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my-fanfic-library · 2 years

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Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [34]

Masterlist

~^*^~

Tentatively, you began to reach for the handle of the door. Another gentle thud came from inside. What was in there? Why was Dracula so concerned about you coming upstairs? You continued to reach, stepping forwards to close the space between you and the door. Your fingers curled around the metal of the handle...

“[First]?” His voice carried from downstairs, making you jump. There was another thud behind the door.

“Yeah?” You called, your face flushing with the embarrassment of getting caught in the act.

Dracula’s immediate reaction to hearing you upstairs was panic. You had been instructed to not go up there, under any circumstance. You had never seen him do it in all of your time knowing him, but the threat of you finding out what had been happening behind that door was high, so Dracula panicked, materialising into nothing, only to suddenly appear before you. You jumped, letting go of the handle as Dracula scowled down at you.

“What are you doing?” His voice was stern. You were in trouble. Your heart began to race.

“I wasn’t doing anything, I... I couldn’t find you and I thought I heard something so-“ you stammered, stumbling over your words with nerves.

There was another thud, which caused Dracula to tense up as you looked up at him questioningly.

“It’s birds.” Dracula decided coolly.

“Huh?” You blinked up at him.

“Birds, in the roof. You hear them much better up here, since they nest just above this old storage closet.” His face was strange, not showing any emotion. He shut his eyes, licking his lips.

“Birds?”

“Yes, now why don’t we go back downstairs, hm?”

Dracula’s change in demeanour had thrown you head first into a deep pool of panic. He was angry at you. It had been a very long time since he had treated you with such little emotion and that frightened you. Even after all of this time, your gut still knew that he was dangerous. Should he wish, he could do whatever he wanted to you. You were just lucky; for now.

He didn’t give you a chance to reply. He took your hand, and within a second you found yourself back downstairs. How had that happened? You guessed he had used some of his powers to move you down as quickly as he could. As soon as you were stable, though, he dropped your hand - an act which left your heart thundering in your chest.

God, you were in trouble now.

“[First], promise me something.” He looked down at you, still with little emotion on his face. You wanted him to look at you with at least a little... anything. Even anger would suffice. This cool, unbothered act was unsettling you deeply.

“I-...” you were unsure of what to say. You didn’t want to upset him anymore.

“Don’t go upstairs again.” This was not something he was asking you to promise. This was an order, a demand. He was not giving you a choice to agree, you would simply have to.

“...okay. I’m sorry.” You dropped your head.

Dracula could hear your blood racing. As much as he hated to scare you, this was a precaution he was prepared to take. He sighed, pulling you into him. He could feel your heart hammering in your chest.

As the week progressed, you found yourself feeling like you were fifteen again with a helicopter parent. Every time you would get up to do something, Dracula would inquire as to where you were going and more often than not, would opt to accompany you.

Usually, you would feel pretty smitten with him for wanting to be around you. But you knew why he was doing it. He just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to go snooping again.

~^*^~

You refused to look at your vampire, opting instead to watch London city pass you by. To say you were upset would be the understatement of the century. You were livid (probably more with yourself than with him, considering you caved to his pestering, but did it really matter if you took your anger out on him?).

He was too charming. You wanted to punch him in his stupid, smug incredibly handsome face. You huffed every now and then, watching the many buildings rush past as the car moved forwards.

“Won’t you spare me even one look?” You could hear the smirk in his voice. It had been a while since he had used a pet name on you. Was he really that upset with you?

“No.” You grumbled.

“You’ll have to look at me eventually.”

“Should I choose to, I’ll gouge out my eyes.” You snapped back.

Dracula chuckled at this. He knew you’d be upset but you had to do this. Even though you really only needed to apologise for kind of being a little rude to your mother, she owed you an apology too, and if you wanted to spend the holidays with your father, you’d need to get back into your mother’s good books.

“You would never. I’m simply too handsome. You’d miss my face too much.”

“As if.” You scoffed, “when have I ever inferred that?”

Why, god why, did you have to ask that? Immediately, Dracula began to list off all of the times you’d complimented his appearance, and the final straw was when he began to discuss some of the things you had said to him in the bedroom. You shifted your body in the seat, so that you could see him.

He smirked. Smug bastard.

The rest of the drive was quiet. Not silent, but comfortably quiet and peaceful. As you neared your family home, a sense of dread began to fill your body. What if she didn’t want to forgive you? What if you leaving had ruined everything? Oh god.

“Calm down,” Dracula’s voice was low, “I can hear your heart racing.”

The car was pulled up outside of your home now, and even you could hear your blood rushing in your ears. A cool, comforting hand came to rest on top of yours which was sitting in your lap. You looked over at Dracula, who was smiling softly at you.

No words were exchanged. They didn’t need to be. He was here for you, he would back you up. You nodded, moving to unbuckle your belt.

The moment your mother saw you, she burst into tears, rushing across the length of the living room to pull you into her. Her apologies came spilling from her mouth as quickly as her tears did her eyes and you were surprised. Your father had somehow convinced her that she was in the wrong. Well, this was certainly a surprise.

“I’m glad you two made up,” your father retorted, taking a sip from his teacup, “right?” He looked over at Dracula.

“Indeed.”

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper to your mother, still holding her close, “I was just so angry at all of the gossip and with Chelsea that I just... I didn’t think. I’m sorry for causing you so much stress.”

“It’s alright, dear. Your father and I talked. I understand now that getting so wrapped up in all of the gossip was wrong of me.” She pulled away, looking at your face, “I only want what’s best for you.”

“I know, I’m still sorry.” You smiled.

Making up with your mother made it feel like a weight had been lifted off of your chest. It wasn’t a lot, but substantial enough to help you feel a little more relaxed. After all, you wouldn’t be able to come back to your parents’ house for a while. Renfield was still a danger, and as long as he was still on the lose, you didn’t want to risk your parents’ lives.

When you left a few hours later, your heart felt heavy. You didn’t know when you’d be able to come back, so you held your mother a little tighter, and hugged your father for just a little longer. You knew they’d be okay, but you couldn’t help but worry.

Dracula decided to stay quiet on the drive back. He knew you were thinking. Sometimes, it was best to let you work through your mind. Especially when the balance of life and death was so delicate and depended on every move being perfectly calculated.

He would not let Renfield hurt you or your family. He would rather die himself.

The next day that followed, found you without Dracula’s company, but with Jack’s instead. He’d waited for the rather overprotective vampire to leave to run some errands, before knocking the door and coming in.

You were glad to see him, you had to be honest. It felt nice to have someone who knew what you were feeling, knowing just what was on the line. Jack was the only person in the world who could possibly empathise with you.

He had brought with him a bag from Daniel’s home, with some things he thought you might have liked to hold on to. Digging through the bag, you found a bracelet that you had gifted him one birthday, a couple of your own books that you had left when you had split, and at the very bottom, a picture frame.

The entire bag still had his boyish scent, and when you plucked up the photo, a wave of sombre nostalgia hit you. This must’ve been taken maybe 6 months before your split with Daniel, when you were still totally in love with him. From left to right, it was Jack, Lucy, Daniel and then yourself. All four of you were smiling, with a beautiful background of the beach, and far behind, a theme park that sat on the edge of the seafront.

You could recall this day easily. It was so much fun. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt so... free. And then it hit you. You weren’t free. Not one particle of your being would ever be free now that you were tied up with Dracula. As long as you lived, you were not free anymore. You were stuck with Dracula. You could never relive those days.

Now that you had become involved with Dracula, and with Renfield, you could never be free. It was clear to you that Dracula had a possessive hold on you, and you could never just leave for a whirlwind weekend away again. You’d need his permission for everything. Hell, you even needed his permission to go upstairs in your own damn home.

You thought about upstairs. The knocking had become more frequent, yet you still had not heard even a single chirp from a bird. Surely it wasn’t birds being able to make such a hard noise? But what else could it be? What could be up there that Dracula didn’t want you to see?

“What are you thinking about?” Jack spoke up, and you realised you had been staring at the picture for far too long.

“Nothing,” you began, “it’s stupid.”

“I promise you, it’s not.”

“It’s just... Dracula’s been a little... strange with me.”

“How so?”

“Well, I went upstairs a couple of days ago, because I thought he was up there. And he wasn’t, but in certain I heard a noise. He got... super mad with me for going up there and now he’s like... watching me like a hawk and he’s treating me differently..”

Jack gulped.

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acciomalfoy · 3 years

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the way the planets align (fred weasley x reader)

A/N; this fic is @fromashescomephoenixes child and i assisted in raising it :) so go check her out rn cos she is wonderful!

summary: y/n grew up alongside her two bestfriends, but life had other plans when y/n moved to france when she was 11. prior to the triwizards tournament, fred and y/n are forced to face the lives they lived, and the radio silence of the past year has an explanation afterall.

word count: a whopping 7.5k

It’s funny, really. How quickly life can pick you up, and how quickly life can throw you back down.

“Faster!” I had screamed as the wind rushed through my hair. I remembered this moment the most. With the wind rushing through my hair and knotting it like nothing else, I felt like I was an eagle all the way up here. My nest? Quite simple really. The boy sitting in front of me.

Reality though, was quite different. I was on one of the Weasley’s seven brooms, and Fred was sat in front of me. I hadn’t met many quidditch players, but I already knew that Fred was a damn good one. We had had a plan, you see. Once we arrived at Hogwarts, we were going to become the youngest quidditch players ever. We had it all planned out..

Fred began his descent to the ground in a swift plunge, and I clutched onto him tightly. If I made it to the ground, I was going to murder the idiot.

“Freddie!” I yelled out, and he only laughed.

“Don’t worry y/n! I’m the best quidditch player of all time,” He yelled back, and I wasn’t quite sure what occurred in that moment, but as soon as Fred slowed down his descent by a fraction, I knew I was in for it.

“Sure you are,” I giggled. “Although I’m slightly better,” The wind caught Fred’s response to this, so I never heard it. Looking back, I wonder what he had said. For once, everything seemed perfect. When we reached the ground, I was torn between kissing the ground and wishing I was still flying with Fred.

“I’ll never get sick of flying like that,” Fred smiled. The summer had made his freckles stand out even more than usual. I grinned back at him as we raced into the burrow.

“Darling y/n!” Molly greeted me cheerfully. “I haven’t seen you in ages! It must have been at least two hours,” she teased in a loving tone, and I could only grin back at her.

“I missed you!” Ginny cheerfully chimed in as she gave me a hug. I waved to her and gave her a hug while Fred and George grabbed a couple of pumpkin pasties out of the cupboard.

“Good afternoon y/n,” Percy greeted me as he peered over the top of his book. He was wearing strange glasses, which he swore he needed but Fred and George said he simply fancied that they made him look more grown up.

“Er, hello!” I cheerfully replied. Percy always seemed so much more grown up than Fred and George and I, that I almost felt awkward talking with him.

“Oh!” I remembered suddenly. “Would it be okay if Fred and George come over to my house for dinner tonight?” I asked Molly. Percy glanced up, but quickly resumed his uninterested reading.

“Please mum!” Fred and George begged one unison. They liked my house because mum always made dessert. Although George always liked to tease me by saying Fred likes dinner anywhere that I was. I didn’t mind that idea, in fact it only made me blush, but I knew George was joking. Molly nodded her approval and we ran out the door, eager to spend the afternoon in the sun.

We began our hike to our absolute favourite picnic tree, where the sun was softly filtering through the leaves of the forest. We were by no means quiet as we joked and laughed our way through the woods.

Finally we reached our picnic tree. I was the first to shimmy up the ladder. We had found the tree about three years ago, and from then on it became our hideout. The tree had such a huge trunk that even with all three of us we couldn’t get our arms around it! The trunk split into three large branches about eight feet off of the ground, and grew on from there.

“We’ll have to find a new hideout at Hogwarts,” I sighed, but spoke loudly enough so they could hear me down the ladder.

“I bet there’s some sort of secret room we could use!” Fred suggested eagerly.

“Or we could just stinkbomb whatever room we want, and then no one else would want to use it!” George suggested as he popped his head over the top of the ladder.

“Yeah, but I don’t know if I could even get used to that scent,” I wrinkled my nose in memory of the one we set off last Christmas.

“Ah true,” Fred sighed. “Bet there’s a charm for that issue though!” We giggled and continued to talk about our plans for Hogwarts. We’d all be going next year, although I was still waiting for my letter since my birthday wasn’t until the next week.

Dinner was certainly memorable that night. Fred, George and I walked back with about fifteen minutes to spare. They ran across the lane to get changed in time for dinner. I put on my favourite maroon dress and dashed downstairs just in time to hear the doorbell.

“Hey guys!” Their marching grind beamed towards me and we sat down to a delicious dinner of homemade pizza. I should have noticed something was up, because we only ever had homemade pizza like that when there was big news. At the tender age of 10, this was the worst news I had ever received.

“Are you boys excited for Hogwarts?” My mum had asked Fred and George. Of course, this launched us all into our carefully laid out plan. This extended to everything from what house we would be in, to what desserts we would eat on the first night.

“Well, we have some exciting news,” My dad began. I glanced up, curious if my letter had arrived early or something. Unfortunately I was a bit preoccupied by a bit of cheese that was extra gooey on my pizza.

“You’ll all get to experience two wizarding schools! In a way at least,” Mum announced this and we all instantly wanted to cheer. Secretly I hoped she would say we were all going on a gap year to Durmstrang. There was something so mysterious about it!

“We’ve enrolled y/n at Beauxbatons as we’ll be moving there in August!” Dad positively beamed towards us all. Obviously they expected a rush of excitement about this, but what were we meant to say? I stared at my mother.

“Without Fred and George?” My mom nodded a little sadly to confirm my worst fear.

“But I’m sure you could all write letters or something!” My dad piped up. I felt like crying, but I couldn’t cry in front of Fred and George. Well, I could. They’d be very supportive, but I didn’t want to show them just how upset I was about it.

“Excuse me,” I pushed aside my plate and left. I bounded up the stairs to my room, which was decorated with Holyhead Harpies posters. In a matter of moments my world had come crashing down. Beauxbatons was in France for Merlin’s sake! I would be completely and utterly alone. I sighed quietly, and opened up my window, leaning against the window sill.

It was quiet for a long time, the only sound I could hear being my own shallow breath as I tried to control my tears. A freckle covered arm nudged mine, and when I looked to my right I saw my best friend.

“You know that nothing will change, right?” He asked quietly, and I laughed humorlessly.

“Everything will change, Freddie. I can’t abuse Snape with you guys, or be the youngest chaser on the quidditch team. I want to go to Hogwarts.” I leaned my head on Fred’s shoulder, and he let out a long breath.

“We can write to each other every week. Yeah, we can do that. Everything will be the same, nothing could tear us apart.” It was quiet again.

“You promise?” I whispered, and he entwined his pinkie finger with mine.

“I promise.”

••••

Fred had fucking lied, I thought bitterly. We were sixteen now, and the letter exchanging had fallen through two years ago. I felt resentment rising in my chest, but I knew it was no one’s fault. It’s just the way that things unfold. Now, as I stood outside the Great Hall I had dreamt of entering my entire life, I had to still my hands as they involuntarily shook. I had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to even be afraid of really, and yet I couldn’t stop my heart from clouding my judgement as it always had as a child. Maybe there was just something about Fred that made me lose all inhibitions.

“Now!” Madame Maxine shrieked, and the doors flew open with a resounding bang. There was a split second where we froze, the eyes of Hogwarts on us. It wasn’t until the older girls flew forward did the rest of us, and without even seeing him I just knew where Fred was sitting.

Something about a sixth sense, our parents used to say. I was Fred’s twin instead of George, with how finely tuned our minds were. We were always able to sense when something had happened to the other, or pinpoint the exact location of one another despite being apart.

I willed myself to look away from the flurry of red robes in the centre table. Knowing my luck, I would see a Weasley with questions written all over their face. It was something I couldn’t handle right now. Something that maybe I would never be able to handle. I curtseyed when I was supposed to, eyeing a yellow-robed boy who winked at me, and we continued marching forward.

I knew that the house of courage was the next house to be curtseyed to, and I decided that if I had gone to Hogwarts, I definitely wouldn’t have made it into that house. I stared at the ground as I curtseyed and continued forward. During the dance we performed I was looking at the roof or the ground, anywhere but the sea of students in front of us. We hurried to the side, and I made the fatal mistake of looking into the crowd.

Right into the eyes of a smiling Fred Weasley.

••••

I sat down angrily at the Ravenclaw table. I’m not sure if anger was the right word for what I was feeling. But really how else am I supposed to describe the heartbreak, the sense of loss, and fear I felt. It was all too much. I simply couldn’t stand being in the same room as him. Especially as it was the hall we had so expertly planned our pranks, and conversations, and lives for.

What hurt the most, quite possibly, was knowing that there had never been a relationship to begin with. I wasn’t sure how old I was when I realised Fred was definitely better looking than most, and at some point during our letter exchange I had begun to fall for my friend.

“Y/n?” My friend Marie nudged me. “You looked beautiful out there!” She encouraged me eagerly, seeing that I was incredibly quiet.

“Merci, Marie.” I managed a small smile towards her. “I just feel a bit out of place,” I shrugged.

“Well, I’m sure any number of boys here are eager to make sure we feel right at home,” Marie wiggled her eyebrows towards me as I let out a small laugh. I rolled my eyes before picking up a fork. “What about...” Her eyes scanned the room for a minute.

“That one!” She pointed towards the Gryffindor table. I nearly choked on my piece of potato when I saw that of all the boys in the room, she had picked him...

Fred Weasley’s eyes burned into mine again. I couldn’t stand it a moment longer and I murmured a quick excuse before rising from the table and leaving the hall hurriedly.

••••

When making the choice of leaving the hall, I had forgotten one thing. I didn’t know my right from left in this fucking castle. Everything was dimly lit, and there were endless corridors and nooks that aided in my getting hopelessly lost. I could vaguely recall the halls from Hogwarts: A History, but that had been six, seven years ago.

Eventually, I gave up and collapsed into a secluded corner. All things considered, there could have been a worse spot to allow four years of harsh feelings catch up to me. The starlight dimly illuminated by shaking hands, and bounced off of my silvery blue skirt. It was altogether peaceful, apart from my soft shuddering sobs.

“Hey,” a voice suddenly broke the secrecy of my break down.

“Fred, I don’t want to see you right now.” I groaned. His warm brown eyes and soft freckles were too much. They still made my heart flutter and my head spin. As if I was soaring through the air on my broom again, a little girl having a crush on a little boy.

“What? Why not?” He asked, flabbergasted. I turned the other way, and began to trace the soft patterns of my wand, as I often did when I was nervous.

“We’re not friends anymore. You clearly forgot me.” I accused him. It felt good to finally see him and show him how awful he had been to stop writing.

“You’re the one who stopped writing to me!” He fired back, and I slowly shook my head. He had ignored my letters for over a year and had the nerve to lie to my face about it.

“Go. Away.” I coldly turned, and positively bolted down the hall. The more I thought about it, the more upset I became. Letters had begun growing scarce around our third/fourth year, and it was seemingly reasonless. The trail had truly gone cold at the end of our fourth year, and that was when the real heartbreak had set in. What a time to be alive.

••••

“George, did you keep writing to y/n?” Fred was sprawled on one of the many lounges in the Gryffindor common room, while George was lying at his feet.

“No, we never even started writing to each other,” He shrugged. Y/n and George had never been quite as close, and they naturally fell out of touch when she moved.

Fred pulled a crumpled piece of parchment out of his robe pocket, and lovingly smoothed it out.

“She stopped writing to me in fourth year.” Fred whispered. At this George sat bolt upright. The thought of Fred and Y/n not being best friends was a startling one, one that had never come across his mind.

“What do you mean?” George asked, clearly stunned. His twin and y/n had written weekly for as long as he could remember. “Why didn’t you check if it got lost?” Fred shook his head.

“I did George,” He held up the crumpled paper he was holding. His pained expression was almost too much for the twin to bare. “I wrote four fucking times. This one was going to be my last hope,” He crumpled it back up, and shoved it into a pocket dejectedly.

“Oh Fred...” George sighed. “I suppose a prank on Gin is out of the question then?”

“I can’t right now.” Fred ribbed his face in his hand. He felt so lost and confused after his encounter with y/n. How could she have thought he would ever want to stop writing to her? Something must have happened to the letters, but he felt like he must be kidding himself if he thought that 5 different letters could get lost. Errol wasn’t that old, was he?

••••

I dressed quickly in the morning in my pale blue, silky uniform. Although I still sometimes wished that I had gone to Hogwarts, I had to say that the Beauxbatons uniform was much better. As I exited the dormitory I bumped into my friend Maurice who had just exited his dormitory.

“Salut!” Maurice greeted me cheerfully as we fell into step beside each other.

“Quoi de neuf?” I muttered. Though we all mostly spoke English around each other, we also had fun, shorter chats in French. At Beauxbatons they taught most classes in English, except for potions since it was so precise and they couldn’t risk as translational mix up.

“You okay y/n?” Maurice asked, pausing and placing a hand on my shoulder. “Aunty Lisa told me to keep an eye on you,” I sighed. Of course, mother would set my cousin on my tail to make sure I didn’t stress.

“Never better,” I grinned. “I might, er, run to the bathroom before breakfast,” I turned and threw a wave towards Maurice before I left. I hurried down a random corridor and hoped I’d be able to find a hufflepuff or something to show me to the great hall later.

For now, I didn’t pay any attention to where I was going as I slowly walked around. I let my eyes drink up the lovely sights of Hogwarts. It was still sinking in that I was finally seeing it, even if I was seeing it under much different circumstances than I had hoped. I ducked away into a corridor as I heard hurried footsteps coming up behind me. Unfortunately I had misjudged, and they were coming towards me, not passing me.

“Y/n?” I heard a voice that I vaguely recognised, but couldn’t place. “What are you doing here?” After a moment of thought I finally placed the voice to Percy Weasley.

Bloody hell, of the hundreds of student in the castle it seemed I’d only ever meet the Weasleys.

“Hello Percy,” I mustered up as much cheerfulness as I could and I tried to walk past him. He grabbed my arm, and I was forced to stop and converse with him.

“Well!” He smiled broadly, “How have you been?” Clearly he had a much different memory of how close we had been, because he was acting about ten times kinder than I’d expect.

“Really well, thank you.” I turned my lips up, hoping to achieve a smile. “Are you hoping to participate in the tournament?”

“Oh heavens,” He laughed in a very uptight manner. “No, no. I work for the ministry now.” He said with an air of self importance.

“Well, congratulations.” I spoke, with a hint of sarcasm and I made to excuse myself.

“Would you like me to walk you to breakfast?” I cringed as my escape was foiled.

“Er, actually, I was heading to my dorm.” I lied on the spot, cursing the sound of my grumbling tummy.

“Oh! Which tower are you in?” I again cursed my poor lie. Thankfully, I was saved (or further doomed) by Fred coming around the corner.

“Y/n! Can we please talk?” Fred sprinted towards me and grabbed my hand. I saw some sort of emotion flicker cross Percy’s eyes as I shouted good bye and followed Fred. I laughed once we turned a corner.

“Thanks Freddie,” I grinned a moment, forgetting I was meant to be angry with him. One more look at his honey brown eyes sent the negative emotions straight into my heart, however. “I’ll be going now,” I began to leave haughtily.

“No. You won’t.” Fred begged. “Please let me talk to you.” I nearly yielded, but couldn’t stand the idea of my heart broken again with excuses of why my friendship wasn’t worth it.

“I can’t talk to you, Fred. Merlin, it hurts for me to even look at you. It’s heartbreak if I’ve ever known it.” I whispered quietly before racing away. Somehow I ended up in the Great Hall, with snot and tears on my face.

Before entering, I gently cleaned my face with a charm, and reapplied the natural makeup I had on. Determined to brave the hall before risking running into another Weasley, I calmly walked towards the Ravenclaw table.

“Oh Marie,” I groaned. It was I could do to keep my composure and not sprawl my head onto the table. Luckily, as my best friend she was able to see this. She patted my back gently, and placed a fresh chocolate croissant on my plate. “Thank you” I smiled.

“Of course,” She smiled back towards me. “Did you get lost?” She giggled slightly.

“More hopelessly than you could ever know!” To her this would seem like dramatic flair, however I truly felt lost at heart. Unsure how to proceed between Fred’s excuses, Percy’s kindness, and the stress of possibly entering the tournament. I wanted to believe that Fred was telling the truth about the letters, but it didn’t add up.

The last letter I had sent before Fred stopped writing had been a special one. I had been unable to hold in my feelings towards him any longer. At the end of the letter I had explained that I loved him. Not in the sisterly, or friendly way that I had previously led him to believe. But a real love.

Of course he stopped writing. I couldn’t blame him. But I had hoped that he wouldn’t let in stop our friendship. It had hurt. It still hurt, because even though I was young I also knew more than ever that I loved Fred.

“I heard that a ministry official is going to ask you to the ball, y/n.” Marie whispered in that way of hers, and I stared aghast.

“What? Surely that’s illegal.” I whispered back, and Madame Maxine stared at us over the rim of her glasses. I swallowed before picking up my quill.

“Nothing’s illegal for ministry officials, silly. Have you heard of Percy Weasley before?” I froze. Percy fucking Weasley.

“No, I haven’t. He sounds like a proper nonce.” Marie and I broke into peels of laughter, and another look from Madame silenced us.

“Will you say yes?” Marie had long mastered the ability to speak with her mouth closed, and had tried in vain to teach me.

“Absolutely not.” I replied, and the sounds we heard for the rest of the lesson were quill scratching parchment and our headmistresses voice.

It was on my way to another lunch in the gardens that I was ambushed by arguably my favourite Weasley.

“Hey Georgie.” I couldn’t help the old nickname fall from my lips, and he smiled at me.

“I’ve missed you.” He said, and I smiled sadly.

“I’ve missed you too, silly. I assume you didn’t find me for pleasantries though. You were never the most tactful Weasley, were you?” I laughed at the look of sheer outrage on George’s face, and he eventually chuckled.

“Rumour has it that you stopped talking to my brother a year ago.” He said, and I sighed.

“Fred stopped writing to me after I sent him a letter confessing how I felt about him. Take that as you will, but I took it as a clear rejection.” I took a deep breath, now able to say Fred’s name without falling into pieces. George stopped.

“What? Fred said you stopped talking to him, and I don’t like to think of my brother as a liar.” He said hotly, and I stared at him.

“Am I a liar, Georgie?”

It was quiet for a long time.

“No, you’re not.”

“Miss L/n!” I should have known that I couldn’t escape Percy Weasley. He was relentless, and I wondered if he knew what the word no meant.

“Hi, Percy. I’m actually on my way to class, I’m afraid.” I tried to end the conversation before it could begin, but no such luck.

“Perfect! I’ve been meaning to walk you to class for a while! Gentlemens chivalry and all.” He looped an arm under mine and I reluctantly started walking.

“Now that I’ve got you here, I wonder how you managed to rank top three in all of your classes. Naturally, I always ranked top five, but that’s mildly less impressive. I think it goes without saying that I topped most of my NEWT’s, but I’m still intrigued on what your methods are. There’s still plenty of learning and memorising that goes on at the Ministry, you see, and I think that you and I would make a great team. Who knows, maybe you can be my assistant when I’m Minister of Magic one day.” I tuned Percy out as quickly as I could. Really, I couldn’t think of anyone who would actually want to listen to Percy for five minutes, let alone the rest of his life.

I thought wistfully of Fred during the walk to my class, and how much my heart ached at the mention of his name. Maybe I had been harsh on him. Suppose our letters had been lost in the post? It wasn’t unlikely, and it sure would explain why he seemed so confused and upset.

“Well, this is my stop.” I interrupted him as he droned on and on and on and on and-

“It was a pleasure as always.” Percy picked up my hand and I tried not to gag as he kissed it. Was there anything quite as horrible as this was? I didn’t think so. Oh, maybe your best friend cutting contact with you after you confess your love to him. My life was going spectacularly.

“See ya.” I darted inside the classroom, spying Maurice and Marie sitting by the door.

“Hey, y/n.” They chorussed. I noticed with relief that Madame hadn’t arrived yet, and I slid into the seat beside Maurice.

“Salut.” I sat in silence thinking about how weird Percy was, when my breath caught in my throat.

I hadn’t been ranked top three in every class this year, and the last time I had been ranked top three must have been in fourth year. I recalled a quill in my hand as I wrote to Fred excitedly, and the emptiness I had felt upon not receiving a letter. Was it possible?

I think it was about time I had another chat with George.

“Where are you going George?” Fred glanced up, half interested. His gaze was still fixed on the list of products him and his brother were assembling.

“Ah, just for a stroll,” George explained as he subtly picked up Fred’s robe instead of his own. The twin hardly nodded, as he became immersed once more in the list of clever tricks and treats they had assembled. George thanked Merlin for his good luck and slipped out the portrait hole.

Once safely in the corridor, George felt around in the inner pocket to find what he was looking for. Thankfully, it was right where Fred had left it. As always. George pulled out the crumpled parchment, but didn’t dare to open it. It was too personal he had decided. He was simply acting as a messenger, he reminded himself.

Y/n had invited George to meet her in the library after lunch. Thankfully, after being at the castle for nearly two months at this point, she knew her way around. Now, George thought, all that’s left to do is deliver a letter.

“George!” I hissed from a secluded corner of the library. This library was nice, but if I’m being honest I preferred the lighter atmosphere of the library at Beauxbatons.

“Oh! Hello y/n, fancy seeing you here!” George teased and winked towards me. In return I rolled my eyes, but still had to suppress a giggle at his overused joke.

“Look I need to ask-“ I began to feel a little flustered.

“How did I get my dashing good looks?” He ran a hand through his hair and struck a pose.

“No I-“

“Sorry doll, I’m taken. But I have a twin!” George sent finger guns my way, and pretended to swagger away.

“No! George!” As frustrating as it was, I had missed George’s little jokes. “Did you know Percy had a crush on me?” I questioned firmly. George’s jaw dropped open.

“I mean-“ He ribbed his neck sheepishly “We used to suspect it in first and second year. But Fred beat him up about it and we thought that was that!” I buried my face in my hands, cringing at the very thought. Merlin’s soggiest sock couldn’t make this any worse.

“I think I know what happened,” I sighed. I felt defeated, and mean. I couldn’t believe the things I had said to Fred. How I’d brushed him away. Now the task at hand was talking to that Weasel that had ruined everything.

“Well, I don’t know exactly what conclusion you’ve reached,” George gently spoke. “But I think you should read this,” Before he left he pressed the folded, crumpled parchment into her hand.

“George!” Fred sang out as soon as George entered their dorm room. “I have a plan!” He leaped from bed to bed in a happy spirit that often accompanies new hopes.

“I’m going to ask y/n to the ball!” He exclaimed. George sighed, unsure how his brother thought this would instantly fix things. Luckily for Fred, George had pulled a few extra strings for the odds to be completely in his favour.

“Marie!” I sobbed as she came into the dorm. This was probably not how she expected to find me tonight, and the shock on her face was obvious.

I had ripped the covers off of my bed and wrapped them around me like a large cocoon. Then I had promptly laid down and cried for the better part of an hour. At least it was a good test of my makeup setting charm.

The letter is what did it. Oh! The letter! I cradled it ever closer to my heart as I sobbed again. He had written with all the heartbreak I had felt, with all the love I had felt, with all of the friendship I had felt. And it never got to me! Just as my letter never got to him!

“He loves me Marie!” I gasped. “He wrote me five letters.” Marie, like the true friend she was, promptly crawled into the cocoon with me and began to rock me softly.

“Hush, mon caneton,” she whispered. I steadied my breathing and hugged her tightly. Thank goodness that we had both decided to come on this trip. I don’t know what I would have done without her.

“I love him too,” I admitted.

“Well what are you waiting for?” Marie asked with a knowing look on her face, and I slowly nodded. She was right.

“Go attack that little weasel.” I laughed in delight, and Marie gave me a soft shove out of our cocoon of blankets.

“Go!” She repeated, and with another shove I stumbled out of our room. I had no clue where I would find a certain Percy Weasley at this hour, and I didn/t quite know where to begin. Only one person reminded me of Percy, and I figured I may as well head to his room.

“Professor Snape.” I smiled politely as he opened the door after I knocked, and he merely scowled.

“Pray tell me what you are doing outside of my classroom.” He sneered, and I stopped smiling.

“Do you know where I can find-” I was rudely interrupted by none other than the man of the hour.

“Miss L/n! How I’ve longed to see you!” Percy popped out from being Snape, and I found myself being guided away from the dungeons by the very person I wanted to slap.

“I’m sure I have longed to see you more.” I said, and he squeezed my shoulder. I almost threw up, right then and there.

“Why were you looking for me, my dearest?” I was two seconds away from punching the smarmy bastard in the face, and I took a deep breath.

“I just wanted to let you know that if you ever try to come between Fred and I again, the letters you stole will be the least of your worries. I will ruin you, Weasley, and you better not forget it.” I snarled as I shoved his shoulder before walking off, and the stunned silence fueled my satisfaction.

It was time to find my Weasley.

Twenty minutes later and I couldn't find a trace of him. My heart sunk to my stomach. What if my coolness had finally gotten through and he had given up? Was he avoiding me? I slumped into my seat at dinner and leaned my head on Marie's shoulder.

"I can't find him," I sighed. She reached over and patted my back while she swallowed her bite of quiche.

"Well, he couldn't have gone too far!" She attempted to cheer me up. Out of habit, my eyes wandered over to the area where Fred and George usually sat. I raised an eyebrow as I found that their spots were empty. Loud footsteps behind me caught my attention and I snapped my head around the other way.

Thank Merlin, it was George. He was jogging towards me and his robes flapped behind him.

"Y/n!" He greeted me once he was within earshot. I waved and grabbed another piece of pizza.

"You play quidditch at Beauxbatons, right?" Marie perked up beside me and grinned before proceeding to sing my praises.

"She's only the best chaser I've ever seen! You should've seen last sea-" I cut her off, blushing furiously.

"Yes. I play quidditch." I rolled my eyes.

"Great, can you help me with something?" George begged. I nodded and followed him out of the room. The sun was just beginning to set, and the air was quite chilly. I wondered what he could possibly need help with at this time. Especially since quidditch had been cancelled this year!

After we left the hall, and I was extremely puzzled what was happening I began to ask a few quesitons.

"Do you know where Fred is? I can't find him," I asked George who looked completely bewildered.

"Fred? No I have no idea!" His voice reached incredibly strange pitches and I realised quite quickly that he was lying.

"So. What do you need my help with?" I suppressed a grin as I began to see what was happening.

"Er," There was a pause while George thought of what exactly he had summoned me for. Luckily for him, Ron and Ginny were walking by at that exact moment. "Ron was thinking of trying out for keeper!" He explained desperately.

Ginny's eyebrows shot up, and she slugged Ron in the arm.

"Good for you little brother!" Ron's face burned red as they walked away and he began to make excuses.

"Don't we need Ron for this then?" I grinned at George, and he began to mutter something under his breath.

The rest of the walk passed relatively quickly as George and I caught up about everything that had happened since I moved. We easily fell into conversation thanks to Fred keeping us both updated on the other. Finally we arrived at the field.

"Godric! I'm late for something." George looked at his non-existent watch and ran away before I could stop him.

"What the hell?" I muttered as I began walking back to the exit of the quidditch pitch. Unfortunately, in my angry haze I tripped right over a broom that was lying on the grass. Gingerly, I picked it up, and paused. Why not, I thought, as I mounted the stray broom.

"Y/n!" From a distance, I thought George had come back. I sped forward slightly, moving the broom precisely and smoothly to greet him. Of course, by 'greet' I meant cast a harmless hair changing charm. Luckily (for his sake,) I quickly noticed it was Fred. Unluckily (for my sake) I was now incredibly flustered and unsure what to say. I chanced a timid wave, and thanked Merlin when he returned it, equally timidly.

"I'm sorry!" I instantly shouted, speeding down from my perch in the sky. I pulled out of the short dive just a few feet off of the ground.

"No y/n," Fred shook his head "I'm sorry. I should have known you would never stop writing." He stared at his feet, looking ashamed. "Must've been that goddamn bird," He let out a nervous laugh, but continued to stare at the ground. I didn't want to bring Percy into this yet. He didn't deserve a place in what I hoped would become a treasured memory.

"It wasn't your fault," My heart was breaking at the pain on his face. But how do you break this sort of news kindly? "I shouldn't have thought you would stop writing either, I just-" I trailed off, unsure what to say.

"What was in that last letter you sent?" He asked glancing up. I paused, hopping off my broom. Fred followed in his actions, and our eyes finally met.

"Wait, you never even saw it?" I knew that he'd most likely never seen it, but I had always imagined Percy had let him receive it at least. Little did I know the precision that Percy carried out his plans with.

He had begun by snatching a letter here and there. Laying the foundation for doubt of each other's consistency of correspondence. He had saved the letters sent by me, burned the ones sent by Fred, and written his own imaginary replies. I had become an obsession for him. So much so that when he saw me this year, he thought we would instantly pick up where we had left off in his imagined reality.

The day I had sent the letter to Fred. That all important letter. He had taken it and saved it for himself. Looking upon my words of love, and imagining they were from him. The thought of Percy receiving those words instead of Fred brought tears to my eyes.

"No," He admitted.

"I wanted to tell you-" I cut myself off. What if all Fred was searching was the friendship we had previously shared? I bit my tongue and held a silent debate until I finally plucked up my courage.

"I love you," I let the sweet words fly away towards him. I hoped they'd be returned. That their fragile wings would be cradled, rather than crushed. A momentary surprise froze Fred. The stress of the situation made those few seconds feel like hours. Hours of anguish and feeling entirely exposed and unprotected. Finally, Fred sprang in to motion. He rushed towards me, as his lips found mine, my eyes fluttered closed. It was just Fred and I, the aligned planets watching as their plan fell into place. Fred tasted like strawberries and he sucked softly on my lip. I couldn’t help from running my hand through his messy hair, and I felt him grin into the kiss.

"Go to the Yule ball with me my darling?" He asked softly as we broke apart.

"Of course my love," I let my head rest on his strong chest as we let the last flickers of sunset wash over us.

The ball had approached much quicker than expected. Over the past two weeks, a lot had happened. First, I had explained to Fred what Percy had done. I didn't want to create a rift between the brothers, but it was the only way to fully explain and resolve the situation. Fred had looked very solemn, and confronted Percy who denied everything. Unfortunately for him, he carried around my last letter with him which was quite incriminating when we discovered it.

Fred and I had hardly spent a moment away from each other.

I had a periwinkle blue mini dress on, which hugged tightly around me. Over top, I had a sheer silvery blue gown that shimmered like stars as I moved. All of the Beauxbatons girls had picked something of the same color scheme, but this dress felt so me that I didn't mind. After curling my hair into delicate ringlets I helped Marie curl her hair and then we left.

I took a deep breath as we glided down the stairs after Madam Maxine. I could hardly contain my excitement. My heartbeat felt similar to when I was anticipating a particularly good match of quidditch.

Fred was standing there looking spectacular in his dress robes. He had charmed his tie to be a periwinkle blue, and he was holding a small bouquet of lavender flowers. The moment I smelled them, I remembered that moment with him on that broom. I remembered the rush of adventure, the hint of recklessness, but most importantly: the trust. I trusted him so much.

He took my hand, and we silently walked into the ball. It almost felt too perfect. Too cliche, not unique enough for such a special story. Our story that we were writing one page at a time.

After a few songs spent pleasantly dancing, laughing, and whispering lost words to each other I had an idea.

"Freddie?" I whispered as I leaned my head onto his chest.

"Mmm?" He swayed us gently to the sweet music.

"Can we leave?" I asked. "I want to go on a broom with you again," I explained. His face softened and he took my hand as we walked to the quidditch pitch.

Here we were. Up in the air again. I spread my arms, testing if my eagle wings were still there. They were. And as an eagle, I had finally reunited with my nest. I brought my wings back down to take hold of the broomstick. This time I was in control, and I'd had a bit more practice than 10 year old Fred had had. So, I sent us into a steep dive, almost until it felt like a free fall.

After the rush of adrenaline I soared back up until we reached the roof of Gryffindor tower. I couldn't stop myself from imagining how many sleepless nights we could've spent talking here. How many breakfasts, and boring classes I could've spent with him.

As I saw the moonlight softly reflect off of Fred's pale face I realised then and there. He was my soulmate. He was my perfect match. He was the person that I didn't want to spend a single minute without unless I absolutely had to.

I told him so too.

"Freddie," We were holding hands again as we laid on top of a soft blanket he had conjured to lay down on the roof. The incline of it was just barely safe to lay down on without sliding off. I didn't feel scared though, I had Fred to anchor me.

"You look beautiful in the moonlight y/n," He turned his lively eyes towards me. I blushed and smiled slightly.

"I love you so much," I began. He kept his eyes trained into mine. Giving me his full attention. "I don't want to lose you again, okay?" I took a somewhat shaky breath. " I just mean, the past couple weeks have felt like a dream.” I said, and Fred held my hand.

“I know, pretty girl. You won’t lose me again, not if there’s anything I can do about it.” I squeezed his hand back, and we watched the night sky in all its glory.

I was standing in my dorm room, nearly ready to leave when an owl flew into the window. Plonk, I realised it was poor Errol. It appeared he could hardly handle a flight around Hogwarts anymore. I tucked him into a small blanket and gave him an owl treat. He let out an appreciative coo and snuggled into the cozy nest I'd made. I unrolled the parchment, and twirled the sprig of lavender that had been in the ribbon between my fingers.

Dearest y/n,

Today you go back to Beauxbatons. I'm sorry I can't be there in person, but I'm happy to tell you everything is going really well.

The shop looks amazing, although they can't have it ready for us until some time next year. I figure this will work well anyway since we still have a few more products to perfect. (Thanks for helping us with the antidote for the puking pastilles by the way!!)

Also, the apartment will be perfect I think. We would be on one of the very top floors, so you might feel a bit at home given your talent for quidditch. It's close to diagon alley, but actually in muggle London, which I thought you might like. I said we'd take it within the next 8 months, since I'll obviously be leaving school before graduation and you'll be graduating in March.

I hope the carriage ride is fairly nice. I know it won't be perfect since yours truly isn't there (wink wink) but I hope I'll be able to visit soon! I have to go for another surprise I'm working on, but I'll owl soon. I have my eye out for lovesick, letter stealing brothers this time!

Yours forever and a day,

Freddie

#fred weasley x reader

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feelinglikecleopatra · 3 years

Text

three months and nine days

so... setbacks went down quite well. eeeek. thank you so much to everyone who read it and liked it and reblogged it (i read all of your lovely tags too). genuinely made my week. if people really like these maybe i could get into a habit of posting lil ficlets and drabbles--who knows!

anyway, this has been sitting in my drafts for a while, my crack at inej’s pov. i guess i thought it deserved to see the light. lmk what y’all think.

fandom: six of crows/crooked kingdom | kaz brekker + inej ghafa, with a sprinkling, a dash, a smidgeon of wesper.

word count: 2,410

no content warnings. just fluff. fluffy, fluffy good times.

summary: inej gets a welcome surprise.

it’d been three months, nine days, and five hours since inej last saw kaz. they’d said goodbye on the roof of the slat, standing a hands breadth apart. separated by early afternoon sun and trauma.

“say goodbye, kaz,” she’d said when too many seconds had passed. “i don’t know how long i’ll be gone.”

he’d smiled at her. it was a miserly, crooked thing, that smile—kaz all over. and despite her best efforts, she’d smiled back before shaking her head, “no mourners.”

“no funerals.”

with that, she’d leapt to the next rooftop and the next and the next, until kaz and the slat melted into ketterdam’s tangled horizon to be replaced by the flat expanse of the ocean.

that first day on the ship, inej had enjoyed the same prickle of anticipation she felt whenever she stepped out onto the high wire. her whole body taught and focused on the sway of the wire, the push of the air, the pull of her weight. this was her element and she would master it as she had everything else.

the weeks had flown by in a crash of waves, foaming at the break.

inej saw no less than five slavers bleed out by her hand. though she still prayed for every soul, she came to relish the taste of their desperation. the night she’d killed the first and second, their “cargo” safely stowed in the belly of her ship, inej had dreamed of kaz’s face as she recounted how sweetly the men had begged. celebrating with her crew, although jubilant, had whetted her appetite for celebrating with him.

it was only when, from her position in the crow’s nest, inej watched kerch spill across the horizon that she grew anxious about her return. what exactly was she returning to, anyway?

communication had been difficult at sea and they’d only made port twice, neither time for very long. now that she thought about it, it had been a while, things could have changed.

chin resting on her fist, inej watched the coastline grow jagged, the towers and spires of his city coming into focus against smoky skies. she’d miss the open sea but this—she almost smiled. jesper would laugh himself hoarse if he knew she’d missed this saints-forsaken city. she did smile then, picturing it.

she lands lightly on the deck just as her first mate, a hassled-looking specht, calls for the crew to bring them into port. ana, a sharp-jawed ravkan they’d found making trouble off the coast of novyi zem, hops nimbly overboard, spring-line in hand. the ship is securely moored and the gangplank lowered, ten minutes later.

“don’t forget,” inej calls over the noise of her crew disembarking. “we’re shipping out in two weeks, i want everything stocked and ready for departure by the morning before.”

“aye, captain!” comes the answering chorus.

“do try and enjoy your downtime, captain.” specht winks at inej as he makes his way down the gangplank, luggage in hand.

after everyone leaves, inej double checks the lines and the sails, does a quick sweep of her office, and grabs her bag. she’s almost to the door, when she hears footsteps on the deck. light and ambling, she recognises them instantly.

“captain ghafa.”

jesper, every lean and easy inch of him, reclines against the main mast. he’s totally out of place in his lime and yellow wardrobe but inej can’t imagine a happier sight.

with mock seriousness, he says, “i heard rumours of your return and had to come see for myself.”

she flies across the deck, her arms around his shoulders, before he can so much as blink. inej feels, more than hears, the soft rumble of his laugh. he pulls back from her, eyes warm and smiling. “i missed you too.”

“i was going to come by geldstraat first thing. you didn’t have to come all the way out here,” inej says.

“couldn’t risk it.” he shakes his head, reaching for her bag and looping an arm through hers. “besides, wylan’s been flapping around the house like a deranged mother hen all afternoon getting ready for you. i was only getting in the way.”

“how is he?”

“wylan? spectacular. two weeks ago, while he was playing his flute, marya started singing. turns out she has a really sweet voice—nothing like alys—and—” inej swats at his chest, biting back a laugh at the poor girl’s expense. “and it seems to be drawing her out. ever since she started singing she’s been spending more time downstairs, talking with the servants, with wylan...”

they make their way across the docks at a leisurely pace as jesper fills her in on the ketterdam happenings and by the time the van eck mansion looms before them, she’s all caught up.

watching jesper let himself in is strange, he throws her a look that tells her he sympathises. “i’m not sure i’ll ever get used to it.”

a response is on her tongue, something pithy and reassuring, when the door swings open to a riot of voices. inej blinks, the only sign of her surprise.

there, in the foyer of the van eck house, stand pim, rotty, anika, wylan and kaz—kaz—dressed to the nines, party-blowers between their teeth. WELCOME HOME, INEJ is scrawled across a banner the width of the landing and every bannister in sight is draped in bunting and paper chains.

a laugh bubbles out of inej, squeezing past the shock that keeps her rooted to the spot. the coaxing touch of jesper’s hand releases her and she rushes inside, clapping her hands together and gasping in delight.

“jesper!” she turns back to him. “wylan! everyone—this—this is—” she cuts herself off and sighs, hands clasped over her heart. “i don’t know what to say.”

“don’t say anything,” wylan says, reaching for her hand. “come, we have cake!”

she follows him into the parlour where food and wine are laid out around the centrepiece that is a truly enormous cake.

for a moment, inej stands and gapes at it. “is nina inside that thing?”

“unfortunately not. she’s been out of touch for a while, something about a top secret grisha mission,” wylan shrugs apologetically.

“upside, that means all of us will at least get a slice.” this from jesper, who’s moved to sling an arm around wylan’s narrow shoulders. “maybe two!”

there’s a worried little divot forming between wylan’s brows, so, although she misses nina more with every glance at the cake, inej says, “it’s perfect.”

jesper picks up a plate and begins loading food onto it, shooing wylan over to the pianoforte around a mouthful of croquette. over the first strains of music, anika and pim welcome her back and rotty tells her they still don’t have a new spider if she’s considering giving up the high seas.

looking around, inej thinks she might be dreaming. all these people, under one roof, eating and drinking and laughing. in three months at sea she and her crew had developed an easy camaraderie, hurried along by a half-dozen life-threatening situations. but, inej discovers, it has nothing on the kinship she shares with these people. her fondness threatens to overtake her.

food, she needs food.

with a plate in hand, inej settles onto a chaise with a view of wylan at the pianoforte. his eyes are closed and his tongue is just visible, poking out at the corner of his mouth in concentration. behind him, jesper has one hand against the back of his neck, fingers in his curls, and the other wrapped around a glass of wine as he chats with anika. across the room, pim and rotty squabble over the last glass of what looks like something expensive and distilled.

since when have things been this easy between everyone?

when the seat beside her dips slightly under another’s weight, inej realises with a jolt she hasn’t been paying attention to her immediate surroundings.

“now that’s the face i got dragged to a party for, you can’t put a price on that.”

when her eyes widen further, that smile, the deliciously crooked one, slides across kaz’s face. it pulls mercilessly at inej’s heart. how she’d missed that smile. she tucks her hands under her thighs to stop from reaching out to trace a finger over the quirk of his lips.

“you didn’t come for the cake, then?” she wants to look away but the warmth in his darker-than-sin eyes gives her no quarter. inej is sure he’s never looked at her this way, like if he stopped she might vanish.

“no,” he says.

as simple as that. does that mean he came for her?

suddenly, inej can’t remember how she used to sit when she sat next to the boy she dreams about at night. should she keep her hands under her legs? no, she’s already losing feeling in her fingers. should she lean back like he is? pull her legs under herself? face him? turn away?

surely, it isn’t this complicated. inej sighs and pulls her braid over one shoulder, moving to sit crossed legged on the chaise. when she glances back at kaz, he’s watching her curiously. the wraith doesn’t fidget.

“you look—”

“who’s idea was—”

inej bites her lip to stifle her smile. they’re so out of sync.

the silence isn’t awkward, exactly, but it draws on when neither of them continue. around them, conversation ebbs and flows. wylan gets up from the piano and cuts himself a big slice of cake. inej watches him feed it to jesper, the frosting startlingly white against the taller boy’s dark skin.

“who’s idea was this?” inej finally speaks, gesturing to the party.

kaz’s gaze flicks across the room briefly, before landing back on her. “wylan’s. he made it seem very urgent that we welcome you back in a suitably enthusiastic fashion. something about convincing you to stay.”

“that’s not a terrible idea. if i could be sure there’d be more cake in the future, i’d consider it.”

“not much cake at sea?”

“no. none, really. it’s quite sad.”

“nina would disapprove.”

“almost certainly. i—i didn’t know how much i missed cake until today.” inej catches kaz’s eye as she says this and forgets, or rather remembers, what they’re talking about. “you won’t believe how much pickled fish i’ve eaten these last three months.”

“and nine days.”

“and nine days…” she’s blushing now, she can feel the heat rising up her neck, staining her cheeks. from the way his gaze drops to the neckline of her vest, inej knows he sees it too. “how’s business?”

if the shift in conversation surprises him, he doesn’t let on. “good,” he nods. “other than a few skirmishes, haskell’s been lying low and keeping out of trouble. the new shop on the lid is a veritable bread factory for the number of pigeons its bringing in, which bodes well for my other expansions in the neighbourhood.”

“other expansions?” inej brings an elbow up onto the back of the chaise, resting her temple against her closed fist.

it enters gradually, their rhythm, like early morning fog. talking about business, about hustles and scams, they settle into the chaise and into each other. kaz shifts slightly toward her and she toward him as he expounds on his plans to rule ketterdam.

inej watches his hands, startled to realise they’re bare, ungloved, naked, as he mimes cracking a particularly challenging safe. those nimble, thief's fingers communicating all the excitement his rock salt voice doesn’t.

it should be embarrassing, her fixation on his hands. the bone-white scar over his knuckle shifts with his movement and she can’t look away from it. she imagines him tracing the fine bones in her wrist with those fingers, over the flutter of her pulse and the soft skin at the inside of her elbow.

when kaz does a very passable impression of wylan drunk on kvas flirting with a lamppost he mistook for jesper, inej laughs like she hasn’t in ages. she leans forward, arm over her belly and hand over her mouth, as he slurs and simpers.

“you’re making me work awwfully hard, jesss,” kaz whimpers, eyes round and beseeching.

“he didn’t!” inej gasps, slouching forward.

she thinks she might pull a muscle with how hard she’s laughing. jesper’s even looked over once or twice to see what the fuss is about but seems disinclined to interrupt.

she doesn’t notice right away, but as she takes a few deep, steadying breaths, inej realises she’s slipped forward on the chaise. her knee rests lightly against kaz’s thigh. it’s a slight pressure. barely noticeable. she looks up and kaz is still talking, a reluctant smile on his mouth.

for several seconds, the feeling of his thigh against her knee, the warmth of his body through their clothing, is all she can focus on.

whether its the rush of being reunited, the sweet, disorienting joy of being in each others company after months of absence, or the wine from the empty glass he’s put on the floor, that keeps kaz from noticing, inej doesn’t know. either way, she can’t bear even the thought of his shutting himself off at the realisation. so, summoning her not inconsiderable will power, she pulls her leg away.

or, at least, that was the plan.

quite unexpectedly and with a confidence she cannot begin to fathom, kaz closes his hand around her knee. the shape of his hand, even ungloved, is so familiar to her that she almost dismisses the dissonance of seeing it resting on her leg. almost.

she’s staring.

she knows she’s staring but kaz—kaz—is touching her. deliberately. precisely.

the sensation is so jarring, so unbelievably wanted that she can’t help but smile. his thumb traces a line over the fabric of her trousers, heart-wrenchingly gentle and deliberate.

she looks up to find him watching her.

inej is too caught up in the feeling of his palm, large and warm on the part of her thigh just before her knee, too caught up in the tick at the corner of his mouth and the colour of his eyes, to think about what it means that she is celebrating a victory so small. the voice that whispers about the boys who would kiss her without fear is entirely drowned out by the boy who faces his fears so that he might kiss her. one day.

“is this okay?” he asks.

“this is perfect,” she whispers.

#kanej #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #soc fanfic #crooked kingdom #six of crows #leigh bardugo #wesper #fluff #captain ghafa #canon compliant #this was very fun #i can't get enough of kanej and their baby steps

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5lazarus · 3 years

Text

Sunrise, Parabellum

A Disco Elysium fanfiction

Early Wednesday morning, before Harry's woken up and before they've closed the water lock and headed to the fishing village, Kim Kitsuragi gets up and wants a cigarette. He has a cup of coffee instead and contemplates his partner's newfound sobriety. Sunrise, parabellum: he gets up and prepares for war.

Content Tags: Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, POV Kim Kitsuragi, Sobriety

Read on Archive of Our Own here.

Dawn’s both blue and gold, it doesn’t matter. Night lightens to yellow, all primary colors contained in the sun inking over the dirty sea. He wakes up and it’s not raining, not yet, but it always will be.

It’s some sort of habit, waking up in the predawn light. Kim’s mouth is still dirty from last night’s cigarette. The sheets are stale at the Whirling-in-Rags, and the same tinny disco anthem is playing downstairs from a breaking radio. A shower makes it better, brushing his teeth, checking the damage of a day and a night of deadends and deadness. The body’s not hanging from the tree outside the bathroom window anymore, but Kim can still see the skids. Cuno is twitching with Cunoesse, throwing stones at the space where the corpse used to be. Next door the corpse twitches back to life, and Kim thinks, can he do it? Another day sober? He took the liquor off those trio of drunks, but he hasn’t drunk it yet—he pitched that pétanque right into the sea sober.

“Idiot,” Kim says, affectionately, where no one else can see.

Downstairs coffee is already percolating in the kitchen, black and noxious and comforting, and Kim remembers the camaraderie of the dawn at the precinct, the night shift graying up as morning shuffled in, exchanging dirty cups. The woman next door, a suspect not-a-suspect, has already poured herself a mug. She glances at him sardonically. He does not think she has been to sleep yet.

“Good morning, detective.” Some people’s voices are naturally laconic. Kim can recognize himself in her voice; irony runs their lives.

“Miss,” he says. Formality is not just safe, it’s necessary. Klaasje gives him a tremulous smile. Her make-up is perfect but her eyes are red. Still, she is sober. He nods stiffly at her. Not everyone has discipline. Not everyone has had the gift of it being taught.

Kim situates himself at the bar along the window and drinks his coffee. The bitter taste explodes him awake: he loves that it is burnt. The strikers shuffle in as the dawn brings in some warmth to the cool tones of a Revachol night. The Hardie Boys stare at him as they head to the kitchen, to get their hearty meals Evrart has already paid for: bacon, eggs fried in the grease with even more butter, toast dripping with the droppings, endless permutations of potato. Kim is watching his cholesterol and his blood sugar. Revachol has weakened his heart enough. He sticks to bad coffee and a single cigarette. His only vice is moderation. With a partner like Harrier du Bois, it’s a compliment.

The union lawyer is staring at him. He can see her reflection in the window. Elizabeth Beaufort: he has been scrupulously polite to her, and she has been scrupulously polite to him, though it has been mildly entertaining to watch Harry poke at her and drive her blood pressure up. He wonders if she will talk to him. She looks like she wants to talk.

He finishes his coffee and weaves through the tables to return his mug to the kitchen. The cook grins at him. He nods coolly back. Next to the lawyer now, he waits.

She says, “The punks don’t mean any harm.”

“I beg your pardon?” He glances at her but does not deploy the eyebrow yet.

“They’re just admiring the Coupris Kineema. It’s a beautiful piece of work.”

“I know,” Kim says simply. It is. He has made it something gorgeous.

Then Elizabeth smiles meanly. Kim tenses. She says, “It’s a shame about the hubcaps. I stopped by Bird’s Nest Roy’s and….”

Kim raises an eyebrow. Elizabeth stops. He walks away before she can continue to attempt to bribe him pushes open the heavy glass doors. The dawn has come and gone; it is firmly a periwinkle morning now. He goes to his Coupris and leans against it. It’s comforting, the only thing in this case that is.

“Sunrise, parabellum,” Kim mutters. It’s dawn in Revachol. He’s alone on this cool, damp morning. He misses Dom, he misses Eyes. He misses having a lover to slip past in the blue light of the waking night, reaching for his glasses and smiling as he, whoever he could be, snaps so wonderfully to hyperfocus. However, sentimentality is a weakness—Harry is proof enough—and he has indulged sentiment enough. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the wrong handkerchief: red, lace-edges, and hurriedly stuffs that back into his pocket. He finds one he can dirty, and wipes the clinging smog from the windshield.

“Kim!” Harry runs up to him. “Kim!” He is excited—no, manic—like a puppy. Kim regards him silently. He is still wearing that outlandish tie, but he has substituted the blazer with an RCM jacket. “You’re back! How was Processing?”

“Brutal, as I told you,” Kim says. Delicately, he sniffs. Harry has cleaned himself since handling the corpse. While his face is still puffy, his mustache is clean, and his eyes have reduced to an acceptable level of bloodshot. He is pleased. The detective has made it to forty-eight hours of sobriety. Kim decides to relent. “And you’ve rested?”

Harry shrugs. “Well, you know the city. It gets into your dreams.”

Kim does, and he does not speak of it. “Quite. Now, detective, where are we to go next?” Harry outranks him, but the 51st expected him to take the lead. He is happy to encourage responsibility and discipline when he sees an opportunity, however. Harry grabs at it. He pulls out his ledger.

“This is Oblivion,” Harry tells him very seriously.

Kim does not blink. “Okay.” Dom used to be worse.

“We should be able to close the water lock, if the repair crew was on schedule. And personally, I’d like to track down our merry joyrider’s journey through Martinaise. We’ll find what we need today, Kim, I’ll calling it now!” He grins at him desperately. “We’re getting this case back on track!”

Kim sighs. It is always too early an hour for relentless optimism. He wants a cigarette. He does not need a cigarette. He quashes the desire and looks at him instead. Harry woke up crying, Kim thinks. He’s trying. At least he is trying. So few even bother.

Kim says, “Then let us go, detective.” Harry puts his hand on the handle of the Coupris. Kim resists the urge to slap it away. “On foot. You are not touching my car.”

To his surprise, Harry lets loose a genuine belly-laugh, guffaws startling the seagulls from the roof of Whirling-in-Rags. “Aw, Kim,” he says, wiping at his eyes, “I wouldn’t dare. Lead the way.”

He takes the first step, of course, but lets Harry overtake him by half a pace, and greets the new day.

#disco elysium #disco elysium fanfic #disco elysium fanfiction #fanfic #kim kitsuragi #harrier du bois #harry du bois #elizabeth beaufort #pre-relationship #Kim POV #harry du bois/kim kitsuragi #pre-slash

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grim-faux · 3 years

Text

18_Collecting Days

First

Fool child. What business did he get up to in his absence? Rhetorical question, he had a suspicion of what he could be up to when left to his own devices.

However, he admitted only to himself that he was relieved that the boy hadn’t been physically harmed. That made his shutdown all the more annoying. Nonetheless, that much blood was reason for concern, and it had been one of the key leads he followed to wander close to Mono’s proximity. Perhaps he tricked another adult to their demise. Often, children did whatever was necessary to safeguard their survival and welfare. He shared in those experiences.

In the least, he seemed recovered in that regard since the… treachery.

The Thin Man dithered in his wandering to shift his stance and check the Signal Tower, far in the distance. Clouds swarmed the spire above, gravitating to an electrical current or frequency the lost denizens were drawn to. On the roof ledge below his perch, Viewers gawped, enthralled by the mesmerizing siren call. Hopelessly lost, aimless and unable to return to the television screens that would deliver them to that fantasy realm they craved more than air or foods.

What had the child been up to? If not for that tempering pull, he might never have the opportunity to realize a direction. In the entirety of the city, and stall of current pulsing through the televisions. Perhaps this was all blown out of proportion. The blood. It might’ve been some animal, the city had an abundance of rats. Not that it mattered where it came from. It still unsettled him, the child’s reaction.

It would be wise to keep tabs on him. The paradox continued its work, nothing had been ceased as of yet. No diversion, stall, or corruption – this he remained steadfast certain of. Alas, without the sanctuary the Tower provided, the young Mono was susceptible to the threats that all children faced. He couldn’t speculate clearly if this was indeed the case, his knowledge extended only to the point of resignation to the alure of protection – his fantasy and solitude. Mono did not share that fate as of yet, and what this meant at all… perplexed him. Had there been a point of time that the Thin Man and Mono existed simultaneously, until destiny wound them into a concurrent fixture?

He sighed and stepped away from the ledge. Below, one of the Viewers plunged.

Avoidance could be the answer he sought. Or not. The cycle could continue its sad trill, he wanted no more part of it. If he could help it.

The corridors winding through the building are hushed, with only the creaks and groan of the walls was they sway against the harrowing gust outside. Some rooms have sprung leaks, and water trickled down the walls – a sinking ship, weeping of its fate. Discarded items lay about, some suitcases, duffle bags partially emptied. In a room, the snow flashed across a pair of trousers and shirt, laid out neatly as if set aside for a short spell.

At a breach in the wall, a lonely stuffed toy sat upright. Some of the threads in its head have come loose, it sagged sideways. Its been hours, it might’ve been abandoned. However, it could await till the end of time, or until the building collapsed entirely. Whatever came first.

Within the heart of the hole, a shadow fluttered. Then a head popped out, dark scraggily hair matted and dusty. The shape ducked back shortly, in order to evaluate the hallway once over. There was no such thing as being too careful. After a moment of checking that all the gloom was in place, the cracks were unchanged, and no door had shifted; the boy crawled out fully.

Mono hurtled into the plush and hauled it off the floor. The legs dragged as he marched down the corridor, flittering between dark spaces in the wall. He had a light stride, swift. He made his to the passage that led to the jammed room, the bear he dragged all the way through.

Over the last few days, he preoccupied the time with scouting through this place. Browsing through all the rooms he could access easily, bypassing those that seemed permanently sealed. Every so often he patrolled through, assuring himself no noises and televisions lingered within. He found this one corridor on this floor was practically deserted. The floors below it, only where the elevator reached up to… that is where the danger lurked. There wasn’t much a reason to visit those places, unless he wanted to take stock how many televisions were in the place. He reserved trips to the ground floor, and the café. When he was in the mood, he did check the abandoned rooms, and sometimes found treasures.

Like the small wooden cart thing he carried under his arm.

He shoved the bear against the side of the recliner, and then sat with the little wooden cart. Other toys littered the familiar room, such as a large top, a flashlight, some wooden animals, this faded boat. Items he pilfered from the rooms he could get into, and were relatively safe.

The familiar room wasn’t his first choice of shelter, but it was accessible only to him. It also had no windows, for wicked towers to peer into, or lights. It didn’t stave of insomnia, but it did make him feel more at ease.

Most days he spent dozing in the dark, while he had that precious time to recuperate. Venturing to the ground floor was always suspenseful, he didn’t know what would be there. Viewers were frequent visitors, and that might be the reason why no other children stayed in this place. And also, it was a hazard to remain too long in a single location. Foods shortage was a serious issue.

He carried the bear around to the backside of the recliner, and set him down. He tucked the flashlight against the plush waist, so that it offered clear light to the wall. The bear observed, while Mono added some more pictures to the hard wood. He could tolerate the bear, and the bear could tolerate him. He’s not very good at keeping track of days. In the speek he recounts some of the scenery he’s seen, the pleasant views. The sky and the trees, the different colors of tepid water. On the wall would be some buildings, far in the distance and tiny; a place he could never hope to reach. Even some landscape he caught eye of, in some flimsy paper thing.

Time blurred. He subsisted in the familiar room, venturing out when he was hungry, exploring sometimes, but always returning. Never leaving, unless gnawing hunger gave him absolutely no other choice. He played with the toys. Sometimes, he climbed onto the arm of the recliner and dropped the top. He wanted to see how long it could whirl on the carpet. Sometimes, his hardwired sense of wandering forced him to roam endless and slow paced laps around the room, where he explored every inch of the wood and rotted wallpaper with a hyper critical eye. He knew the room so well he could navigate with the toys present, and not stumble a fraction.

The room across from the familiar room, had an open doorway with a balcony. The bear sat in the doorway of the room, watching a barricaded door. In case someone came in unannounced.

Sometimes Mono liked to sit out there, even in the rain. It washed the dust from his wanderings out of his coat, and plastered his hair to his scalp. Cold water. Of course, this side didn’t face the Signal Tower, or he wouldn’t bother. He liked to sit and watch the clouds during the night, enjoyed the way colors shifted, the way the sky was ever changing. The city was such a dreary place. No hope, no stars, not even a moon. But clouds, they were nice too.

Then the downstairs room ran low on foods. He’d watched his dwindling supply, eating less and less of the meagers scraps that hadn’t gone rancid.

For what had to the ninetieth time, he scrounged deep onto the cabinets searching for a missing box or canister, anything to ward off the inevitable. It was no use. There wasn’t a point, nothing changed what was no longer present. If he prolonged this, he would get too weak to wonder. Where would he find the next substantial foods? No one knew.

He perched on the counter chewing on the cardboard that still smelled of biscuits. That only served to make him hungrier, but it alleviated some tension for a while to chew on something.

The bear was waiting for him, faithful as always, when he crawled out of the breach in the wall. The toy was rough along the edges and losing thread from all his rough treatment, but the stuffing held tight within.

He shoved the bear onto the recliner seat first, then hauled himself up. The bear sat at the edge, tall and to attention. Even though he didn’t have eyes. Mono ripped the eyes out, leaving only thread tethers. He didn’t like the bear watching.

Mono curled down behind his companion. The fitful sleep isn’t pleasant. A sound alerted him, a creak of the wall. Shifting shadows, his eyes seeing things that are not there. Sometimes, it’s a shift in the stall air, a brisk draft. More than once he has to get up and take a brief hike around the outer rooms, confirm with his own muggy eyes that nothing is present. Crisis averted, he returned to the familiar room and the bear. It’s like this every night. The plush toy is a marvelous guard, but he still has no eyes.

When Mono can’t stand the restlessness, he takes the bear and checked the balcony room to judge the day. It’s not raining which he knows won’t last, but for now that is nice. It is a good day to set out, though the moment he is well on his way, it should start the intense showers again.

Before he can leave though, he has to take the bear out on another patrol. Just the one floor they nest on, the safe floor. They visit all the usual rooms, though he knew well nothing occupied them. He wondered, did the people on the higher floor vanish first? He had so many questions, doubts and curiosities that would never be satisfied. That might be for the best, though.

Once they gave the safe floor the usual safety stamp, Mono hauled the bear back to the familiar room. It was weird hauling him back through the crawlspace he knew so well, he could zip through without a thought. He pushed the bear out and towed him through the doorway and, beneath the desk. He goes off and collected the crayons, from the various places he discarded them. Aside from the flashlight, which will be useful later, there isn’t anything else in the familiar room he should take. Not even the crayons, they’d weight him down and take space.

Then, between he and the bear, he clicked on the flashlight. He took a breath and sighed.

“I have… I'm in leave. I’m….” He shrugged. Squat on his knees, he inched over to the clear space of the wall and pried away some of the wallpaper. “This is hard. I don’t want, but if… I take you. Not safe. Understand?” He switched colors, carefully filling in the outline. “You're’n safe here. I’m… not safe. Not there.” He colored quietly for a while, concentrating, taking his time. When he finished the picture, he scooted back.

“But not alone. See.” He dragged the bear over, and showed him the picture. “Remember you. I’m in remember. S’not for good. I'm here. Right here.”

He didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to leave. This was more like a good place now. This was the familiar place.

“S’not safe,” he repeated. And pulled the bear in and wrapped his arms tightly about its horrid head. He almost popped the seams in its neck. Hot tears soaked the grungy fiber. “I wish you come with. I want you come. I don’t not want you. It hurt, in leave. I won’t forget.”

When it was time, he ushered the bear away and set him next to the picture. He fluffed its head a bit, poked some of the stuffing back into its face. Then, took the flashlight and clicked it off.

Silent as always, cautious as ever, Mono crept down the corridor. It was so empty and menacing, without his bear. The garish thing made everything feel a little less imposing, even thought he couldn’t risk him in the lower floors. Something about that short distance, with it, dissolved fear.

He did stop a few times, to look back. A slow biding glimpse, just to make sure the passage remained clear and unchanged. As if it might’ve warped into a ghastly hollow or writhing flesh, so many eyes, and teeth like squirming zippers.

Nothing was there, the empty hall was nothing but decrepit and miserable. It wouldn’t be safe, he reminded himself. He had to let him go.

That was the last he’d spare a look. Mono dried his face with a sleeve and went on, to the breach in the wall. He only liked it because it was warm, and still smelled like smoke. He’d be better off without it.

#little nightmares #mono #the thin man #little nightmares fanfic #little nightmares fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #the man in the hat #viewers

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mstow · 3 years

Text

WF4.1.

Part One: The Day the Markets stood still…

Published at M.Stow11.Wordpress.com

1. She.

‘It is like living in a rabbit hutch’ She often said emphatically and metaphorically, and He replied with

a shrug, nothing to say in reply. It was; and it would take long enough to pay for. Four rooms. Eight-floors up,

eight flights of long turning concrete rubbish chute and stairs, and fire escape, for when the elevators did not

function anyway, which was often and took days sometimes to repair. A balcony open passageway at the front,

looking over the street below, now starting to become busy with traffic. They had lived with his parents for a

time, and then after they were married, in a small rented flat in The City, before they needed to afford

somewhere to live together, and to bring-up their two small children.

Both saved, and with some financial help from a relative (deceased) they had managed to get this

place. When the housing market was ‘buoyant’, and mortgages easy to get. The Home was bought with a loan, a promissory note, deposited and co-lateraled together with their combined lives and the home itself. They were

afloat.

Both worked to pay-off the loan, which although it was supposed to re-duce each year did not seem ever to keep up with pay and prices. The loan would anyway be paid-off many times over if they were ever to pay off the debt.

If this place was ever to become their own owned nothing to pay-back; then, if they managed to keep paying-off the loan for the ‘Shelter from the Storm’ as they called Home.

That they did not actuarily now own, and may not ever, actually own, lose-lose. To sell-back at Market Price, the difference between the paid-back buying-price and selling-price, and of which they would have lost completely to The Bank…The Mortgage Company.

TheirHome-Mortgage@rent no(t)()-insurancetheir assured-pension against dire-poverty and homelessness.

No social-recourse and be homeless, to parents and over-crowding again, or with friends similarly fixed, sofa-surfing their home, such as-it-was de-faulted, re-possessed. A two-bedroom apartment, she thought of: kitchen, lounge, shower-bathroom toilet and tiny balcony onto the world below, between them and the sky above. Each day, each month, and each successive year into the unthinkable future; two-thirds of two-lifetimes at least, two-thirds every month of what they were both paid-in wages-for-work earned.

She did the household accounts, and she knew.

The Home. The Loan. Would have been paid for several times over by the time if ever it became theirs

and The Childrens’; and perhaps even their Grandchildrens’ by the time the shared-property many-floored building was un-inhabitable, de-molished land let-again, built-on freehold not-leasehold extended for-bonus payment un-earned…re-build in the new style, in a traditional place, or otherwise breaking into farmland and ocean beyond.

But that is the nature of the human animal, is it no? To do over, and be done-over to again and again she thought: want more and more, for less and less and in the quiet mind wandering moment of pillared door, a room, a table, a bed let go and a bed sheet left behind ready to be buried with perhaps as they did in the olden- times shrouded as now by thin curtains pulled-back.

Each-Day: like a two-step forward and quick-step fox trot later backwards one-step…

Home and Away worked to pay-off the loan on the house and to pay for and cook food, with bills and

extras, clothes, and nights-out occasionally.

Maybe once a month, or not at all.

Then He had been laid-off work at The Bakery.

Three-day-week and three day’s wages.

The Home mortgage was re-negotiated and they continued struggling to pay-off the loan and other

loans, credited and directly debited debt from what they both earned together.

There was never an issue of who would earn more, and be the main breadwinner, they both earned

more or less the same low wages as most the people who worked and they would do the most caring, of each other, and the children: the unpaid responsibilities shared around the home, and in the world of work.

Shopping and holidays and other friends and family out there. All indebted, or in credit day2day.

Week to week, month to next month, years, minute-by-minute.

They were equal, without even having to think about it or confront societies and others’ false

expectations of gender and families. They were equal in debt and credit, and supported each other’s frail and fragile egos with a natural equanimity respectful and loving…

Each contributing their best and differently, in-differently to make the whole, whole.

It’s not all doom and gloom She did often think, and he tried not to think on it. The homily homely

claustrophobia only had to be relieved by going out. To the cinema, to a bar or restaurant. But that was not very often de-finitely now there were children as well.

Sel-dom. did extras make their mark, clothes bought carefully a piece at a time, re-placement rather

than extravagance. The cupboards filled with groceries and emptied by the time the next weeks shopping is

needed and the next week’s earnings…already spent.

She was awake, first this morning, and she got up from the bed on which he still lay awake but not yet awake enough to leave its’ nigh-time warmth. She went through to the next room. The bedroom led across the narrow-passage to the living room, which led directly to the tiny gallery kitchen and balcony on one side and door to the front room, on the other side balcony corridor and more doors along.

Except it wasn’t the front-room, exactly; only, unlike the ‘front-room’ of her childhood playing on the

street and door directly to the rugged ragged matted smell of cooking from the stone wall white-washed country kitchen.

Upstairs two bed-rooms and on the gallery landing for the children and a closet room to flush away with a basin of water from the kitchen sink-tap and toilet-well into the slurry sump, where you could hear it ‘slurry’ all the way down, filtered to spray on fields all around; and then back downstairs to replace the water from the kitchen-tap and outside clean-well.

Pumped-up from the well, refilling the fired china clay bowl for washing and zinc-metal bucket, ready

for the next use.

Log grabbing toughened steel plasma-cutters hydraulic-ram chassis panel welded together. Expertly Put-together giant wheels axle brake.

Pumping-oil to cool the engines’ turbo diesel s-carbed grapple telescopic arms the claw car-crusher

mattress-shredder then the skid-board tracking carbon-fibre e-road automobiles solar panels settled wind farming blades and wave-machines generating heat&power and swimming in clean-air&water:

> Low-No: installation& maintenance-cost yr/yr.

Apparently, free.

At her first childhood home, bed-time children first, then the adults. Rats nested runs, beetles and

cockroaches were kept away by the domesticated cats and dogs that shared the yard and house with horses at the local stables for the carts and filed machinery; to ride, at week-end day-off, and many Holy Days.

Each week, several times into the market town for food supplies, and the children’s treats.

Their whole world a Living Market Place, of Work Trust and Play.

Now, great enclosed parked superstores and supermarkets and factory outlet warehouse. Where goods

are now transported she thought of: to&fro and by foot and horses’ hoofs carried and motor vehicle, train and massive tanker and container-ship electric like cutting through the air or the hydrogen&helium of outer-space a one-metre flight through nothingness baited

> One-click:Low-No-cost subscription no-way out…

< N/nnn…paid-up…again&again.

From the docks and airport, at the city harbour hub humming away, remote yet directing everyday life, everywhere.

Exorbitant-Political

Business-Trips

Media: Holiday Passengers, and Freight Cargo.

The affordable flight, to get-away from-it-all: a change; a charge necessary move, once in a while, and

not at-all.

Every year; but, to visit family here and there and elsewhere, or else you’d go stir-crazy.

Do a night-time flit, flip! leave the rent, the mortgage, un-paid.

Only, to otherwise keep on fighting for the bargains: cheap-est with-in budget, to get through to the

Next-day and the day-after-that.

When debts and fines could not be paid, the debt collector.

Bailiffs, The-Auctioneer: selling- off of the personal possessions; sometimes, on the Global Markets;

and then sold-out: the personal; and, T.V. public…

The laptop computer on-sleep and awakened, opened, placed on the table, booted-up and She blogged

instantaneously her-thoughts:

#We all need a roof over our heads…and to: put Food on the Table! without any other word or contextual continuity that did not remain obvious to this early morning.

Everyone, and anyone in the same and similar circumstances getting the same hastily tapped-out

messages excluding, those without tablet, home or food; and those with patently far too-much.

Those who had an Administration to do that for them and her-thought continued in the context of the

mindful moment and that which we all have to pay extortionately for over and again even when the food is eaten and the crap washed away there remains a nasty stain, a nasty taste.

Original wages sweated over day upon day, and loans ever in negative equity to who?

Them!

Income-Tax&Corporation-Tax paid/un-paid through government-deal(s):

Extortionate debt-interest credit-profit and volatile prices, losses on last-accounts records ever higher BINGO! and pay…ex-terminating…prices collapsed…looking up, and down again now, not in dejection, but circumspection against ever apparent possible failure, with desperate optimism, toward un-realistic perfectionism.

Only mechanized buffer-traffic building-up as soon as into a busy rush-hour congestion be-low… Cars and buses, bicycles, motorbike and motorized delivery truck from here, only another view.

From

two-sides; and every side… the bedrooms along the passage corridor, the sleeping children slept, earlier peekedinto soundless in beautiful dream or dreamless seemingly startling worrying death-checked for breathing.

Crossing from night into daytime TV remotely automatically turned on, confirmation, that

life goes on…

The living-room she entered bore all the chatter and the silence of one who listens.

Still and safe, cosy and secure. The other rooms took over the emotions and needs: sleep and food, love and arguments. The central room, the central chamber, looked on and awaited eventual, almost inevitable, but never certain re-conciliation, and rest. Indulged-in social-(e) vents, noisy chatter and quiet evenings indoors. The furniture was adequate and filled the room. Table, chairs, television, a drawer and shelved cabinet standing against a wall, displaying various special icons; plastic flowers family photographs in frames, a portrait of a film star, or a print of a famous oil painting.

Ornaments, statuettes, figures of worship and of novelty. The furniture, the infrastructure, from the

livelihoods and eventually the roof over our heads…’in over our heads’ heard as if originally spoken.

There were unopened envelopes and cajoling leaflet advertisement:

Kill your debts! Die debts!

she thought of letters and bills for payment, propped up behind a ticking clock. There was a picture postcard from someone-else’s holiday forming a picturesque frontage to hide the stack of demands for reply and payment which lay beyond.

She-drewback the curtains and looked out of the window across the balcony, with its unflowering

plants growing in flower-pots. There was a real still rising mistinessoutside from the early morning warming; and she gazed over an area where many lived, and it seemed to her, this morning, where they too just only lived

-out their lives: day to day, week to week, minute-to-minute…

They too thought to-themselves as she looked-out onto the dawn of a gradually opening new day that

the world must have always been this way.

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sweetwritertanya · 4 years

Text

Still In The Attic (Original)

Summary: You move with your boyfriend to the same house that you both managed to buy for an affordable price. But the very first day tells you exactly why it was sold so cheap.

Warnings: HORROR! Kind of, nothing too scary. There will be mentions of blood and injuries, so take that into consideration.

Word Count: 1863

The last boxes, as unbelievable as that sounded to you, surrounded by a dangerous sea of brown boxes all day in front of you, were finally out of the truck. The moving men were finishing the paperwork and about to head out, leaving you and your partner alone at last, in the new house you had just bought.

You still couldn’t quite believe it. Even after going to the bank and all that bothersome process, after signing the papers for the property, after the renovation that had to be done and packaging all of your stuff from your old apartment and moving it to the truck, it was only now starting to sink in that this was going to be your home now. This house belonged to you and your boyfriend now. All of your stuff was now here.

“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” you boyfriend says in the silent living room, filled with boxes that didn’t belong, knowing by the look of your face you were starting to become overwhelmed.

“Beyond crazy. Did we really just do all of this?” you whisper in a startling voice, looking around.

“Hey, we can do this. We wanted this, remember? A space just for us? Our own little nest to come home to?” he reminds you as his strong arms come around your plush waist and he pulls you for a comforting back hug.

“Yeah… You’re right, I’m just feeling weird right now” you confess, leaning in to him and sighing with eyes closed as you tried to focus on his warmth and familiar scent, rather than the smell of freshly painted walls and dust.

He kisses your temple and soon you are encouraged to start working on rearranging things. Mostly, you wanted to finish the day with at least every box in its proper room, where it belonged.

The house in itself wasn’t too big. It was just you and your boyfriend for now, so the two-bedroom detached house was more than enough. It had a massive backyard and a cemented driveway out-front, separated from any neighboring houses by at least two hundred feet. Even with it being a long drive to the nearest town, the low price was more than appealing and you managed to buy it and have it properly renovated within the small budget provided.

As you busied yourself upstairs while your boyfriend moved the boxes and later started organizing the ground floor, your eyes caught the hanging string at the middle of the hallway, just high enough for you to reach it in your tiptoes, attached to a panel in the roof. You had almost forgotten that the house had an attic.

Keeping that in mind, you started on your bedroom and put aside the few boxes you brought with keep-sakes that you didn’t really had a place for. You decided the attic would be a perfect place for it. Three medium boxes were now on the hallway bellow the attic to be put away.

“Hey, babe, is it okay for me to check out the attic?” you yell down the stairs, too lazy to go down them.

You are met with silent and frown. You call him by his name louder, hoping he would ear you now. But nothing. You walk down the first step and startle when a loud sound from outside catches you by surprise. It’s a muffled bang and then a scrapping dragging of metal on the cold floor. Walking to the nearest window facing the driveway, you sigh in relief when you see your boyfriend outside, cleaning the snow from the floor so he can put his car in the garage.

Focusing back on what you were doing, you decide to not bother him and just go up yourself. Pulling the string down, a set of wooden stars come down to the hallway’s floor. A shilling shudder runs down your back as the cold air hits you, smelling of dust and mold. You wonder how long has it been since people have gone up there.

“I guess the inspection man must have gone up” you murmur to yourself, answering your own thoughts out loud as you start climbing up, no box in your hands just yet as you wanted to observe the space you had to work with. “Right?”

It was bigger than you thought, the ceiling falling to the sides in a triangular shape, but the center being high enough for you to actually stand straight. There was the smallest of windows bringing in enough light for you to see it all. No sign of any kind of animal creeping, no visible leaks or holes in the ceiling. You go in, careful to walk in the middle where the roof was high enough and watching your step.

There were still one or two boxes from previous tenants laying around, next to the window, one with a bunch of what seemed like photo-albums and the other with miscellaneous stuff, including a big night-stand lamp standing up right with webs all over. Your eyes are drowned to the albums and you take one out and start flipping through it.

It was all normal family pictures at first, a mother and father with three little children and a dog living in that house, the lay-out so much different than it was back then. They were all photos in black and white and you couldn’t quite figure out when they must have been taken, you just knew they were old. But then it gets weird.

Instead of photos, the last few albums had newspaper articles. Just a few headlines from the local newspaper, most of them covering a story about people disappearing and bodies found in the woods. It makes your stomach turn and a weird feeling closes up your throat as you feel nauseous.

You slam the album shut and throw it back to the box, getting up and starting to clean your clothes as if you felt dirty from touching them. As you do so, your eyes wonder to the window and you notice something. The glass had condensation all over, even though you felt very cold. A droplet of water falls from the inside side of the glass down to the windowsill as if calling your attention to something.

Right on the lower right corner of the window, invisible to the naked eye but enhanced by the condensation, was the mark of a handprint. Four fingers and half of the hands palm. On a window of the attic of your house.

Chills make your skin crawl but this time it has nothing to do with the temperature. You swallow and slowly take a step back, both trying to rationalize it – maybe it was the inspector, maybe the window was changed recently even though it looks old – and get away from it as quick as possible, never taking your eyes off the foggy window.

Downstairs, you heart your boyfriend’s voice and it sounds like he is calling for you. You want to call for him, your mouth even opens to do so but just as sound was about to come out, a breeze crosses your neck like a whisper and it steals any words from you.

You try not to panic, you truly do, but then your partner calls for you again, closer this time, and all he gets in return is the loud sound of a door slamming. And you can hear him struggling with the door to get it open.

Body trembling, you try to walk back again and you look at the ground only for a split of a second, to try and find the stairs down. All of you freezes, your muscles, your breath, your heart, even your mind, when you realize there were no stairs. At all. It was just the attic floor all over.

“N-n-no… N-no! No! Where are the stairs? Where are the stairs!?” Any intent of staying calm vanishes at the impossible events, you falling to your knees and banging on the floor where the stairs should have been. “Help! HELP! SOMEONE!”

You couldn’t even hear your boyfriend any longer and you couldn’t be sure if it was because he stopped banging on the door or because your own battering was so loud. Your hands were hurting from how strongly you were using them to hit the unbreakable floor, eyes swollen up with sudden dreadful tears.

The wind outside starts picking up. You look towards the window and squeal in terror as the glass was not covered with handprints, small and large hands pressed against the clear crystal. This large, overpowering and intimidating feeling has you twitching on the ground, every inch of your body screaming at you to leave, to run.

“I have to get out of here. I have to get out!” you whimper between sobs, using the back of your hand to clean your tear-stained face.

But there was only one way out.

Slowly, you raise yourself up and crawl to the frightful window, your only opening to the world outside. As you grow near, the wind starts sounding less like wind and more like screams, warnings, voices from the past.

Suddenly, a flicker of light glows up the corner of the room and you look with terror at the lamp. It turned on and was glowing a sickly yellowish light. The lamp that has been up there for decades, stuck on a box. Without being plugged in.

Frantic, you reach the window and bang on it with your bare hands. It didn’t open, it was a closed dormer window with no latch.

The most terrifying sound suddenly comes from the farthest wall at the back. A dark, hostile deep laugh that slashes to your bones and rips your voice from your blaring throat. And the impossible light from the unplugged lamp goes out with a broken glass sound.

The last thing you remember is forcing your body to move, fighting the invisible force that tried to keep you still and slamming your body against the window.

After that, only darkness filled with strange unrecallable nightmares, before waking up at the hospital with your body all bandaged up, multiples cuts across your skin painfully keeping you from moving.

Of course, no one believed your story. Even as you told it in a panic to the doctors, you yourself could hear how crazy it sounded. Your boyfriend could only verify that he, indeed, got stuck in the bathroom when the wind closed the door on him and it wouldn’t budge for a while after. When he was finally out, searching for you, he found you outside in the snow, surrounded by the broken glass from the attic’s window, staining the white with your dark red blood.

The doctors concluded that you had some sort of episode, a mental breakdown due to the stress of moving, making you see and feel things that weren’t there. You were subjected to several tests during your stay in the hospital, trying to diagnose you with the correct mental illness.

But you knew. You knew it wasn’t just in your mind. It was in the attic. It was still in the attic.

#horror #halloween special #13 stories for halloween #original story #original fiction #chubby reader #horror story #horror one-shot #reader pov

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galactic-academia · 4 years

Text

Alexithymia

@quentawewe asked for #4 "Walk out that door and we’re through" with Sherlock, it was probably in 50 BC and I’m sorry about this, but be sure I did my best, I hope you will enjoy it <3

Rating: G

Category: F/M

Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes/Female Reader

Tags: Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Sherlock Is a Mess, Sherlock Is Cute, Possessive!Sherlock, Did I Mention The Fluff?

Words: 1970

Summary: When she heard that Y/N was searching for a flat, Mrs. Hudson immediately offered her to come living at the 221b; what Y/N hadn’t expected were for John’s old room to not be ready to welcome her. The fact is... Sherlock doesn’t want her in another bedroom but his...

Notes: I’m not a native, please, forgive my mistakes. Picture is not mine. I hope you will enjoy it <3

Masterpost | Ask | Guidelines | Sherlock (BBC) masterlist

Fresh from the Police Academy, Y/N did know things wouldn’t be easy. She was well aware of the risks of her job, she knew very well she wasn’t a sheriff from the Far-West neither a super-hero, she wasn’t about to forget to call for backup when it was needed, yadda, yadda; the instructor had really well done his job, namely ram those concepts in her head as deeply as he could without using a bludgeon so that the new recruit she was wouldn’t make herself kill as soon as she would put a toe on the field.

But there were two things Y/N’s instructor - as skilful and dedicated as he was - couldn’t have prepare her for: firstly for having to work with a bunch of nutcases led by Sherlock Holmes and, then, for her greatest challenge to be finding a place to sleep which wouldn’t cost twice her pay AND wouldn’t be at three hours away from Scotland Yard.

To be fair, this problem had been quickly solved after she had complained about the four busses and metro she had to take to negotiate the distance between her friend’s couch and her office at the Yard to Mrs. Hudson while she was waiting for the Detective to put on some pants for her to drive him to a new crime scene: a week later, Y/N was moving in Baker Street.

Nobody would be able to guess which of Mrs. Hudson or Sherlock had been the more surprised: Sherlock for Y/N to be willing to move in with him (well, not technically “with him”, but in the same flat, under the same roof, sharing a kitchen, and a living room, and a freaking bathroom... All of those mundane things) and Mrs. Hudson for Sherlock to agree this easily when she had asked his opinion about Y/N becoming his new flatmate. Anyway, Y/N was downstairs with all her belongings and a new problem had raised: with his ongoing case, Sherlock hadn’t had the time to move all the shit he had stored in John’s old bedroom elsewhere... That’s how poor Y/N ended up sleeping on another couch - Sherlock’s this time - surrounded by her boxes.

It hadn’t been a problem, at first, Y/N was well placed to know Justice couldn’t wait and quite happy about the ten little minutes between her new couch and the Yard. Two months later, it had become a problem. Sherlock kept finding all kind of idiotic excuses to NOT vacate Y/N’s room; because, yes, it was Y/N’s room, even if Mrs. Hudson had kindly reduced her rent because of the lack of the bedroom Y/N was paying for. It could have not become a problem, Y/N could have left the flat and almost all of her Sherlockian problems behind her, Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t have hold it against her but... Well... Maybe there had been third things the instructor couldn’t have prepare Y/N for, the third would be the soft feelings the police officer was cultivating towards the detective.

And it was stupid, really, it was very clear Sherlock didn’t want her around since he was stubbornly refusing to let Y/N integrating her new bedroom. But you know what? You don’t become a police officer at Scotland Yard because of your outstanding tastes in donuts. Sherlock didn’t want to share is flat with Y/N but let her believe otherwise and pay for a bedroom she couldn’t sleep in? OK, fine. Very well. He would - at the very least - be forced to face his own assholery.

This time, when Sherlock went to leave the room, he found himself back to a very pissed off and dishevelled Y/N roaring “Walk out that door and we’re through”.

oOo

When Sherlock was going to Scotland Yard headquarter, it wasn’t exactly for the charming companionship. Well, that was maybe a little too harsh, Georges has a least half of a brain and was always doing his best; but, otherwise, if Sherlock was going to Scotland Yard, it was because he wanted a case. Or for an emergency, just like right now. What an emergency? No idea, but it has to be something quite pressing or the officer Y/L/N wouldn’t have thrown him out of his bed while yelling at him to put on some pants before storming out of his bedroom.

When Sherlock left the flat to climb in the cab waiting for him, Mrs. Hudson’s knowing gaze told him he had been spotted. To be fair, he hadn’t been quite subtle, the fact he had obeyed to the officer Y/L/N - and hurried to do so! - told a great deal about how he felt toward her. And, indeed, the next morning, the landlady had suggested a new flatmate to Sherlock.

Ah! What could have he answered to that? He has a soft spot for the officer Y/L/N, not only because she wasn’t afraid to shake him out of the bed, but also because she listened to him. She wasn’t settling for hearing him in awe, in shock or in disgust like all the others did, no, she listened to him. She genuinely listened to him. He had quickly discovered that fact, which had offset his own awe, shock and disgust towards the... The feelings he couldn’t help but have. He had agreed to share the 221B Baker Street with the officer Y/L/N which had become Y/N.

When she had arrived with all her belongings to move in, Sherlock hadn’t honestly mean for her room to not be set, he would have been ready to swear it and had profusely apologized, he had really been caught in the last case and just never thought about tidying John’s old room at all. The incredulous smile Y/N had thrown him before bursting of laughing and telling him it was ok, she would sleep on the couch, just bolstered Sherlock in his first idea: he had been right to accept Y/N as a new flatmate.

He couldn’t have known that, a few hours later, seeing Y/N quietly asleep on the couch would stir something unknown inside of him, something which demanded him to protect and provide, something which made him sick at the idea of letting her go anywhere, something which couldn’t bear the idea of not enjoying the cute show of Y/N’s slumber every night. No, not even the great Detective Sherlock Holmes would have been able to know about this possessive side of himself as Lavoisier wouldn’t have known about the phenomenon of oxidation before burning some metal.

Sherlock knew his behaviour wasn’t worthy of a gentleman and he was secretly praying for his mother never discovering how he had addressed a woman, but it had been stronger than him and, yes, even stronger than the possibility of Mrs. Holmes’ wrath. Sherlock wanted to keep Y/N all for himself and it was already difficult enough to let her go God knows where every morning for the genius to be unwilling to divest himself of the few hours he could spend with her every day. Don’t get him wrong, Sherlock didn’t want to lock Y/N down, he was just... Aaaah! Police officer is a dangerous job and... No, it’s not because she’s a woman, God! He had been raised by Mrs. Holmes, remember? And he lived under Mrs. Hudson’s roof, how could he not know women are as strong as men (and maybe stronger, it wasn’t the point, so he didn’t care)? Don’t be ridiculous... What was his point, again? Ah, yes, the possessive side he had discovered the night Y/N moved in could hardly bear to know her in danger and not being with her to help and protect her (even if she didn’t need to be protect, sometimes it’s nice to be protected, ok? And... Not the freaking point!). Sherlock knew very well his behaviour wasn’t worthy of a gentleman, but he couldn’t help himself and kept finding stupid excuse after stupid excuse to not clear Y/N’s room.

But he was starting to run out of ideas, both for postpone household and for good reasons to not feel guilty about the disappointed looks Mrs. Hudson sent him on a daily basis. Y/N had suggested tidying the room herself, she had asked nicely, she had given him the cold shoulder, but nothing had worked, he had kept telling her he would do it. He had even used of his charm on her, playing lively tunes with his violin to make her smile and stop her from being angry at him. It had worked, maybe a little too well because she had started to dance around the living room and Sherlock hadn’t been sure about who was charming who anymore...

Sherlock knew he had to find a solution to keep Y/N around him which didn’t involve her sleeping on the couch, the faster the better, he was thinking very hard about it, his efforts renewed by the twinge in his stomach when he had come across the empty living room, when he entered his bedroom to discover Y/N asleep in his bed. To say he wasn’t expecting that would have been an enormous understatement, but he felt something deep inside him curl in satisfaction. Exactly. Yes, it was the very exact solution to everything. It was absolutely perfect, it was... Too much for him to handle all at once, as wonderful as it was. Sherlock was ready to make a beeline to the bathroom to get a grip on his feelings, the hand on the doorknob when a groan startled him: “Walk out that door and we’re through”.

Crap...

oOo

The week had been a hard one, Y/N was totally exhausted. She extracted herself from her nest of blankets and pillows to face the stunned detective, too tired to be ashamed of the shorts and the baggy t-shirt she was wearing as bed clothes, and, pointing an accusing digit at him, rasped “You have two solutions: either you immediately go clear my bedroom or you tell me you don’t want to live with me already and I’ll be gone in an hour, but I won’t spend the rest of my career sleeping on your couch. And, since you seemed unable to shoulder your responsibilities, I claim your bed as mine until my bedroom is ready. This is non-negotiable.”

And say that Sherlocked was feeling overwhelmed when he had opened his bedroom door... He could accurately perceive the warmth emanating from Y/N’s body and almost feel the softness of her worn-out t-shirt under his fingers. It seemed he wouldn’t have to find a solution himself, afterwards, Y/N had given him one on a silver plate. Listening to his bravery only, Sherlock just rounded the bed, getting rid of his suit jacket and toeing out of his shoes, to creep in the nest of softness and cosiness from the side of the bed Y/N wasn’t occupying. To answer to the silent question Y/N’s wide eyes were asking him, he just said, from his comfortable spot, “Why would I do such stupid things when you’re exactly where I have always wanted you?”

Kneeling on the bed, Y/N throw him a look full of disbelief. “Why... And you couldn’t tell me?” Sherlock answered with the simple, bare honesty only him could exercise “No. If I had been able to voice it, I would certainly never make you sleep on the couch for so long.” Y/N laughed and went back under the blankets, only to find herself immediately wrapped in Sherlock’s embrace. Home is not a place, it’s a feeling.

Alexithymia (n.): the inability to express your feelings.

***

Thanks for reading <3

#Sherlock #sherlock imagine #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #Sherlock Holmes #sherlock BBC #benedict cumberbatch

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qqueenofhades · 4 years

Note

12 for Garcy? Only if you want to of course:)

The house is not far from where Flynn grew up, not far from his late grandmother’s apartment off Ilica, one of those big old places with overgrown vines on the walls, gables, rambling turrets – looking straight out of a gothic novel, for all that it’s five minutes from bustling downtown Zagreb. It is obviously a fixer-upper, and Lucy broke through a floorboard in the basement the other day and discovered a nest of mice. (She’s not proud of the fact that she, having coolly faced down ruthless secret societies and all manner of nasty villains throughout history, ran upstairs screaming at Flynn to call the exterminator now, but hey, they all have their secret shames.) But it’s the kind of house that bookish little girls dream about while reading under the sheets at night, and it’s theirs. They’re working on, or rather Flynn is working on, rebuilding it, and it looks better every day. Real. True.

Both of them are not sad to be out of America for a while, and they have no definite plans to return immediately. Lucy finally sold her mom’s house and doesn’t exactly have an academic job to leave behind, and it was time for a new beginning. She’s doing some work in state archives over here and guest lecturing at the University of Zagreb, and Flynn – well, it’s a lot stranger for him to be back here, especially without the NSA job that was the reason for his presence last time. But he seems happier, in a way she’s never seen him, or maybe that’s just because he’s finally starting to shed the iron-hard shell in which he has lived by necessity for so many years. Lucy does love Zagreb. It’s a charming little town-city, there are plenty of side streets, square, churches, cafes, museums, markets, gardens, galleries, and other places to explore, and everyone either speaks English or is vastly patient with her stumbling attempts at Croatian. It’s so different from the crammed crowds, the hustle and bustle of San Francisco, the on-the-go-go-go Bay Area, where everyone is always worrying about money or bathrooms or traffic. She can walk everywhere, or take the tram. Shopkeepers have made an effort to remember her name. It’s weird.

Lucy gets home tonight with an armload of groceries, unreasonably proud of herself for having navigated the aisles of Konzum without having to pull out her phone to Google Translate product packaging, and sets everything on the counter. There’s still a faint haze of sawdust floating in the air – Flynn must have been busy today – and a fresh coat of paint drying on the living room wall. He’s good with his hands, not that that’s surprising. Building things, building places, building a house, a home, and she glances around for him, but he’s not here. Probably had to run out to get more drywall or whatever it is.

Lucy opens some cans and valiantly sets about cooking dinner. She is, of course, very far from a culinary maestro, especially in a second language, but she’s working on it, and she likes to have the ritual of eating together. Once she’s slapped together something resembling cordon bleu and put it in the oven, she glances around for Flynn again. She thinks about texting him, but decides she can wait a little longer. They’re living together, they are together, they’ve been like this for almost eight months now and left California five months ago, but she worries about being clingy.

At last, as the timer is going off and she hunts in the bare drawers until she finds an improvised oven mitt, the door opens and Flynn appears, looking fresh-scrubbed and oddly furtive. He sticks his nose in, clears his throat, and says, “Uh, smells good.”

“Thanks.” Lucy eyes him curiously. “Big line at the hardware store?”

“No.” Flynn backs out of the kitchen and zooms up the stairs at warp speed, forbearing to offer any more details about his afternoon adventures. Since this is fairly standard for him, Lucy rolls her eyes tolerantly, but when he comes back downstairs, clearly having tackled his unruly dark hair with a wet comb, he seems even more skittish than usual. When she asks him if he wants to sit down, he jumps, then nods gravely, as if invited to a state dinner by the President. He perches in one of the undersized chairs, then says, “Thank you. Ah, for dinner. It looks, ah – my grandmother used to make this, it’s – nice.”

“You’re welcome,” Lucy says, dishing them up and sitting down across from him. They eat in silence for a few moments, Flynn looking twitchier than ever. Then finally she says, “Garcia, is everything all right?”

“I…” Flynn debates the answer to that question. He gets up, jostles the table, grabs some matches, and determinedly lights some of the candles they keep around for atmosphere, as if gosh darn it, something will be romantic around here. Then he says abruptly, “Lucy, do you – do you like this? Here? Us?”

“What?” It’s Lucy’s turn to be surprised. “Yes. Of course I do. I love it.”

Flynn coughs. He can’t seem to meet her eyes. “I just thought,” he says, to the ceiling fan rather than her, until he wrenches them down to face her. “Well, my mother came over here – rather haphazardly, admittedly – to be with my father, and you – and I’ve been waiting… I hoped…”

“Garcia,” Lucy says again, not entirely sure where this is going and feeling obliged to offer a helping hand. She loves this man to her very soul, but my god, the density. “What are you saying?” A sudden spear of anxiety goes through her, turning her cold. “Is it that you don’t like this?”

“What! No!” Flynn looks aghast. “I just – I wanted to be sure, I thought about doing this some other way, and maybe it’s not what you want, you don’t have to, I can live, I just – I had to, I want nothing more in the world, and… ”

And with that, as Lucy finally cottons on where this is going and can’t breathe, Flynn reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small box, and goes to one knee on their half-finished kitchen floor. He looks up at her with those devoted, drowning, unbearable eyes, the ones that want more than anything, and can sometimes struggle, to put it charitably, with turning it into words. “If you wanted,” he says. “We could have our books here, and our nights in bed, and the windows open, and go up to the roof to look at the stars. We could have – this could be our house. It could be like this. Mice and all. It could stay. You could have it.” He pauses. Then he adds, almost as an afterthought, “And me.”

“You…” Lucy is laughing and crying and laughing all at once, as she gets out of her chair and faces him on the floor. “Garcia, are you asking me to marry you?”

Flynn realizes he hasn’t done that yet, and looks chagrined. He pauses, and then at last, he nods. “Yes,” he says. “But if you don’t want – ”

The rest of his sentence is cut off as Lucy flings herself into his arms, knocking him backward, and the ring flies out of his hand onto the floor. Neither of them care, because she’s landed on top of him, she’s kissing him senseless, he’s kissing her back just as savagely, and neither of them say anything until they’re good and damn well ready to, which takes several minutes. “Yes,” Lucy Preston says, and it is the easiest thing she has ever said, the best decision, the deepest and most desperate desire of her heart. “Yes, yes, yes.”

(They finally hunt down the ring, and he puts it on her finger looking like a man in a dream, and they go upstairs to their bedroom, in their house, and she does not mind in the least that her dinner has been entirely forgotten.)

(september prompt list)

#timeless ff #garcy #garcy ff #prompt fills #thealocksly #ask

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in-tua-deep · 4 years

Note

How would Ravenclaw! Klaus react to the ghosts in Hogwarts? Like, would he ignore them until he realizes everyone else can see them? Does he discover that he can make ghosts corporeal and/or levitation and telekinesis now that he's not on drugs? Does he accidentally talk to a ghost that no one else can see, like the ghost of a muggle, and everyone thinks he's crazy? Basically, what are your Klaus headcannons for your HP AU? (Sorry if this was too long, I've just been thinking about this alot.)

asdfFGDH no worries - I also like the idea of Ravenclaw!Klaus but for the purpose of this au he is a baby Slytherin bless his heart

okay okay okay

So the thing is, while the kids stay at the school for winter break and that’s fine, they have to go somewhere for the summer. Headmistress McGonagall took them for the remainder of the summer before they went into their first year, yeah, but she wasn’t exactly planning on housing seven magical kids. She was just the best bet to transfigure them seven beds (can you say bunk beds?) as a temporary measure

The summer between first and second year they end up with the Weasleys who have an empty nest after Ginny moved out. They have room for seven magical kids at least, even if they kind of tiptoe around one another and it’s kind of an awkward placing

Molly Weasley is very physically affectionate and loud. The kids are very used to violence and getting yelled at so this is not a fantastic combination. Five thinks Arthur Weasley is an idiot of the highest degree after several questions regarding muggle things (and the other won’t say it but they’re kind of thinking it as well) not to mention their general wariness of male parental or authority figures.

Diego volunteers to cook with Mrs. Weasley and likes it but then immediately feels guilty because that’s something he did with Grace and he misses her so he swings wildly between liking Mrs. Weasley and hating her for not being Grace and then feeling guilty for liking her AND guilty for hating her and it’s a vicious cycle

Luther still resents the fact that they can’t go home, even if he’s starting to clue in to the fact that the way Reginald treated them was way beyond not normal and that he’s actually way safer than he’s ever been before? It’s weird and he feels guilty for what he perceives as disloyalty for enjoying himself and having fun and so he’s kind of moody like Diego is

(this combination is somewhat explosive oops. at least they don’t share a room unlike they did at McGonagall’s place)

now this is a somewhat long winded way of saying that during the summer, the Weasley kids do come and visit their mother of course! And, one fateful day, one half of a matched pair shows up to cheerfully cause chaos. George Weasley comes home with a big smile and free samples from the shop to distribute among the little kiddies under his parents roof - have to keep them on their toes after all!

And Klaus sees ghosts. Which, if you said this to any wizard or witch, they would nod and tell you that they also see ghosts! Except Klaus sees more than the ones like Nearly Headless Nick and the Bloody Baron. He sees souls that are only wispily tied to the world, who haven’t had time to solidify their presence. Who follow behind their family.

Now, Klaus doesn’t mention this. It’s not normal, after all, and all of the Hargreeves have agreed to keep their... extra issues under wraps in case the grown ups decide to return them or something, or decide they aren’t magic after all, or whatever. They’re eleven going on twelve they’re allowed to be afraid.

So Klaus doesn’t mention anything when the red headed man comes in followed by an identical (albeit slightly younger) man. Klaus only cottons onto the fact that this man is a ghost because Molly Weasley introduces George to them and not the other one. No one notices the other one. And they’ve seen pictures, they know that there used to be Fred-and-George until the war happened and then there was only-George.

(related: Klaus is actually very happy with the wizarding world ghosts and also very pissed off about them. On the bright side, the killing curse leaves no visible wounds! So there’s not as many incredibly disturbing traumatizing ghosts to look at! Downside here is that Klaus cannot tell if a ghost is a ghost. Unless they’re wearing fancy ass historical period clothes :/

Klaus memorizes pretty much all the years students out of sheer self defense. If there someone who Klaus knows Is Not a Student, he just quietly asks the nearest sibling who is In The Know about his powers

He gets anxious when they’re out in like, hogsmeade or diagon alley though, or when there are a lot of strangers. his general rule of thumb is to only interact with people his siblings interact with, or people who he touches first. He’s perfected the ‘accidental bump’ move thank you

The other sibs are all very accommodating because if Klaus’s secret gets out, then all their secrets get out)

Anyway so Klaus’s modus opperandi is to ignore ignore ignore! Usually if ghosts don’t realize he can see them, they leave him alone. Unfortunately, Klaus is sharing Fred-and-George’s old room with Ben (they organized themselves this way so that Ben can wake Klaus up when he has nightmares)

and Fred floats up to reminisce while Klaus is in there and Klaus would ignore him except he keeps making comments and looking sad and just UGH and he’s lurking in front of the door and Klaus can’t just walk through him to leave. That’s weird and gross. So eventually, eventually, Klaus snaps at him “Can you please move?”

and he’s tired and he had nightmares last night (he can’t just ask Five to carve the good dream runes into some random lady’s son’s bed) and he just wants to go downstairs okay?? and he’s not thinking about it and the guy looks young and friendly and almost alive and it just slips out

and Fred stands there in shock for a solid second before finally whispering a simple - “You can see me?”

and this is a mistake

Fred tries to convince Klaus so hard to tell George and to pass messages and and and - he’s just so excited! He’s been following George around, watching him wallow in grief and watching his family wallow in grief and he’d thought that ghosts were just. Ghosts. He didn’t realize it was even possible, this invisible existence. He’s been silent for so long

But Klaus is a traumatized eleven year old okay he is Not About Any of This

eventually Fred gets it into his head that he’s freaking the kid out and softens, because Fred’s always been pretty good with kids anyway. He listens when Klaus haltingly explains why no one can know and then kind of hedges, because Fred is really nice, so he makes a deal

He’ll tell George about Fred, but only when he’s 17 and a legal adult in wizarding society with no chance of being sent back into Reginald’s grasp. Fred thinks this is stupid, but he’s waited fourish years already and didn’t expect to have any chance so (and Klaus is very adamant about keeping away from his ex-Dad and Fred knows there’s a reason)

anyway Fred follows Klaus when he goes back to Hogwarts to start second year. Well, kind of. He splits time between the shop/lurking after George and then going to bug Klaus. Klaus is very resistant to this at first, because if the other ghosts realize he can talk to Fred, then they’ll want to talk to him.

Fred fixes it though by basically just going around (because Fred is still legendary and his pranks are to be feared and all the ghosts in Hogwarts uniforms with haunted eyes that fell defending their school know that) and warning them off. He takes requests and messages and passes them to Klaus to write down in a notebook to be distributed when Klaus hits 17 - so Klaus isn’t bothered by any ghosts

besides being bros with Fred is actually a very excellent thing to be because Fred knows everything about the school. He knows all the secret passageways and all the trick steps and trap doors and empty rooms. He mentions missing having a map in passing, but tells Klaus it would have been so much cooler to have an invisible ghost to scout ahead and warn them about professors or anyone coming

Klaus doesn’t keep Fred secret from the others, so the whole family gets to benefit from Fred’s vast knowledge

(Klaus’s written test grades increase, to the bafflement of his professors - it certainly helps having a ghost to help you cheat!

none of the family are above cheating tbh, they are all very wary of the concept of failure in general and are willing to do a lot to avoid becoming acquainted with the consequences of failing)

Klaus probably figures out making ghosts corporeal when he’s hmm. 15? There is. a lot of drama in Klaus’s fifth year and it’s stressful and there is an Incident where Fred going corporeal saves Klaus’s life

(Fred helps out a lot in Klaus’s fifth year, actually, the kids would probably be in serious trouble without him)

anyway this sparks another freak out where Fred says they HAVE to tell George - because this changes everything!! They fight and don’t speak for like two entire weeks before Fred comes back and grudgingly apologizes. After so long hanging around the Hargreeves, he knows very well that they were Super Fucking Abused and are fearful of being returned for Good Reason

so Fred gets to be the one that Klaus practices with and figure out corporeal ghost stuff with

I’m going to say no levitation/telekinesis in this au (pending the results of season two maybe?) but I will say that the first year flying class? Klaus fucking excels. You think about Klaus on a broom and it should be a disaster, but Klaus is the best flyer in Hogwarts, he treats the broom almost as an extension of himself

Slytherin keeps trying to recruit him onto the quidditch team but Klaus always laughs it off saying that he’s not a jock - also his flying skills do not translate into catching/throwing skills thanks. He’s graceful as all fuck but if you try throw him a quaffle or whatever, he will drop it

i feel like it should be noted that with all seven of them, the Hargreeves could form their own quidditch team lmao

But yeah to sum up, Klaus ignores ghosts (his housemates tease him about being scared of ghosts and he laughs them off), he does discover his ability to make ghosts corporeal due to no drugs, no levitation/telekinesis, he can absolutely see ghosts that wizards can’t see (and not every wizard/witch who dies becomes the wizarding version of a ghost), and I have headcanons about Klaus being very good on a broom lmao

#ask me #anonymous #hogwarts au #tua au #tua/hp crossover #the umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves #fred weasley #the weasleys #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #ben hargreeves #my usual rambling to get to the point #long post #in tua deep

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darklydeliciousdesires · 4 years

Text

A Fate Unimagined - Chapter Twenty Seven.

Sorry this is a day late guys! I was busy all day yesterday. Just to say too, I’m changing the updates to twice weekly now I’m beginning to run low on pre-written chapters. I like to stay well ahead in the writing so that if I need to make edits, I can easily go back and do this. Enjoy!

Tag list - @breakmeaswitchson @madbaddic7ed @ruelf-emedam@brexfrix @ xxphoenixflyerxx @geekyweed@holyhumorliteraturelight @jinaaaannnnn @alliyjane @notso-fetch @zoe-rachel-crisp @glowien @tranquility-or-chaos @bucky-did-nothing-wrong @shileen91 @boiled-onionrings @cheritzie @hm-fck @mary-ann84 @skylarmorgan1899 @alwayshave-faith @alliyjane @shyen18@shadesofarrogance @justjulie1105 @soulmatelove96@agniavateira @stormnightsong @xmother-mortemx @gamingaquarius @pansexualpancakeslife @jesseswartzwelder @ayamenimthiriel @winchwm @romanoffs-heart @queengeorgiaaa

Previous Chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty One Twenty Two Twenty Three Twenty Four Twenty Five Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

“I have to say, that’s a very strange, but quite beautiful looking abode,” Rin stated as they rode towards the huntsman’s keep.

“I often thought the same when I saw it as a youngster.” Geralt replied as they rode towards the home, which gladly still looked abandoned. It was a brick built structure and round in shape, with three levels, stained glass windows and a chimney that was mostly in the waterfall that gushed to the side of it.

“I can’t believe all the windows are intact. Oh, except for that one. And that one,” Riley then announced, the closer they rode to it. “That’s new, though. That wasn’t here before.” He then added, pointing out to a smaller, wooden cottage upon the land, not far from the keep.

Dismounting the horses and leaving them to graze, they approached, finding the door wide open, rats scattering out when they entered.

“Fuck, it smells bad,” Rin commented, the stench of rat’s nests overpowering. They looked around, finding a surprising amount of furniture still intact and usable, but the home in a bad state of disrepair. “Well, it’s surprising the stench carries so well up here, what with such adequate ventilation.” She then added once they were on the top floor, pointing at the hole in the roof.

“I can fix that,” Geralt told her, Riley snorting.

“What the hell do you know about roofing? He exclaimed, looking around more.

“Nothing, but I can learn,” he replied.

“Or we can just head to the nearest village, fetch all the supplies we’ll likely need and find a tradesman who can do it properly. Just live downstairs for now, I’ll take the cottage, give you two your space,” he suggested with a shrug.

“It would mean I wouldn’t have to worry that you’re about to fall through the hole in the roof and leave me a single mother,” Rin then stated, stroking his chest as she walked past and surveyed the bed. It couldn’t really be constituted as such, covered in bird faeces and soaking from where rain had poured in through the roof hole.

It really wasn’t in good shape, but it was shelter, at least. After digging around, Rin found a broom and began to sweep, Geralt and Riley taking the broken furniture outside, where she lit it with a fire ball. Between them, they managed to get it clear and the floors washed with boiling water and some soap that Riley gladly found to deal with the rat smell by nightfall.

“I’m going to go and wash in the waterfall while we wait for that to cook,” he told his companions, pointing to the small boar Geralt had managed to hunt down. Rin had found an outdoor spit, cleaned it until her fingers were sore and got it set up over some more furniture they were having to burn.

“So, what do you think of the place?” he asked her, Rin turning around to look at the house.

“I think it’ll be lovely when it’s clean all the way through, furnished too. That can wait though. All we need is a bed more urgently than anything else. I’m an unfussy woman. I’m content with a place I can rest my head and fuck my man before I’ll desire anything else.” Her words made him laugh, putting his arm around her neck and pulling her close, kissing her cheek.

That night, they slept in semi comfort on the clean lounge floor, curled up to one another. The discomfort that they felt come the morning drove Geralt to head with Riley to the nearest village and make some purchases though, so they had a bed and meagre furnishings, at least.

Unfortunately, a new bed had to be made for them, meaning further uncomfortable nights while the carpenter Geralt had tracked down had it made, delivering it on a large cart three weeks after their arrival.

“Anything else can wait. This is absolutely sublime,” Rin sighed, sinking down onto it, stuffing her face into a pillow and smiling happily. “You chose well with the bedding too.” She then commented as Geralt joined her on the raw, white cotton linen.

“I had nothing to do with that. The carpenter’s wife made everything since that’s what she specialises in. I paid her enough to make some extra blankets which I will go and collect in a few weeks once she’s woven them. You’re looking tired, you should rest for today,” he commented, Rin shaking her head.

“No, I have to help!” she protested, sitting up.

“You’re six and a half months’ pregnant. You’ll do as you’re told and sit,” he warned her, only half joking.

“Yes, pregnant. Not ill! Riley mentioned something about there being a big last of the season market being held a few miles from the village in a couple of days. I’d like to head there, I need clothes that actually accommodate this,” she replied, pulling up her tunic to reveal her swollen belly.

The lace up fastening on all of her trousers wasn’t long enough to be tied any longer, Rin conceding that she needed to now switch to dresses until after the birth. Geralt saw the practicality in this, knowing they could likely buy more of what they needed for their home whilst there too.

They firstly rode to the nearest village, Riley managing to barter a merchant to lend him a cart and horses in exchange for Ed for a couple of days, since they needed ample room to bring back their purchases on. He was lucky in so much that his small cottage home was in good condition, everything within only needing a good clean and tidy.

“I’m going to leave you two to have some space for a while, go out there hunting again. I’ll return in time for the little person to arrive though as you’ll likely need help then, even if it’s me just watching over her while you both sleep. I don’t imagine new parents get much of that,” he spoke from the cart, driving the horses on a little faster.

“Don’t mention hunting. I miss it,” Rin lamented, now of course not able to go out there and continue her profession. “If you want to go with him for a while, I shan’t mind.” She then added to Geralt, who looked at her like she’d insulted his ancestors.

“I’m not fucking leaving you alone!” He stated vehemently.

“I’ll be fine. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of anyone from either the Sanctuary or the Order in weeks. We’re off their grid, it worked. All we have to do is remain concealed when we’re anywhere but within the house,” he put to him, reaching to squeeze his arm affectionately.

“I shan’t leave you regardless of that. What if something happened with the baby, hmm? You’d be alone, miles from help. No, Rin. You’re stuck with me.” She saw the sense behind his words there, she could go into labour early, or fall and hurt herself or the baby, anything could happen. Still though, she was annoyed to have to be out of commission where hunting was concerned and effectively house bound.

It wasn’t an option that she particularly relished, losing her independence in such a way, but thinking on it as Geralt and Riley talked between themselves, Rin knew it was a compromise she had to make for the sake of her unborn daughter. ‘It isn’t just about you any longer’ she thought to herself, realising that being a mother would change her life completely.

She couldn’t be alone any longer, for the valid reasons Geralt had stated, because she wasn’t alone. She was holding another life within her and after the anguish and danger she’d faced throughout her pregnancy so far, maybe now was the time to be welcoming of a more sedate pace.

In the coming weeks, she did try too. She threw herself into making the huntsman’s keep her home, building a crib for her child and furnishing what would eventually be her room (she intended to have her close by in hers and Geralt’s bedroom to begin with) as well as organising the rest of the house. It didn’t come easily, however.

“What are you trying not to laugh at?” she asked Geralt one morning, while turning a vase of flowers in different positions and frowning.

“Watching you trying to take to domesticity. It’s like witnessing a dog attempting to walk on its hind legs,” he told her. He’d witnessed her fuss over sofa cushions, armchair positions and where to hang a painting already that morning, a frown etched over her forehead. She simply wasn’t used to any of this. He wasn’t either, but was adjusting a little better to the change than the frustrated ember.

“The dog would probably be better at it,” she muttered, finally giving way to laughter as she picked up the vase, strode over to the windowsill and plonked it down. “There! It fucking looks fine there!” she then shouted, shaking her head as she finally laughed through her frustration. “I wasn’t built for this.”

“No, you were built for fire, chaos and slaughter. The rest will come to you, though.” Geralt assured her, joining her at the window. It did, too. Eventually. One afternoon weeks later, after he’d been out to procure them a doe for dinner, he witnessed the lovely sight of her sitting outside their home, stroking her bump while hand feeding the otters who lived in the river nearby.

The little creatures had been very curious of their new neighbours, Rin gaining their trust by leaving them breadcrumbs and fish guts a short way from the door, eventually managing to offer them these treats by hand.

“Look at you, you’re so lovely. All fur and teeth!” she cooed at the otter who was allowing her to rub his belly, playfully nibbling her finger while the others hopped on and off her lap, hiding in the blanket she was wrapped in for warmth. The winter had come and with it, deep snow throughout the Blue Mountains.

The house looked lovely, all repaired and furnished, currently glittering with snow. To Geralt though, it was Rin sitting outside of it, looking more beautiful than ever as she shone with her pregnant glow, which truly made it home.

Walking over to her slowly, he smiled when she finally looked up and noticed him, her face so beautiful and alight, her peach hair such a contrast against the brilliance of the snow. She was utterly luminous to him. She was his ember, the mother of his child, his lady, his all. Watching her there looking so lovely, it hit him exactly how much she meant to him.

“I love you, Catherine,” he told her as he approached, the otters scampering off. Catherine. It was the first time anyone had ever called her that, or at least the first time she could remember.

“What prompted this? I love you too, by the way. I’m not just stating that because you did either! I really do,” she told him as she stood, Geralt wrapping her in his arms. It was a feeling unlike anything she had ever experienced, being told she was loved and in turn, revealing the same to another. Geralt truly was her first love, though.

“This,�� he began, taking her hand and resting it to his chest above his heart. “This prompted it.” No further words followed, just kisses as the air began to fill with snow all around. They truly didn’t need to embellish, for that wasn’t true to the people they were.

Their love, although profound, was quiet and undramatic. It was a whisper of breeze rather than a tornado, or the gentle kiss of a snowflake opposed to an ice storm, much like those which landed of them as they stood in each other’s arms, basking in one another and the quiet all around.

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sarah--goff · 4 years

Text

T.D.M Chapter 16: Lenore

Jareth never seemed to learn his lesson whenever he visited the Above.

It was evident from the greying clouds and the tell-tale uprising wind that he should turn back, turn back before it was too late but he just couldn’t bear to face another evening with those insipid creatures as his only company. He shuddered. No, he would stay out tonight.

But where to, where to? The delightful question.

"Take me anywhere” he murmured to the wind, transforming into his owl form and spread his wings, riding the wind was always fun and unpredictable. Who knows the adventures he’d have this time.

He flew for a while, a long while, scanning the land below, unsure where the wind was leading him, he had found nothing that was drawing his attention.

When he began to cross over rolling fields he was rather disappointed. Where were all the cities and busy people?

“Drat” he mumbled, the wind setting him down at last.

He folded his wings under him again, transforming back into his natural form . Well this was hardly the adventure he was hoping for.

No, no it would not do at all.

He couldn’t be sure where exactly in the above he was, it mostly looked all the same to him.

Jareth guessed it was late summer by the lingering sun but it night time was soon to come about.

He sighed, picking himself up and spread his arms to take flight , the wind picked him up, rather forcefully and flung him upwards. Not good.

He should leave, now. Staying in the Above for those who belonged Underground had drastic consequences, like the Underground had for mortals, but he shook it off, he wouldn’t have a wasted journey.

The wind blew under him and when Jareth spotted a horizon of bright lights and tall buildings his heart leapt. Ah finally, now he was getting somewhere. He tilted himself right, to survey it, but the wind carried him in the opposite direction forcefully pushing him away.

Augh! he thought irritably.

The wind dropped him without warning. Luckily his quick reflexes allowed him to switch back and land on his feet brushing himself off.

Jareth began to feel extremely tired. A wasted journey after all.

He had meant to change into his owl form, but the weary magic had instead made him the black bird. A raven.

He could scarcely keep atop of the wind, “what’s gotten into you!”.

Every now and then it would cut out and then start up suddenly making him queasy.

Jareth had to close his eyes for a second but misjudged and crashing into a tree that winded him completely and knocked him out.

He was out for a while when he stirred groggily he didn’t know where he was again. He must have spelled himself out of the tree in his panic. A storm was brewing.

Lightening struck the sky.

He had to rest he had to keep out of the storm. Luckily for him he was in a populated area.

Jareth landed on the roof tops of houses, looking for shelter in them but he could not access any, they were closed up, the curtains drawn all the lights were out, all but one opposite him.

The window was wide open , even in this pelting rain he could see right into the room . The warm of candle- light evading from it invited him in greatly, he was frozen to the bone, he needed to rest greatly before his magic short circuited and god knows what would happen.

The Goblin King hoped down as best he could with his throbbing side, managing to keep his footing even on the slippery tiles. He fluttered momentarily towards the house opposite the window within his reach.

Just as he was about to land on the tree branch that was directly outside the open window, he saw a figure’s hand reach out for the windows latch and firmly close it right before him!

No no ! He thought painstakingly as his side burned. He didn’t have much longer , he could feel himself slipping away. Jareth clumsily perched on the tree branch, through his drooping eyes he could see the candle light was still burning.

The figure must still be close by, the Goblin King found himself softly pecking at the glass of the window, just enough to get their attention. Nothing happened and Jareth used everything he could to tap louder. Nothing.

He tried again then gave up, legs giving out under him, slouching against the window hopeless when the it was creaked open a splinter and then thrown open by the wind.

Jareth’s limp body tumbled through the window and crashed harshly onto the ledge face down.

The wind died down enough for him to catch a gasp above him .

The Goblin King dare not move, fearing he had simultaneously switched back into his male body, which mortals never had a good reaction to.

From his titled his head up enough to see a mortal girl standing above him. He guessed by her uncertain look and concern he was not his natural self and was still in his wretched form, soaking from the downpour. He groaned inwardly. This could go two ways. Neither were particularly good.

Jareth’s chest heaved up and down heavily, wincing at the intake of breath. He tried to still to avoid provoking the burning pain throughout his entire body.

He heard the window close again, muffling the raging tempest. The candle’s light had since died. Jareth depended on the moon glow to show him the girl’s lovely concerned face as she hovered over him , unsure what to do. He was slipping further, faster, downwards, his eyes were drooping as he stared back at her, she couldn’t help him.

If he was going to die here, at least it was under such a beautiful view, such a benevolent creature then he had no complaints.

He closed his eyes. The end he thought, embracing it when suddenly Jareth felt two warm hands slip under his abdomen, his limp body caressed and opened them again. The mortal wrapped a blanket of some sort around him, warming him greatly. He felt instantly better, like her very touch had restarted his heart,

“Come on, bud” she murmured to him, her light voice inviting him to stir. The pull was releasing him slightly now.

Her hands under him banished the ebbing pain, he could move his wings a little now, feeling more vigorous.

The mortal placed him down gently with the blanket over him . She was retreating.

No! Don’t leave already! he thought panic-stricken already shivering again. He was relived the watch her only cross the room to her drawers where she pulled out long drapes of woolly material, shifting them on her desk to make a circular shape.

He could vaguely make out the room , he must be in a child’s bedroom by the looks of it and he inwardly sighed. Great. She didn’t look like a child, even from his small height Jareth could see she was taller than that .

It was only when she came back for him again, holding him close to her chest that he could see in the weak light the mortal had made him a nest. Oh no.

She was lowering him towards it, away from her warmth and breath. Jareth began to twist in her hands avoiding the blasted mockery for a bed.

“Absolutely not!” he cried in protest, but the words hadn’t left his beak he could only move it up and down to form them “do you think this is a joke? I can’t feel my blasted face!”

“Calm down- it’s just for a second!” the girl told him aiming to sooth him over before placing the Goblin king in the centre of the makeshift nest. Jareth scowled at her.

“Would you rather be out there?” the mortal girl challenged him, scowling back.

He bit back a scoff -not that he could in this form but even so- how dare she talk down to him

On the other hand, her hands on hips, taunting eyes staring him down, her soft mouth, he couldn’t find himself disgusted but rather amused at her tempestuousness, no-nonsense attitude.

The branch smacked the window causing him to glance away from her briefly when he looked back she looked smug she had won the argument.

“Well this is as good as it gets... Back in a sec” the mortal held up her finger to the him moving to the door. “Don’t move” she commanded steeling her eyes on him.

The girl left shaking her head, presumably to find him some half-hearted excuse for food no doubt. He took this opportunity to transform back.

Jareth rose from sitting cross legged on her clothing/makeshift bed, knocking a few things over. He cracked his stiff back with a low groan but before he could take another step he was turned back, back into this humiliating, wretched bird form.

Jareth growled in frustration, it wasn’t even his favourite, his beloved benevolent snow -white owl , instead the beautiful mortal got to see him as this simpering black bird.

It worried him though, he’d never been in the Above for this long. If he couldn’t change back into his natural form, he would be stuck like this forever, at the mercy and reliance on a young mortal girl for the rest of his raven life.

His sensitive ears picked up a crash downstairs and for a moment he thought about checking on the girl until he could hear the retrieving footsteps getting closer. He quickly re-seated himself. Blast it! It looked like he would have to put up with this appearance.

“sorry about that” She re-entered the room holding something in her hands.

She sat cross legged on her own bed, the thing creaking underneath her . Could be worse, he supposed, her own bed didn’t look anymore inviting than his ‘nest’. The mortal was pouring some of the contents in the dish.

The Goblin King craned his neck to see what it was he would have to force down his throat. He needed the strength, desperately. Beggars and choosers and all that.

She smiled satisfied, “here you go” setting the dish down in front of him.

He peaked over the rim. Ugh it was a mixture of seeds and berries. That would never give him any lasting boost.

“This isn’t the Ritz you know. No worms here” she threatened which only alight his impatience further.

Jareth gagged in his mouth “Worms! I should throw you in the Bog you silly creature for denigrating the king”

It was better than nothing but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of winning him over twice and stiffly turned his nose up.

What a night this was turning into.

The human was looking away from him at the clock on the wall with a groan. He noticed the time likewise

He’d been in the Aboveground for several hours now. But there was nothing he could do until he was healed. How long could that take? Eons if she keeps feeding me this pitiful meal.

The girl’s face softened at the sight of him, making his harshness waver for a second under her curious stare.

What are you thinking?

His heart was thudding harder as she reached out to touch him again. Jareth invited it, stilling so she could trace her soft fingers against his wings and torso. He shivered at the touch. She was smiling down at him, marvelling at him.

Jareth couldn’t resist shifting a bit under her appreciative stare. If she thought him pleasant to look upon as a dumb bird, what would she think of him as a man? He was almost tempted to find out had he been able to switch back at that very moment.

Unable to control himself he found himself bowing his head just to feel those fingers brush the crown of it. Bowing! To a mere mortal! He drank up the touch shamelessly and let out a little strangled gasp when she took him surprisingly in her arms, nest and all, to sit him in her lap.

Well now this was far more like it! He smirked wishing on every star in existence he could transform imagining the surprise on her face! The thought of her reaction made him smirk. He was well aware of the effects he had on women, particularly mortal women.

As he began to calm the wind died, a good sign that things would improve.

Jareth even nuzzled against her palm. Sleep was biting at him, calling for him, he could do so right there and then, it was the magic draining quickly, usually he could go without sleep for a day of two.

The Goblin King had never been held in such a manner he felt utterly safe in this mortal’s arms as if she could fend off any danger herself even if she was powerless and possibly trying to kill him off with the food. What the sodding hell am I even doing?

The Goblin King felt his heart wrench painfully within his chest. Not now , not now! He breathed in a short, ragged inhalation- woozy with the overwhelming confusing emotions and the loss of magic that seeing the girl in such a state caused to churn violently within him. He could feel himself unbalancing this was not good.

Her hand met his head, simmering his overbearing panic attack bit by bit. That’s it, that’s it he cheered with relief. The air in him could flow freely now..

As if careful not to wake him, the girl shifted the nest with him inside to her nightstand. Jareth opened an eye groggily to see the mortal removing her clothing. Jareth’s eyebrows raised, he saw no reason for shame or guilt, as he looked at her with unabashed longing. Perhaps not a girl after all. What a creature, beautiful on the inside as well as out.

As if she could hear his thoughts you turned over her shoulder to him, “naughty bird” she tsked before slipping on a faded nightdress and into bed, beside him on the nightstand.

“Goodnight bird, whoever you are”

Oh if only you knew! he thought wickedly.

No more than five minutes had passed when he could hear her shallowing breathing, totally succumbed to sleep.

Jareth hopped from the scarves back over to the desk to the meagre meal you had set out before him.

He ate begrudgingly, these berries are sure to be unwashed, I’ll catch my death. Jareth the noble Goblin King, defeated by a mortal girl’s berry.

He chewed slowly. Actually…it was alright. Instead of sour, it was sweet as was the seeds. These were not natural made clearly. He gobbled it down then realised now that the hunger was fed, that was his lot for the night. He felt stronger now.

Jareth hopped onto the wooden flooring. Come on, come on he willed himself. But he wouldn’t change. Oh well.

He made his way to the vanity, even managing a flap of the wing with the help of the food. The Goblin King sighed, suddenly unable to rest. The girl were far gone into sleep now, nobody to amuse him.

He watched from behind her chest rise and fall before turning his eyes to the mortal’s full chamber. What a dismal place. He could see that even in the lack of light .

Jareth gazed at himself in the mirror with a smirk. Even in the bird form, he was a handsome devil, the poor mortal never stood a chance. His interest was sidetracked by small photograph by his head, black and white of a smiling couple, a man and a woman, arms looped around another , strangers to him, but the held some meaning to her clearly.

Jareth saw the girl’s open sketchbook, drawings of birds. He was impressed, he squinted closer at them. They were magnificent, as real and detailed as he was. So the mortal is quite the artist.

She was becoming more curious now, what was her name? Jareth searched for something as a give-away on the desk but there was nothing in view. He’d find it out later he surmised.

The girl let out a small whimper then “no, please don’t leave!”

Jareth was frozen to the spot. Was she talking to him? When nothing more happened he fluttered from the desk to nest again to observe her.

She had her hand balled up tightly, distress across her face but her eyes were closed.

She was having a nightmare about someone or something.

His heart strings tugged a little and he softened. An idea suddenly popped into his head. Would it work?

He sat in the nest concentrating with his eyes closed. Come on…

The Goblin King felt a wave wash over him, when he opened his eyes he was in total darkness, the girl lying in the middle, still asleep. Good. He was in her mind.

Jareth looked down at himself, turning his hands over, relieved to be freed from his small feathery appearance -even if it wasn’t real.

He waved a hand, brightening the scene, he concentrated on the appearance, weaving the room into a magnificent ballroom of ice-white. He changed his outfit too, to his favoured long blue coat, blonde hair free and loose.

Jareth heard a shifting behind him. The bed was now gone.

“Excuse me” said the voice, it must be the girl, he turned to greet her with a smile but then found himself pulled from the dream sharply and opened his eyes again to be back in the mortal’s bedroom.

Drat ! He’d been close, the low magic must have worn off quickly.

The girl momentarily awoke too crying “Oh!” softly, even peering around her darkened bedroom but fell back against the pillows, asleep once more.

Hmmf.

It was no good. He needed time to heal for sure now, harnessing dreams should have been easy, if he couldn’t do that -he was in trouble.

Rest called to him. If he wanted to make it back eventually he’d have to preserve himself.

The Goblin King stuck a leg in the nest gingerly and then another and positioned himself this way and that in an attempt to get comfortable, pah! before giving into sleep.

_*_

The Goblin King woke , cursing the sun “close those drapes!” he hissed, faced down in the warmth of the bed, to the goblins that served him.

When the sun was still on his face he propped himself up ready to spell any goblin in front of him to the Bog, when he remembered where he was. Oh no… the tell-tale black feathers that he shifted brought last night flooding back.

He turned his eyes down to land them on the mortal’s sleeping form. Ah, more was coming back to him.

He remembered the way she’d held him and shivered.

Upon this thought the girl suddenly turned over with a groggy smile , catching his staring.

“Good morning, bird” the girl said through a yawn, hand under her head watching Jareth sleepily. Good morning indeed.

No longer able to settle into sleep, he watched her stretch, swinging her legs over the bed to sit at her vanity desk. He observed curiously as she plucked the small photograph of the mystery couple and kiss it. Interesting…

When she began to shift her nightdress upwards, Jareth- being the gentleman he was of course- swiftly turned his eyes away this time, protecting her dignity whilst she dressed. He heard her give a small, satisfied ‘hmmm’ , peering down at the empty dish smugly.

‘Don’t pride yourself you little minx, I was practically starving’ he mentally replied but he would have smiled if he could.

She finished dressing and he felt his stomach rumble at the sight of her re-filling the dish. Oh thank heavens. But then hurriedly made her way to the door.

Jareth was more than a bit shook at the immediate sense of overwhelming loss he felt upon seeing her back turned in retreat. No, please don’t go… Jareth found himself pleading, the girl smiled at him pityingly and a little guilty “Be back around 3, okay” the mortal promised, closing the door behind her.

He heard the front door slam too, hopping quickly to the window to see her walking down the street, rucksack over her shoulder and turn at the corner out of sight.

He sighed now what? The clock on the wall read 9:30, 3 o’clock was a long time away. He’d have to entertain himself he supposed.

Jareth ate the sweet seeds and berries, slower this time, building up the magic inside. He wouldn’t throw it away so carelessly again. He saved some for later.

In the daylight the room still managed to look wretched. He didn’t know how mortals lived like this. It could do with sprucing up. The wood underneath was causing him to lose all sensation in his backside.

Jareth made his way to the vanity again and then strolled across the carpet to perch on the think bookshelf. He cocked his head to read some of the fading titles. Grim’s fairty-tales, Alice In Wonderland, The Lion, Witch and the Wardrobe.

So the mortal likes a good old fashioned fantasy stories Jareth smirked.

Though perhaps by the look of them they were not necessarily newly acquired. Quite tattered in places.

Jareth scanned some more then nearly had a heart attack bumping into a round box. The lid of the box opened slowly and began to play tinkling music. No no! He flapped about trying to shut the lid but the bloody thing wouldn’t budge, someone was bound to be alerted. It was only when he lept on the lid it closed. The music died off.

_*_

The door closed, bringing the house alive again . Jareth read the clock, it was not yet 3 o’clock but perhaps you had come a tad early. His heart leapt. His sensitive ears could pick up humming, a female voice for sure, but not yours.

The footsteps came closer and Jareth glamoured himself invisible, not all humans were keen on the idea of birds roaming their houses.

He sat on your bed plainly, awaiting to see his uninvited guest.

A woman marched through the door casting her eye around the room. She closed the window muttering something under her breath. The blonde woman hummed again, tutting at the array of colourful scarves made into his nest. She retrieved them, folding them up

Hmmm you shouldn’t be here he thought slyly at the woman’s creeping, the way she went through the girl’s possessions, turning over the ordered objects, opening and closing drawers. Who was this? Even though he was given no insight to her sneakings or her identity, her very presence irked him, the slyness of her actions. He should know, he was a master in that art.

The Goblin King could hear the muffled shout of the girl’s entry.

“Hello?” the woman didn’t seem to notice even when her footsteps where approaching.

Ah you were home.

He watched you burst in, startling the older woman who jumped to immediately plummeted into telling you off he noticed your eyes skip around the room, looking for me?

The woman continued to shout and you didn’t look the least bit fazed which clearly irritated her more, oh you wind-up .

She said something again and was given a tight smile promising to do the dishes for the insufferable woman, like you were some scullery maid pah ! Not in the least!

Jareth heard you call for him but didn’t appear until you sounded as if you had given up. He glamoured himself to the beside table, your facing lighting up when your eyes landed on him

“Clever bird”

The mortal immediately soothed her hand over him, explaining her absence not that he could concentrate with the way her fingers moved up and down his feathers. You were so careful, like he was a prized possession.

“My name is Sloane- Sloane Hazel -in case you were wondering” he caught that.

So that is her name.

She held out your hand as if for him to take . Had he been a man he would have and kissed it grandly but he could only twitch his head in acknowledgement.

Sloane Hazel. What an unusual name, fit for an unusual mortal that he had taken a shine to. ‘The little raider’. A raider indeed.

“It was my parents’ name. I guess I should probably call you something over than ‘bird’ ”. The mortal-Sloane-left his side to clear the mess that awful woman had caused.

“That woman you just saw snooping around was my aunt. My uncle isn’t home yet. My parents are dead -so I live here. With them”.

The mortal held out the photograph to him, “that’s them. It’s okay, I got eight golden years with them, that’s more than some” you tipped up a smile, clearly trying to hide the underlying pain.

The absent parents. He felt sorry for her, doomed to live with such an awful woman, the man he had not met yet though he guessed he wasn’t exactly dazzle and shine himself.

She began to talk about herself, making up his bed again which he graciously seated himself in, feeling exhausted from the use of glamour as her soft voice played on his weariness like plucking the soft strings of an instrument. He closed his eyes willing her to speak on.

She was in front of him, giggling which startled him ‘oh yes laugh at my stupid form go on’ but he wasn’t really mad. Jareth was looking at the soft pucker of her lips as she spoke “I’m going to call you, ‘Never’. Like ‘Nevermore’, right?”

“Not that I’d expect you to understand, but it’s from a poem this guy wrote about a bird like you. He was a bit mad, but then maybe I am too talking to you”

He supressed a groan Nevermore! ’Very funny’ but this interested him so she is well read too…

“Nevermore... Ooh what about More, like as in ‘Moore’, that’s a real name at least. It kind of suits you”.

“My name is Jareth and I am the Goblin King” he wanted to say right then

“Moore it is”.

Fantastic . But he was in no place to argue

“Sloane! Why can I still see dishes?” Kari called from the bottom of the stairs. “what did I say about shoes in the house!” she sounded irritated. The mortal rolled her eyes at Jareth with a giggle.

…

It was a few days later, when the girl had tended to his every need since his arrival, showered him in adoration, he discovered he could change back to his natural form unexpectedly.

Jareth stared down at his hand, confused how he could suddenly open his palm, a pink crystal bursting from it, when a week ago he was at death’s door. It was incredible. He was getting better.

He gave an ecstatic laugh, throwing back his head. Jareth the insipid raven no longer! But…now what? Would he just leave? Like the girl wasn’t a part of his life now?

The Goblin King hesitated looked around the girl’s bedroom, the place he had called home for the time, to rest his head, his sanctuary, would he just turn his back and leave?

Of course you fool, one part of him sneered, but then the other part thought about the delight on her face when she would race home to tell him about her day, sometimes she would rehearse her lines to him and act out a few parts, to which he applauded -of course mentally- , hold him close at night, murmur him the things she couldn’t say to another. If only he could show her his real self. Well he could now...

He would give her a gift. He crushed his hands together, closing his eyes to concentrate until the bangle he’d imagined formed in his hand.

“Hey, Moore, look what I found!”

Jareth stepped out from his hiding “hello, my dear” he greeted in his honey smooth voice but forgot he was the raven again, the blasted “caaar” that came from his beak instead, grating on his ears.

“did you just make a noise?!” Your eyes light up “Where did you come from anyway?” .

Jareth climbed on your arm, holding the bracelet proudly in his beak, hoping you would take the bloody heavy thing before he dropped it altogether. “What’s this? Can I see?”.

Sloane held it curiously for a second, admiringly even, before placing it in the nest.

Jareth bit back a growl at her obliviousness before shoving it out of the nest towards her again, hoping she would put two and two together.

The girl stared at him confused, placing it at the very end of the desk so that he had to traispe all the way there just to push it in her direction again

‘she’ll be the bloody death of me’ he thought, wheezing at his damned weakness.

“Wait” she said “is this, for me?”

Jareth let out a sigh of relief “a round of applause for Ms. Hazel!” he said sarcastically but instead again “caaar!”

She slipped it on her wrist, fitting her perfectly.

Without warning she swept Jareth up cradling him “I love it” she said to him, right in his ear that gave him goosebumps, feeling along his soft wings with the tips of her fingers, then his neck, it was enough to drive anyone mad, mortal or not.

The spell was broken when that irritating voice of her aunts called her away forcing her to leave him alone once more. No!

The door shut behind her and Jareth turned back letting out a sigh. He ran his hand across his jaw where her fingers had just been a moment ago…

He swirled his hand for a crystal , gazing in it to see where she’d gone.

“Actually, Sloane, I was wondering if you would stay home this time, you know I don’t like the house left empty…Brian and I haven’t had much time together recently. He’s been very stressed at work”

Interesting… A wave of fury swept over him, upon seeing Sloane’s hopeful face crumple with bitter disappointment. She was being let down in someway. That godforsaken woman! If he had been the one on the receiving end of that beguiling look of hers, he could have denied her nothing.

He could have denied her… nothing…

He whipped the crystal away at the spark of an idea, that solved his nagging problem.

If he couldn’t leave Sloane to rot in this awful place…Then he’d take her with him. To the Underground.

His heart leapt -why hadn’t he thought of this before!

You know why.

Jareth switched back upon hearing her ascending pounding footsteps. The door banged open, startling even him. Wrath.

Sloane threw herself on her bed, face down. She didn’t make a sound for a minute, he’d even thought she’d fallen asleep until he heard the tell-tale gasp of a sob being released. Then another and another. She was crying. Jareth’s heart broke for her. The Goblin king nudged her arm, “look upon me, my sweet”.

“Caaar”

Sloane sniffed, then sniffed again. He saw her angelic, tear-stained face, lift from the bed with a wobbling smile “iss ssnot fair, Moore”, she said hiccuping, “It’s like they dow-don’t even want to be seen with me! Imagine! Their o-own nuh-niece!”.

Sloane composed herself sluggishly, touching his bent head.

“Sometimes I think it’s easier to talk to you than to some of the people I know. Like you’re my oldest friend or something. Funny, huh? You’re lucky though, you have wings, when you’re better you can go anywhere. Where am I going? I’m going to be stuck forever. In this dismal town…” she trailed off.

It was ironically amusing. A week ago, he hadn’t realised he had neglected to possess much of a heart at all and now here he was, giving everything to her. It …was a strange realisation, to want to protect and care solely for someone other than himself. He recognised the feeling well.

Oh no this won’t do at all…He smirked, mentally at least. In a way it was a bit exhilarating, a bit juvenile but the Goblin King was fond of games.

“Sometimes I wish somebody would take me away” she murmured darkly, flickering her gaze to look directly into Jareth’s eyes “know what I mean?”.

Everything was falling into place, he could see it. He would gladly whisk her away to his land, where he would then gift her all of her dreams and cater to her every whim, where would dare to turn her away, least of all him. If she were so terribly unwanted by everyone in her life, he would be more than to relieve them of her.

She fell asleep shortly after that.

Jareth knew he had to play this whole matter very carefully and not spring too much on the girl just yet.

Blast it was freezing in here!

Sensing she was truly succumbed he quietly transformed for a moment.

He cast her a fond smile as he crossed to the window; latching it and drawing the curtains across to relieve them both of an early awakening from the sun.

He could feel his magic wearing off already, “Sleep well, sweet,” Jareth whispered, as he came to stand by Sloane’s bed, above her, he drew the blanket over her, fighting the urge to bend down and press a gentle kiss to her forehead to let her know she was safe now, in good hands, that from here on, somebody was looking out for her.

“ For I have an idea” he murmured finishing off his thoughts before switching back under the light of the moon.

…

Jareth practiced his magic every day, showering Sloane with a treasury of jewels he’d made himself ,fit for a queen. He was definitely getting stronger.

He found he could enter her dreams fully now, he could hold her and dance with her. What joys they were even if they weren’t real. Then she’d wake up and the spell would be broken. She’d only remember fragments but they were etched in her mind somewhere. The mortals often had trouble recalling their encounters with magic, but they never left them behind. She was happy. He was glad.

One night he returned to the castle momentarily. Jareth had been hoping the underground had not fallen to pieces in his long absence and was grateful that for once everything seemed to be in order. He sunk into the armchair by the fire in his own chamber with a grateful sigh. It definitely beats a wooden nightstand.

Jareth got to work immediately. He knew exactly what had to be done.

He’d attached a tag to the book “Read me”

He’d also signed the front page in his own swirling cursive writing “For Sloane”.

Jareth leant over to place the book on her bed and entered her dream.

One day, when Jareth watched her leave as she normally did every morning from sitting on her window ledge. He was tossing a pink crystal and catching it again and again when curiosity got the better of him. He followed her journey from the house, grateful to finally feel the wind under his wings. He was careful to hide , flying above her undetected.

He waited patiently all day for Sloane, sometimes peering through windows to observe her quietly in classes until he was shooed away .

Jareth was beginning to grow tired of the lack of closeness until spotted her and another friend approaching the outdoors. His heart leapt.

They were chatting idly about something or another, every now and the Sloane said something highly amusing which made the friend burst out laughing, clutching Sloane’s arm.

He felt a stab of jealousy towards the friend, solely based on the simple fact that she was able to get so close to Sloane and have a real conversation with her, unlike his reduced state.

“Guilt tripping me to share my homework that’s new” he heard her chide and the pair laughed.

“Life saver” the friend leant in to embrace Sloane.

The same stab of jealousy struck Jareth, he involuntarily glared, the emotion so strong he accidently transformed at the exact moment the friend’s eyes fell in his direction, on him.

Uh oh.

It was too late- he’d been seen judging by the way the friend’s eyes widened at him. Sloane, however had ducked under the table and missed the whole thing.

He could hear her say something muffled and once again locked eyes on the friend who was gawping at him wordlessly. With a smirk, Jareth put his finger to his lips and disappeared from view.

He watched in his raven form from the tree nearby as the friend struggled to contain what she’d just seen , he saw the friend try and explain but by the looks of it , Sloane was hardly phased. Probably just as well.

Jareth deciding he’d seen enough for today took off to head back. He was beginning to grow tired again.

The warm of the scarf nest was calling to him , though most nights Jareth instead snuck out of the nest and hopped to Sloane’s bed to lie still against her and her own bodily warmth and subtly moved back before she woke.

When he fluttered through Sloane’s open window a warm, sharp sensation passed over him.

The sensation was so strong it knocked him into his natural form and made him double over. Jareth fell to his knees, clutching his stomach.

“Augh!” He’d never felt anything like this before. It didn’t last long, it was almost pleasant but it was strange. He could hear raised voices downstairs, by the sounds of it, the girl was in trouble for some reason or another. Again. It sounded like tonight she’d really be in for it, something special was going on apparently.

“-hould be here by now!” cried a shrill voice and Jareth groaned clutching his forehead. One thing he wasn’t going to miss when they finally left.

He picked himself up to sit on the corner of the single bed, it creaked violently. Some nights when Sloane rolled over the noise of the bed often stirred him awake irritably.

The door downstairs creaked, Sloane was home. Thank god. Jareth listened in trying to decipher what was happening.

He waited to change back into the bloody bird form now that he was no doubt shot of magic juice by now but nothing happened.

In fact, he felt fine.

He stalked over to the vanity mirror , inspecting his eyes and then stuck out his tongue to inspect that. Everything was normal . He was healed.

He recognised her footsteps coming closer. Jareth lent casually against the desk, observing a car drive away down the street. He smiled ruefully.

“Moore?”

Jareth disappeared.

#labyrinth fanfiction #Labyrinth #Jareth x Reader #jareth the goblin king #labyrinth movie #Labyrinth 1986

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hell-bound-stories · 4 years

Text

Curraway woods- The room

Diana walked Max threw the small cabin, which consisted only of a few rooms. Right when you walked in was the living room, with a small set of stairs to the left. To the right not separated by any walls was a small kitchen. It had everything you needed, nothing more, nothing less. Adjacent to the kitchen as a small dining area with a large table and some chairs surrounded by bookshelves. The table had Jamack’s small lectern on top, along with other witchy items.

They walked through the living room to the set of stairs, making their way upstairs. Upstairs was a small hallway with three doors, two leading to small rooms, and one leading to a bathroom.

“Wow” Max exclaimed, “I didn’t think this place was so big”

“Big?” Diana questioned, “what on surface are you talking about?”

“It's got like layers and so many rooms!!!” Max explained, clearly in awe of the cabin.

Diana shrugged, “I guess” she half agreed. To her this cabin was tiny. That wasn’t bad at all, far from it actually. She enjoyed the simpler home compared to the ones she had lived in before.

Diana walked up to one of the doors in the hallway, “anyway this can be your room!” she said, opening the door.

“WOW!!” Max was overjoyed at the sight.

Inside the small room were piles of junk and boxes, much like a storage room. It was dusty with some cobwebs scattered about. At the far wall was a window, with the moon's light now flowing in. In the state it is right now there wasn’t much room for anything, which wasn’t good because it was missing one important thing. A bed.

“You are easily impressed” Diana said quietly to herself while watching Max explore the messy space, “I know it’s not much and it’s full of my junk but tomorrow we can clean it up and make it yours” She cheerfully said.

“Wait, mine?” Max asked, running back to Diana in the doorway, “like all mine?”

“Yes?” She said, confused.

“Wow, I’ve never had my own room before” Max said, looking around the space, taking it all in.

“Really? Didn’t you have a room back in Hell?” Diana asked.

“I did but I had to share it with like 15 billion others” Max explained, while starting to dig through some boxes, like she was looking for something.

“Oh that must have sucked”

“It did!! No one ever listened to me!!” She said, pulling a couple of old soft looking coats out of a box and tossing it on the floor, then she moved on to another box.

“Huh, well come tomorrow we’ll have this cleaned out and it will be all yours!” Diana excitedly said.

Max yawned, “That sounds great!” sleepiness clearly present in her voice. She was getting more and more tired with each passing minute. She kept pulling soft things like pillow cases, old blankets, some stuffed animals, old bed sheets, and old clothes out of boxes and tossing them all into a pile. Diana found it strange, but didn’t question it. She didn’t care about any of the things she was tossing around.

“Oh” it dawned on Diana how late it had gotten, “Here I’ll go get you some pillows and blankets and you can sleep here”

“Ok” Max groggily replied, again throwing something else into the growing pile, as if on auto pilot.

Diana left to grab a pillow and blanket from her room next door. Not even being gone a minute she returned to find Max sleeping comfortably on the pile of soft things she had made. It was almost like a nest and Max was right in the middle, resting peacefully like a cat.

“Ooooooooh my coven you’re so cute” Diana quietly said, but very much internally screaming at the sight. She walked over and carefully placed the blanket and pillow on the pile. She felt bad having Max sleep in a room full of junk but in her defense she didn’t know someone would be moving in today, even if some of these boxes are from when she moved in a couple of years ago. It's ok, tomorrow they’ll clean it out and make it an actual living space.

“Good night Max” She smiled, turning the light off and softly closing the door. Just then her own wave of tiredness washed over her. It wasn’t that late, 10 o’clock at the latest, but today felt so long with everything that had happened before.

She made her way downstairs with full intent of just switching off the lights, however her simple plan was foiled from that awful familiar voice.

“Ugh why are you letting her stay?” Jamack whined, “it's already crowded enough with you around”

“Ok first, ouch” Diana spoke, walking over to the table, “and second, she has no were else to go. She was being hunted down by some other demons in the woods”

“Eh the Hell guard will chase down anyone that goes to the surface unauthorized” Jamack explained.

“Well she was still running for a reason, besides aren’t you the least bit happy we have some new company?” She asked.

Jamack scoffed, “I was perfectly happy with the company I already had”

“Aww does somebody actually tolerate me?” Diana teased.

“No” He said flatly, “besides you don’t know anything about demons, how do you expect to take care of a child one?”

“Uh” Diana hadn’t actually thought about that, “I'm sure it will all be fine, and if I need help I can call this guy” She held up the small business card she had gotten from the letter earlier that night.

“God no, don’t call him, just ask me your demon questions instead” Jamack quickly said.

“Why? What’s wrong with him?” “Nothing. I just hate him.”

“Oooooookay not going to touch that, i'm going to bed” She walked over picking Jamack up from his lectern.

“Wait it’s not even that late, I had so many more insults to-” He was cut off by Diana sliding him into the bookshelf, effectively putting him to sleep. After that she went around switching off the lights before finding her way to her room.

She quickly got into her nightly routine, changing into her pajamas and going into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Once done she walked back into her room to find Max sleeping in the corner on top of her soft pile of things, like she had pushed the whole thing in here just to sleep again.

“Oh coven your adorable” Diana didn’t think anything of it, getting into her own bed and turning off the lights.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The morning air was everything she had dreamed it would be. It felt cool on her skin and fresh to breathe. Max loved it. She sat on the roof taking in every single moment of the morning. The birds sounded beautiful, the morning dew gave everything a brilliant shine, and the sun rise was just awe inspiring. She watched as the rays of the sun turned everything they touched into a soft golden colour as it consumed all in its path. She loved how the clouds danced in pink tones and how the sky’s dark blue slowly washed away to a lighter shade with every passing second, til the sun had finally fully risen.

Max could stay here all day, watching the sun do its daily walk across the sky, but she had things to do today.

“Max!” She heard someone shout from inside the house. She quickly got up and climbed back through the open window into Diana's empty room. She walked downstairs to find Diana leaning at the kitchen counter in a simple robe and slippers with a cup of coffee in hand.

“Ugh” jamack groaned, already back out on his lectern for the day.

“See I told you she didn’t run away” Diana declared, in a proud ‘I told you so’ way, “where have you been?” She asked, taking a sip from her mug.

“Uhh” Max panicked in fear of getting in trouble, “around” she stammered, trying not to sound suspicious.

“Well how long have you been awake?” Diana couldn’t really care what Max was up to, just as long as she didn’t get hurt.

“Uuh” she had to think again, “I dunno, it was still kinda dark out”

“Oh wow” Diana said, clearly surprised “I didn’t think you’d wake up early”

“Yeah” Jamack chimed in, “I’ve never seen a demon wake up before noon”

“Yeah well” Max was starting to get embarrassed, “It's just what I do”

“It's ok, however I can not drag myself out of bed earlier than like 9:30, so you’ll probably have most mornings to yourself” Diana explained.

“Oh it's ok, I'm used to that,” Max replied.

“I used to have every day alone” Jamack started, “those were the days”

“Well i'm going to go get dressed” Diana said, completely ignoring Jamacks comment, “Then we can get started cleaning up your room”

“ok!!!”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The two girls soon went to work, going through and sorting the contents of the boxes and the other various things around the room. Deciding what to keep in storage, what to take out of storage, and what to throw away. Though Diana was the one doing most of this sorting. Max was more or less in charge of taking out the trash, and over all just cleaning up. Cleaning out the cobwebs and relocating their inhabitants. However that didn’t mean Max wasn’t periodically looking through some boxes too, and one box in particular caught her eye.

“What’s this stuff?” She asked, digging through the contents.

“Oh” Diana walked over, “It’s a bunch of old toys of mine” She said, reminiscing about all the old stuff in the box.

The box was full of old toys such as wooden building blocks, a black stuffed cat and owl, and a small fake wand with a matching small broom, along with some high quality pieces to a doll house. With some other various toys sprinkled it, overall it was very unremarkable.

“You can have them if you want,” Diana offered.

Max’s eyes lit up, “Really?!”

“Yeah, I’m not using them anymore” she smiled

“Cool!!!” Max moved the box to the corner of the room away from everything else before the both of them went back to work.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time they were done it was around 4 in the afternoon. While it had taken most of the day, and a few breaks, they had succeeded in cleaning out the room. The leftover stuff was now in Diana's closet or somewhere else in the house as decoration and the trash was gone. The only things left in the room now was Max’s nest of soft things, a simple rug, and the box of toys. However it was still clearly missing something.

“You need a bed” Diana flatly stated.

“What’cha mean, I got a bed!” Max said, pointing over to her nest pile.

“No like a real bed, hmm” Diana began thinking, then it hit her. She walked over to the box of toys and began digging through it before pulling out a small wooden bunk bed a moment later.

“Uhh” Max was confused, “I know i'm not that big but even I think that's a little small”

“I know I know, hold on” Diana left, going down stairs, then returned a moment later, now with her wand and a bottle of some orange potion.

She walked over and placed the small bed on the ground against the wall, then dipped her wand in the potion bottle and began drawing some sort of symbol around the toy with the liquid. Once she was done she backed up next to Max, “Ok now watch”

A moment later the liquid on the ground began glowing, a second later the bed instantly grew in size, becoming a full usable bunk bed. Max ran over in excitement, and Diana was just relieved that it had worked first try.

“That's so cool, how did you do that!?!?!” Max questioned in awe while climbing all over the bed.

“Oh you know, just comes with being a witch” Diana said trying to seem cool as she wiped off her wand, but ended up dropping it on the floor instead. “Here” she said while picking her wand back up, “I’ll go get some bed sheets”

Diana returned a moment later with the item in question only to find Max once again sleeping on her nest of soft things that she had now moved onto the lower bunk.

“Ooooohhh sweet Salem, why are you so cute” She quietly said to herself. She placed the sheets on the top bunk with intent to put them on later, so Max could rest. She made her way downstairs to watch TV and relax for a bit. Before she could even find the remote that annoying voice just had to speak.

“Where’s Max?” Jamack asked, “oh wait don't tell me, she ran away!!”

“Ugh no” Diana rolled her eyes, “She’s upstairs taking a nap”

“Really?” I’ve never seen a demon that needs naps”

“Yeah well she’s also a kid and kids need sleep” Diana said, sitting down on the couch and switching on the TV.

“Ooh whatcha watching?” Jamack asked.

“Real housewives of none of your business” Diana snapped back.

“Oh! Is it the new season? Can I watch?”

“UGH” Diana got back up, grabbed Jamack, and set him on the couch next to her.

“Aww wow does someone actually tolerate me?” jamack was quick to tease.

“No,” Diana said while shoving the book off the couch onto the ground.

“HEY”

Diana burst out laughing.

#curraway woods #max and diana

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aly-the-writer · 6 years

Text

So, the other day @hoehoehoelt and I got to discussing what would happen if Adair left Clan Lavellan to join Hal on his adventures around Thedas prior to the Conclave. As I couldn’t get the idea of poor Adair being subjected to at least a few of Hal’s friends I wrote this.

Everything’s under the cut and this turned out a bit longer than I was originally planning for. (A little less crazy though.)

Haleir glanced back to Adair, it’d been a long road from where their clan had been camped and while he was used to traveling on his own without aravels and halla he knew that the first few months of doing so could be rough.

Not that Adair had complained at all, not that Adair ever complained. He hadn’t expected it either, the younger elf thought Taralyn was reasonable. That and he suspected there was some resentment towards him from Adair’s part -

Sabrae needs mages, he’d told the Keeper irritably as he paced. Their First abdicated years ago and Marethari never had a Second. Send him to them!

Haleir, the woman’s unending patience always made her sound amused when he was frustrated into irritation by something, Eight years ago you made the choice to become a Wanderer, and refused that exact same position. Why would I allow you to make your own decision and not Adair?

In the end the best he’d managed to do was convince her to make Adair wait on the vows. He would take Adair out into the world and show him what becoming one of Dirthamen’s Keepers meant and hopefully convince him that this was not the best path for the healer. Adair deserved a family, even if it was away from Clan Lavellan and among one of the others.

After weaving his way through the crowds he finally spotted what he was looking for – a little tavern with a sign carved like a swan sitting in a knight’s helmet.

They needed somewhere relatively safe to stay while Adair adjusted to living in the shemlen cities instead of just passing through them. This place was where he inevitably returned to himself and he trusted that most those there would keep Adair out of trouble – they owed Hal that much.

“So, Adair, ready to have an adventure?” he asked cheerfully as his footsteps carried him up the familiar route.

He hadn’t actually planned on coming west again this trip, he’d intended to travel east – to Kirkwall – and lend his aid to Merrill and help the scattering Kirkwall mages hide or get safely aboard ships to the city Vigil’s Keep in Ferelden. He wasn’t going to throw himself into that mess with Adair at his heels though.

Which meant his arrival at this tavern today would be entirely unexpected, really he wasn’t sure who was around – though he could hear that it was quite noisy inside.

Adair glanced at him to the door that he had his hand on and back again, eyes widening a little, “Hal, I don’t think this is a good ide-UH!”

He’d taken a step back to try and leave but Hal had grabbed him by the shoulder and practically tossed him through the door ahead of him, leaving Adair staggering to keep on his feet as Hal walked in after, a grin on his face.

“HAL! Fight me!” a human with brown hair and purple eyes called out as soon as he saw him. He was tall enough, and staggering a little, his lip already busted and some poor idiot who’d already taken up the challenge already groaned with his head on the table, and a bag of ice on his skull.

“What’d I ever do to you, Trevelyan? Get Cadash to kick your ass,” he informed the noisy shemlen, pitching his voice to be heard over the ruckus as he directed Adair through the room towards a set of stairs in the back of the room.

“What? No! She’d win! Come on!”

Hal laughed but didn’t answer the human this time.

The woman behind the counter at the bar rolled her eyes and waved at him – a smile twitching on her lips before she went back to paying attention to her customers.

Once they were upstairs things were quieter, and he took a note of how tense Adair was as he dropped his hold on the other’s wrist. He’d not wanted to lose him in the business downstairs but he also knew he risked his hand if he kept it there too long.

“We need a safe place to sleep tonight,” Hal told him, slipping past on the narrow hall to another set of stairs, and then another until they reached the fourth floor of the building - the attic really – and he unlocked the door. “This is ‘home’. Make yourself comfortable.”

The room he led them in was small, but cozy, the ceiling slanting sharply with the roof but a window overlooked the city, a bit of the ocean visible as an inky darkness in the night visible from around the corner of another building. Sat on the windowsill looking outwards was a tiny carved wolf that looked identical to the statues found just outside the clan’s most frequent camps.

Hal lit a set of candles to light the room but didn’t bother with the small brazier shoved in the corner. It was meant for warmth more than light and the air was already plenty warm.

It was also clear that Hal was as familiar with his routine here as he was when he came sauntering back into the camp – always visiting the Keeper then Tara and then finally letting Adair hunt him down to check for injuries.

A table was piled with an assortment of books and bits of papers – all research regarding elven lore – and a map of this part of Thedas was hung on the wall above it, its labels written in Qunlat though the major cities had elvish translations written in Hal’s hand by their names.

A spare staff stood quietly in the corner where Hal dumped the one he had carried throughout the journey causing them both to rattle. Adair leaned his in the same place, but much more carefully.

A tidy cabinet stood with an arrangement of dried goods and tins. A few potions labeled in Hal’s shorthand elven stood neatly on its shelves.

A bag with an alchemy kit had been left on the floor just beneath the table. A surprise since he hadn’t though that the brown haired elf had paid any attention to the lessons in the less-magical aspects of healing. Then again with the injuries he had survived maybe Adair shouldn’t be so surprised that some measure of caution regarding having healing potions prepared had been engrained.

A bed that had far too many pillows and stray bits of silk and a fur or two on it was shoved in one corner. Hal had constructed a nest of things he liked the feel of rather than assembling any sort of proper bedding. But, not too surprising considering the number of times he remembered having listened to Taralyn and Hal bicker over Hal not neatening his bed while Hal still lived among the Dalish.

A chest sat at its foot on top of which Hal dropped his backpack before he began to strip off his outer jacket and boots and any of the armor he had actually bothered to put on. His hair came out of its pony tail.

Adair set his things down more neatly that Hal had, looking around. He’d known that there was more to the man than the haphazard behavior and elaborated stories but it was still a little surprising to walk into a place – a human building – and realize that this was where Hal had made himself a home. Was he intruding? He knew that Hal hadn’t wanted to bring him with but surely…

“You’ll have the bed,” Hal commented, “At least until we can get you a cot or something.”

“I’d be fine on the-”

“Complain and I’ll go oblige Trevelyan regarding that fight,” Hal grinned brightly, knowing he was blackmailing Adair. “And, no, I wouldn’t use magic to win.”

Adair shut his mouth and narrowed his gaze, irritated – on one hand he still wanted to disagree but on the other he knew how injury prone Haleir was and he really didn’t want to have to patch him up that night because he was being a pain in the ass.

“Fine,” he muttered.

“Good,” Hal grinned, getting his bed roll from off his pack and spreading it out beneath the window. “Toss me one of those pillows, I’m tired so I know you must be exhausted. If you wake up before me the red head at the bar will feed you. She’s a friend.”

He stifled a yawn as he settled down. “Good night, lethallin.”

Adair nodded before sitting down on the bed. He’d known about Hal’s adventures, knew about this place – The Knightly Goose – from them, though he hadn’t really believed that the tavern full of trouble makers actually existed.

It was a lot to process…it’d been a very long trip and Hal was right, he was exhausted even if the trip had been far quieter than he expected a journey with Hal to be (no one had gotten stabbed yet). Sleep sounded good.

Neither of the elves were first to rise naturally, instead a thunderous knocking on the door demanded they wake.

“Fen’Harel take you,” Haleir growled, rolling to his feet, at some point he’d abandoned his shirt during the night, and throwing the door open. His scowl and posture indicating he was ready to fight.

“I was rather hoping that you would,” the voice had a warm Antivan accent and a grin pulled at his lips. “Or I could take you – I’m really not picky, though I do prefer to leaves the wolves and semi-demonic gods outside the bedroom?”

Adair stared blankly at them, not quite processing what was going on. His heart was pounding in his chest but he was certain they weren’t under attack though the unfamiliar surroundings were still causing him to feel on edge. His brain still caught in the dregs of sleep.

“Stop glaring, Hal, I brought breakfast,” a basket was proffered by way of apology. “And Irina promised to send up some coffee.”

The bribes seemed to do the trick as the older elf huffed a laugh and stepped aside, letting the shemlen into the room as he turned his back to go to the chest and find a fresh shirt.

The human was dark skinned, his smile faded a little as he caught sight of Adair messy haired and tangled up in Hal’s bed – before his eyes found the sleeping roll by the window and he relaxed a little.

“How’d you even find out? I was going to look for you today once I had him settled in helping Irina or something,” Hal asked, voice muffled by the fabric over his head.

“Trevelyan said that he’d been so drunk he thought he saw you and a ghost girlfriend last night. He’s a little too keen to challenge anyone within arms-reach but he’s not generally prone to hallucinations. Except for when you decide Templars don’t particularly scare you again.”

“So every other day?” Hal supplied, earning himself a grin from the stranger and a glare from Adair.

The stranger set the basket on one of the chairs by the table to carefully move the stacks of books, shifting them so he had space to unpack the bounty he’d brought.

He glanced over to Adair who was looking between the two of them, brows knitted together.

“The kid isn’t one of your lovers right?”

“What? No. Definitely not,” Hal’s emphatic reply was mixed with an expression border-lining on horrified. “And don’t you go flirting with him either.”

That got a crinkled nose, “He’s a bit young for me, mi sol.”

Hal snorted before looking to Adair, “This is Laurencio Altimari. Ignore him. He brings food and trouble.”

“Now that’s just rude,” the man tsked, but he was smiling anyways. The same sort of familiarity between them that Hal had with other members of Clan Lavellan.

“This is Adair, he’s basically my brother. No, you can’t take him to a brothel, and no getting him stabbed. I told the Keeper I’d look after him. I believe that means I’m to return him in one piece.”

“I can look after myself,” Adair frowned at Hal. He’d traveled outside the Clan before. Not like this and it was to Tevinter but he had and Fen’Harel had followed him right home to the people he loved.

“Is he a scary priest like you?” Laurencio asked, drawing a knife seemingly from nowhere and beginning to cut an apple from the basket apart. He offered Hal a slice on his blade which the elf took easily with his fingers as he passed by, headed towards the door again.

“I am not a scary priest,” Hal informed him at the same time Adair frowned, “He knows?”

Part of being one of Dirthamen’s Chosen was that you had to pose as an exile to the outside world. No one should know that Hal was even in contact with his people let alone what he was.

Not that Hal answered him – like most questions that Hal didn’t want to answer he pretended not to hear, which might have been slightly better than the alternative which usually involved him making up something ridiculous.

“I just want to know if he’s going to yell at creepy five-legged elvish monsters to make them listen to him too. As you have yet to surpass that stunt in pure stupidity as of yet.”

“Only where you’ve been able to see,” Hal flashed a smirk.

“…five legged monster…” Adair repeated before his eyes widened and he turned on Hal, “The Varterral story wasn’t you exaggerating. Are you insane?”

Hal snorted before he answered the door at the soft knock, apple shoved in his mouth so he had a reason not to answer. And accept the tray from the maid there, passing her a piece of silver for her trouble.

“If you’re the Adair I think you are, you grew up with him. Why do you have to ask if he’s insane?” Altimari sounded amused. He had also gone to the cabinet in the corner to take out three plates and a tin.

Adair glanced at him and sighed, not answering the human but he was right enough. It probably shouldn’t have been unexpected with Hal, though it begged a question how many of the impossible stories that Hal had told him over the years weren’t so impossible.

The tin he passed to Hal as the elf settled down while Altimari filled the plates with fresh fruit, sausage and little warm rolls of some kind filled with egg and cheese. He handed Adair his first and then followed it with one of the mugs now filled with the dark liquid from the container that had been sent up.

Hal yawned a bit and opened the tin to dump a measure of sugar into his mug.

“I suppose there’s no reason to ask what happened to Kirkwall,” the human sounded amused, as he settled down cross legged on the floor. Hal moved to sit next to him, his knee brushing the other man’s.

“You mean besides the Champion?” Hal drawled.

It was a common joke in the other Marcher states – blame anything that happened in or around Kirkwall on the infamous Garrett Hawke. Though it was actually accurate given the events that had started the mage troubles.

Adair had fixed him with a sharp look, “You were going to get involved with the Mage Rebellion, weren’t you?”

Hal’s shrug wasn’t answer enough and he glared, exasperation washing away any trace of his earlier sleepiness. Did that idiot really have no idea how to stay in one piece? How had he even managed to survive all this time on his own?

“I’m thinking with another mage we can handle that Tevinter treasure,” Hal commented to the human instead.

“The one with the demon that Cadash said that if we did she was going to kill us herself for being gigantic fools?”

“That’s not what she said.”

“There are young ears present, I am being responsible.”

That got a laugh, “Well that’s a first. Is that also why I’ve not been kissed properly? ‘Young eyes present’?”

“I’m nineteen,” Adair said – he wasn’t that young. Or innocent. And…‘kissed properly’? Was…

He stared at the human – really looked at him. An easy, deadly posture, sets of daggers that marked him out as some kind of rogue, light armor and a belt that looked like it might contain potions but most likely those vials were poisons not healing drafts. He was handsome enough, could see what Hal would be interested in but…

“Are you two?” he could feel heat rising in his ears and cheeks – not quite certain.

“Are we?” the human tilted his head at Hal. “Or is it just a sex thing?”

“I thought there were feelings – you’re calling me your sol again. That usually means feelings, right? Or is that a friend thing now?”

“What about that pirate? The Qunari elf?”

“She stabbed me.”

“Since one has that been a turn off for you?” he raised a brow, a smirk playing on his lips, “Because last I checked when I tried it we ended up in bed.”

Hal coughed, and looked away, his ears gone bright red now. He never claimed to have good tastes. Considering his list of recent partners there was maybe one or two that hadn’t actively tried to kill him or gotten him nearly killed.

Adair was definitely doing his best to pretend he couldn’t hear, his eyes averted away from the pair.

“You didn’t actually stab me though,” Hal grumbled. “You just have trust issues.”

“I do recall that I ended up impaling you in the end that night, though.”

Hal laughed – the terrible innuendo still making him blush but he was losing the awkwardness that had flared up moments before – and gently elbowed the other man’s arm in protest.

“So, that map you found checked out. Had my brother translate it for me - there’s definitely a demon guardian though.”

“We’ll have to wait for Cadash or bring la chevalier with us.”

“Cadash - she’s more fun.”

“You mean she doesn’t stop you when you’re about to be a lunatic,” the human’s expression was a long-suffering one that nearly mirrored Adair’s.

“Hmm....same thing.”

Adair sucked in a deep breath – that’s it.

Hal was insane.

He was going to die somehow because there was no way that he was even half as durable and how in Mythal’s name was Hal still alive? Also, he might need a spell to remove memories because knowing this much about Hal’s personal life was…scarring.

He was beginning to remember why Taralyn had been his favorite of the twins growing up.

#Dragon Age #OC: Haleir Lavellan #hoehoehoelt #adair lavellan

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