wrapped his arm around Wind’s small shoulder.

“He should be fine.” Hyrule stated to the huge relief of the group around him. “But potions won’t heal the sickness and infection running through him, the infection had already taken hold by the time we healed them. Not even my magic can help right now. We have to let his bruises and infection run its course. It seems severe, so we should probably take turns watching him so that we know for sure his body is healing properly. And no, Twilight, you are not going to stay with him all day and all night.” Hyrule looked pointly at Twilight, who was about to protest if not for Time’s steady look in his direction that promised a lecture if he disobeyed. So he resigned to simply nod, looking down at his cub, who seemed like he was struggling to breathe.

Wild could feel himself drifting in and out of consciousness. Everything felt like it was on fire, but most of the pain was centered around his chest area. He didn’t know what happened or why he was in so much pain, but he didn’t seem to know anything at the moment. His brain felt covered in fog in between passing out.

Suddenly he was moving, rolling over with no control and everything in his body flared. He heard a sound vaguely and could barely recognize it as himself. All he felt was pain, nausea, and weightlessness. He believed he passed out again before he felt himself being lifted up. He cried out in pain, and his face felt wet but he didn’t understand why. What was happening?

Once again Wild drifted away until he felt pressure on his chest. Hylia everything hurt so bad. What did he do to deserve this? Did he fail again? He vaguely felt someone running hands through his hair and whispered something he couldn’t hear. Everything seemed to echo and die out around him. He felt himself being lifted onto something warm as something was pressed into his mouth. His throat hurt so bad, maybe if he didn’t swallow the pain would go away. That choice faded out of his mind as something pressed gently into his throat, forcing him to swallow. He felt someone soothing his hair and he leaned into the touch. He was burning and the hand was so cool…

He could feel his chest mending, as some conscious thought came back into his mind. But it was still so hard to breathe. He could hear voices above him, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying.

After some more time in the void, he felt himself being lifted into someone’s arms. He groaned and felt his head loll into a cold shoulder, it felt like armor. He sighed and leaned into this person’s touch more. Said person tightened their hold on him as he could feel them begin to move.

With that, he felt himself drift back into the comfortable darkness where nothing could hurt him.

#linked universe #LinkedUniverse #Wild #Twilight #Hyrule #Four #Time #legend #Sky #Wind #Warriors #sickfic #sick #A Sick Wild Child #queenof-literature story #QoL Story

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ladytrelaw · 4 years

Text

Ursus’ Lotions, Potions, and Puppetry Chapter 3: Your Broken Children

It’s 1am!! Have a chapter update <3

Thanks @siren-of-the-renown for brainstorming the flower crown idea with me!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25432372/chapters/62599669

“This one?”

“Buttercup. Like butter melting in your mouth.”

“That’s cheating!”

Grinpayne laughs at Dea’s scandalised tone, plucking the offending flower from her fingers and winding it into the half-formed crown in his lap. “It’s not cheating if that’s what it’s called! I didn’t name it.”

It’s a balmy afternoon, and they’ve been lying in the grass for an hour or so now, banished from the cart while Ursus tinkers with some potion or other. Neither of them mind; the cart is cosy in winter but stuffy in summer, and out here in the open air a languid sort of ease has fallen over them as they work their way slowly through the pile of wildflowers that Grinpayne brought back from his walk. What Dea does mind, however, is the way that Grinpayne has just wormed his way out of giving her a halfway decent description of the flower she held in her hand.

“It’s still cheating,” she says in as stern a voice as she can muster, but Grinpayne happily ignores her. He hums something under his breath as his nimble fingers work amongst the stems and petals of her crown, and she can’t stop herself from smiling. With a resigned sigh, she hovers her fingers once more over the flowers, landing on one with petals like crushed tissue paper and holding it up decisively. “This one?”

Grinpayne pauses his humming. “Chicory,” he says after a moment. “Like…” he holds the word thoughtfully on his tongue, and Dea imagines him tilting his head back to the sky as though he’ll find the right metaphor there floating above them. “Like arriving in a new town on a winter morning before anyone else is awake. When everything is so still and cold and quiet that the whole world feels like it’s holding its breath. Like it’s about to tell you a secret it’s never told anyone else.”

His voice is soft and in his words she’s transported; the chill winter air stroking her cheek, the frost crunching softly underfoot, the air tingling with something unknown, something magical. How, Dea thinks, with no small amount of scorn, could anyone ever expect her to long for her eyesight when she can see with all of her senses like this?

They move through the remaining wildflowers, the blossoms growing to life in her very hands as Grinpayne speaks; dandelions ringing with the mischievous shouts of street urchins, daisies bursting with the tangy sweetness of wild strawberries, and a pink flower that Grinpayne can’t name filling her lungs with the feeling of breathless exhilaration. “Like you’ve just run as fast as you can,” he says dreamily, “just for the thrill of it-”

He inhales sharply, a sound Dea knows too well, and she is instantly alert. “Grinpayne, your medicine-”

“It’s fine.” He says, a little too quickly. “Honestly, Dea, it’s…” he breathes deeply, once, twice, then exhales long and slow. “See? It’s gone. Just a twinge. Look, your crown is finished.”

Dea frowns, unconvinced, but Grinpayne’s breath doesn’t tremble, and when he nestles the crown amongst her hair his gentle fingers don’t shake, so she elects to believe him. The crown slips down to her ears and she reaches up to adjust it, the stems and stalks that Grinpayne has woven together an intricate pattern beneath her fingertips.

“Princess Dea,” he says, in a voice so pompous and ridiculous that she giggles despite herself. “With this crown of many colours I hereby proclaim you Queen of the Green Cart and All Its Kingdoms. Long may you reign. Hee Hoo Ha!”

He utters the royal cry so seriously that Dea bursts out laughing, covering her hand with her mouth as her shoulders shake, all thoughts of pain slipping happily away. She composes herself with some difficulty, and sits up straighter, tilting her chin to the sky the way she imagines nobles do.

“And what is your first order as Queen, Your Highness?” Grinpayne asks in his normal voice, though slightly muffled as he bows his head in deference.

“I should like a palace!” Dea says regally, and Grinpayne makes a contented noise of approval.

“Of course! The most grand in the country! And servants-”

“How many?”

“In their hundreds, Your Highness!” Grinpanye proclaims, and her lips echo the smile in his voice.

“And feasts!” she adds, adjusting her crown so that it sits more securely on her head. “Grand feasts-”

“Every night,” Grinpayne assures her, “with stuffed geese-”

“And wine-”

“And quails egg tarts-”

“And a whole roasted pig with an apple in its mouth!” Dea finishes, her regal persona falling apart completely as she is overcome with a fresh wave of giggles at the image she only knows from Urus’ fairy stories. She leans against Grinpayne, feeling his own shoulders shake with soft chuckles. But when their laughter tails off into silence, something else settles in its place, something darker. Dea can’t pretend she doesn’t know why they were both so quickly distracted by daydreams of food. It’s been days since they left Oxford, and hunger has become an unwelcome but constant hitchhiker in their little cart, clinging to each of them like a shadow.

“Father told me I have to go hunting with him today,” Grinpayne says softly after a moment, his thoughts clearly having travelled the same road as Dea’s own.

Ah. Guilt nips at Dea, and she tries desperately to school her features into neutrality, because the hunting trip is not news to her. In fact, it was she who had cornered a guilty Ursus in their cart that morning while Grinpayne was distracted outside; she who demanded that he make good on his promise to talk things through with his son; she who had suggested they go hunting in the first place. But of course, she’s not about to tell Grinpayne that.

“See if you can shoot me that wild boar for roasting,” she teases gently, before adjusting to more realistic standards with a wrinkle of her nose. “Or perhaps just a rabbit.”

“Doesn’t take two people to hunt a rabbit,” Grinpayne mutters, the slightest trace of petulance in his voice. Dea frowns, leaning back on her elbows, not daring to lie flat for fear of crushing her newly adorned crown.

“He wants to talk. That’s a good thing, Grinpayne, it’ll be good for you both.”

Grinpayne huffs unhappily, flopping down on his back in the grass next to her.

“What if I don’t know what to say?” he murmurs distractedly. “I can’t… I’ve already apologised-”

“Just talk,” Dea says gently. “You both want to fix whatever’s broken. You’ll find the right words.”

Grinpayne hums noncommittally, as though he doesn’t quite believe her. “So” he says after a moment, and Dea recognises from the tone of his voice that the conversation is over, for now. “This palace of yours, my Queen…”

***

Ursus steps outside, squinting in the sunlight after so long spent in relative gloom, a quiver and bow over one shoulder and a second pair held loosely in his hands. From the other side of the cart the gentle sound of voices floats on the breeze, and he trudges towards it, trying to keep the arrows from jangling together too much as he walks. Dea and Grinpayne don’t hear him approach, lying in the grass together and murmuring closely in that private way they do. A wreath of wildflowers is sitting wonkily in Dea’s hair, and Grinpayne is lying on his side next to her, plaiting blades of grass together absentmindedly. They look so relaxed, so calm, so young, that Ursus is tempted to sneak back around the cart before he is seen, to leave them to their afternoon and try again tomorrow. But it’s been four long days, and he's a little scared of what Dea will do if he waits much longer.

“Grinpayne.”

He’d meant to say it softly but it comes out clipped and brusque instead, and Grinpayne and Dea startle slightly at his sudden appearance, looking up with identical sets of wide eyes, one deep brown, one white. Almost immediately, a cloud moves over Grinpayne’s features, the air of calm relaxation that had surrounded him vanishing entirely. Dea also looks uneasy, disappointed at Ursus’ unintentionally stern tone, and he curses himself inwardly but there’s nothing to be done about it now. Wordlessly, he holds out the spare quiver and bow in his hands, trying not to rise to the way Grinpayne rolls his eyes so far back in his head that he seems at risk of losing them entirely. He pushes himself off the floor, muttering something to Dea as he goes, and Ursus bristles slightly. It had sounded far too much like ‘wish me luck’ for his liking, and somehow he doesn’t think Grinpayne is referencing the hunt. As he trudges towards Ursus and silently takes the proffered weapons, Ursus looks past him to Dea, still sitting cross-legged in the grass.

“We won’t be long. Keep Mojo close by and don’t talk to anyone.”

She scoffs a little, and Ursus wonders for a moment whether maybe she’s spending too much time with Grinpayne.

“I know, Father,” she says, fiddling with the flowers in her hair. “I’ll be fine.”

Ursus huffs, turning back to Grinpayne who is waiting with his quiver slung across his back, watching him with guarded eyes. “Ready?”

Grinpayne gives one short nod and Ursus hefts his bow, trudging past Grinpayne and leading them both off the road, into the woods beyond.

***

They’ve been going on hunting trips like this since Grinpayne was barely taller than the bow he's now carrying. In those early years he had driven Ursus to distraction by scampering through the trees and firing ten times more questions at his father than arrows at prey, but as he grew older he became a skilled and responsible hunting partner, and Ursus treasures the memory of those days more than he’d likely admit. Back then they’d walk together for hours in companionable silence, speaking only to point out a half-smudged paw print in the dirt, or a tuft of fur caught on a branch. With most of their time spent in the choking smog and cacophony of towns or cities, the woods became a sort of refuge for both of them. A sanctuary.

Things are very different now. They walk for a while without speaking, but the silence is heavy and brittle, each of them hyper aware of the movements of the other. Grinpayne walks ahead of Ursus, his shoulders high with tension, his footfalls unusually heavy. A few days ago Ursus would have snapped at him for the careless way he’s placing his feet when he knows Grinpayne knows better - his son can move totally silently when he wants to, slipping through winding streets and woodlands alike with all the noise of a shadow, all the presence of a ghost. But the days since they left Oxford have been long and tense, and, left alone with his thoughts in the dark of the night, Ursus’ anger has given way to a hollow sort of guilt.

He swallows nervously. He’s never been good with words, and he knows how much is riding on this conversation; knows how urgently he needs to bridge the gap that is growing ever wider between him and his son. The vision of Grinpayne on the ground in the square, hands coming up to protect his head as the furious crowd loomed over him, haunts Ursus nightly. If he’d arrived even a few minutes later… but that’s in the past, and it won’t do to dwell on it. They’ve both made mistakes recently, both been tetchy and short with each other, but Dea is right; it’s foolishness. He can fix this. He has to fix this.

***

He calls Grinpayne’s name, and watches as his shoulders tighten impossibly further, like he’s bracing for an attack. When he speaks, his voice is carefully neutral.

“I think the track goes this way-”

“Leave the track for a moment,” Ursus says, cutting him off. Grinpayne turns to face him with all the excitement of a man headed for the gallows.

“Father…” he starts, something almost pleading in his eyes. “I don’t… we don’t have to do this-”

“We have to have it out, my boy,” Ursus says grimly, though he’s fighting the urge to just abandon the whole idea now that he’s faced with actually, well, talking. “I can’t have another day of Dea pestering me-”

“Dea?” Grinpayne echoes incredulously, and Ursus realises his mistake a moment too late as he watches Grinpayne’s eyes widen, betrayal written as clearly across his face as if he’d scrawled the word in ink. He winces; another foot wrong, another mistake to add to his rapidly growing collection.

“She didn’t mean-” he starts, backpedalling, but Grinpayne cuts across him.

“I knew it, I knew you’d talk about me behind my back.” He mutters bitterly. “At least you tell me how much of a burden I am to my face.”

Well. That’s not fair. That’s not fair at all.

“For God’s sake, boy,” Ursus says frustratedly, “it’s exactly this that’s worrying her! All this constant sniping at each other-”

“And whose fault is that?” Grinpayne scoffs, folding his arms across his chest. It’s a challenge, plain as day, and Ursus subconsciously stands up taller in response, even as his heart thumps uneasily in his chest. This isn’t how this was supposed to go.

“Both of us!” he replies, struggling to keep his voice level. “The fault lies with both of us-”

“It’s not my fault that you shouting at me upsets her,” Grinpayne interrupts coolly, eyes like tempered steel, and Ursus feels his resolve start to slip. If he can take responsibility for his part in this mess then so can Grinpayne, but instead he’s being childish and moody as usual, and Ursus tells him so. Grinpayne laughs, but it’s a cold, cruel sound; brittle and cutting.

“Oh, of course! Now you’re the reasonable one. When it suits you, when it comes to dear darling Dea, then you’re ever so logical.”

He rolls his eyes skyward again in the disrespectful way that has always annoyed Ursus, the way he knows annoys Ursus; the sight like a red scarf to a bull.

“What’s that supposed to mean-”

“It means -” Grinpayne sputters, losing some of his steely composure, “it… it means you act like you’re so calm and collected and I’m, I’m just this wild animal that can’t control himself but-”

“Behave like a wild animal and you’ll be treated like one.” Ursus growls, taking a step forward. He’s distantly aware that he’s fast losing control, that this is the opposite of what Dea wanted, what he wanted, but Grinpayne is being so unreasonable that the frustration flooding through his veins sweeps that thought away like driftwood on the tide. “How could you be so stupid, Grinpayne, you could have gotten yourself killed-”

Grinpayne begins to interrupt but Ursus cuts across him with a sharp noise of frustration, holding up a hand. “I should never have let you go on your own.” He snaps. “In fact I’ve half a mind to stop your shows altogether.”

From the way Grinpayne reacts, Ursus couldn’t have made a much worse threat. His eyes widen with horror, mouth dropping open in shock, but he recovers quickly and as he takes a step toward Ursus his features twist into something deeper than fear, something angrier.

“You can’t do that,” Grinpayne says darkly, though there’s a glimmer of something vulnerable in his eyes, something pleading behind the bravado. “You can’t take that away from us Father, it’s all we have, you can’t - ”

“If that’s what it takes to keep you safe then so be it!” Ursus says sharply, trying to regain some ground, but Grinpayne ignores him.

“I won’t let you break Dea’s heart like that!” He snarls, nearly shouting with frustration. “I know, alright, I know all of this is my fault, I know how much easier things would be for you if I just disappeared, but-”

He breaks off as suddenly as if he’d been struck, gasping as a shudder runs through his body, pain snatching his words away. It’s a familiar sight but that doesn’t make it any less painful to witness. Ursus starts forward automatically but Grinpayne staggers away, holding up a trembling hand to ward him off, and he stops short, heart pounding. It’s a moment before he registers what Grinpayne has just said, and when he does his blood runs cold.

“How can you say that?” he bites out, watching as Grinpayne leans on his knees, taking short, shallow breaths as he rides out the wave of pain. “How can you possibly, possibly think that I’d want that-”

“Because it’s true” Grinpayne growls, glaring up at Ursus. “It’s like you said, Father, everything that’s happened, everything that’s ever happened to us has been because of me, how could you not want me gone-”

“I have never said that,” Ursus sputters, choking on a sort of horrified fury. “Don’t you put words in my mouth, don’t you dare say-”

“You’ve never needed to say it!” Grinpayne snarls, forcing himself upright with some difficulty and taking an unsteady step towards Ursus. He reaches up to rip his bandages off with something wild in his eyes, something unfathomable, and dread sweeps over Ursus so strongly he almost chokes on it. As Grinpayne’s bandages fall away the dappled sunlight streaming through the canopy highlights every curl and dip of the jagged scar tissue gouged into his face like an awful spotlight, each gash and cut so familiar to Ursus, far too familiar, and he is struck utterly dumb.

“I can see it, Father, you can barely even look at me!” Grinpayne chokes, breath ragged, eyes glittering. “Life would have been so much easier for you if Mojo hadn’t found us that night, wouldn’t it?! If you didn’t have to drag this monster around with you? Look at me and tell me I’m wrong!”

Ursus opens and closes his mouth for a moment, rendered speechless. Because that’s it, isn’t it. That’s the wedge that’s been growing between the two of them like a tumour, that’s the knife that has twisted deeper into Ursus’ heart with each year that passes, the truth he has tried to ignore. Because as Grinpayne has grown older, as the puppy fat has melted off him and he’s grown into the tall, lean figure that stands trembling with rage and pain before Ursus now, it’s become so much easier to see who he could have been. The handsome young man he would have been, if not for that dreadful night so long ago. In some distant part of his brain Ursus realises, perhaps for the first time, the way that the pain buried so deeply in his heart has been festering; quickening his temper and shortening his patience; poisoning almost every conversation he has with Grinpayne. And as Ursus looks into his eyes, eyes that are searching desperately for reassurance even as they blaze with anger, he is dimly aware that he has a choice.

Perhaps a stronger, braver man than Ursus would choose differently. But then, a stronger, braver man than Ursus would not have the choice to make at all. He grits his teeth.

“You’re being childish,” He snarls. His heart cracks painfully as he watches a spark in Grinpayne’s eyes flicker and die, but he’s in too deep now, far too deep, and he sees no way out but through. The alternative, of truth, of confession, is too terrible to bear. “Take your medicine.”

“So you admit it?” Grinpayne pants, leaning on unsteady knees for support.

“I admit that you’re being a petulant, naive fool, yes, and you’re looking for another fight because clearly you didn’t learn your lesson the last time-”

“That has nothing to do with-”

“ENOUGH!”

Ursus’ shout echoes through the woods, and Grinpayne flinches back like he’s been slapped.

“We can never go back to Oxford now, do you understand that?!” Ursus rages, horrified at himself but entirely unable to stop, fear getting lost and muddled somewhere between his heart and his mouth and turning to ruthless fury. “Do you understand what you’ve done, boy, what we’ve lost?!”

“Father-” Grinpayne stammers, but Ursus ignores him.

“If you hadn’t got into that stupid fight the Duke might have let us stay, hell, if you hadn’t been doing the show at all he might not even have known you were there-”

“Father-”

“I’ve been such a fool, I should have known, I should never have let you-”

He breaks off suddenly as Grinpayne makes a choked noise of agony, spine bending under the weight of pain as though a giant unseen hand is forcing him down. He doubles over for a moment before his knees buckle and he sinks to the ground in an agonised crouch, reaching one trembling hand to the earth as he desperately searches for a stable centre of gravity to cling to, eyes tight shut, gasping as his own nerves attack him with a cutthroat mercilessness.

Ursus feels as though a pint of cold water has just been dumped over his head, as though he’s just woken up from a very bad dream. He drops to a crouch besides his son, shame curling in the pit of his stomach as he fumbles for the crimson lethe in his pocket, his anger evaporating.

“Here” he mutters, pressing the little pink bottle into Grinpayne’s hands and ignoring his weak protests. “Drink. Grinpayne, drink .”

In too much pain to resist, Grinpayne takes the bottle, tipping his head back and drinking deeply. Ursus watches as he swallows and wipes his mouth with the back of a shaking hand, blinking slowly as his tense muscles begin to loosen. His eyes glaze over for a moment, and Ursus feels a familiar pang of emotion that he dare not name. It is helping him, he tells himself firmly. It is healing him.

However, he doesn’t have long to dwell on it, because at that moment a voice rings out from behind him, a stranger’s voice. All thoughts of Crimson Lethe or sinking ships or even Grinpayne himself are wiped from his mind as he registers the strange accent, and whirls around to meet its owner.

“Crack the skies…”

#this chapter took some WORK oh boy oh boy #it's still not perfect but I wanted it to be done #Ursus' lotions potions and puppetry #potions and puppetry #tgm fic #the grinning man #the grinning man fic #the grinning man musical

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shadowthrone-ammanas · 5 years

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The Ice Queen Chapter 1 of 4: Rest

This fic is based off/inspired by another fic of mine called 'Rest'. If y'all have read it, you should know at what point the idea for this fic came to me. It's the darkest thing I've written a long time so be aware of that. It's basically, what if instead of Hat Kid bringing Snatcher to her ship after the Ultra Snatcher fight, he somehow manages to keep his weakness hidden from her and once she's gone, Vanessa swoops in to take advantage of his weakness.

Even from all the way in her manor, Vanessa could sense the massive amount of power being expended in the Forest. It had to be her prince because who else could it be? He must be fighting a powerful foe to be using that much power.

How likely was it that he would lose? Low but with how much power he was expending he’d be weakened. Maybe enough that she could finally get him back. He was hers, she needed him back and it was about damn time she got him. And when he was in her clutches again, she was never going to let him leave.

She rushed out the manor. The snow and cold outside increased from just her presence alone as she started for the forest. She passed by a dweller on her way there. It cowered from her even though it had been so long it had to have forgotten why it was afraid of her. Before it could run, she shot out a hand and froze it in a block of ice. The last thing she needed was her prince or his filthy minions to know she was coming.

Upon crossing the ice barrier and then bridge that separated her domain from her prince’s, the fight was still going on. She crept closer and closer until, concealed within the forest’s shadow’s she could see into the arena and identify the combatants. It was her prince all right, a ghost but still hers, flashing rainbow colours for some reason and throwing all sorts of magic at… a little girl? It was hard to tell from this distance but she looked similar to the little girl that had invaded Vanessa’s manor a while back. Had to be the same one, right?

Regardless, despite everything being thrown at her, the little girl was still alive and seemingly unscathed. Meaning she was probably winning because she for sure got a hit on the prince.

Vanessa might’ve felt bad for him, getting beaten by a child, but he deserved a little bit of punishment. He’d left her and refused to come back despite everything she’d done to make sure it’d just be the two of them forever. No one to cheat on her with, no studies to distract him from doting on her, no one but the two of them forever.

So, a little bit later, when the child won, Vanessa almost felt like cheering. A little bit of humiliation was good for him and as soon as the kid was gone – vanishing after he’d given her something – he slumped forward in the defeat, the rainbow effect gone now. Even from this distance, his posture made it clear that he was in pain and exhausted, worn out from the fight, even more than she would’ve thought. Meaning, she was basically as good as hers once more. All she had to do was take him.

***

Snatcher somehow managed to hold himself together until Hat Kid left. As soon as she was gone though, he let himself slump forward, panting hard. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt more exhausted or been in more pain since he’d become a ghost – he wished he could say at all but well, he couldn’t.

But how could have he lost to her again? He’d thrown everything he’d had at her. He’d taken two EX potions this time, how had that not been enough to best her? … And now he was paying the price for that, and he’d thought the aftereffects of drinking one had been bad.

“You need help Boss?” one of the Subconites gathering around him asked.

“No, I’m fine,” he lied. But there wasn’t really anyway they could help other than maybe carrying him to a place he could rest which was not going to happen.

With a groan, he pushed himself back up, forcing himself to float again. Luckily, floating took the least amount of energy, less energy that it took living things to walk, so he should be able to at least get a place he could rest before collapsing again. It wasn’t going to be a pleasant journey though so… might as well get going.

He was just exiting the arena, his Subconites sticking with him even though they didn’t need to, when he finally became aware that something was wrong. His sense of Vanessa, normally on the fringe of his how far he could sense, wasn’t there in her manor anymore but instead…

A blast of ice came from the forest to the left, sweeping through the group of Subconites in front of him, impaling them with large spears of ice rising off the ground. The Subconites not in the line of fire or who managed to move out of the way in time, panicked immediately. They screamed as they scrambled to get away, vanishing into the forest, thankfully she let them.

Snatcher quickly spotted her glowing red eyes amongst the trees to his left and gestured, summoning a laser to blast up from underneath her. But… nothing happened, not even a spark. He’d worn himself out while fighting Hat Kid, he had nothing left.

“Oh, my dear sweet prince.” Vanessa’s voice sent chills down his nonexistent spine. “You’ve gone and tired yourself out. I think its time for you to come back home and rest, don’t you?”

Another blast of ice magic shot out from her clawed hands. Weakened as he was, Snatcher couldn’t counter it, so he tried to dodge but was too slow. It was glancing blow to his side but it was immediately engulfed in ice. Freezing cold and biting – he hadn’t felt such awful cold in so, so long – it immediately started spreading.

He tried to blast it off but nothing. He could do nothing! He was helpless as another blast of ice hit him, solidly in the center now. He tried to claw it off with his hands but all that did was cause the ice to spread to them and then start creeping up his arms too.

“You peck-neck whore bitch,” he cursed at her as they ice kept spreading, far too fast. He summoned some of his exploding potions. Alas, he couldn’t create many right now but he tossed them anyway. It was better than running, not he would even get far with how fast the ice was spreading across his form.

Predictably she easily shot them out of the air with another blast of ice. She lifted her other hand to shoot more ice at him, hitting him on the face now. “How dare you say such a thing to me. I’m your princess, your one true love.” In her dreams maybe but with the ice on his face, already spreading, he could no longer speak which was probably her intent.

It was a horrifyingly short amount of time before he was completely engulfed in ice, his arms frozen in position from when he’d clawed at the ice on his chest. It pressed in on him from all sides, forcing his form to shrink against his will. He couldn’t even move to fight it as it made him smaller and smaller until he was as small as his form could physically get; the size he’d been right before death. Which was far too small for him, he liked being big, taking up a lot of space.

“My precious sweet prince,” Vanessa said as she strode closer, her aura distorting the air around, making her even more unpleasant to look at. “You should’ve known better than to do something that would make you so vulnerable. Unless…” she switched to a whisper as she leaned in to caress his face, “this is what you wanted?”

Snatcher wanted to curse and shout and pull away from her foul touch, even through the layer of ice it made him feel physically ill. He wanted to blast her into nothing, leave not a single speck of her behind. But he was helpless; frozen solid, completely at her mercy which he’d sworn to himself would never be the case again. And yet, here he was.

“Let’s go home, shall we my love? This time, you’re mine forever, no one’s going to take you away from me ever again.”

The exterior of the manor was much how he remembered last seeing it as he exited a new ghost, just more worn and the ice had had time to settle in more. She carried him towards it – thankfully using magic so she at least wasn’t touching him – as he renewed his efforts to escape the ice encasing him. Magic or just sheer force of physical power to break it, anything, but the biting cold ate what little bit of strength he’d had left. He couldn’t even summon his potions anymore.

He was a damn fool! How could he have let himself get so weak and vulnerable? He’d gone into the fight knowing win or lose, he was going to be exhausted at the end of it. The two EX potions had been a mistake, he should’ve taken one again and just… tried harder? Didn’t matter though, he’d lost and now he was getting carried into the place he’d probably have nightmares about if he could sleep and dream.

“Does it feel good to finally be back home my prince?” Vanessa said as she opened the front door and brought him inside. “Sorry about the mess but I know you don’t mind. You were always messier than me anyway.” She closed the door and locked it as if anyone might actually want to enter this hellhole.

“I really wish you looked more like your old self,” she continued as she turned back to face him, floating by the door. “You were so handsome.” She reached up a hand to touch the side of his face again, making him flinch internally because he couldn’t physically. “But that’s probably why everyone was trying to steal you away from me so… I guess it’s for the best.”

How had he ever loved her? How had he been stupid enough to not see how obviously crazy she was? If he could, he’d go back in time and slap himself for being an idiot and falling for her lies and false charms.

“But speaking of that,” Damn she could really talk, huh? Why couldn’t she at least shut up. “before I bring you up to my room to sleep and cuddle with me you need to learn a lesson about not leaving me.” What did that mean? He was unfortunately about to find out.

She gestured with one clawed hand, pulling him along as she turned to start walking again. Down the hall, passing the door that led to the kitchen and then dining room. They were either headed around the corner and to the living room and staircase, leading to the second floor or… to the door that led to the cellar.

Please not the cellar, anything but the cellar would be better. Snatcher would rather die again than go back down there. But of course, that was exactly where she was going. And he couldn’t do more than shake a little as she opened the door and started down the stairs, magically pulling him along too.

At the bottom of the steps, the cellar was dark and wet and horrible and awful. He hated it so, so much. Even worse was around the corner, the wall he’d died on. His chains still hung there, old and rusted. And was it just his imagination or he could he see an outline of a body, his body, on the wall?

At this point, as she brought him closer, he would’ve begged for mercy if he could. Screw dignity or not giving her the satisfaction, he did not want to be anywhere near that wall. But he couldn’t even make a single squeak as she brought him right up to it.

Standing before it, she gestured again, moving him so his back would be too the wall, touching it if not for the ice encasing him. She raised her other hand, shooting more ice magic. Chains of ice descended from the ceiling to wrap around his upper arms and take his weight as the magic keeping him afloat vanished.

It didn’t hurt, even with the ice he wasn’t that heavy and he didn’t have any bones or joints to be strained by his weight, but it was still awful, awful, awful.

“There,” Vanessa said, sick satisfaction in her voice. “I know you don’t like it. This is where you died after all, freed by that stupid, stupid Moonjumper, oh how I hate him. But he won’t be coming this time, you no longer have anything to offer him and if he tries anyway, I’ll destroy him.” She reached a hand up to stroke his face again with her claws. “You’re all mine now, forever and ever. No one’s going to take you from me this time, no one.”

She went on but Snatcher quickly lost track of her words. Everything blended together like one horrible, horrible scream in his mind, erasing his ability to think.

#My Writing #ahit #a hat in time #snatcher & hat kid #Snatcher/Queen Vanessa #Angst #Freezing #Kidnapping #Chains #Obsessive behaviour #Snatcher has a bad time

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pamgkrthwrites · 4 years

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Vent Writing : Daddy Issues, a OC Underfell story

So I’ve been scrolling YouTube lately and I found this neat song called “Not Your Seed” from the “I Don’t Like Musicals” Musical... Huh... ANYWAY!

So I was listening to it and with my dad leaving my mum, I started to imagine the song in a Underfell setting with my persona. So here is a little story of what that scene I made up in my head. No need to read, just some personal writing to let of some steam.

There is no monsters, this is based before they are let out. The characters are Mother Pamgkrth, Father Pamgkrth, Daniel Pamgkrth, Anne Pamgkrth(me), James Pamgkrth and Shannon McApplebees.

“Daddy?” Anne had opened the to see her father standing at the front door of her mother large cabin.

Anne had her long blonde messy yet brushed hair out, red jersey with golden strips, black jeans, black thick army boots, black eyeliner and deep red lipstick on.

Behind her was her mother, older brother Daniel, younger brother James and best friend Shannon. Anne’s mother looked like her, just a bit taller, grey shorter and messier hair, and chubby. Dan had his curly brown hair shaved off but wore full black leader besides the red top under his jacket. James had short blonde hair and wore a big thick red jumper with white strips. Shannon had dark brown hair, pale white skin, black jumper with red strips, and black eye liner and lipstick.

“Anne,” Her father greeted and a frown. “Are you ready to go?”

Anne’s father didn’t change. He had the same brown hair as Dan, and also wore leather. However, unlike Dan, he didn’t stay around for Anne.

“... I’ll be right back.” Anne said the house hold member, before she stepped outside and closed the front door.

“Great, lets get going.” Her fatehr turned and started walking towards his black car. “We will be late to meet her if we waste more time.”

“... Daddy I’m not going.”

Anne’s father stopped, and he turned around. “What?”

“I’m not going to meet your new girlfriend.”

“Your mother just told you not come is that it? Stop letting your mother control you, Anne!” He yelled.

“Mummy doesn’t control me.” Anne sighed out.

“Oh, so why does she get more time with you than me then huh? I just want you, my daughter, to meet-”

Anne interrupted, “I’m not your daughter anymore.”

“Excuse me?!”

“I’m not that tween you that you drove here for. Maybe at 11 I would have gone with you... Maybe even a couple of months ago... But I can’t. I’m not your daughter anymore.”

“Anne, what are you going on about? Did she over take your body and mind with some gross interpretation of me?” He asked yet yelled.

“Daddy... I’m not supporting you with your divorce of Mum.”

He glared and trusted his arms into the arm and turned around. “First your bothers, now you?! What has that bitch said about me-”

“You left me out of your sight for one second, and look what happens, NIGHTMARE TIME!” Anne yelled at him, glaring up at her father.

He snapped his body around. “Don’t talk to me that way-”

“You left us! You left for work and never called us! You would have rather spent your days working then even SEEING YOUR KIDS! I can’t say this for Dan, but I know for me and James, you have NOT been here for our teenagers years! You only EVER focused on work! Then, out of nowhere, you decided to divorce mum!” Anne yelled, tears threatening to leave her eyes. “You didn’t tell us, she did! That was TWO YEARS AGO! How could you not tell us? How could you not see us for 5 years then decided this family wasn’t for you? You only started to see us again these past two years because we grew up with mum and prefer her! Maybe, if you even knew our mental state, we would choose you!”

“Oh good god, Anne.” He glared and rubbed his eyebrows. “You do not have depression.”

“it’s worse than you can even imagine!” Anne yelled. “I have attachment disorder, I have PTSD, I have anxiety, and yes, I have depression! You want to know what caused that? Not sex, not drugs, not a alien that invades minds. Just a pedo grooming me at 14 when my father wasn’t in my fucking life!” Anne yelled and tears rolled down her father.

Anne was so glad they lived in a cabin in the middle of some woods, with no one around. She wouldn’t be able to say that.

Her father was speechless. He didn’t know how to respond.

“That was 3 years ago dad! 3 FUCKING YEARS!” More tears left her eyes, and they stung from her make up. “No, am not your daughter; because you were NEVER there for me! No, I will not meet your girlfriend; because she drove you away from this family! No more family vacays together; because your only daughter under the weather! Huh, and only if you paid more attention to me...”

There was a long pause between the two.

“Anne... I understand you are having a hard time right now with your mother, but you are MY daughter too. I deserve to see my daughter. Even if you don’t want that. I you SHOULD meet your new mother.”

“You see, daddy, I’m not going to be pushed around, by you!” She glared up at him. “I am not your seed, I am a girl who happens to be you biological daughter. I’m not a angsty teen, I have actual issues which you keep ignoring! No matter what you believe, mummy doesn’t control me, she doesn’t abuse me. She never fucking left me! Maybe in my cause, I was the apple that fell far away from the tree, but you didn’t fall at all when it came to your family.”

Anne’s father’s eyes grew red with a wave of rage magic. “HOW DARE YOU! You don’t know anything you are talking about!”

“Your own father cheated on you mum, like you! Your own father left you and your mother to be with his girlfriend, like you! Unlike you, my mother actually fucking stayed!”

“I am not like my father, you brat!” He yelled.

“It’s not my fault, is it?! You haven’t lived with me for the past 7 years of my life! It’s not my fault you left us, left me! I don’t have to worry about you and wait for you to even text me!” Anne had more tears run down her cheeks.

More tears ran down Anne’s cheeks, more and more. She was letting out all the pain and hurt she felt for the past two months. Anne heard heard the door open and heard people walk in towards them. Anne glared back up at her father, unable to see him with her tears in her eyes.

“Did you know I wanted to live with you?” Anne whispered. “I wanted to forgive you, I wanted to be loved by you, I wanted to be your daughter... But you proved yourself... You showed me what you are really like.”

Anne could tell her father was about to speak, but then a hand land on her shoulder. Anne looked up and saw Shannon’s face.

“You showed everyone in this family how horrible you are as a parent! You want to be with your kids, then you should fight for them, and that doesn’t mean kicking them out of the house their mother paid for!”

Anne’s father was speechless. Shannon never once talked to him, so hearing this child that was made out of skin and bone talk to him made him angry.

“Your just like her, aren't you? You like invading my kids’ minds just to toy with?” Anne’s mother mocked.

“Did you know mum let Shannon live her?” Anne questioned. “Maybe Shannon is invading my mind, but you want to know why? You want to know why Shannon has such influence on me? Because she has been here for me, for the past 5 years of my life. She is my most loyal friend. Even when our mutual hated me, she stayed. Unlike you, who loves his work over his own fucking kids.”

Her father was about to speak but then Anne’s brother came to her side and spoke.

“We aren’t your fucking kids!” Dan yelled. “You left when I was 16, but Anne was 11! What do you expect when you live your almost teenager daughter and come back when she is almost a adult!”

“We aren’t your perfect kids that you can bring to work lunches and claim its family bonding or that we are a tight family. You left when I was 9! Without you, I left alone and unwanted, and in turn I am what you call weak. Maybe if you were here, you could have raised us the way you wanted us to turn out!”

“I am fucking 17 dad!” Anne yelled, and he turned. “My 18th is in a month and half! And you want to take me to a fancy dinner to meet your girlfriend which you are leaving mummy for? I was a child when you left! And now you return and I’m almost a adult...”

More tears ran from Anne’s eyes, but all five of them glared up at her father. He was not welcomed. Anne wiped her checks and tied up her hair and started to braid it. No one spoke when she did that, her father was trying to find words and everyone there was getting ready for what he would say. When Anne finished, she reached for her back pocket and pulled out her pocket knife.

“Why does it hurt to love you, daddy?” Anne said, looking at herself with the knife. “It causes me so much pain to love you, because you end up breaking my heart. Why does it hurt to know you hate me this much...”

His voice was soft. “Anne, I don’t hate you.”

“I’ll let you down one more time; I am not your daughter and I will not meet your girlfriend!” She looked up at him. She brought the knife to her stomach “The thing is, daddy, if I killed myself, you wouldn’t care or notice. You probably wouldn’t notice if anything changed about me unless I did it in front of you. That’s why it hurts to love you, because you don’t actually love me, do you?”

“Anne, I do love you, I am your fathe-”

“I am not your daughter!” Anne yelled.

Anne held onto the end of her hair and pulled it straight up into the air.

“I disown you as my father! And to prove that, I will change the one thing about me that has stayed the same since I was 2!”

Anne brought the life to the back of her head, where she tied off her hair.

“I refuse to ever, EVER, be your daughter ever again!”

Anne cut off her hair, glaring up at her father.

“You are not my father, Mister.”

Anne dropped the knife and handed over her braided hair to her father.

“This is what is left of your daughter, you can bring THAT to your fancy dinner.” Anne said with a stone cold voice. The fear in her father’s eyes pleased her. “Now, get off my land.”

The teens stood there, in front of house. Mister Pamgkrth stood there with his daughter hair in his hand.

“I hope you are pleased with yourself...” He said in a sad voice.

He turned around and got into his car. The teens did not move until he drove away, and they couldn’t see his car anymore.

Shannon rested her head onto Anne’s shoulder. “You did what needed to be done. It’s going to hurt, but you have been sadder with him.”

“You know what’s worse?” Anne asked.

“What?” James asked.

“I’m not sad he will never return, because I just... Never thought he would. I’m sad that he believed he stood a chance to change our minds about her.”

“What was her name anyway?” Shannon asked.

“His girlfriend? We don’t even know.” Dan replied. “And maybe, that’s for the best. She didn’t get a chance even by name to be our new mum.”

“No one can replace mummy.” Anne said with a smile. “She is going to be pissed about the hair.

All four of them laughed, and headed back inside.

#personal writing #underfell #anne pamgkrth #underfell anne #fell anne #persona #persephone

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