#platonic reader insert

[writinginatree]

Cared For

Relationship(s): Bodhi Durran & Xaden Riorson & Riorson!reader

Summary: Xaden takes care of you and Bodhi after RSC.

Warnings: Mentions of torture, injuries, nonsexual nudity (showering together), reader has heart problems

You stumble from the interrogation chamber with the rest of your squad, blinking into the late afternoon sunlight as the professor who just finally released you drones on and on. You should be listening, in case he's talking about something important, like having to do this shit again or something, but you can't focus on the words, mindlessly clinging to Bodhi, whose arm is linked with yours so you can help each other stay on your feet.

Well, okay — if you're being honest, it's mostly Bodhi helping you. He's worse for wear too, but still faring decidedly better than you.

You're not sure why it is that they went especially hard on you — because your father had been the Great Betrayer, because they recognized you as the weakest link of your squad, or because you refused to show any pain and they were determined to change that. In the end, it doesn't matter. You didn't break. You survived. That's what you have to focus on. Another one of the stupid trials this cursed place puts you through that you've overcome. One step closer to eventually making it out of here alive.

Finally the professor is done talking and allows you to leave.

The walk back into the quadrant proper passes in a blur, one stumbling step after the other as Bodhi pulls you along. Since he's well aware of your aversion to healers, and since neither of you is that badly hurt, he doesn't bother to suggest going to the infirmary and takes you straight to the dormitories. Your room is closer to the stairs than his, so that's where you go, slumping onto the bed side by side, too exhausted to lift a finger, though you know you need to get cleaned up, or at the very least remove your boots. In a moment, you tell yourself. As soon as the room stops spinning, you'll get up and do it.

Minutes later, a knock sounds on the door, startling your poor, tired heart into doubling the pace of its beating.

"I think Cuir asked Sgaeyl to send us Xaden," Bodhi soothingly murmurs, sitting up and unlocking the door with lesser magic.

Sure enough it's your brother who enters the room a second later, grimacing at the state he finds the both of you in. "Shit, are you guys okay?"

"Yeah," you and Bodhi mutter, "Sure."

Admittedly, that's a bit of an exaggeration. But okay is a flexible term, and you suppose things could be worse. You know the question was just reflex anyway, and Xaden is perfectly aware that no one is ever truly okay after just getting out of an RSC torture session.

He comes over to the bed, crouching down beside it. You feel shadows stirr underneath and all around you — no doubt Xaden 'subtly' taking inventory of your injuries. You've lost track of what hurts where about an hour into the exercise, your whole body one big ache, but you're pretty sure most of the damage is superficial. It's your heart giving you the most trouble, thanks to having missed this morning's dose of your medication, and simple dehydration.

"Are you feeling strong enough to shower?" Xaden asks.

Bodhi nods, but you hesitate. Getting up the stairs without fainting had been challenge enough, so you roll over to turn a pleading look on your cousin. "Can we go together?"

When Bodhi nods, you nod too, and Xaden helps you to your feet.

"Alright," he says, "you two get cleaned up, and I'll be back with some food and a first-aid kit."

The showers are blessedly empty, and you let yourself plop down on the floor, the cold tiles digging into your bare knees as Bodhi turns on the water, a less than lukewarm spray raining down on you. Cold as you feel, you would have preferred your water steaming hot, but you know that would only make your already too low blood pressure worse, so you don't complain.

Bodhi sits down behind you, takes a handful of soap and gently massages it into your scalp, careful to avoid pulling all the tangles that have formed in your hair from the rough treatment you'd been given.

"You don't have to," you half-heartedly mutter.

In truth, you're not entirely sure you can muster the energy to do it yourself, and with the way you're finally starting to relax under his touch, Bodhi rightfully ignores the protest and continues to help you wash.

By the time you dry off and pull on fresh clothes, you're shivering with cold, but your head is a little clearer, and you don't feel like you'll pass out any second anymore, either.

Xaden is already waiting in your room when you return to it, the soft glow of mage lights illuminating the space since dusk has fallen while you were in the shower. He has brought not only the promised food and first-aid supplies, but also Garrick.

Taking a seat on your bed, you don't bother reminding him that it's illegal for more than three of you to be together; he's doubtlessly well aware of the trouble you'd be in if you're caught, and simply doesn't care because he can tell how much you need the company right now.

You shudder to think that he and Garrick had to go through the same experience last year without anyone to comfort them. Thinking back, you try to remember if you'd noticed any injuries on them around this time of year, but you can't recall. Even if you had noticed, Xaden would have brushed you off with some excuse to stop you from worrying.

The thought makes you frown. You have no doubt they'd been as hard on Xaden as they were on you — probably even harder. It's not fair that he'd had to get through that on his own, that he always has to go through everything alone because he thinks that's what being the one with all the responsibility means. Ever since the apostasy, since he took on that responsibility for all your lives, he never lets himself be weak in front of anyone — even you. Of course you're grateful for everything he's done, is still doing, his care and protection, but you wish he would let himself be taken care of, too, when he needs it.

His hand on your shoulder snaps you out of these thoughts, and you blink up at him, wondering when you closed your eyes. The plain worry on his face makes your eyes swim with tears, and you tell yourself to pull it together — to no avail.

"They did that to you too last year," you mumble, not quite a question. "You should have let us be there for you."

"First-years aren't allowed to know about RSC," Xaden reminds you, hand on your chin to angle your head sideways so he can get a better look at a scrape on your jaw.

You know that's not the reason he kept it from you, at least not the only one, but you let it go, knowing he just wants your best.

Treating your wounds doesn't take long. Mostly it's bruises — a lot of them, swollen and hot to the touch, decorating you in various shades of red, purple, and blue. There isn't much Xaden and Garrick can do about those, though they diligently smear them with some stinky salve that's supposed to soothe the worst of the ache.

To you it just feels cold and nothing more, but you don't complain. Not about the useless stinky ointment, nor about the burn of disinfectant in your open scrapes and cuts. You're simply too exhausted to do anything but force yourself to stay sitting upright, letting Xaden do whatever he wants. He knows better what you need right now than you do, anyway. You're limp in his hands, letting him turn you this way and that to get at all your wounds, his shadows supporting you when needed.

He pays extra attention to your wrists, the skin there rubbed raw from your fruitless attempts to slip free of the chains they'd put on you in the interrogation chamber. Even through the fog of exhaustion hanging over your mind, you don't miss the sorrow that passes over your brother's face as he takes in the harm you did to yourself. He is uncharacteristically gentle as he bandages your wrists, even going so far as to press a little kiss on top of each, the way your dad used to do when you were little. You tear up again at the action, have to bite your trembling bottom lip to keep from crying.

Done with your wounds, Xaden helps you get comfortable sitting against the wall with a pillow at your back, a soft blanket over your lap and tucked in around your waist. Bodhi already sits next to you much the same way; the comforting warmth of his shoulder against yours helps you ground yourself in the present.

Xaden puts a bowl of soup into your hands, ordering you to eat. It's not quite hot anymore, having stood on the desk while Xaden and Garrick patched you guys up, but still warm enough, and you consider it a bonus that you can't burn your mouth on it anymore.

When you're done, Garrick takes the empty bowls and leaves, but Xaden remains.

"I guess we'd better get you two to sleep," he says. "You've had a long day."

"Can Bodhi sleep here tonight?"

"Does Bodhi want to sleep here?" Xaden counters, looking to your cousin for answer.

To your relief, he agrees. You're not sure you could stand being alone right now, with the memory of today's torture still so fresh in your mind and the lingering dizziness you can't seem to shake.

"Okay," Xaden nods. "Then he can."

After tucking the both of you into bed, Xaden turns to leave. Before you can think better of it, you reach for his hand, silently pleading with him to stay a little longer. He sinks back to the floor beside the bed, brushing a hand over your face in an attempt to get you to close your eyes.

"Sleep. I'm here."

Bodhi moves closer — at this point he's practically lying on top of you — and butts his head against Xaden's hand with a little whine. Your brother gets the hint, and starts to pet Bodhi's hair, his other hand still gripped tight in yours. He doesn't need to have his hands free to make you close your eyes again — a soft layer of shadows descends on your face like a blanket, leaving you in complete darkness. It should be unsettling, but somehow, it isn't. Encased in the safety of your brother's shadow, you can finally keep your eyes shut and actually try to fall asleep.

Which is easier said then done, despite your exhaustion. While your body is fully ready to shut down, your mind won't stop racing. Bodhi is having the same problem, if the way you feel him fidget is any indication.

Xaden starts softly humming, and after a moment, you recognize the melody as an old Tyrrish lullaby. It had been your favorite one as a child, but after all these years, you'd almost forgotten it. Now the words come back to you like magic, even if Xaden doesn't sing them.

Trying to remember the song text and sing along in your mind gives you something to focus on other than the day's events; your racing thoughts can finally settle down. Slowly the tension leaves your body and your breathing evens out as sleep descents over you.

But just as you finally drift into that calm drowsy state, your heart skips a beat and you jolt wide awake again.

Xaden is quick to soothe you. The shadow over your face disappears, replaced by others that gently hold you so you don't startle Bodhi by sitting up. Xaden gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, more shadows caressing your face as he murmurs, "Shh, you're okay."

You slowly relax again, nuzzling your face into Bodhi's shoulder and mirroring his slow, deep breathing. Xaden starts to hum the lullaby again.

He stays until he is sure both of you are fast asleep, then he gently removes your hand from his, placing it in Bodhi's instead, and slips into the hall.

[kquil]

DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER TEN

10 : HOLIDAY

CHPT. SUM. : The winter holidays start with a stiff Yule soiree but you're determined to give the boys a far more memorable holiday than that.

LENGTH : 12k

TAGS : domestic fluff ; holiday/festive vibes ; meeting the potter family ; orion being a stickler for 'traditions' ; Kreacher is part of the family ; holiday surprises for the boys! ; reader is the best mother for sirius and regulus!

← PREV. 9 : REPUTATION

23rd December 1971 | 12 Grimmauld Place 

The crackling fire in your home office does little to warm the icy tension filling the space between you and Orion, whose face is a chilling mask of stoic disapproval. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest as he glares at you with a thinly veiled mix of hatred and scepticism before moving his stare to the offending letter you clutch in one hand, the one you intend to send to the Lestranges. 

Orion had wondered about your evening activities and wandered into your study late in the evening. At your desk, he found you urgently writing as if you were against a ticking deadline. He could tell that you knew he was in your space but felt it safe to step further in when you didn’t verbally protest his presence. What were you writing and who you were sending so many letters to so late in the evening? As he stepped up to your desk, he glimpsed the familiar names and addresses on the back of the envelopes and gave an approving hum.

“You don’t need to worry about accepting their invitations; I have already sent them letters welcoming their requests for our family’s attendance at Yule celebrations this holiday.” Orion looked on in wonder when you continued writing, steadily piling up the letters in batches for your owl to deliver. His steel-grey eyes narrowed when you silently tied the batch of letters together and magicked the window open for your owl to swiftly deliver its hefty package. With a click of his tongue, a clear expression of distrust from your dismissal, Orion slams his hand on the table to leer at you, “I said there’s no need. Didn’t you hear me?”

“I heard you, Orion.” your unfazed demeanour irks him more than he’d care to admit. 

“Then why are you continuing to write?” He looks down to read the contents of the letter you were currently writing to the Lestranges, focusing intently on trying to read your cursive upside down. 

‘…sadly we would need to decline your invitation to dinner on the…’

“—WHAT ABSURDITY IS THIS?!” Orion attempts to snag the letter from your grasp but you’re faster and hurry to seal away the letter of rejection in an envelope, swiftly addressing it on the back. He shouts your name, calling for your attention, for an answer, and you silently huff at his volume; he’ll end up disturbing the boys at this rate. With this man-child in the house, how can you possibly anticipate any peace to occur? 

Now you are having a stand-off in the middle of your home office, husband and wife scowling at each other with equal distaste, both stubborn about their stance. “This isn’t absurd, Orion! Why would our choice—”

“It’s your selfish choice!”

“Yes, you’re right; it is a selfish choice, but it’s with good intentions! We have a right to reject their invitations in favour of celebrating with our own family.” Orion visibly bristles at your reasoning, like a raptorial cat spotting its prey and immediately preparing to pounce. 

“ABSURD AND SELFISH! WHAT REASON DO WE HAVE TO REJECT THEIR INVITATIONS?!”

The parchment feels heavy in your hands, carrying the weight of your defiance, but you stand strong by it. “…Orion,” you begin after taking a slow breath, voice steady but pleading — you need to be the calm one or else this argument will spiral dangerously. And you don’t want either of the boys to hear upstairs; evenings like this should be spent winding down for bed. “I want this Yule to be just us. No dinners, no soirees, no endless gatherings. Just our family. For the boys.” Orion doesn’t show any sign of understanding, but you press forward. You find that every interaction has become a latent test, putting your husband on trial to assess his fitfulness as a father. However, every exchange has been marked by increasingly lamentable results, such that you feel stupid for believing he may have some redeeming qualities as a father. “Regulus will be leaving to attend Hogwarts next year, and then it’ll just be… us. Let us have this one Yule to focus on each other and be together as a family, please. It’s a precious time we must commemorate appropriately.”

Orion’s jaw tightens, his dark eyes narrowing. “It is our duty to maintain appearances. We cannot simply abandon tradition because you’ve decided to indulge in some sentimental whim!” 

Your temper isn’t usually quick to rise, but you feel it spike exponentially within you from his bitter words. This was worth taking offence over. How dare he demean the precious time you intend to spend with your loved ones — namely only Sirius and Regulus. He has no pride as a father or a husband. With another slow breath, you try to tame your racing heart.

“The only tradition we must abide by is attendance at the Yule soiree with the slew of other wizarding families,” you counter, your voice rising slightly despite your attempt to hold down your tongue. “Every other dinner, every other event—they’re not necessities, Orion. They’re only frivolous distractions. And I won’t have my boys grow up thinking that their worth is measured by how many pureblood gatherings they attend.”

“Sirius is already a poor example of an heir. The first in centuries to be sorted into Gryffindor—”

“Orion, please!”

“—he must spend time with the right sort!”

“He is with the right sort! He has friends who care about him in Gryffindor.”

“That’s not worth anything!” 

“Oh! Get over yourself, Orion!” your voice gets louder and louder, swept up by the intense emotions making the air in the room vibrate tensely. “Those dinners and gatherings aren’t a necessity! Sirius will grow up to be a fine man without them! Trust in yourself as his father!” you try to play with his compassion as a parent but it’s no use.

“It is a necessity because I say it is!” Orion snaps, his voice booming through the room. “No further arguments, wife. This is final.”

You bristle at his curt command, your temper flaring once more, mirroring Orion’s climbing wrath. “That’s not how the world works, Orion. How childish! The boys and I will be spending Yule together. If you’re so desperate to attend every last gathering, you may do so by your lonesome!” You step to the open window and call for another owl to take and deliver the Lestrange’s letter.

Orion’s face darkens, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He doesn’t dare lash out as he can sense that his magic is already making the walls and furniture shake around the room — he also gathers that you would have added to the telekinetic quaking as well. This house was a precious property, a standing legacy of their ancient and most noble house. No argument was worth its potential collapse. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

“I am not the ridiculous one!” You shoot back, your voice as sharp and piercing as your eyes. Once again, Orion cannot recognise you, the occurrence of which has been more often as of recently that he’s lost count long before. Where had his wife disappeared to? This wasn’t the woman he married… “It is you who is being ridiculous! Why can’t you see that this is important? For them, for us as a family?”

Orion takes a step closer, his expression softening slightly but not from concern. Looking into his eyes, you see the judgement and suspicion and desperately move to bite down your tongue. The Black family patriarch’s tone is firm, strong and demanding. “Why have you changed so drastically, wife? This is unlike you…” Never had the two of you been so disparate in mind and intentions, it was unusual to have such a quarrel; usually, Orion can trust in his wife and lady to manage the house elf and their sons while he focuses on their reputation and his job. However, now, it was difficult to trust you with managing anything in the Black family home without his supervision; your ambitions have changed far too drastically, and even the house elf has changed— the filthy thing. There wasn’t a clear answer to this dilemma either, not one that he could attempt to foresee and the mental instability that thought brings was beyond frustrating.  

You swallow hard and carefully consider the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. It was suffocating being put on the spot like this; your mind is racing, but you’re desperate not to appear flustered beyond convention. “…I simply want to be a good mother to my children, both of which will soon leave the nest together. I want to treasure as much of the little time we have left with each other.” your confession comes out quietly, your voice trembling with sincere emotions from the thought. As much as you wanted to be a mother in your past life, experiences like this are ineluctable to all parents; you just didn’t believe it could affect you to such a profound degree. You suppose it’s one of those things in life that you can’t expect to be familiar with until you’ve undergone it firsthand.  

“You are a good mother,” Orion replies, his tone almost dismissive as if the matter can be settled with his singular comment of reassurance.

The words sting more than you care to admit, however. You know what his perception is of how a home should be run, and you know of his closed perspective on what it means to be a ‘good mother’—obedient, dutiful, upholding the family name at all costs, even if it’s at the detriment of a long-term relationship with your children. The kind of mother who raises sons to be carbon copies of their father, even if that father has more shameful qualities than good.  But that is not the kind of mother you want to be, not for your darling boys, not ever. Overcoming that sadness and the thoughts of what Sirius and Regulus had to endure before you took over Walburga, you quickly fill up with rage and disgust. It’s repulsive how misinformed and disparaging his views are towards parenting —he should be ashamed of himself.  

“I have not been a good mother,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. This might be a good time to provide a fair reason to explain the sudden and drastic changes in your behaviour and views. Orion will have no choice but to accept something so profoundly simple that it becomes a hard pill to swallow. “And I can admit that. But I’m doing my best to change, for my boys. Please, Orion. I know you can be a good father to the children too. It’s what they deserve.”

Orion lets out a humourless and brief laugh — a mockery of your new ideations. His anger flares once again, his patience worn thin after you’ve blatantly offended his attitude and parenting. “No. What they deserve is a strict education and upbringing. It’s all done to honour our family’s name. We are the most ancient and noble house, house Black! Where is your pride?” he leers down at you, unconvinced and judgemental.

“Where is your shame?” you counter far too quickly to stop yourself. 

“…you will have to go alone with them, then,” he says coldly, turning away from you. “I will uphold our name without your sorry, audacious existence to humiliate me.”

Your spine straightens as your resolve hardens; you don’t care much for his offending words rather, you are relieved. At least he didn’t demand the boys accompany him anyway, instead of you. “Fine then,” you say firmly, clearly unaffected by his words, which makes him want to lash out in anger once again. However, you were already turning on your heel and striding out of the room before he could attempt another heated exchange, your sharp footfalls echoing against the floor. As you reach the hallway, closing the door behind you, you pause and glance up at the bannister above, managing to catch two blurred figures ducking out of sight. 

“Come out, you two,” you call softly, not wanting to appear confrontational or irate and smile to help colour your words warmly. “I know you’ve been listening.”

After a moment of silence, there’s a shuffling of feet as Sirius and Regulus slowly come into view, peering down at you from their perch in the upper hallway. They share the same sheepish expression. You sigh and move to meet them upstairs, gesturing that they go ahead of you, “Into Sirius’ room, we need to talk.”

The boys follow your words obediently, their heads bowed as they hurry through the door with Sirius’ name hanging at the front. Once inside your eldest’s room, you close the door gently and turn to face them where they’ve settled atop Sirius’ bed. They can see the frustration and fatigue on your face and they wonder if it would have been better if they didn’t know the reason behind it. Nevertheless, they come to one conclusion and it's that they don’t like seeing you in such a state. Their kind, gentle and loving mother doesn’t deserve to be distressed — and it makes them feel all the more guilty when they realise that you were having to deal with them as soon as you finished arguing exhaustively with their father. They wouldn’t blame you if you, instead, had ignored them altogether in favour of resolving your frustrations. Nevertheless, it meant the world to them that they were such a high priority for you that you didn’t give it a second thought before joining them upstairs to talk.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that, boys,” your voice is filled with regret, an achy feeling that they mirror in their own silvery-grey eyes. “It’s not a good example to set, arguing like that with your father. I’m sorry.” The two share a somewhat astonished look — they fully believed you would reprimand them after being caught listening to your quarrel. “Eavesdropping is not proper behaviour, either.” There it is…

“Sorry mother…” They guiltily apologise in unison, looking down from the shame weighing down their stomachs as you slowly approach.

“It’s alright, just don’t do it again, okay?” you raise both your pinkies so that they can seal the promise by curling their pinkies around yours — you were so happy to have shared this little ‘muggle’ tradition with them; it was a good enforcer of good manners and promises. Satisfied with the pledge, you take a seat at the foot of Sirius’ bed, your legs hanging off the edge as you partially turn towards them. 

Regulus looks up at you, his wide grey eyes filled with concern. He remembers hearing the way you reasoned with his father on why you were rejecting invitations and it left him holding onto a peculiar mixture of guilt and joy that you were willing to turn away other families just to have a memorable Yule holiday with him and Sirius before they leave for Hogwarts together. 

“But there’s no need to be sorry, Mother… it’s not your fault.”

Sirius, the bolder one of the two and acting on the emotions he felt safe enough to express, crosses his arms and scowls. His opinion of the situation has been made up already. “Yeah, Dad’s being an idiot.”

You raise a questioning brow but can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips — you didn’t know your son could look so cute being a grump. But, you attest that to his bias on taking your side over his father’s, loyally and stubbornly taking your side on things definitively. “Your father is not an idiot, Sirius,” you reach out to gently pet down his curls, slightly pushing the stray strands away from his forehead. Almost instantly, Sirius uncrosses his arms and leans into your touch, his grumpy expression melting away, “Orion is just… a stubborn old fool.” The last part slips out in a whisper, and Sirius and Regulus exchange a glance before breaking into quiet snickers. Clearly, they agree with your sentiment, but you have to hold yourself back from joining their giggling.

“You don’t need to defend him, Mother,” Sirius says, his voice tinged with frustration as he and Regulus shuffle closer to you. “Men are fockin’ pricks!”

Your eyes widen in shock. “Sirius! Where did you hear such language?”

Your eldest has the decency to look sheepish but doesn’t back down and answers honestly. “From some Muggle-borns at school,” his chin jutting out defiantly, and your eyes frantically move between him and Regulus over and over. You don’t like the intrigued expression on your youngest’s face, your concern for his language development growing with the blatant curiosity and fascination in his appearance.

Just as you see the familiar question of: ‘What does it mean?’ appear clearly on your sweet youngest’s face, you hurry to denounce Sirius’ speech, “Don’t repeat what Sirius just said Regulus.”

“I’m sorry, Mother, I won’t,” while Regulus apologetically looks up at you, Sirius looks at his brother with a sneaky smile tugging at the corners of his lips. And it was at that moment that you knew Sirius couldn’t be stopped from explaining the curses to his little brother. With a sigh, you shake your head, already accepting Sirius’ silent plans to go against your distaste for the swears. The least you could do is set a boundary so they know not to speak like that around you — you trust that they would use the words sparingly. 

“I don’t want that kind of language in this house. Please refrain from making such exclamations again. And no more eavesdropping, either. It’s bad manners.” The boys nod, their expressions downcast and apologetic, but they instantly light up when you lean down to kiss their foreheads, a reminder that you still love them despite their mistakes. You no longer have to word the sentiment but can’t help refraining from speaking through your actions. They needed the reassurance, though, and they appreciated your proactive, loving gestures. “I want you to grow up to be gentlemen… unlike your father.” The last part is whispered once again, but Sirius and Regulus hear it anyway, and, again, exchange another round of stifled snickers.

Sirius leans forward, his curiosity getting the better of him. “What were you and Father arguing about, Mother? And why are we all in my room?” He and Regulus managed to hear bits and pieces above their racing heartbeat drumming against their ears, but he needs you to confirm things. He didn't want to get his hopes up on the aspect of no longer attending those stiff and boring Yule dinners with other prestigious families. He didn’t want to get his hopes up on finally being able to celebrate the holiday the same way his friends had fondly and excitedly described.

With a fond smile, you brush a hand through Sirius's hair before doing the same to Regulus. There’s a warm affection in your eyes that’s hypnotising and makes them lean in to hear you even closer as you straighten your back from where you’re seated at the edge of the bed. “You two need to pack some luggage, enough for a week or so away.” there’s a lightness and purpose in your tone, a premature excitement.

Sirius deflates, his shoulders sagging as his face falls into an adorable pout. “But I just finished unpacking…”

You can’t help but giggle at his dramatics, adoring the sight of Regulus reaching over to pat his brother on the back comfortingly. “But you’ll want to pack for where I’m taking you two,” your eyes twinkle with mischief. “We’re leaving right from the Yule soiree tomorrow.”

That gets their attention immediately. Both boys perk up with interest and elation swimming in their wide eyes. “Where are we going?” Regulus asks, his voice filled with wonder. Both boys were standing on Sirius’ bed now and you can easily predict that they would soon be jumping about if you revealed anything more.

“You’ll find out tomorrow~” you sing playfully, standing from the bed to move to the door as you have to pack your own luggage. With half-hearted whines of protest, the brothers clamber off the bed and rush to your side, clinging to the long skirt of your dress in an attempt to pull more hints from you. “We’ll be getting there via the Floo Network, so I’ll keep your shrunken luggage with me at the soiree tomorrow. Your father won’t be joining us, I’m afraid, so make sure to say your goodbyes before we leave in the afternoon.” You wave your wand, summoning two identical lists that float gently into their hands. “Here’s a list of everything you’ll need to bring.”

“Okay, Mother,” they chorus, their voices filled with anticipation.

As a farewell, you lean down to kiss their temples, your heart swelling with love for them and their adorable antics. You’ve been blessed with the sweetest boys on earth! “Good. Have fun packing, you two.” As you leave the room, Sirius and Regulus’ vocalised animation for what’s ahead fades into the background. You hear that they’ve decided to help each other pack, starting with Sirius’ things — they believe that they might be able to piece together what you have planned for them through the list, which makes you giggle. Would they be able to deduce such a thing? This was a big surprise, after all. 

A spark of hope lights up within your chest, warming you up from the inside out. This Yule will be different, you’ll make sure of it. It’ll be different for them, for you, for all of you. There isn’t a trace of guilt or regret in your veins as you go through the list of events you have planned. You will create and share precious memories together — this will be a holiday to remember!  

24th December, 1971 | Yule Soiree, VIP Room 

The soiree is a glittering affair, an event dripping with such opulence that the induced propriety was suffocating, even to those accustomed to the affluence, but they did not show it. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen waterfalls, suspended in the air high above, alight with enchanted candles that never shortened, shining brighter than the muggle sort and emitting enthralling prisms of light. Expensive perfumes smothered the air in their thickness and polite conversation weaved through the palpable tension between some families. For the room to be considered the dignitary sort, set aside for the Sacred Twenty-Eight families, it wasn’t very remarkable aside from its adornment, credited to those in the staff who helped decorate. There was a designated area for quiet murmurings and another area for sharp laughter and even sharper smiles accompanying frivolous chatter. 

You manage to navigate the room with practised ease, your posture regal and expression composed, but your heart aches for a simpler affair, one filled with warmth — if not for you, then for your boys. Pity throbbed within the depths of your chest as you looked upon their grim features, they didn’t look like your sons; your boys were spritely and smiling, carefree and talkative but these two were not like that at all. Rather, they were stiff, their small shoulders straight with tension and their lips sealed shut, offering tight-lipped smiles to those who greeted you before eventually greeting them. Earlier on, you had asked Alphard if he would be attending the soiree too but was downhearted to find that he had some last-minute business at the office to deal with and that he wouldn’t be able to make it. The original Walburga grumbled in your head over her younger brother’s undistinguished behaviour, wanting to reprimand him for his lack of commitment to tradition but you quickly stamp out her unreasonable complaints by harassing her right back and threatening to whisk Sirius and Regulus away prematurely. That shut her right up.

From a distance, you spot three sisters comfortably chatting near the grand fireplace, their heads bent together to hear one another clearly amongst the chatter muffling the air. All three share the same black locks and pale complexion but adorn different demeanours and manner of dress for the holidays. “Are those your cousins, dears?” you ask in a whisper, leaning down slightly so you can be better heard by both children. 

“Yep,” Sirius confirms as Regulus nods from beside him. 

“Alright.” you take a moment to ponder on what to do next, “Do you both mind if I take a moment to speak with them? I’ll try to be quick,” the brothers share a brief look before nodding in unison. “Thank you, my loves. Try to occupy yourselves in the meantime okay?” As you approach the three sisters, Sirius and Regulus make their way to the food and beverages, not wanting to stand by their father even in your absence. 

Once you’re close enough, the girls spot you in their periphery and turn as a group to greet you appropriately. Their expressions were a mix of curiosity and wariness as they wondered what the matriarch of House Black would want with them and without the patriarch beside her. It was odd to see you and Orion separately and even more odd was to see you without Sirius and Regulus at your sides; it was a known fact that you, as the matriarch kept an invisible leash on all three, maintaining the puppeteer of all behind the scenes.  

“Lady Black, good afternoon.” A sister greets you, her black hair fashioned into tight curls as her eyes hold a depth to them like that of a black hole. She is slightly taller than the other two and stands in the centre, subconsciously marking her as the eldest. You hazard a guess that this was Bellatrix, “You look different today,”  

With a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, you reply, catching all three off guard as you’re not usually the type to smile. “As do you, Bellatrix… ” She doesn’t protest, so your deduction to her identity was correct. All of you have grown so much since I last saw you properly. You’re all so lovely for the Yule soiree today.”

Andromeda’s eyes soften while Narcissa remains impassive though you can see a flicker of some emotion in her eyes. Was she secretly flattered by your compliment? Bellatrix, however, narrows her eyes in scrutiny and confusion all at once. “Rumours say you’ve been acting strangely.” She leaves the air open for you to either confirm or deny her claim. The three had been able to see the affectionate way you acted towards Sirius and Regulus in the time you stepped into the celebration together, and it’s clear that they aren’t the only ones shocked by your drastic change in behaviour. 

“Is that so bad?” you watch carefully and patiently as Bellatrix mulls over your comment for a while. No one has outright dubbed your mannerisms unsuitable, and as the matriarch of the noble and most ancient house of Black, surely you have every right to act the way you deem most appropriate. Bellatrix can’t fault you for that so she concedes, she admires you, after all, so if you are acting this way, it’s for good reason. 

“I suppose not…” your smile finally reaches your eyes and the three sisters welcome your stunning visage. Rumours from your drop-off and eventual collection of Sirius at King’s Cross station have made its rounds and many praised your radiant smile. Now, not only are you the prestigious lady matriarch of House Black but you’re one who radiates beauty with a simple smile. They secretly consider themselves lucky to have experienced your beauty in person, they truly didn’t know what to believe, at first with the rumours, but they quite like them thus far. 

Now that Bellatrix’s suspicions have been dealt with, you focus instead on the warmth you want to convey. Something you had intended to commit from your detrimental notations for future events. “If any of you ever need anything—anything at all—I’ll be there for you. Within reason, of course. All you have to do is ask or send a letter. We’re family, after all.” The three sisters’ eyes widen in unison, even demure and poised Narcissa. Andromneda’s breath hitches and there’s a wildness that swamps her eyes momentarily. 

“…Even for arranged marriages?…” Andromeda, the one who looks the most similar to Bellatrix comments, her dark curls are looser and her eyes are shaped less fiercely. With a snarl, Bellatrix nudges her twin sharply with an elbow whilst Narcissa gives an almost saddened look. 

“Andy!” Bellatrix hisses in a warning tone.

You freeze up, trying to comprehend her words as quickly as you can — if you pause for longer than normal, they’ll only grow suspicious of you; you should already know their world after all so nothing should surprise you to this extent. After a moment, your heart sinks in realisation and a sad softness floods your gaze.

“Your marriage is already arranged?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Bellatrix straightens and lifts her chin, stepping forward to partially shield her sisters. “Yes. And so is mine. I am set to marry Rodolphus Lestrange after I graduate. Andromeda will follow soon after, as she’s the younger twin. I will have an Autumn wedding and she will have a Spring wedding.” Bellatrix turns to smirk at Andromeda, though you don’t think it’s out of malice; her words didn’t ring maliciously to you, only factually as if she’s already accepted her and her sister’s fate. Andromeda turns her gaze to the floor and hugs herself for comfort whilst Narcissa steps closer, wanting to offer comfort in her own way.

“Do you want to marry Rodolphus, Bella?” you ask gently. Bellatrix blinks, her eyes wide with confusion as she’s momentarily thrown by the use of her nickname — only her sisters call her intimately yet you say it so naturally. Did you mean to call her by such an affectionate nickname or was it just a slip of the tongue? 

“It’s what’s expected of me,” she says in a dismissive tone, finally overcoming her slight surprise. “It’s our duty to carry on the purity of our blood.”

You accept the eldest sister’s answer with a slow nod before turning to the middle sister. “And you, Andy?” the child is just as shocked by your use of her nickname but, with some hesitation, eventually looks up at your soft and welcoming gaze. “Do you know who you’ll be marrying? Do you want to marry him?”

Andromeda shakes her head with a troubled expression. Even before this, it was clear from her body language alone that she was unwilling to accept her circumstances. “No…”

Bellatrix huffs at her sister’s side and pins her with a sharp glare before hissing out. “That’s because you’re being too picky, Andy. Do you know how upset Mother and Father are getting with you?”

“I know…” Andromeda sighs but doesn’t look as guilty as she should, in Bellatrix’s opinion, making her huff once more while Narcissa moves to stand between them as a silent mediator. “Mother and Father have been… difficult to talk to about these matters. One of the suitors they had picked out for me was over ten years my senior.” You suppress a shudder as your stomach churns at the dreadful thought. How could a parent submit their young daughter to such a fate? 

“…My offer stands,” leaning forward, you meet each of their eyes individually, emphasising your words. And, although your voice is stern, your gaze is warm and comforting, and you hope they can see the sincerity in it. “If you need anything, I’ll be there to help you as best as I can. All you need to do is ask.” The three sisters nod in unison but Andromeda’s eyes linger on you, unable to let go of the implication in your words. For once, she feels hopeful as she remembers her beloved Ted. You can see the wheels turning in her mind, and you wonder if she’s thinking of someone in particular — you have to hold back a smile when you realise she’s probably thinking of Edward Tonks. 

˖  ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

The VIP room feels much colder now, and the air weighs heavily with unspoken words over your unusual behaviour. There have also been hushed whispers floating about—whispers of the Dark Lord and alliances forming in the shadows over the misinformed need to rebel against the acceptance of muggle witches and wizards entering their secret society of magic—making your stomach churn. The divide between the blood purists and the rest of the wizarding world was growing and growing; it had grown so much that it was palpable even in what was supposed to be a festive gathering. But you do your best to ignore the whispers and the stone of dread in your stomach, instead choosing to focus on finding Sirius and Regulus again. Glancing around, you spot them near the edge of the room leaning into each other. It appears as though they were looking for someone too, their expressions a mix of frustration and worry. You gather that they are looking for you and quickly make your way over to them, where you have the pleasure of seeing their adorable reactions as soon as they spot you in the crowd, your heart softening at the sight of your boys’ adorable faces brightening at your appearance. 

“Mother, there you are,” Sirius steps up to greet you once you're close enough, Regulus following closely at his side so that they can embrace you for a brief moment. 

“I’m happy to see you boys again, did I take too long?” Regulus shakes his head and presses his face into the folds of your long, emerald green dress. His actions make your brows furrow with concern and you meet Sirius’ gaze questioningly but your eldest seems to have the same downhearted expression on his face too. “What’s the matter, my loves?” 

“We’ve been looking for Uncle Alphard,” Sirius runs his fingers through his hair in frustration, his eyes darting about the room as he tries to find his favourite uncle once more, “We didn’t want to miss him because you said we’d be going away soon. But we can’t find him anywhere.” 

With a sigh, your expression softens with understanding, and your hand comes up to comfortingly pet Regulus’ hair, his face still buried in your skirt. He had been so excited to see the reunion between his uncle and Sirius; he desperately wanted his brother to know that there were more people, other than him and their mother, supporting him despite his sorting into Gryffindor. “I’m afraid your uncle had to work late at the office. He sends his apologies.” That doesn’t seem to help ease the boys’ sadness, so you allow them a slight peek into their holiday surprise, “He promises that he’ll see you both soon, though.” 

“But— didn’t he say he’d be here?…” Regulus pouts up at you, finally lifting his face off of your skirt. 

“I know, darling,” you place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “But duty calls, even during the holidays. Now, how about we leave this dreary room and head downstairs? The music is livelier, and the atmosphere is much warmer.” 

Sirius perked up at the suggestion, his grin returning as he nudged Regulus beside him encouragingly. “Finally, something fun. Come on, Reggie, let’s go.” the two walked ahead of you, though it was clear that Sirius wanted to run and pull Regulus along behind him, his nerves very obviously vibrating with excitement —you were glad for his restraint, however, and smiled in adoration at the brothers’ very sweet, very ordinary appearance from behind. 

The grand staircase led you down to the lower floor that buzzed with life. Laughter, chatter, and the festive tunes of a wizarding band filled the air, colouring the expansive room with much brighter colours than that of the upper floor you were earlier confined to. Wizarding families of different backgrounds mingled impartially and freely, their joys, infectious, and their movements, unburdened by the weight of blood purity or social standing. The live band at one end of the ballroom plays a lively tune whilst couples dance with abandon at the centre, people were free to join in or step out of the dance whenever they wanted. It was a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere of the VIP room above, where the so-called elite sat in rigid clusters, their conversations hushed and their expressions guarded — this was what a true Yule celebration should feel like. Even with Walburga shouting like a possessed banshee in the back of your head, you have no regrets and plan on whiffing the smelling salts in your pocket as soon as possible. You weren’t about to faint on your boys and bring any amount of distress onto them so you’ve come prepared. 

The energy of the lower floor greeted the three of you like a warm embrace as you stepped down the final few steps. From your elevated perch on the steps moments ago, Sirius had quickly spotted a familiar figure across the room: another boy who was similar to him in age, sporting messy black hair, round glasses and an infectious, unmistakable grin.

“James!” Sirius calls with an enthusiastic wave. He calls his friend’s name several times before his voice manages to carry over the crowds and the music, prompting the messy-haired lad to finally turn and meet his close friend’s eyes, “Over here!”

As soon as James saw Sirius across the hall, his face lit up with a charming grin. He lifts a hand to wave your small family over to where he proudly stands with his parents. Sirius didn’t hesitate to push ahead as shy Regulus clutched onto your hand, staying back with you, despite meeting James briefly at King’s Cross, it appears as though he can’t quite get over his shyness yet. As Sirius neared the Potters, your heart warmed and raced; Fleamont and Euphemia were the perfect picture of benevolence, adding to their grace as they smiled, sincerely welcoming Sirius in return.

“Sirius, I didn’t know you were here!” James exclaimed, clapping his friend on the back once he was close enough. Sirius grinned widely in return and squeezed James with equal affection around the shoulders, “Mum, Dad, this is Sirius, my friend from Hogwarts. I’ve told you about him!”

Fleamont extended a hand to shake as his eyes twinkled under the chandeliers. “Pleasure to meet you, son. Fleamont, or Monty, whichever you prefer.”

Sirius shook his hand with a look of mischief in his eyes. “Nice to meet you, Monty, my man!” Your son’s cheekiness couldn’t be ignored, and Fleamont threw his head back with a laugh, welcoming him as James’ friend with open arms. 

Equally charmed, Euphemia stepped forward to give her greeting with a radiant smile. “I’m Euphemia, but you can call me Mia. Our Jamie has told us so much about you; it’s good to finally put a name to the face.” Rather than a handshake like her husband, she crouches down and pulls Sirius into a brief but warm hug. You can see the brief surprise and delight on Sirius’ face before he melts into her embrace with a warm grin. Sirius likens the feeling to the same one he feels whenever you hug him affectionately—of course, his mother’s hugs will forever be the best but he happily accepts the small comfort he finds in James’ mother too.

“So, how are your holidays so far?” James asked, his enthusiasm undimmed.

“Great!” Sirius replied with a similar enthusiasm, the image in his head only consisting of you and Regulus “Mother and Reg are here with me. Father’s up in the VIP room with the snobs.”

“Your mother, you say?” Euphemia’s eyes widened in surprise, and she exchanged a glance with her husband. Both turn just in time to see you approach them with Regulus at your side, their surprise still evident on their faces. You could see the wheels turning in their minds—the woman before them was not the cold, distant matriarch they had imagined. This can only mean that they didn’t hallucinate your friendly figure when they had gone to pick up James at Kings Cross Station. 

“Yeah! I’ll introduce you.” Sirius’ chest puffs out slightly as he gestures to you first, then Regulus, “Everyone, meet my mother and my little brother, Regulus.”

“Hello,” Regulus reaches out to shake the Potter couple’s hands before waving at James, who brings him into a friendly, one-armed hug over the shoulder. Sirius snickers beside them for a moment and quickly joins in the hug too, he loves seeing his brother get along with his close friend; he can only imagine how well Regulus would get along with Remus or Peter!

With a warm smile, you extend a hand in greeting. “Good afternoon. A pleasure to meet you both,” you shake Fleamont’s hand first before shaking Euphemia’s. You then turn to James, your smile ever soft and kind. “And it’s so good to see you again, James.”

James grinned. “You too, my lady.” he bows at the waist as you giggle and Sirius rolls his eyes, tempted to smack his friend over the head, “It’s good to see you in something other than black.”

“James!” Euphemia scolds with a wave of her finger.

Rather than the scowl of offence they were expecting you to wear, however, you laugh lightly and briefly play with the skirt of your dress. “Why, thank you. I suppose you could say the holiday season has gotten to me.” 

Euphemia stares in shock at you, so surprised by your change in demeanour that she couldn’t hold her tongue and agrees, “Indeed…” Embarrassed, Euphemia covers her mouth as Fleamont laughs heartily, pulling his wife close by her waist — a small gesture of comfort.

“There’s a special type of magic that goes around for the holidays,” The Potter patriarch says with a warm, understanding voice. 

Your small group falls into easy conversation after the tension was thoroughly melted away by introductions. There’s talk of the boys’ achievements at school, Regulus’ eagerness to join his older brother in the next academic year, the struggles of parenting such rambunctious youths followed by whining protests, and many more. Eventually, James drags your boys off to the food tables, promising them the best mini treacle tarts they’d ever tasted, and he should know, as a primary lover of the sweet treat. Regulus hesitated at first, glancing back at you for reassurance and relaxed when you gave him a small nod.

“Bring me back something tasty, darling,” you politely ask with an encouraging smile.

“Something salty or something sweet, Mother?” his voice is soft and dripping with consideration, ever the attentive type.

“Hmm… why don’t you pick?” Regulus nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips before dashing off to catch up with his brother and James. With the boys gone, you turned to the Potter couple with a question on your tongue. “Fleamont, Euphemia—”

“—Monty is fine,” Fleamont interrupted kindly.

“And just Mia is perfect for me too,” Euphemia added kindly. They were now able to tell for themselves that you weren’t the type of person they originally thought you were and it was a comfort; they found that any friend of their beloved son, they easily see as one of their own so it was a comfort to know that Sirius had you as his mother. 

Surprised by their willingness to be familiar with you, you take a moment to process what they’ve said before nodding, your cheeks heating up slightly from the prolonged pause you had taken. “Of course, thank you Monty, Mia…” The couple’s smiles brighten at your use of their nicknames, “So, for the holidays, I planned a surprise for my boys: a little getaway from our city home. I was wondering if we could organise some sort of playdate, where James could come over along with Sirius’s other friends for a day or two — the two of you are perfectly free to attend as well.”

Fleamont’s eyes light up in an instant. “That sounds good to me. I’m sure James would appreciate spending time with friends outside of school.” As Fleamont laughs cheerily his wife nods in agreement, their eyes sparkling with equal excitement.

“It would be nice to get out of the house too. Is it okay for us to spend the day with you as well?”

“Of course! Honestly, it would be preferred.” You’re quick to reassure her but pull a rather sheepish look, “I don’t think I’m ready to monitor five rambunctious teens by myself.”

“Won’t Orion be with you?” Fleamont asks curiously. 

“I’m afraid he has other important matters to attend to.” The Potters exchanged a concerned glance but said nothing and followed your lead on ignoring the subject altogether. Their smiles quickly returned as they agreed to your invitation. 

“We’d be happy to attend!” Euphemia perks up, “Do you already have a date in mind?”

“I was thinking a weekend but not Yule, that is a day for families; so the weekend after that. On the first or second of January would be ideal.

“Done.” Fleamont shares a smile with his wife. 

“We should be careful that the boys don’t try to convince us to have a sleepover,” Euphemia laughs as you and her husband join in. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they do. From the letters James sent home, they’re a rather troublesome bunch.” Prompted by her husband, Euphemia combs her fingers through his messy locks as she straightens her back, appearing to look for something through Fleamont’s locks. 

“Still no grey hairs, darling, you’re not to worry.”

“So cheeky,” Fleamont rolls his eyes at his wife, who just giggles and cuddles into his side. Their exchange is adorable and sweet, and pulls a fond smile onto your lips.

“It’s settled then; I’ll be sending you an owl closer to the time as a sort of formal invitation. You can easily use the floo network to get there, I’ll provide instructions in the letter I send you. Oh and please try to keep the date a secret, I want the whole thing to remain a surprise for the boys.”

Nodding enthusiastically, Euphemia agrees as  Fleamont smiles lovingly at his wife’s obvious excitement. 

“Of course! I can’t wait for the day!

“I’ll make sure to be a good host,”

When the boys finally return, Regulus proudly presents you with a sweet treat, while Sirius hands you something savoury. You sample both equally, your expression brightening with delight at their delicious choices for you. “Thank you, my darlings. Both were very tasty!” after wiping your lips with a small handkerchief, you kiss each of them on the forehead to which they beamed up at you with radiant smiles.

Watching the exchange, James’ expression becomes almost shy as he looks up at his mother, who gives him a questioning look. “Why are you looking at me like that, Jamie?…” 

“Nothin’.”

“It’s because I wasn’t given something yummy that you don’t get to have a kiss~” She giggles as James blushes, dashing off for a quick moment before coming back with a treacle tart for his mother. Finally, Mia kneels down and gives him a kiss in thanks, giggling as her husband chuckles behind his hand. 

“I told you you should have got it the first time, you plonker,” Sirius teased, and James groaned, his cheeks flushing.

“Shut up, Sirius,” 

As the afternoon grew a little older, you were dragged onto the central floor by Sirius and Regulus, who planned on sharing a dance with you together. All three of you joined hands and improvised a three-person waltz as best as you could to the festive music. The entire time, your cheeks hurting from how hard you were smiling — to think that your boys could get any more precious. You questioned why they were both dancing with you at once rather than separately, and their answer was said in such an obvious tone that it made you think that they didn’t argue for long on the topic, deeming the compromise as the perfect solution. 

“We couldn’t decide who got to dance with you first. So we’re dancing the first dance with you, together!” They’re too sweet! 

Several dances later, you were finally gathering the boys to say their goodbyes. First were to the Potter family, who wished you all well for the holidays, and you, them. Then, you ascended back to the VIP room, where Orion remained engrossed in conversation with the other purist families. While you voiced your goodbye to your husband, the boys gave curt goodbyes to all of their cousins except Andromeda, who received the warmest goodbye — she was very obviously their favourite for her kind and understanding nature. When it came to saying goodbye to their father, however, the boys hesitated. You had already moved on to bidding farewell to other patriarchs, matriarchs and cousins, so you weren’t there to see their attempts to bid their father goodbye. Each time, they were met with a dismissive wave, pushing them away more and more.

“Come on Reggie,” Sirius huffs under his breath, glaring at his father from under the stray whips of curls that had fallen over his eyes, “Mother is waiting for us.” Sirius leads the way to where you stand by the VIP room’s exit.

“But—! We didn’t say goodbye to father—” 

“Why does it matter? He doesn’t care anyway!” 

When they finally reach you, their sadness dissipates from the sight of your radiant smile. “Did you say goodbye to your father?”

The two nod with guarded expressions thinly veiled by a smile before you move to urge them to the exit, “Then let’s be off.”

Together, you collected your coats and stepped into the fireplace. With a small countdown, you all simultaneously threw down the powder as you called out the clear destination. “Astrolite Hall!” Green flames engulf your small trio in an instant, and, moments later, you emerge to find yourselves standing in the grand sitting area of a breathtaking countryside estate nestled in the Yorkshire Dales. The boys gasp, their eyes wide with wonder as they take in the establishment around them. They weren’t very familiar with the other Black family estates outside of their city home and the few dotted around France so this was a pleasant surprise, a new adventure. At this new thrill, their earlier displeasure with their father is easily forgotten. Taking in their precious expressions, your heart swells with love.

The manor was breathtaking—a sprawling countryside estate that seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall, arched windows, casting golden beams across the polished antique furniture. Through the windows, you could glimpse the gorgeous greenery outside, symmetrical, well-kept and lush despite the winter season, there was even a fountain at the centre. The air smelled unfamiliar but pleasant with a touch of tuberose and amber, a welcome change from the cramped atmosphere of Grimmauld Place, though you do miss the touches of dried lavender you and Regulus littered about the house.

“Welcome, my darlings,” you softly announce, leading them inside.

Sirius was the first to break the silence, his voice ringing with awe as his eyes took in the manor. “Blimey, Mother, this place is massive!”

“Yeah!” Regulus rolls on the balls of his feet beside his brother with equal enthusiasm. Both were as charged with energy as the other, feeding off one another’s excitement and vigour as their wide eyes took in the grandeur of the parlour. The high ceilings were adorned with intricate carvings, and a crystal chandelier hung above them, one that looked even more extravagant than the ones they saw at the soiree. Their incontestable joys were infectious but you did your best to temper your own excitement as much as possible, settling for a calm smile so that there was a balance of emotions in the positively charged atmosphere.

“This place is called Astrolite Hall, and I don’t think we’ve been here before,” you inform them helpfully shrugging off your heavy coat to hang on the back of an antique grandfather chair. “But it’s going to be our home for the holidays. What do you think?”

“It’s brilliant!” Sirius exclaimed, eager to dart off and explore. Regulus was more for a moment, glancing up at you briefly, before looking to his brother with a smile — you don’t know if he wanted to silently apologise for his uncharacteristic zest or seek brief assurance from your body language. You can tell that they were keen to scout out the new space, they were like racehorses eagerly awaiting the horn and the opening of the gates to launch them into competition. 

“Why don’t you two pick out your bedrooms upstairs? Once you’ve decided, I’ll un-shrink your luggage, we can unpack and then you can explore to your heart’s content.” 

Loving the idea, Sirius and Regulus zip up the grand staircase, their footfalls muffled by the thick carpet as you follow close behind, gigging into your palm as you lift the skirt of your dress to better traverse the stairs. By the time you got to the upper floor, they had already chosen their rooms, indicated by the doors they had left open for you to peek into. You weren’t surprised that they chose rooms that were right beside each other, but it still made you smile at the close bond that they have with each other; they deserve to have a close sibling relationship, and it warmed your heart to see it’s open display. 

“Is this the room you want?” you ask, pulling Sirius’ luggage out of your pockets. From where he lay sprawled over the large, king-sized bed, Sirius launched himself into a sitting position and nodded with much enthusiasm, his curls bouncing up and down with the movement. 

“My room is the next one over, Mother,” Regulus announces, grinning widely at you as he sits up with his brother. It looked as though they were making snow angels from the bedsheets, their excitement making them forget their usual manners. But you were happy to see them having fun so you don’t fuss about it the same way Walburga was shrieking up a storm in the back of your mind. Once you had deducted who’s room was who’s, you approached and un-shrunk their luggage with a wave of your wand — you love magic so much; it made things so convenient for you.  

“Which room will you pick?” Sirius asked as he jumped down to begin unpacking. 

“I think that one will do,” you announce, standing in the doorway and pointing at the room directly across from theirs, this made the boys grin in delight as they secretly cheered that Orion wasn’t there to ruin the mood. So as to not waste any more time, Regulus hurries to his room so that he can unpack as well. 

“Once you unpack, you can explore the estate as much as you like but try to make it downstairs in the sitting room by 5 pm, please; I have a special task I need you two to help me with.”

“What sort of task?” Sirius asks with curiosity as Regulus appears in his doorway with an equally curious look. The two watch as you elegantly walk to your room to unpack your bags too. 

“A fun task,” you replied, looking over your shoulder so they could see the giddy twinkle in your eyes.

Regulus’ pulls the sweetest most hopeful expression you could think of. “Really?”

“Yes! And we’re going to do it together while Kreacher cooks dinner in the kitchen.”

“Kreacher’s here?” Regulus lights up even more, like a Christmas tree.

“Of course,” you smile as your youngest vibrates with excitement, and Sirius laughs at his little brother’s obvious joy before poking fun at him teasingly. Regulus whines, expressing that he likes Kreacher so, of course, he’s excited, but you can see the fondness that remains in their eyes — they’re true siblings.

“But it feels a little stiff in these formal clothes,” you add, easily magicking your luggage’s contents into the appropriate storage compartments about your room, “Why don’t we change into our pyjamas for the rest of the day?”

Regulus frowned. “But it’s not nearly bedtime yet.”

Sirius rolls his eyes but grins brightly. “That doesn’t mean we can’t be in our pyjamas! Come on, Reggie!” The two hurry to finish unpacking so they can change into their pyjamas while you change into your own as well, though it took you a little longer than anticipated.

“Have fun exploring boys, see you downstairs!” you call, finally walking out of your room and down the hall to descend the stairs in your ankle-length, white-cotton sleep dress with long sleeves. Despite the cold temperatures outside, the estate was the perfect climate, even the carpeted floors were heated as you walked about in your socks.

“See you later!” The boys call back in unison.

When you meet with Kreacher in the kitchen, the boys were already causing a storm upstairs, though you didn’t quite mind; it was nice to have a lively atmosphere about a home for once. With Orion at Grimmauld Place, the air always felt a little stiff and dull so you’re glad the boys could finally act like children without any restraints. 

“The young masters be being very loud today,” Kreacher comments with a small smile as the two of you prepare the ingredients for dinner together.  

“Yes, they are. Doesn’t it sound lovely?” you ask but giggle when there’s a loud shout from upstairs (Sirius), quickly followed by a sharp ‘shush’ (Regulus) and then shared laughter.

“Very lovely the sound be, mistress!” Kreacher shares a smile with you before you both return to the task at hand, indulging in the music of cheer your two boys create upstairs. Tonight’s menu consisted of a comforting, slow-cooked beef with potatoes, carrots, peas, garlic, and onions in a hearty beef and red wine broth. With it, you have the options of garlic bread and, or mashed potatoes. 

“You’ll join us for dinner, won’t you, Kreacher?” it was a gentle request, one that you consistently make before every meal as you and the house elf work together to prepare something delicious. Your hope is that the holiday season will finally allow him to agree and dine with you. 

“N-no thank you, Mistress…” you sigh but don’t express any frustration or dismay, only acceptance as Kreacher looks up at you with a small, apologetic smile. At least he felt comfortable enough to reject your offer. “Big master Black will be wanting his dinner tonight too so Kreacher is busy.”  

“I understand,” you make a point of meeting his glassy eyes before expressing your gratitude sincerely, “thank you for working so hard for our family, Kreacher,”

“Mistress is welcome.” And at least he was comfortable accepting praise and saying ‘you’re welcome’, now too.

˖  ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔݁ ˖

Sirius and Regulus ran through the halls, their endless laughing echoing off the walls as they explored every nook and cranny of the large, unacquainted estate. The manor was everything you could dream of for the boys. There was a grand library with towering shelves filled with books and plush reading nooks; it was much larger than the one at Grimmauld Place. There was a games room filled with magical and Muggle board games (courtesy of you), a cosy reception area with a roaring fireplace, and a curving staircase that had a sturdy bannister to slide down. All the available bedrooms, of which there were six, had their own en suite bathrooms and balconies with equally scenic views all around. A beautiful, ergonomic study room was at the very end of the upper floor’s hall, with its own mini library, two large desks with drawers and golden emeralite bankers lamps. There was even a room full of paintings ranging from portraits to scenic views of the ocean or sloping fields. All of the paintings moved, and most of the portraits were of ancestral Black family members, who, unfortunately, had many unpleasant blood purity things to say, so Sirius and Regulus didn’t stay long to admire the gallery. 

Once the boys came downstairs, they slipped into the dining room, which was a masterpiece of elegance. It was primarily occupied by a long, polished table that could seat twenty. A sideboard took up space beneath the scenic painting hung on one side of the room, where inside its drawers were matching plates and bowls with analogous silverware. There were also antique china: teapots, cups and saucers, and a tiered dish tray for afternoon tea. Yes, the boys opened and searched every drawer and cabinet. The other side of the dining room had floor-to-ceiling glass walls that opened to a raised decking area so that there was an option for outdoor dining should the weather permit it.

Through the tall windows, the outside grounds were just as impressive. In the distance, there stood a large greenhouse that was bursting with colourful flora within. It was so large that the boys debated whether they could faintly see a spiralling staircase and mezzanine inside or not. There was also a sprawling porch area that overlooked a serene pond with many lily pads on the surface, surrounded by the well-kept gardens and it’s tall, topiary cone hedges and walls. To end their adventure, the boys returned to the sitting area they had first entered, touching every piece of furniture and clambering onto every place to sit before they admired the view outside. The greenery was identical to the one they had seen through the dining room windows, except there wasn’t a large greenhouse or a pond, but there was a beautiful fountain spouting water at the very centre of it all. 

“Did you have fun exploring?” you turn to face the boys who enter the kitchen with flushed cheeks as they softly panted. Looking about the space, they could tell that the kitchen was a chef’s dream, complete with a walk-in pantry stocked to the brim so that you may never grow hungry. The smell in the air was mouth-watering, and they could spot a stewing pot on the impressive gas stove bubbling away beneath its cover. Another pot of boiling potatoes sat beside it with a fork and a wooden spoon nearby to help check the potatoes’ tenderness. The ovens were also at work, it seemed, though they couldn’t quite make out what was inside. Dinner smelled delicious already, as usual. 

“It was so much fun!” They said in unison as you giggled. Undoing your apron, you step up to their buzzing figures with a smile, committed to hearing all about their explorations but they have other plans. In their barely contained excitement grab one of your hands each and tug you away pleadingly, asking about the special, fun task you had promised them earlier. Of course. How could you think that their sharp minds would forget such a promise?

“Let's go do that thing you needed our help with!”

“What is it anyway, Mother?”

“You’ll find out soon enough, it’s in the living room—” They begin to drag you away more earnestly but you stop them before they can pull you too far. “Hold on now,” you laugh and look over your shoulder at Kreacher, who was standing on a stool by the kitchen counter, preoccupied with the brief side-task you had given him earlier, “Why don’t we grab some snacks from Kreacher, first? Don’t forget your ‘please’ and ‘thank you’s.” Kreacher’s ears perked up at the mention of his name and he eagerly turned to brighten at the sight of his young masters’ fixed gazes on him, his long ears flapping in delight. 

“Can we have a small snack, please Kreacher?” Regulus begins as he and his elder brother step up to stand on either side of the house elf. 

“Are you preparing our snacks right now?” Sirius asks, peering over the counter to glimpse at what the house elf had been so preoccupied with. 

“Yes yes, eldest young master,” Kreacher eagerly cheered before looking a little sheepish, “Kreacher will be taking just a little bit more time with thems though, young masters.” his veiny hands shyly covers the finger sandwiches he had been assembling, embarrassed from their half-made state.

With a nod of understanding, you urge the boys to the pantry, “That’s alright Kreacher, it’ll give us time to make hot chocolate,” your comment makes Sirius snap his attention towards you, eyes bright — making hot chocolate together was something James had mentioned that he and his family did every night during the Yule holidays. Would he get to partake in the same cosy ritual with his own happy family? “Oh! Are you excited, Siri?” you softly coo, tenderly poking his cheek with a teasing grin as Regulus snickered at your other side. 

“H-how are we making the hot chocolate, Mother?” Sirius diverts the topic, wanting to get the attention off him and focus on the hot chocolate. Thankfully, you follow his lead with grace. 

“We’re making it on the stove but we need to get the ingredients first,” working together, you gather up the ingredients and melt chocolate blocks into a pot with four mug-fuls of full-cream milk. While Sirius carefully stirs the softly bubbling, chocolatey liquid, you and Regulus whip up the cream to go on top together. Each person was allowed to assemble their own hot chocolate after you poured a portion into the four mugs (the last being for Kreacher). You made yours the way you liked before looking over to see how everyone liked theirs. Sirius had a mountain of fluffy, whipped cream on his with chocolate shavings on top. Regulus liked his hot chocolate with a reasonable amount of whipped cream and mini marshmallows. When presented with his own festive mug of hot chocolate to assemble, Kreacher didn’t care for the whipped cream but went crazy over the mini marshmallows, which made all of you giggle. 

Now that everything was complete, Kreacher snapped his fingers to quickly assemble the freshly baked cookies and finger sandwiches onto decorated tea plates atop a wooden tray, leaving room for coasters so that you had a place to put your hot chocolate mugs on. “Thank you, Kreacher,” you voice kindly, taking the wooden tray into your hands from where it was suspended mid-air before Sirius and Regulus soon followed you with their gratitudes. 

“Thanks, Kreacher!”

“Thank you so much, Kreacher!”

“Mistress and the young masters a-are welcome…” Kreacher hides his shyness in his mug of hot chocolate, his droopy ears tinted an adorable pink at the tips. 

“Feel free to join us in the living room, Kreacher, the more the merrier!” you call behind you, stepping out of the kitchen and making your way to the living room as Regulus and Sirius hold the doors open for you. 

As soon as you made it to the living room, you set down the tray of snacks and hot chocolate on the coffee table before waving your wand to reveal your surprise: the hidden Christmas tree. The proud, bushy Douglas fir tree stood in the corner, tall and full but undecorated, occupying the space with its lush branches, and almost reached the high ceiling. Earlier, you had asked Kreacher to enchant the tree with a preservation charm just for the holidays so that the boys don’t have to see the fir shedding its needles, with ease, Kreacher did just that with a snap of his fingers. 

Eying the tall fir’s barren appearance, Sirius is reminded of the marvellous way December began for him, where he and his close friends saw Hagrid dragging the giant Christmas tree into Hogwarts’ main hall. Once magicked upright, all the professors extravagantly decorated it, leaving behind the most beautiful tree he had ever laid eyes on. Sirius was surrounded by magic since birth but seeing the tree get decorated so beautifully was the most magical thing he had ever witnessed.

Sirius’ expression dropped into a frown, disappointed that this tree may remain the same bare and joyless tree they’d had for every Yule growing up. If only his family’s tree could look a fraction similar to the tree at Hogwarts. “It looks a little dull, Mother.” 

“Dull?” Sirius snaps his attention to Regulus, only just realising what he had said aloud. “Isn’t it usually like that?”

Your heart broke at your youngest’s genuine confusion and the implication of his innocent words. It makes you want to lash out at the poor excuse of a mother sequestered in the back of your mind but your priority will always be your boys first so you steady your smile, instead, watching the two interact as you lift your wand once more behind them. Without them noticing, you manage to nudge a heavy box into view. 

“You should see the giant tree they put up in the main hall at Hogwarts,” Sirius’ voice is filled with awe and there’s a thrill behind it that makes you believe he’d stop at nothing to show his little brother the grandly decorated tree he had witnessed. “It’s beautiful, Reggie.”

“And our tree is going to look equally beautiful with all the decorations we put on it,” you announce, grinning at their wonder-filled expressions before directing their attention to an innocuous box at the side of the tree. The boys waste no time rushing to it, their eyes widening as soon as they see the beautiful ornaments inside. There were shiny baubles of all different shapes, delicate glass figurines, and strings of golden tinsel. The common theme of colours were gold, silver, red and green.

Sirius looks up at you with a hopeful expression as Regulus brings out a string of tinsel to play with. “Are we… are we decorating the tree together, Mother?”

“Of course we are, my love.”

Sirius’ chest swells with warmth and launches himself at you without a second thought, hugging you around the waist as he buries his bright grin into the cotton of your night dress. This was his second wish for the holidays that had come true, first the hot chocolate, now tree decorating with the family. Regulus, though quieter and still awing over the glittering tinsil, looked equally thrilled, his hands now reaching for the beautiful ornaments.

“Our tree is going to be the most beautiful tree ever!” Sirius cheers, digging for the ornaments that he finds are the most aesthetically pleasing before rushing to hang them on the fir tree’s needles, “Come on Reggie!” Regulus hops up beside his brother and happily lays the tinsel on the green branches with a happy cheer. To set the mood properly, you approach the gramophone on a side table and begin to play a Christmas album.

As you decorate the tree together, Kreacher eventually joins you and, with him, you enchant the candles to prevent any fire hazards before fixing them onto the tree and setting them alight. There was a small ladder at hand for you and the boys to utilise so that you could reach higher up the tree, but you left the climbing to the boys, choosing to remain at the foot of the ladder, instead, to hold it steady and catch them if they ever toppled over. On occasion, you would all partake in a small snack and drink break, the boys happily gulping down their hot chocolate before it has the chance to cool down. However, in their eagerness, they were left with melted cream above their upper lips, sending everyone into a fit of giggles. Everyone managed to, at least, acquire a white moustache throughout the evening. 

Laughter, the soft clinking of ornaments, and softly playing Christmas songs never allowed the room to grow quiet. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were together, happy and carefree, creating precious memories that would last you a lifetime.

NAVI. | SERIES M.LIST | NEXT. 11 : PLAYDATE →

A/N : this was a pretty long one, i'm so sorry my loves but i hope you enjoy the read! i'm also really sorry that it's come out so late, life has been really busy for me recently and i have a lot of things going on at once, i hope you understand.

i also want to announce that this series will be going on HIATUS as i want to take the time to thoroughly plan future chapters and plot points, i also want to focus on other writing projects i plan on releasing this year. and, i hate to admit it but DOB has grown a little exhausting to keep up with because of everything going on currently and i don't want to push updates to the point of burnout as that'll risk me abandoning the series altogether and i intend to finish it.

i hope you darlings can understand where i'm coming from, i'll try to get back to the series as soon as i can but i can't guarantee a definite date of return. i love you all so so much! thank you for supporting and loving the series so far! see you soon!

[theamberfist]

Susan Repellant | Alastor + Gen Z! Reader HC's

Platonic! Alastor with a Gen Z! Reader

Description: Alastor avoided you at first, but when he found out your mere presence was enough to keep Susan away, he quickly changed his tune.

Notes: (CW Alastor, Susan) (gender neutral reader) (mentions of cannibalism) (Gen Z Reader)

Words: 1,005

♡ No one knows how or why you ended up hell; just that you're here now. You're pretty new, and you don't talk about your backstory much

♡ They also have no idea how you ended up at the hotel. One day you just appeared and everyone kind of accepted it; especially because Charlie saw a lot of potential for redemption with a younger sinner

♡ It quickly became apparent that you were the most Gen Z to ever Gen Z

♡ Your slang, style of dress, and mannerisms really showed it, and at first Alastor avoided you for this reason

♡ He would never admit it, being the great and powerful Radio Demon, but he was terrified of you because he could never understand what the fuck you were saying and doing

♡ Also you seemed weirdly unafraid of him???

♡ Eventually, he came to attribute it to the fact that you had zero sense of self preservation. You once told him "if you killed me I would just respawn like a video game character" and because he doesn't know what that means, he's vowed to never do so and find out

♡ Charlie took notice of the fact that Alastor always avoided you. When you were in the lobby, he suddenly had an extremely important errand to run elsewhere. When you tried to talk to him, he was suddenly melting away into the shadows. When you were out of the hotel for the day, he seemed significantly more relaxed

♡ She, however, attributed this avoidance to him and you not getting along. So, she started creating situations to force Alastor to interact with you

♡ You didn't seem to care but he sure did

♡ Once, he was heading to Cannibal Town to go see Rosie for the day and just as he was halfway out the door, Charlie pulled you over and shoved you at him; suggesting he bring you with since you hadn't left the hotel (or your hotel room, for that matter) in several days. With that, she slammed the door behind you

♡ Alastor begrudgingly brought you with him, but refused to walk on the same side of the street as you. He remained a ways behind you and on the opposite side, claiming he "simply could not be seen with weaker sinners in public." In reality, he was too afraid to get near you and refused to give you the advantage of being behind him where he couldn't see you

♡ Finally, you got to Cannibal Town, where Alastor basically turned you lose and then went to rant to Rosie about how he'd had to bring you along

♡ She found his fear of you very funny and couldn't really relate to his fear because I think she's a lot more with the times than him. They had some tea and cannibal cakes together, but halfway through their conversation, there was a commotion outside that prompted both Alastor and Rosie to stand up and go check it out

♡ There, they saw you in the middle of the town, facing off against Susan with the rest of the cannibals crowded around you both in a circle

♡ You were both essentially tossing insults back and forth. She would comment about your 'distasteful' style of dress and you would simply reply with "okay, boomer" or something along the lines. She, like Alastor, had no idea what any of your slang meant and seemed to feel just as threatened by it

♡ Finally, Susan made an extra nasty comment about you and you started coming towards her, rolling up your sleeves and asking a nearby cannibal to 'hold your earrings'

♡ Susan immediately scrambled back before you could reach her, and that was when Alastor realized he might be able to use this dynamic to his advantage

♡ Rosie ended up breaking you both up, and you and Alastor left Cannibal Town soon after. It seemed like he'd now gotten over his own initial fear of you, because he came right up and walked beside you down the street, asking how you felt about the old woman

♡ When you told him you and Susan now had "serious beef" (which he assumed was a negative thing), he knew something very beautiful could be born from this awful day

♡ After that, Alastor stopped avoiding you. He was still cautious, but he would interact with you enough to maintain at least a neutral relationship

♡ In Alastor's eyes, you were akin to a feral cat. He mostly left you alone unless you approached him first, but would occasionally bring you small trinkets or gifts he thought you'd like as a way to maintain peace

♡ Think you sitting casually on the couch and Alastor approaches with a gift in hand, carefully extending it to you with one hand while keeping the rest of his body as far back as physically possible. When you can't reach what he's trying to give you, he just tosses it at your feet and runs

♡ Now, though, Alastor can walk through Cannibal Town with no fear of possibly running into an ornery old bitch. Why? Because (scary dog privileges) he has his own personal Susan repellant

♡ Whenever you're nearby, Susan stays as far away form you as possible. When she does come near, the two of you start beefing and she ignores Alastor anyway, which is also a win for him

♡ He refuses to visit Cannibal Town without you in tow now, and though he's still a little scared of you, Susan is even more so

♡ Meanwhile, Charlie is super confused and has no idea how you two managed to start getting along so fast, but she's glad you don't seem to hate each other anymore. She's even more happy when Alastor insists on bringing you with him every time he goes to see Rosie; thinking you're finally becoming friends

♡ In reality, he just doesn't want to deal with any mean old ladies, and you seem more than happy to throw hands with Susan in his place

♡ So in the end, it works out for both of you

[theaspsaroaceimagines]

Regarding your Death Deity!Reader, I wanna see their relationship with Lucifer. Are they friends, associates, or just simply acquaintances? Do they respect each other when they meet and go on, or do they stay to have a chat with one another?

Oooh! Yes! Thank you for this ask!

Lucifer & God of Death! Reader

So, to start, the relationships between supernatural beings can be weird.

For example, Lucifer's "mistake" is the reason you exist.

Making him technically your father-equivalent.

But, also, he had no direct hand in your "birth".

So technically, you're not related to him at all.

But also also, you were created by the same Creator who created Lucifer.

Making you technically siblings.

With all that in mind, you have a neutral-positive view of Lucifer.

Without him, you wouldn't exist, but also without him, you wouldn't be so busy all the time.

Still, you know he didn't mean any harm, so you're generally friendly with him whenever you cross paths.

Lucifer's views on you, however, are a different story.

He sees you as one of the worse side-effects of his meddling.

Without you, people wouldn't die.

But he also understands that you're a temporary solution to the problem of evil and suffering.

And he recognizes that you try to be a positive in his life.

He just wishes he could stop being uncomfortable around you.

All this adds up to your meetings being a little awkward.

For example, because you're so busy, the last time you saw Lucifer was before he and Lilith split up.

So when you meet up with him during your vacation, and you ask how his wife's doing...

He has to awkwardly tell you that they've been split up for quite some time.

That's what you get when you don't see someone for a thousand years, you ask accidentally sensitive questions because you're not up-to-date on their life.

Your relationship's improved since you both got on-board with Charlie's project, though.

What can I say? Charlie brings out the best in both of you.

Where he used to barely politely acknowledge you when you crossed paths, the two of you now strike up friendly conversation.

It's refreshing, since you're usually met with wariness, fear, or, worst of all, psychotic devotion. You really hate the people who worship you...

These days, you like to call Lucifer a friend.

[jamiedc-they-them]

Blood and Water (Platonic)

Requested Imagine: "can i request a Stilgar x child reader? basically Child reader (8 years old) escapes into the desert with their parents because the harkonens are hutning them down, (reader and their parents left the city because readers parents found a weak spot in the citys foundation that can lead to a rebellion or something like that), the harkonens catch up and readers parents stay behind to give reader time to escape, child reader does and escapes into the rocky mountains but one harkonen catches the reader and thats when Stilgar saves child reader and he is instantly protective of this little child and starts acting like a father to child reader.

if that is okay!!"

AN// Hi Anon! I hope you enjoy this piece! It's quite a long one and spiralled into it tying into Dune Parts I and II, but the central focus is still Stilgar and R's bond! I also had Chani be there as well due to the Tribe as a whole. Thank you for the request! <3

SPOILERS FOR DUNE PART II

Your parents raised you well. They taught you about the Harkonnens and their violent oppression of you and your people. They told you, as well, about the Fremen – in terms of different beliefs and territories.

You were young, about 8 when they died. You were forced to flee when your parents were discovered. Word got to them from friends, but you weren’t quick enough. Your mother held your hand tightly as you ran, your father already had stayed behind. But, despite your age, you know what it means that the Harkonnen’s are still behind you.

He’s died.

Your mother gets you to an exit, a small gap you used to crawl through when younger with friends. Friends you haven’t seen in a while. Maybe they’re dead, too.

“You have to go,” your mother tells you, cupping your face in her hands, “you have to live.”

“What about you?” You ask back, tears running down your face.

Your mother wipes your tears, “do not shed your water, my child,” she says, “not even for the dead.”

“Will – will I see you —?” You don’t get to answer your question, as a knife is stabbed through your mother’s chest. You fall back, on instinct diving through the hole in the wall. A hand grabs you, you just about escape the grip.

You’re out now. Out of a Arrakeen and in the desert itself. You immediately feel the heat, not used to being exposed to it so bluntly.

You hear something above you, an Ornithopter. You can’t outrun these, you’ve seen how fast they can go.

Still, as fast your legs will take you, you run. You run for all the worth that your water has.

You don’t even feel the vibrations on the sand at first. To you, it’s just the vibrations from the Ornithopter above. That is, until you hear it. The low shriek of your god. Of Shai-Hulud, bursting out of the sand, and taking the Ornithopter down.

You don’t even realise how far you have actually made it, making it a rocky hill. Your distraction of the Sandworm appearing means that you don’t see the Harkonnen’s still chasing you on foot, and you find yourself being tackled to the floor. You feel your head hit something, and the world becomes a blur. You try and fight back, but with the disorientation alongside your age and size, you can only wait for the end.

Maybe some Fremen can find some use with your water, maybe that would be useful in some way.

You get your wish, sort of.

You hear voices, and clashing of blades. Then, for a moment, silence.

You fade in and out. You feel yourself being carried.

When you reopen your eyes, you’re in what your parents told you is a Sietch. You never thought you’d see one.

“Calm, child. Calm,” you hear a voice say. You look over, seeing man much older than one you have ever seen. He wears a robe, eyes blue. His voice is deep, but soft in this case, “you are safe now. You are safe.”

You look around your area, seeing no one else, but beds are here all the same.

The man seems to see your silent question, “I brought you here to rest peacefully.”

You nod, thankful in a way.

The man gets up, he holds a hand out to you, “when you are ready, join us.”

He leaves after that. You sit in your bed. You feel the emotion inside of you for the losses you have just gone through, through everything that just occurred so quickly.

But, your mother was right, don’t waste your water. You can grieve for them by fighting back. By continuing it.

You join the man, but instead find this place filled to the brim with other people. Other Fremen. Some dressed differently than others, but maybe that was just the difference between the north and south Fremen tribes your parents told you about. You never fully understood how they knew this though, given that you lived (lived is a strong word, more like just about survived) in the city under the thumb of the Harkonnen’s.

The people stop, and stare at you.

You hear a girl clear her throat, she looks at you – almost doing calculations in her mind – before turning to the group, “Stilgar,” she calls out.

The crowd part as the man from before, now known to you as Stilgar, approaches you.

“Are you well, child?”

You nod. He does as well.

“Come. Chani,” the girl who was looking at you before looks to Stilgar, “fetch the child some food, please?”

She nods, silently going to do so.

Stilgar puts a hand on your shoulder, “come child. There is a lot to discuss.”

Despite your young age, he treats you like a person rather than a young child. Part of you likes that.

He takes you to a corner as everyone starts to eat. Chani hands you some food, before going to join her friends.

“Don’t mind Chani,” Stilgar says, “she is weary of new-comers. She will ease to you with time.”

You nod. You know it’s supposed to be comforting, but it just once again reminds you of your parents.

Stilgar sighs, putting his bowl down and looking at you, “you will be safe with us.”

“My parents…their water…”

“Arrakeen is not a place so easily entered. But, if we can, we shall try and retrieve what we can. We did that with the Harkonnen’s you had following you. It was contaminated, but it does still have uses.”

You nod, at least they got something out of this.

“Why were you so close to the city?”

Stilgar is impressed. Young, but inquisitive.

“We did not mean to be,” he admits, “we heard commotion, and saw Shai-Hulud, so followed and found you.”

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank us. You are Fremen, we are all equal here.”

You look around at these people, your people. You are such a small part of a massive place.

“My parents fought back against the Harkonnen’s,” Stilgar nods, seemingly knowing this, “do you think I could help?”

He smiles and nods, “we will show you the ways of the desert.”

He does. They all do. Chani starts to learn how to fight, and so Stilgar has her be the one who teaches you the most. You’re both decently close in age, so it allows you both to know someone else as well in the tribe.

Stilgar also teaches you about the prophecy and legends that are more so within the southern tribes. About Lisan Al-Giab (or “The Voice From the Outer World”). One who will come down and lead you all to victory and bring Arrakis back to glory.

You notice more about the divide between the North and South tribes in regards to this one time when you are training with Chani:

“Stilgar keeps telling me about the Lisan Al-Giab,” you say, as you and Chani lock training blades.

“It’s superstition. A prophecy all about control and imbalance. A story.”

“How can you be so sure?” You don’t entirely believe it yourself – despite the hope it can give you sometimes, that all this isn’t for nothing – and yet you find yourself defending your closest companion here despite that.

Even Chani notices that within you, “how can you be that you this person will show up?”

It stays with you. However, despite that, you remain close to Stilgar. He teaches you all he can, both through action – like helping you craft your Cysknife or learning the ways to traverse the Dunes without alerting the Worms – and words – telling you about the Fremen ways and legends passed down through time.

He makes sure you’re fed, and always helps you with your Stillsuit, making sure it is secure. If he has to fix something with it, he explains what the error is. With food and water, if he has any spare, he gives it to you. He’s a guiding figure in your life. He is the one who took you in after all. He’s taught you all he’s known. He’s given you something you once thought lost:

A family.

That family all cheers for you when you successfully ride a Sandworm on your own. It’s not massive, but it’s big enough. Stilgar hugs you tightly, and proudly proclaims you as his child, and a sibling of the tribe. The tribe had always teased him for the fatherly ways he had with you, but now it was done in a genuine way. They all celebrate you that night.

Before you know it, several years have gone by. You have fought back how you can. Sometimes big things, like destroying Carryall’s or Harvesters in big assaults, or by eliminating a squad of Harkonnen’s.

Stilgar, as time goes on, still holds that protectiveness, but also knows you can hold your own. You’re equal. Father and child, working in sync, both learning from each other – him in terms of your creativity and your thoughts on the planet and plans (being equals, all opinions are taken in, but your ones are ones they listen to more). For you, it’s learning how to survive and about your people and the history of this planet. Sometimes it's found by what other Fremen have left behind, sometimes it’s stories from him.

Then you all meet someone new: Paul and Jessica Atreides.

Stilgar looks to you and Chani – you’re weary of this outsider, but if he wins against Jamis, then he has earned his place.

“Why did I never have to fight?” You asked Stilgar as Jamis and Paul prepare.

“Because, I took you as my charge,” Stilgar answers, “you were my child when I chose that. I am also Niab, no one could challenge me on it, either.”

You don’t waste your water, but he can tell it has meaning to you. He just gives a nod.

Paul wins his battle. You don’t acknowledge it until it’s too late, but you feel something shift within your father.

At first, Paul and Jessica follow you for mere survival. But, things soon start to change, especially Jamis’ water is collected. Jessica drinks the water of life and…survives; and Paul starts picking up on more and more Fremen techniques like they were his own.

Stilgar starts to drift away from you. He still cares about you and checks in with you everything, but you can feel him pulling away.

Even Chani, your closest friend in the tribe, begins to pull away. But, she doesn’t believe as much within Lisan Al-Giab as she does instead Paul himself and his ability to help you all

One night, when you sit on a Dune, looking out at your home planet, she joins you.

“Something’s different, Chani,” you confess.

“I know,” she says, “but they can help us.”

“Your love for Paul blinds you.”

“And your loyalty to Stilgar blinds you.”

“We are Fremen, Chani. We are family and tribe. He is — he is not.”

“He will be Fremen. Tomorrow.”

You don’t hate Paul, he’s listened to you and helped you – it’s Jessica, the Bene Gesserit Witch, that you don’t trust. She’s pulling strings, you just can’t see them.

“I’m sorry,” you say to your best friend, “I’m not angry at you.”

“I know,” she says, “I’m not angry at your or Stilgar. Well, maybe Stil a little,” you chuckle a bit, “but, he loves you, Y/N. He loves all of us. He’s our Niab, he won’t let anything happen to us.”

You nod, “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

Chani understands your concerns but doesn’t voice them (she wishes she did later).

The night before Paul’s Sandworm test, you go and find Stilgar.

“What troubles you, child?” He asks. Despite being in your teens now, he still refers to you that way. A reminder of the home you always have with him.

“I’m worried for Paul,” and you, you want to say, but can’t find it in yourself to say it.

Stilgar nods, “I am too. But, I was when I also sent you out on your own ride, and the other tests. But, you survived, and so shall he.”

“How can you be sure?”

“He is Lisan Al-Giab.”

“But I am not.”

His eyes dart to you, “no, you are not. You are my child. You have my knowledge, but your own strength. It was why you have survived.”

Despite the growing distance, you smile at his words.

The day of Paul’s ride comes, and even your eyes widen at the size of the worm. Even you cheer when he masters it in the end. Even you, for a moment, believe. But, you then look to your father, and how wide his eyes are. How taken he is by this legend, by the faith he had in this story; in what the rewards would be in the end.

Your smile dims a bit.

Paul wants revenge? Understandable, so do you for your parents and all other fallen Fremen – but, with the influence Paul is having over your tribe, with the followers he is gathering and the army he is building up in his name alone of Maud’dib  - or, more importantly, Lisan Al-Giab – it scares you. You want freedom and revenge, but you also want to know what would be next. This freedom is for your people, not Paul. He’s even reuniting with people, Gurney Halleck, a brilliant fighter and musician. But, once again, another outsider. This one not even proving himself, just following.

And then you find the old cache of Atreides atomic weapons. A weapon you thought banned in the universe. And yet, here you are, capturing them for you own use.

You don’t know who to turn to with your worries, your fears. Everyone has been taken in by Paul and Jessica, even Gurney. Chani, you don’t know if she is completely blinded by her love, but she hasn’t voiced anything to you yet, so you can’t be sure.

For the first time since you were 8 and on the run, you feel alone. Totally alone.

Or, not totally alone, as Chani slaps Paul as soon as he wakes after drinking from the Water of Life, and the only person she looks to is you before she leaves. She’s as alone as you are. Two people caught up in this madness.

The straw that breaks you is the Southern Tribes being forced to meet after Sietch Tabr falls. You’re glad your father gets to live, don’t get that misunderstood – but you aren’t sure if the person you are begging to see reason and stop what Paul is about to do is the man who took you in and gave you a family and a home all those years ago. You plead, even shouting “father!” To him loudly, startling the other Fremen and even almost getting yourself kicked out. It’s Gurney, of all people, who pull you down alongside Chani.

“Stay hidden, and stay quiet,” he tells you both. Chani removes his hand from your arm.

“This has nothing to do with you,” Chani spits to him.

According to him though, with his thirst for revenge, and a scar he was given, it has everything to do with him.

Paul is declared leader, officially becoming Lisan Al-Giab – all you and Chani can do is dispear and look on in horror.

When it comes to the battle plans, Paul interrupts you before you can even speak, telling you:

“I do like the idea, Y/N, I am glad you told it to me,” his vision must’ve shown him your ideas. Thus, in the meeting, you are left to be mute.

You play your role, just being in the mix of the soldiers. Everything the tribe has taught you with combat and awareness coming into play. It helps you focus. You don’t have any training of a Bene Gesserit witch, but you have your methods.

You picture each Harkonnen you kill being the ones who murdered your parents. You like to image all their water being embraced by Shia-Hulud and the sand.

You win. And all it comes down to is Paul vs Feyd-Rautha. Despite your fears, this is all your efforts have led to. You want Paul to win, but a lesser evil is still evil.

Paul does. Barely, but he wins. You see Chani’s relief. Your father proclaims once more that Paul is Lisan Al-Giab, and kneels. Everyone else follows, even the Emperor after kissing Paul’s ring.

Only yourself, Chani, and Princess Irulan stay standing.

Paul looks to you both, respect and something else in his eyes when he looks to you.

You look to your father, seeing him begging with his eyes for you to kneel. You see the horror there of what could happen to you. The care he shows once again there, but it’s too late now.

Your mind is already made up, however. Whatever happens, it will be because of your choices. Not faith. Not some false hope.

“You will come back,” Paul says, “one day, you will.”

You leave. Chani leaves after you.

You keep walking, ignoring Chani calling after you.

You love her, you do. She’s your best friend and sister. You love Stilgar, he’s your father. But you can’t be around this. You can’t sit and watch this ‘Holy War’ go on. You may be a victim of it due to your leaving. You don’t care.

You’re an orphan once again, it seems. Cast away to the unforgiving deserts of Dune. You’ve just traded in one ruler for another.

You hope you’re wrong. You don’t think you are, but you hope you are.

And maybe Paul is right; maybe one day, you will return.

But not today. And not for many more days.

You’ll see your father again though, you’re sure of that.

In one world, or the other.

So, you thank the Maker and bless them for Stilgar and the family it brought you, and then get your hooks ready and place a thumper of your own down and wait.

Wait to ride off to your next destination.

As far away from Arrakeen as you can possibly get.

You don’t shed a tear. You don’t waste your water. Not even for the dead, metaphorically or otherwise.

[cyberapid]

Wavewave + reader insert and either Rumble or Frenzy(it isn’t specified idk)

It’s short bc I got a funny little idea, I’ve got other stuff brewin tho

:)

•-•-•-•-•

The vibrations from his hammers hitting the ground were just enough for the cube to shake away from your grasp. A cat and mouse game in probably a less than ideal space if your sire’s agitated venting has anything to say of it,

“Will the two of your make yourselves scarce,” Shockwave’s patience had long thinned but he had learned from cycles of practice how to tune the immature bots out, but only for so long

“I’m gonna deactivate you!” A snarl spreads across your faceplate as the cassette snatches the cube and runs under the tables that litter Shockwaves lab and out the exit, laughing the whole way. Your sire shouts something your audial don’t pick up, too busy thinking of the ways to torment the older creation of your Carrier- not your brother, your annoyance.

Any poor bot In the way of you two is swiftly shoved to the side or left purplexed as two smaller blurrs flash through their legs or around them. Knockout finds himself on the unlucky side as your body collided with him, sending both of you tumbling to the ground. He’s not as quick to recover, shouting absenities as you push yourself back into a run after the cassettebot.

“Soundwave!! Your pit goblins need to-“ you don’t hear the rest of what he says or really care to, though your speed is slowed by the prodding at your bond with your carrier; confusion and disapproval floods his side and there’s a strong annoyance from your sire.

You reflect bitterness and equal, if not more, annoyance as your sire though directed towards the retreating cassette who turns back sticking his glossa out at you. His triumph is short lived as the clatter of his smaller form colliding and then falling back hard onto metal floors sounds through the quiet room, he turns, intake prepared to soundoff as many insults has his processor would allow but it silenced as your shared carrier gazes down at him then up to you- unreadable.

Scrap.

[valentine-cafe]

Can I req some of your cold/emotionally closed off characters making their child reader cry bc the child thinks that they don't love them :( thank you!

˖⁺. ﹙ monster parents & child reader. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . my sweet child !! 🍒 :  

you cry because you think your cold hearted parent doesn't love you - but that couldn't be further from the truth 

﹙ Haitao 209. ﹚. . . gentle with slight panic !! 🍒 :

"Oh. . ." He murmurs quietly the moment he watches the little child in front of him start to cry at his lack of expression and reactions to them.

Quick, heavy footsteps thud against the floor as he makes his way over to you. He does not display the slight panic he feels rise in his chest. Instead, with gentle pats on your head, he attempts to reassure you that he's there. The faintest hint of a smile curling at the corners of his lips. "Don't cry, I'm here. It's okay—"

"You don't love me!"

Snot and saliva smears against his shirt as a pair of tiny arms wrap around his waist. The fabrics muffle your cries and pulls a rare frown out of him.

Long arms extend towards the ground so they can scoop up the much smaller reaper into them and cradle them. "I love you lots," he hums and attempts a little smile, though he knows it never really looks good when he does. it's been who knows how long since he was able to give smiles that looked like genuine ones.

But the one he gives you really is a smile. "You're my kid yea? I love you very much," his shoulder tremble a little, the surrounding area quiet, as he brings you into a close hug and carefully sways you from side to side. Hand rubbing at your back to soothe your little sniffles and sobs.

 

﹙ Alessio 9948e. ﹚. . . immediate horror !! 🍓 :

That small pair of lungs you've got sure can let out a lot of air with the sad cries that scatter out in the surrounding apartment. Your adoptive sorcerer father looks down at you with wide eyes full of horror, that only spins at the spiral of sobs you have broken into.

"Aye— ayeayeaye, hey stop," frantic hands throw up into the air, his poet shirt and long black cardigan soft as slim, bony arms shoot forward to pick you up and lift you up. Even if you're a bit heavier than he can usually lift, he uses a bit of magic to make sure you don't fall out of his hold.

Heartbreaking, is the only way he could ever describe the sound of your crying. It always reminds him of when his little brother would cry to him when they were kids.

"What's wrong?" He asks giving you a little smile while he bounces you a little in his arm in attempt to soothe your small break, "what happened?"

"You look at me evil. . ." You sniffle, and oh, your poor dad's heart, shattering into pieces when your shaky words pierce his ears. "You don't lo—"

"I love you more than anything, mijo/mija." How can he not frown at the little sentence. Yes, you'll grow up to get used to his slightly closed off personality and stoic behaviour, but he adores you. He cannot fathom a world without his little duck walking around happily stepping in puddles when it rains. Fingers pointed at birds when they fly by.

"I love you, see?" Swiftly he pulls out one of his little lockets and opens it to show you a picture of you and your passed baba inside of it. "I love you, just like your baba would."

 

﹙ Orion. ﹚. . . !! 🍒 :

"Appa. . ." You sob quietly, eyes directed up to his to try and catch his attention. You don't fully understand he is currently at his post, overlooking the abyss outside of the city walls.

He could tell tears were in the oncoming horizon before they even arrived. Left wings spread slowly to carefully nudge you over towards him.

Big eyes looked up at him curiously, moist with tears. While your little hands reach up to him to be picked up, no longer do you wish to stand on the cold earth in the harsh weather conditions of the abyss. Not when you could be snuggled up in your dad's layered hanfu and be warm and feel love radiate off of him.

Manicured nails comb through your hair, while a smile graces the abyssal angel's lips, his draconic fangs peeking through just a little.

"Do not mistake my little frowns for malice," he speaks. "Your appa loves you dearly."

His words have never been many, but with you, he will always make sure you know his voice and words. And how important you truly are to him

 

﹙ Jìngyí verseless. ﹚. . .what do i do !? 🍓 :

Tears stream down your face at the pace of the ocean's waves back in the mortal realm. Even so, the demonic alchemist that has adopted you, doesn't know what to do nor how to completely react. So instead, he goes for the next best choice:

"Alessio—" He calls, arms extended out to you and yet to pick you up. Unsure if you even want that. He thought the two of you were having fun. He might've accidentally have given you a look he wasn't aware of that he did in the first place. "Alessio please help."

A mess of black hair moves in front of you, picking you up with a little grunt that hushes your cries quickly. Tired, emerald eyes meet yours, still so full of life despite the sleep that is in them.

"Is Jìngyí being evil again?" Alessio asks jokingly, as you recieve a gentle tap to your nose by his index.

"I am not evil! I was just teaching them how to make potions!" The demon exclaims, distressed at your panic. HIs eyebrows knitted in guilt and shame of, as his right hand continues to stir the large cauldron before the three of you.

 

﹙ Rishima 781. ﹚. . . motherly instincts !! 🍒 :

"Mama do you love me?" Oh the tremble in your high pitched voice said it all.

Her eyes remain the same as before, as she picks up the little one in front of her. Oh she’s been through this before with her own kids when they were your age too. She's always struggled to express herself properly, even more feel what emotions go through her.

But one thing she knows is that she can't stand and also just let you cry that would be cruel. She loves you dearly! the mere thought that you think she doesn't does prickle away at her heart, whether she feels it or not.

"Beta, I'll always love you, what makes you ask that?"

You move your arm up to wipe your big teary eyes and look down at the ground, feet kicking one after the other as you sit in her hold. "I just get scared sometimes. You don't smile at me often mama."

"But beta," she hums quietly, and taps at you, mustering a small smile, "that doesn't mean i don't love you. I do, I always will."

[platonicreaderinsertfanfic]

Etho: Vampire Hunter AU (Reader-Insert)

Female reader.

Word count: 932

“You’re up late.” A low voice broke the silence of the night.

You looked up from your work maintaining the chapel’s pews. “Etho!” He looked tired, green and black clothes splattered with dark stains, cloak hanging off his body in ripped shreds, and reddish brown smeared all over his bare hand and forearm. 

Adjusting the mask covering the lower half of his face, he smiled with his eyes. “Sister.” Like all your friends, he called you by your title rather than your name—just as you preferred. As far as you were concerned, Sister was your name, not the pretentious mouthful assigned to you by the Church when you came here years ago. Hiding your identity was tiresome, although preferable to being claimed by the powerful vampire queen who had marked you as a child.

“I take from the bloodstains all over your clothes, your hunt was successful?” Tossing your screwdriver onto the wooden pew beside where you were crouched, you leaned back to get a better look at your friend; it seemed none of the blood was his this time. Good.

He laughed, almost sounding embarrassed. “It doesn’t feel successful.”

“Rough kill?” You threw your long hair back over your shoulder, keeping it out of the way as you returned to work.

Running a blood smeared hand through his white hair, Etho’s mood darkened. “Even when I know my target has lived for over sixty years, and killed seventeen innocents, it’s not easy to drive a stake through the heart of a creature who looks like a ten year old girl…”

“The abbess always says you’re too kind for this work.” Picking up the screwdriver, you gave it a little flip in the air, catching it neatly. Gently running your left hand over the pile of screws, you grouped them as you counted in your head. 

Etho walked towards you. “Uh huhh. It’s hard to tell when she sends me out every week to kill monsters.” Sighing, he squeezed past your kneeling body to tiredly sink down onto the pew. “I shouldn’t have specialized in vampires.”

“Etho, don’t sit—!”

Splintering wood and the crash of ancient planks smacking beautiful tilework flooring interrupted your warning, as the pew gave way beneath him. “Ohhhhh.” He sounded pathetic as he lay on his back on the floor, gazing up at the decorative ceiling and gripping the pocket watch hanging from his belt. While you knew Etho must be a fierce and capable warrior, you found such an image hard to combine with the slightly hapless, and very nice guy, you had befriended over the years.

You groaned. “I had removed most of the screws attaching the seat to the end of the pew, so I could replace them with slightly wider screws, ‘cause the whole thing’s been getting loose, and had already been jury rigged before I ever came here…”

“Sorey.” His accent always came through when he apologized. “I’ll explain to the abbess it was my fault.”  

“Thanks.” Leaning back against the chapel wall, you mulled over how long it would take you to fix the pew, assuming you had the skill to properly fix something so old, delicate, and ornate—which you doubted.

“And speaking of the abbess, I got permission to take you with me on my next assignment.”

“Really?” At his words, all exasperation fled your body. Usually you were forbidden from leaving the abbey, on account of the mark on the back of your left hand. “Why?”

“You’re good at clerical work, right, Sister?”

You nodded eagerly as he continued.

“My target tonight had quite a library, and chests of saved correspondence. I needed someone to help me catalog all of it tomorrow, and since they made the mistake of letting me choose my own assistant…I chose you.” Propping himself up on his elbows, his eyes crinkled in a smile. “You do want to see more of the world, right? I don’t know why the abbess always keeps you cooped up in the church compound, but I figure I ought to show my friend a bit of the outside world if I can.”

Without thinking, you gripped the back of your left hand, imagining the green symbol hidden by your half finger glove. “I’d love that.” 

Rising from the rather destroyed pew, which now littered the floor, Etho stretched. “I need to wash up. Wouldn’t want to talk to the abbess looking like this.” He pointed at you. “Now go get some sleep, we have a long day tomorrow.”

“You’re going to talk to the abbess now?”

“Some of us aren’t night owls by choice, Sister.” Etho chuckled. “If I have to work this late, she can wake up to talk to me in the middle of the night from time to time.”

Grateful for his friendship, and this opportunity to leave the abbey, you wanted to hug the lanky man before you, but decorum held you back. The last thing you had ever wanted was rumors of being romantically involved with anyone, and years of practicing such thinking left little room for nebulous gestures like hugs—no matter how platonically you intended them. “Hm, you’ve always had fun being a bit of a pain.”

“Just doing my job.” His smile shone through in his voice as you packed up your toolbox.

“See you tomorrow, Etho.”

With a jaunty little wave, he strode off, leaving you to wonder what the next day held. __________ Check out my other reader-insert stories here!

[thehomeofplatonicfics]

Hi I recently discovered your account and I’m obsessed your writing is amazing and I don’t know if you’re still doing Tudor!reader Fics but if you are I have a request. So reader is Anne Boleyn’s eldest daughter and had to watch her mothers execution (for the storyline reader was 12 or so years old) and never forgave her farther so when she’s like 15 (maybe the day after Catherine Howard’s execution) she overthrows him as revenge. I hope you understand what I’m trying to say total understand if you don’t want to right it. Have a good day/night❤️

A/N: I love how kooky the timeline would have to be warped for this to be possible but I absolutely love the idea of this! So sorry for taking so long to write this, real life does enjoy getting in my way :(

Revenge

Someone had to stop King Henry VII, your father, from his increasingly brutal reign. Lady Mary, your half-sister, seemed unable to do anything without the counsel of her precious Ambassador Chapuys. Elizabeth was of course just a child, too young to rule. Edward was a mere baby. It seemed to you that the responsibility of saving the realm fell solely on your shoulders. It was a burden you were glad to take.

You were grateful that you’d had enough time being raised by your mother Anne Boleyn, that you had learnt how to be as cunning and manipulative as she had once been. Of course, having Mary as an older sister helped solidify those ideals, as Mary was able to inspire a great deal of loyalty in others when she wanted to.

It had been a long, arduous task to slowly turn the King’s courtiers against him. An entire year had passed before the perfect opportunity had finally arisen. Only two days had passed since poor Queen Catherine Howard had been executed on your father’s orders. Though you hadn’t been the greatest fan of the silly child, she was just like you… an innocent girl. Too many young women’s lives had been destroyed on the whims of an undeserving King, and the unrest among the populace seemed at its highest. It was the perfect time to strike.

The foundations you had laid throughout the year, telling little white lies here and there, promising things that you’d never do in order to gain the loyalty of the courtiers, would serve you well. The King had noticed some changes but could never trace them back to you. Often you would have agents loyal to you do the work that needed to be done while you were at home with Elizabeth in the country, creating a wonderful alibi.

Knowing that the King seemed to be favouring Catherine, the Lady Latimer, as his potential sixth wife, you realised that she would be the perfect distraction for your coup. You knew she wanted to be with Thomas Seymour so she would be likely to help you, especially as you had always had a good relationship with her growing up. Elizabeth, of course, was easy to manipulate into playing the part that you needed her to.

You dressed in your most regal black dress, deliberately picking out jewels and a French hood that made you look like a true ruler. You took a deep breath in and out to try to calm your nerves and your trembling hands before you went into the court. You gave a subtle nod to Catherine Parr who, along with Elizabeth, went up to the King to talk to him and distract him.

As soon as the King had begun discussing something with them both, you gave the signal to your loyal people who captured his guards and those you knew were still loyal to him, discreetly dragging them away.

You gave a sly, satisfied smile as you secretly prepared your weapon behind your back. You knew that your father’s greatest fear was getting sick, so you poured a poison on your blade before walking up to him, curtsying, and then holding the blade tightly against his throat. “Y/N! What is this?!” King Henry asks incredulously, clearly not believing one of his daughters could pull this off, his face grew white as he saw all the people loyal to you with their weapons drawn.

“I am now your Queen. You will take orders from me, and no one else.” You call out to the people in the court, who begin to cheer. You smile smugly to yourself as you see your father’s world crashing down around him.

“Why, Y/N? Just… why?” You give an incredulous laugh, sneering at him. “Why, father? For my mother.” You lean forwards, your breath touching his face as you snarl your words.

You turn to your guards, and give a sweet smile. “Throw him in the tower.” You command, pushing your father towards them. You sit on the throne, looking around at your successful coup. Allowing yourself a few moments to gloat in your glory, you immediately turn to your advisors. The Queen had work to do.

[am-i-obsessed---maybe]

Dark Glasses - Crowley x Reader (Platonic)

Sooooo, Nanowrimo was a bust, but you know what that means?

We're back with the fanfiction train! Choo Choo!

also reminder that requests are open! (just check out my guidelines first)

Wordcount: 1.9k

Summery: Friends support friends even when your friend is actually a demon but especially when your demon friend just got shot down by his long time angel crush.

The same man has been coming to your bar since you started working there five years ago. The other bartenders told you he's been around since you opened 20 years ago, he never gives his name and comes in with dark glasses no matter what time of day it is or whether the sun is out or not. Although unlike most regulars he doesn't have a specific drink he always orders. Sometimes it’s a rum and coke, sometimes he goes for a more classy bottle of wine, sometimes he'll even order a straight shot of liquor but he always tips well. 

You call him 'Dark Glasses'. You could have called him redhead seeing as his hair was the most vibrant red you'd ever seen. There was no way it was natural but that wouldn't be fair to him. Some people can get very touchy about red hair. 

Instead you called him dark glasses.

Dark Glasses came into your bar one day, sauntering over in the late afternoon, not an unnatural occurrence. The bar was basically empty with the exception of two friends that got a head start on the night's drinking. 

Dark Glasses sat down and you could feel the loss and pain flowing off of him, not like how you can tell with people. It wasn't his expression or body language that gave you the impression though, it was as if you felt his emotions. As if they were ebbing off of him. 

"Give me whatever's strongest" He said and you nodded, something told you he needed to drown out his sorrows. 

“One bone dry martini coming right up” you said. 

As you mixed his drink you periodically looked over at him, the poor guy was thrown over the bar as if it was the only thing keeping him from crying. 

You walked over to him and handed him the drink. 

"There you go sir" You said and he perked up only slightly, took the glass from you and downed the entire thing in one go. 

"I'll need another one" He said, pushing the glass back in your direction.

You stared at him, "That, that was a glass of straight vodka. three shots of vodka." You said, stunned. 

"I thought you said this was a martini" The man mumbled. 

"Yes, the glass is coated in a little bit of vermouth, that's what makes it so dry... You just downed three shots of vodka like it was nothing" You said. 

"Got a high tolerance, now can I get another one please?" He asked and honestly you were a bit too stunned to say no. 

After two more though you knew he was done. Normal people, even those with a high tolerance like he apparently has can't drink more than 6 shots of vodka without getting drunk and he was drunk. 

Mind you, not the fun kind he normally is. You're familiar with Dark Glasses when he's drunk. He slurs and gets very bold and flirty as well as clumsy, though not touchy which always surprised you. Now though, now was different. Now he was a sad drunk. Moping all around the bar. He could barely walk, instead he swayed from side to side and his flirting, something you could usually count on to raise your spirits, became lowley grumbling. 

"I think that's enough" You said, taking what little remained of his third glass and pouring it out.

"What? No! I'm fine" He tried to say but struggled with the last word. 

"No, you're drunk. You can stick around but the only thing you're getting is water" You told him and he made a face that almost looked like a snake trying to give puppy dog eyes. 

"Come on Y/N, you know me, I can handle anything" He said, pulling you by the sleeve over the bar. 

He's never initiated contact like that before. Not with anyone. 

"Alright, that's enough. Go home" You told him and he deflated. 

"Can't," He said. 

"What do you mean can't?" You asked. 

He had a home. He'd told you about it. A nice flat in mayfair with lots of plants. 

"Can't. Don't live there anymore" He said and you looked genuinely surprised. Is that what has him so down in the dumps? Was he evicted? Did the bank repossess his apartment?

"What about that bookseller friend of yours in Soho? Can't you stay with him?" You asked and he shook his head. 

"He's gone. He went to heaven" Dark Glasses said.

"Oh I'm so sorry" You said, maybe that was why he was so down. 

"How about this, I finish my shift in a couple hours, you can crash on my couch" You told him. You'd never have said this to anyone else but you knew Dark Glasses. You knew he was sweet though he hated when someone pointed it out and you knew he needed help. 

"You would do that for me?" He asked and you smiled. 

"What can I say, you tip really well" You joked and managed to get a chuckle out of him before he went back to moping. 

A few hours later He was leaning on you as you walked him out of the bar. Somehow still just as drunk as when you'd taken away his last drink.

"Wait, wait, wait, how are we going to your place?" He asked. 

"Car" you said. He wasn't heavy but keeping him walking in a somewhat straight line out was difficult.

"My car?" He asked. 

"No. You are not driving. My car" You told him and led him over to where your slightly beat up old car was parked. 

"Now come on, in you go" You said, trying to help him in. It took a minute but he managed to shimmy in comfortably enough for someone with very little control of their extremities. 

"I don't like this car" He complained. 

"Too bad" you told him, got in and drove off.

"Why are you helping me? You're never this nice" He slurred. 

"You're never this mopey" You retorted. 

"Yeah but, but..." He trailed off. 

"We're almost there just don't fall asleep the last thing I need is to try to drag you up to my place" You said and he nodded. 

"Don't worry, I won't, I can sober up whenever I want" He said and you shook his head. Sometimes Dark Glasses said the craziest things when he was drunk. Sometimes he'd say them when he wasn't drunk but that was neither here nor there. 

You eased him through the door to your flat and he smiled. 

"You have plants, very nice Y/N" He said and you smiled. 

"Thank you now you go sit down before you collapse all over my floor" You told him and he did as he was told, sitting down and then sprawling himself over your couch. 

"He used to do this too, when I was too drunk, he'd bring me in and tell me to sit" he slurred and you turned to him, confused. 

"Who?" You asked. 

“My angel” Dark Glasses said. You came over to him with a glass of water.

"It's hard, when someone dies. Grief is a powerful thing" You told him and he shrugged. 

"I wouldn't know" he said, slurping down the contents of the cup. 

"Just sleep. You'll feel better in the morning" you told him, spreading a blanket over him and placing the cup on the coffee table. 

"Try to make it to the toilet if you puke" You told him and went to bed yourself. 

Crowley had never been hungover. He'd always sober up before it got to that point but this time he didn't. Even the thought of sobering up made him think of his drinking sessions with Aziraphale. 

But Aziraphale left. He went to heaven and left Crowley to drown out his sorrows the human way. 

The first thing you woke up to was the loud sound of someone vomiting. 

"Please god let him have made it to the toilet" You said to yourself, throwing off the blacket and going to check on your mysterious guest. 

She must have thought it would be funnier to scare you because Crowley in fact made it to the toilet. Luckily. 

Crowley was practically puking his life out, once it was all out, at least for now, he heaved. 

"How do humans do this?" He asked. He had half a mind to miracle it all away.

"With years of practice" You said, making your presence known. 

"Ahhh!" He shouted, falling back on his butt only to rub at his head and groan, "Ugh". Now everything hurt even more than before.

He still had his sunglasses on, though the bathroom lights were off and the sun hadn’t even come up yet. 

"I always thought you were pretty strange but now I'm starting to wonder if you're sane at all" You said. 

"If you're worried I'll go crazy and attack you, you needn't be." He said quietly and you rolled your eyes. 

"As if you could with the way you are right now, you look like you've been dragged through hell" You said and Crowley looked back down at the toilet. 

"Oh you have no idea" He said. 

At this point he was simply sitting criss-crossed in front of the toilet so you sat down on the bathroom floor next to him. Checking the time, it had only been a few hours.  

"I know you've gotten drunk before, have you seriously never been hungover?" You asked. 

"Never" He said. 

"I don't think I believe you" You said. 

“Well it’s the truth” He said. 

“You are one strange specimen Glasses” You said.

“Glasses?” He asked. 

“Oh, um, you never told any of us at the bar what your name was so we just called you Dark Glasses… cause you’re always wearing your dark—”

“Yeah I get it” He said. “It’s Crowley by the way” 

“That’s quite the original name” You said.

“Used to be Crawley but that was a bit too” He made a hissing noise with his tongue and you noticed it was thin and split, like a snake’s.

“You know sometimes I wonder if you’re even human with all the strange shit that comes out of your mouth” You joked and Crowley laughed and then smirked. 

“You wanna know a secret?” He asked. 

You looked at him skeptically. “Do I?” You asked. 

He shrugged, “It’s up to you really” He said. 

“Then, yeah I guess”

“I’m a demon” He said. 

You chuckled.

He didn’t laugh. 

“No”

“Yes”

“I was the serpent of eden” He said, smiling.

“That’s not– no… cause that would mean that god” He nodded, “And satan” He nodded again. 

“The world almost ended four years ago” He says. It’s almost as if seeing your reaction is helping him get his spirits back. 

“You can’t just drop a bomb like that and move on!”

…

“How come it didn’t?” You asked. 

“We convinced the antichrist that the earth was actually pretty nice” He said.

“We?” You asked. 

“Aziraphale… and I” He said, his voice dwindling. 

“He’s that bookseller friend of yours right?” You asked and Crowley nodded.

“He’s the one that died, I’m so sorry Crowley” You said, putting a comforting hand on Crowley’s shoulder. 

“He didn’t die.” Crowley said. 

You looked at him, “But you said he went to heaven” “He’s an angel, my angel” Crowley said, his voice wasn’t a white, it was more just, sad and full of grief. 

“He went off to become the new supreme archangel of all of heaven” Crowley said, this time he was in fact whining. 

“Well then, he could come back” You said but Crowley shook his head.

“Not after he said he forgave me” He said. 

“Forgave you for what?” “Kissing him,” Crowley said sorrowfully. 

Oh.

“I’ll go get us both some wine” You said. 

[star-centric]

Arbovitae (Unchanging Friendship) || Yosano

MEANING: Arborvitae can symbolize everlasting friendship and immortality. In Victorian flower language, arborvitae can also mean looking forward to an unchanging friendship after graduation.

A/N: I need Yosano to start getting more recognition in fanfics 😤 reader is gender neutral!

❀ FLOWER SPECIAL MASTERLIST ❀

“What are we cheering to?”

The question somewhat brought Yosano out of her tipsy haze, swishing her glass around while you both glanced at the glowing skyline.

“To you leaving me.” She cracked a bitter smile.

“Well that’s nothing to cheer about.” You pouted, pouring more alcohol in your own cup.

“It is. You’re finally getting to spread your wings outside of Yokohama- anyone would be cheering for that.” She kept a smile on her face as her chest tightened. You got an amazing job offer overseas, an opportunity that you’ve been dreaming of long enough. And Yosano was happy for you- hell, she jumped around and decided to throw you the impromptu party at the agency the moment you told her the news.

She knew how much this meant to you, but she also knew that you would be gone. Leaving her behind.

Yosano wasn’t jealous by any means, but you leaving meant that she would be missing a part of her- a part that may be lost forever. She internally groaned at how sappy she was getting- maybe she drunk more than she thought.

“It’s a once in a lifetime chance- you’ll be a fool to not take it.” She said solemnly, dark burgundy locks blowing with the breeze.

“I know,” you answered, swirling your drink around.

“So why do you sound so disappointed?”

“Because I’ll miss you.”

Your poignant words carried with the wind, silence settling between you. You were in the same boat as she was- and no matter how much she could act like it wasn’t eating at her, she would be lying. But where she could try and hide it, you refused to.

It was one of her favorite qualities about you. You were always honest to a fault, never being one to hide your feelings or your thoughts. It was one of the many things that had her drawn to you.

“Why do you act like this is the end?”

Yosano stepped away from the ledge, making her way back to you like she always will. She gently called your name.

“Do you really think this is enough to keep us apart? That anything would be enough?”

Yosano wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince you or yourself, but her words held conviction regardless.

“I don’t, but it’s going to be hard-“

“Nonsense. I can always catch a flight- besides, I can use some time away from the agency once in a while. I’m sure they’re ready to get some time away from me anyway.” She waved her hand nonchalantly. Her smile turned sincere as she moved to grab your hand.

“You’ve been my best friend for ages. Nothing’s coming in between us- I won’t allow it and I sure as hell know you won’t either.”

Your smile began to match hers, putting both of you at ease. This move wasn’t going to shatter your relationship. If anything, it would make it stronger- absence makes the heart grow fonder, after all.

“But what are we cheering to? We can’t keep drinking and not cheers to anything.”

“We could actually, but we should still have something to commemorate the moment.” Yosano hummed, before bringing her glass in the air proudly.

“To new beginnings, and a lifetime of friendship.”

You didn’t hesitate to meet your glass with her, a resounding clink sealing her words.

[writinginatree]

If He Were Better At This...

Relationship(s): Bodhi Durran & Xaden Riorson & Riorson!reader

Summary: Raising his little sister isn't easy for Xaden.

Warnings: Bittersweet angst, parentification, jealousy, mentions of apostasy trauma, Xaden low-key has anxiety. Set during Iron Flame.

@littleemissperfecttt requested: XADEN GETS JEALOUS OF Y/N AND BHODIS CLOSE RELATIONSHIP as y/n is more close to bhodi than she could ever be with xaden

(Sorry it took so long, I kinda struggled to come up with a scenario for this, but I hope you still like it!)

Landing in the valley above Aretia after a tiresome three-day mission, Xaden is greeted by the sight of you and Bodhi wrestling in the dirt. Your laughter is balm on his weary soul, but the feeling of peace it brings only lasts a second, quickly replaced by panicked irritation. You should not be up here — only riders and fliers are allowed to enter this valley, not civilians like you.

Sgaeyl gives an amused huff as she stalks off to find her mate. "We do not mind the little one's presence."

Well, that's good. At least he doesn't have to worry about his own damn dragon scorching you for trespassing.

But even if Sgaeyl thinks it's fine, the fact remains that you shouldn't be in the valley. If you keep getting away with ignoring all the rules just because Xaden is your brother, there will be trouble eventually. The fliers already feel underprivileged; if they get the idea Xaden is favoring his own people, the dissent will grow until the situation escalates completely.

Luckily, the group of first-years practicing lesser magics nearby doesn't seem to be paying the two of you any mind. Then again, maybe it's just that they already lost interest. You could have been here for hours already for all he knows — it's even possible that this isn't the first time Bodhi brought you into the valley. Xaden is all too aware that his cousin never has the heart to tell you off for following him around, even when he's going places you aren't supposed to go.

Xaden might wield shadows, but you practically are one, always trailing after Bodhi unless forcibly kept away. The trauma of the apostasy has left its marks on you, mentally as well as physically. Dad's execution, the long separation from Xaden and Bodhi that followed it, the lies drilled into you like brainwashing. It's really no wonder you don't want to be apart from Xaden and especially Bodhi now that you're finally reunited. And it's no surprise either that you cling to Bodhi more than him; he's been your favorite for as long as Xaden remembers, and, unlike Xaden, he's always here.

Xaden tries not to be bitter about it. He knows it doesn't mean you don't love him too, you're just closer with Bodhi.

But it's not fair. Xaden is your brother, not Bodhi. Yet he'll never be able to have as lighthearted a relationship with you as Bodhi does, because he's the one in charge. Not just of Aretia and, partly, the revolution, no, more importantly, he's in charge of you.

It's a walk on knife's edge, trying to balance between showing you the love you deserve and teaching you the strength and discipline you'll need to survive if the war isn't over by the time you're old enough to participate.

The thought nauseates Xaden every time it comes to his mind. He'll do anything so it never comes to that. They have to win, so you can grow up safe, without the fear and responsibility Xaden himself was burdened with when he was just a handful of years older than you are now. But there's no guarantee they can defeat the venin, no guarantee he'll be able to keep you safe, so, despise it as he might, he's doing his best to prepare you for the worst.

But gods, how he hates it.

You seem so young laughing there in the grass, and yet you've already been through so much — too much. He could watch you all day like that, innocent and carefree, the only indicators that you're not like other kids the rebellion relic crawling up your neck and the dark circles under your eyes. Xaden knows your nightmares are worse when you know he's away, but, as with so many things, the war leaves him no choice.

Walking over to where you're playing, still oblivious to Xaden's presence, he contemplates what to do. He doesn't want to spoil your moment of fun by getting mad about you being where you shouldn't. Even if the mere thought of you in the dragons' proximity sends cold fear through his body, you aren't in immediate danger. Maybe he can just convince you to walk down to the house with him, and give Bodhi an earful for bringing you into the valley later, when you won't have to hear. He can explain to you why it's not safe some other time.

But then your play fighting has you rolling much too close to Cuir for Xaden's liking, and instinct takes over. Your shadow springs to life, lifting you into the air by the back of your shirt.

"That's enough, now," Xaden says, aiming for a tone of mild authority like he remembers his father using. Xaden never quite gets it right. Much too frequently he speaks more harshly to you than intended, and other times, he overcorrects and loses all strictness. He can never seem to find the middle ground.

Sharp longing for his father bubbles up in his chest. Xaden shoves it away. Dad is gone, and can't help him. Raising you is on him and Bodhi now, unsuited to the task though they might be.

Xaden knows his cousin sees him as a role model, has always wanted to be like him, but it's times like this that Xaden wishes he were more like Bodhi. Softer. Kinder. Better at feelings. Of course there's no replacing the parents you lost, but if Xaden were better at this, maybe the hole they left in your life wouldn't still ache quite so badly. If he were better at this, maybe you and him could be closer. If he were better at this, maybe it would be him you go to when you have a nightmare, would be him you insist on sitting beside at meals.

Quickly, he shuts that train of thought down, too. It won't get him anywhere.

Despite his slightly too sharp tone, you don't even have the decency to look apologetic — no, you just beam at him. "Xaden! You're back!"

He nods, shadows setting you gently down on your feet.

It's hard to stay irritated when you're so obviously happy to see him, your smile a reminder that while you love Bodhi more, you do love Xaden too. Xaden has to remind himself to remain strict despite it.

He hates that he has to be the responsible one, ruining all your fun. That is exactly why you like Bodhi better.

Part of him would like nothing more than to join your roughhousing and forget about the war and all his problems for a little while, but the rest of him knows he can't afford to do that. What would that look like, the Duke of Aretia — even if only his fellow traitors view him as such — rolling around in the dirt? It's bad enough that Bodhi doesn't seem to care about his reputation, but Xaden can't afford not to care. And it's not just about appearances, either. It isn't safe for you to be this close to all these dragons and the practicing first-years with no proper control over their magic.

"Yeah, I'm back," he nods, accepting a brief hug before peering down at you with a raised brow. "What're you doing up here?"

"Bodhi was showing me some new moves. Do you wanna see?"

Regretfully, Xaden shakes his head. He would like to see what progress you've made with your combat training, but he doesn't have the time. The Assembly will want his report as soon as possible, but first, Xaden needs to talk to Bodhi and make sure he'll keep you out of the valley in the future.

"Maybe later. For now, I want you to go inside."

The words taste bitter on his tongue, the disappointment on your face cutting sharper than any blade he's ever felt. Belatedly, he realizes that sending you back to the house on your own when you know very well he's about to go inside too must make you feel like he doesn't want to be around you.

He fucking hates disappointing you, and yet, it seems to be all he ever does.

"Can't I—"

"No," he cuts your protests short, forcing himself to use what Violet calls the wingleader voice. He always feels bad when he uses it on you, but it's the only way to make you listen. "Get inside and wash up. Now. You know you're supposed to sit in on the Assembly meeting tonight, and you're not doing so with grass in your hair."

You grumble something unintelligible, but head for the path leading down to Riorson House, hopefully to do as he said.

Xaden knows you don't much like when he drags you along to meetings, bored by politics and strategy alike, but you need to learn. If anything happens to him, you might be in charge someday. You're Aretia's future, their insurance.

Once you've disappeared around the bend of the path, Xaden turns to glare at Bodhi, hissing, "What the fuck were you thinking bringing her up here?!"

His cousin, unflinching in the face of Xaden's temper, is quick to try and soothe him. "I know, I know. No civilians allowed. But Cuir said it's okay."

Xaden won't let himself be placated that easily, pointedly ignoring that Sgaeyl had said much the same thing. "Cuir doesn't speak for every dragon," he shoots back. "What if one of the others disagrees and attacks her?"

"Cuir would protect her. He hasn't let her out of his sight for a second, and neither have I."

"Oh? Aren't you supposed to be watching over the first-years?"

Xaden knows he's not being fair. Bodhi was just trying to brighten your day, to spend some quality time with you — something both of them don't get to do nearly enough. He would never consciously endanger you.

"I can do both." Bodhi sighs. "Look, I know she's supposed to stay in the fortress, but she's going crazy with boredom. This just seemed like a good opportunity to take her outside for a bit. I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about it first, but I promise she wasn't in danger for even a second. You know I'd never let anything happen to her."

Xaden also sighs. "I know. I just— I don't like having her anywhere near the dragons."

He doesn't need to elaborate on why exactly the idea makes him so uneasy. Bodhi is just as aware as he is of what would have happened six years ago if Xaden hadn't made the deal that prevented all of them from sharing their parents' fate — execution by dragonfire, even for the youngest. A thought that will never stop haunting Xaden, no matter the scar on his back promising your safety.

"I know," Bodhi echos. "But we can trust our own dragons with her."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. Alright. I guess she can come to the valley with you so long as she sticks to your side." Which he knows you will — you always do. "Just make sure she knows she's not allowed to enter it alone. Under no circumstances, ever."

Bodhi smiles. "Already told her that, but it probably won't hurt if you tell her again, too."

"I will," Xaden says, turning to follow you. Maybe he can catch up to you and walk the rest of the way to the house together.

[hoshizora-the-yume]

Can I request a plantonic for yuki doji with an onmyoji reader

𝐘𝐮𝐤𝐢 𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐣𝐢 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐧𝐦𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐣𝐢!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

SFW, Oneshot, Platonic, GN!Reader

A/N: Awww, a cute Yuki Douji request. Never thought I’d get him requested because he isn’t the most popular shikigami around, but I’m happy because he’s one of my favorites as well. In fact, he’s actually my main Jungler in the Arena spinoff! 

You woke up to the chill of a winter morning in full swing. From the misty sky, snowflakes gently fell to the ground, signaling the epilogue of springtime’s warmth.

As someone who adored wintertime, you would always sit in the courtyard, watching it blossom and unfold before your eyes. Throughout the years, you would spend these little moments on your own.

However, this year was different. This time, someone was there, watching the pure white scenery at your side. 

“You sure love wintertime, don’t you, Master y/n?” A soft and youthful voice said. Next to you was the owner of the voice, a snow spirit named Yuki Douji. 

Like the snow that was cold yet soft, he was a kind-hearted boy underneath his icy exterior. Whenever you looked at him, you wished that others would see the sweet boy that you saw and not a distant loner.

“Yeah… I’ve always loved it.” You replied. Taking a deep breath, you exhaled against your hand as cloud-like puffs of air appeared on your palms. “Ever since I was a child, it’s always been my favorite season.”

Yuki Douji looked at you, doe-eyed. Despite his ever frigid expression, the light in his eyes told you everything. “You don’t hate the cold?”

You shook your head and smiled. “Not really. Somehow, it’s comforting for me.” As you took in the beautiful scenery before you two, your mind returned to those innocent days when you built snowmen.

“Master y/n.” Yuki Douji called out to you. With a face that almost seemed to be pleading, he asked you this. “Do you want to play in the snow?”

You warmly smiled. “Sure. Not in the courtyard though, we don’t want to make a mess here, do we?”

Shortly after, you accompanied your little shikigami outside. Despite how cold it was, the Capital was busy as ever. Coal sellers littered around on the streets, trying to make a living. 

Yuki Douji looked around the city with great curiosity, seemingly amazed by everything. Although he had traveled around the land before, there were still many things he hadn't seen.

While he was distracted, you grabbed and made a snowball out of the snow below. Grinning mischievously, you catapulted it towards the back of his head.

For a few seconds, he was quiet and still as if the impact of the snowball had yet to register. Before you knew it, your face was covered in snow.

“Oho, looks like lil, ol’ Yuki Douji is challenging me to a snowball battle?” You cracked your knuckles. “I like the courage.”

If anything, you were the brave one. Given he was a snow spirit, he had the advantage over you in a wintertime related activity. Nonetheless, you weren’t going to go down so easily.

As his Onmyouji, your pride wouldn’t let you lose to your own shikigami, even in something as small as a snowball fight.

The match started out normally, with you and Yuki Douji going back and forth with throwing snowballs. Although you were even at first, your shikigami’s advantage as a spirit and skilled swordsman meant he could last longer.

“Think, y/n, think.” You told herself mentally. That’s when you had a brilliant idea. Since you were an Onmyouji after all, why not use your own spells to give you a bit of a boost? Making sure it won’t go on his radar, you quietly casted a spell. 

When a barrage of snowballs was directly fired at Yuki Douji’s face, he went pale and fell down on his back. Now buried underneath a pile of snow, he suddenly realized what you did.

“Hehe, I win.” You laughed, as you walked towards the pile of snow. As Yuki Douji’s head poked out of the little mound, his companion Yukimaru had emerged alongside him. Looks like the commotion had woken up the little snow bunny. 

“Master y/n…” Yuki Douji frowned. “You cheater.”

“Hey, who said you had to be fair in a snowball fight?” You shrugged. “On the battlefield, nothing is off-limits.” 

Lording over your petty victory didn’t last too long, as realization came over you. Passers-by who were just minding their own business were staring at you two.

You had caused a ruckus in the middle of the Capital, despite being an esteemed Onmyoji. Not a very good look for you, if you say so yourself…

Once you apologized and excused yourself to Heian-kyo’s citizens, you returned to the courtyard with Yuki Douji. On the way, you couldn’t help but notice that he was still upset over the snowball fight.

Refusing to talk to you, his expression was as cold as the snow as he stomped towards the furthest corner away from you. There, he decided to distract himself by doing his usual hobby—turning Yukimaru into all sorts of shapes. 

“Huh, he really is mad at me.” You thought, nervously smiling. In spite of his straight-laced disposition, Yuki Douji was very much a sensitive spirit.

Now, it was up to you to make things up to him. Since you were dealing with someone who was practically a child, the onus was on you to be the bigger person.

Luckily, you knew exactly what to do.

After a few moping sessions, Yuki Douji fell asleep on the spot. Perhaps, he was exhausted from all the pent up anger inside of him. 

A few hours passed while you waited, and he woke up. “Wait, what’s this, Master y/n?” 

“It’s exactly what it looks like.” 

While he was sleeping, you had personally gone shopping. Normally, no one sold fruits around this cold season, so you were lucky to find some stocks of his favorite—watermelon.

“T-This isn’t a prank, is it?” Yuki Douji pouted. Looks like he still wasn’t over what you did quite yet.

“Nah, why would it be?” You said. “Actually… I bought these because I wanted to apologize.”

“You still haven’t said sorry.”

“So strict.” You remarked in your mind. 

“Fine… I’m sorry.”

Yuki Douji looked away for a bit, closing his eyes and frowning. When your words of apology had registered, he opened his eyes and said this. “No more cheating, okay? Promise?”

“Promise.”

Like that, he gave you a slight smile. Now that you have been forgiven, the two of you could play again like you always did. 

[theamberfist]

Hell's Second Greatest Dad | Vox + Reader + Alastor

Familial! Alastor is reader's dad, Vox is the dad that stepped up

Description: With your dad, the Radio Demon, having been missing for seven years, you've come to see Vox as father figure instead. But when Alastor shows back up one day, he's furious to find his old friend trying to take his child away from him.

(Notes: CW Alastor, angst) (gender neutral reader) (Reader is Alastor's kid from life) (Could be biological or adopted) (Teen Reader)

❀ This one will have a song! It's a rewrite of Hell's Greatest Dad, but with Alastor in Lucifer's place and Vox in Alastor's place (Alastor gets a taste of his own medicine) ❀

Words: 4,049

"Tomorrow's forecast calling for acid rain with tornadoes picking up around noon in the Doomsday Distract," The familiar voice of hell's iconic tech demon explained, "And now for our Reader's Segment!" He smiled, placing the papers he'd been reading off of on the table in front of him and looking back up at the camera. 

Once he announced your name, the TV screen promptly changed to show you curled up on a plush couch with a fuzzy blanket and a book on your lap. "Take it away, kid." Vox's voice said through the earpiece you always wore while on-air in case he needed to communicate with you. 

"Thanks, sir." You smiled at the camera before turning your gaze down to the book in your lap, "Tonight we'll be reading something a little slower paced. It's fun, cozy, and perfect for a night like this, so let's begin." With that, you announced the title of your current favorite book and then flipped it open, reading aloud. 

The set around you was decorated to resemble a cozy living room; with a crackling fireplace behind your couch, a fake window to your left that was supposed to make it seem as if it overlooked a snowy field, and the softest carpet you'd ever walked on. The log walls were decorated with photos of cute animals since you had no family photos to adorn them, and both the couch, blanket, and carpet were soothing shades of light pink and purple that greatly contrasted the harsh the blues and red of your boss while still remaining within the same domain. 

You read in your most soothing tone, which many viewers liked to claim had the ability to lull them to sleep almost instantly, even if you had no such power that you knew of. Though, you supposed anything calming and cozy like this would have been a great relief in a place like hell, which had been your goal from the beginning. 

Vox was hesitant about your segment when you first pitched it, considering it was so different from the rest of the shows he ran, but eventually he gave it a chance, and it had only ever paid off since. As far as sinners went, you were adorable, and it wasn't just because you were young compared to most of the adults in hell. That, coupled with the cozy vibe of your set and the books you read, was enough to keep viewers coming back, meaning there were more people to see Vox's commercials and, therefore, become his customers. 

Not to mention the fact that it made him look good in the public eye. A teenage sinner who liked to read their little books for the public, and whose soul he didn't even bother to own? He looked more kindhearted than half of hell's overlords combined, no matter his intentions. 

The only person that didn't approve of your reading segment currently stood on a sidewalk somewhere in Pentagram City, watching through the window of a shop. Despite his apparent smile, his eyes were narrowed in disapproval at the screen.

To those who didn't know him, he would have simply looked like a regular sinner; interested in listening to you read the story you seemed to excited about. Had they been paying attention, they might have noticed the way his hands tightened around the microphone he held or how his red deer-like ears tugged back slightly. 

And as for those that did have the sense to recognize him, they wouldn't have even had the time to notice those details, because they would have already turned and walked the other way upon seeing the Radio Demon back after his seven year absence. 

About an hour later, you finished your segment, feeling a little sleepy yourself from the calming sounds of the fire and a good book. Even your cameraman seemed to barely be able to keep his eyes open at this point.

"I think we'll stop there for tonight," you said with a yawn, gently placing your Vox Tech bookmark between the pages and closing your book, "Tune in tomorrow, where we'll continue the story from where we left off." You were talking even more quietly than you had at the beginning, not wanting to disturb any of the viewers at home that may have fallen asleep. Though, it was a futile effort, considering a blaring commercial would likely run the second you were off-air again. "This has been the Reader's Segment; thank you and goodnight!" 

With that, your cameraman signaled that you were now off-air and you yawned again, wrapping the fuzzy purple blanket around yourself despite the warmth of the nearby ambient fire. 

A moment later, the door to your recording set opened and in stepped Vox himself with a familiar frown on his face. He looked around, though, and the second his eyes landed on you, the expression was replaced by a  picturesque smile. "There they are!" He exclaimed happily, walking over to you as you blinked sleepily at him. 

"Hi." You smiled through your hazy tiredness, making the tech demon soften just a bit. 

"Well done, kid." He said, ruffling your hair, "As always." Vox gently placed a hand on your back, leading you towards the studio door and leaving the rest of his workers to clean the set up behind you. "I have to say, I never expected a 'cute' segment like yours to do so well," he went on, ever the businessman, as you half-listened. "Turns out comfort was exactly what pathetic sinners wanted all along!" He glanced your way, his smile becoming more genuine now, before adding, "I'm proud of you, kid." That got your full attention now. 

You'd only heard the words a few times in your whole life, despite the huge positive effect they always had on you. Even the man that had raised you; the one that should have been the most proud in the end, had never actually told you so. Vox may not have been related to you by blood, or even legally, but hearing that phrase from him still made you grin.

"Thanks." You replied, unsure of how to convey how much his pride meant to you. Luckily, it seemed you didn't need to, because he just nodded and then brought you over to the nearby elevator. 

"It's the truth, kid," he replied, pressing the button that would take you up to his designated floor. Each of the V's had one, with Vox's being the highest, that was technically supposed to be solely their living space. However, after you began working for him, Vox ended up converting one of the rooms on his floor to make it yours. Now, your bedroom was the first door on the right after entering Vox's floor. 

"Though, it looked to me like that bookshelf of yours is starting to get a little empty..." He was referring to the shelf found on your set. It housed each of the books you planned on reading next in no particular order. This way, when you finished one for the show, you could immediately pick a new pre-approved one from the back shelf. The one you were done with would then be moved up to your room for you to keep, which was beginning to look more like a library with how many titles there were inside. 

"Did it?" You asked, feeling a little embarrassed, "I can grab a few more to add to it tomorrow." Vox shook his head, though, as the elevator finally reached your shared floor. 

"No need," he replied, "How about we buy some more tomorrow; call it a shopping day?" With how many unread books you already had making a mess in your room, there was really no need to buy any more. But after the first year of having you around, he realized making you happy tended to lift some of the stress and burden he felt off his shoulders, so he did so whenever possible. 

"Really?!" You asked, stars practically shining in your eyes as you stepped out of the elevator. Vox nodded, a warm smile on his face. 

"Of course; can't have my best segment lacking stories, now can I?" You grinned, hugging him without even thinking. At some point during your time working for him, it had become a natural gesture.

Vox rested a hand on your head with a grin, patting your hair. He'd never expected to get so attached to a kid, much less you, of all people, and yet here he was, enjoying the hug as if he were your close family member. 

Once the excitement of the news seemed to die down for you, that fuzzy, tired feeling from before came back. "Thanks, dad..." You mumbled into the tech demon's coat. His eyes widened for just a moment before a smile reappeared on his face. You probably hadn't even realized what you'd just said, and yet, it felt so right for him to hear it. 

"No problem, kid." He replied. Finally, he pulled away, patting your shoulder. "Now, you'd better get to bed if you're going to have enough energy for book shopping tomorrow." You grinned again, wrapping your soft blanket a little tighter around your body. 

"Right." You said, gently rubbing your now-very-tired eyes. "Goodnight!" You called as you turned and opened the door to your bedroom. 

"Goodnight." Vox replied softly before you closed the door behind you and disappeared. He could hear a muffled 'flop' sound somewhere inside, realizing you'd likely collapsed onto your bed immediately after entering. 

He chuckled softly before turning to head to his own room. Vox tended to stay up much later than you most nights; handling various paperwork and business. Today was no exception, but as he made his way to his office, which was attached to the bedroom, he spared a glance at the framed photo that sat propped on his bedside table. In it, you were depicted, holding up the camera to take a selfie. Vox was there too, an arm around your shoulders as he posed for the camera. Both of you looked so happy; smiling brightly as if you had not a care in the world.

It was his favorite photo; thus why it always remained on his nightstand. He turned away now, heading for his office with a renewed determination to get things done. After falling out with his closest friend seven years ago, the tech demon had assumed nothing else would ever be able to bring him joy again.

And he had been right, until you came along. 

..........

You were up bright and early the next day; too early for Vox's standards. He'd barely gotten any sleep, as per usual, but had smelled the breakfast you were making in the kitchen once he came out of his extra office. 

As soon as he entered, you'd smiled and sat him down at the table, handing him a plate of your personal favorite breakfast food. Of course that had been what you chose to wake up and make this early in the morning.

Regardless, the tech demon humored you, knowing you were just excited to get to go book shopping later that day. 

Once you'd both eaten, you hurriedly shoved him into his room, insisting he get dressed and ready for the day while you did the same. Apparently, you wanted to be at the bookstore the second it opened, but who was Vox to deny you, when it seemed to make you so happy?

Once you both were ready, the two of you took the elevator down to the V Tower lobby, with Vox ignoring several calls from his assistant along the way. He could wait until later, the tech demon decided. Instead, he listened to you go on and on about the books you planned to get and how excited you were. It seemed you had a fully prepared list, and Vox was ready to get every single one on it if it brought you joy. Finally, you reached the ground floor and the elevator dinged as the doors opened.

And almost immediately, you were met with the sounds of shouting and windows breaking. Clearly, there was already a commotion, even though it was even ten in the morning yet. Sighing, Vox stepped out first, followed promptly by you, who would never miss out on a scoop if you could help it; especially if it was happening in your own 'basement.'

What you saw was even more surprising than expected. The employees that usually worked on this floor were running around like chickens with their heads cut off; many of them screaming in fear. The secretary that usually worked the front desk was dangling in the air; held by an eerie black tentacle that you recognized all too well. Following it with your gaze, you could see that it was attached to none other than a red deer-like demon, whose body had morphed so that he was almost too tall to fit in the room.

A green 'X' mark sat on his forehead, further confirming that he was currently in his demonic form as he held the secretary up to his eye level.

"Where are they?!" He demanded, his radio static voice somehow even more haunting than usual. 

"I'm not authorized to tell you that!" The secretary screeched, covering his eyes as the tentacle's grip tightened around him and began bringing him towards the demon's open mouth.

Vox's assistant stood off to the side, frantically typing something on his phone amidst the panic. So, that was why he'd been calling so much this morning.

With a sigh, the tech demon activated his mind control powers, taking a step forward into the chaos. "Stop!" He shouted, his voice distorted. Suddenly, everything came to a stop, except the giant demon still holding his secretary, who slowly turned his head in your direction.

Still smiling, his eyes narrowed for a moment before he suddenly noticed you standing there, instantly reverting back to his normal form as if nothing had happened. The black tentacles that had been holding the secretary disappeared, causing them to fall to the floor with a thud. Meanwhile, the Radio Demon adjusted his coat jacket and stepped forward.

"Finally," he called, holding his microphone-cane behind him, "The man in charge, so to speak." Both you and Vox tensed, and you looked to the tech demon, unsure what to do. 

When neither of you said anything, Alastor spoke again. "And it seems you've found my little one!" He exclaimed with an even wider smile, "Good, then I'll have no need to search this entire building for them." Vox's eyes narrowed at the idea, and he was about to take a step to the side, so as to block you, when you finally spoke.

"Papa...?" Your voice was quiet; hurt. The tech demon hated it but you took a step forward, nonetheless. This was, as much as he hated to admit it, technically your father; the man you hadn't seen or even heard from once in the last seven years. That would have shocked anyone. 

"There you are, my dear!" Alastor said, opening his arms to you as if expecting a hug. "Come along, now. We have quite a bit to catch up on!" You didn't move. 

Vox took a step forward, sensing your uncertainty. "You've been missing for seven years," he replied, "They don't have to go with you." Alastor's eyes narrowed. 

"They're my child," he said, "So I'd suggest you get out of the way before things get ugly, old pal." You bit your lip. As much as you'd longed to see your father again all this time, now that you were faced with that reality, you weren't so sure. You'd only just come to accept the fact that he would never be returning for you, and now here he was, acting as if nothing had even happened. 

You used to be close with him, but now it felt like he wasn't even the same person anymore. Vox, of all people, had had to take you in after your dad left without warning, and since then, he'd become the only father figure you had in your life. 

Alastor glanced between the two of you with what would have been a scowl, if not for the permanent smile on his face. Everyone else had all but cleared the room now; leaving only the three of you there in your standoff. 

You were frozen; unsure what to do, and you knew Alastor could see it. It was like having to choose between your two parents in a divorce, except in this situation, it was the once-loving-father that had abandoned you and the man that had stepped up ever since. 

Unfortunately, Alastor didn't seem to read the situation the same way you did, because with his flare for the dramatics, he went on.

"Darling," he sighed before bringing out his mic and beginning a song. Now you knew there was no going back. "Looks like you could use some help," he began, "from hell's Radio Demon himself!" 

Alastor swung his cane, summoning two familiar sinners to the room to back him up now. "Never trust the one who's acting so heartfelt!" He pointed in Vox's direction, and Nifty immediately scurried over, jumping on Vox's shoulder. 

"Traitor!" She exclaimed adamantly before the tech demon ripped her off of him. Husk, however, was less enthusiastic. 

"Heartless," he said, ignoring how Vox glared and began to stalk towards him, only for Nifty to jump and latch onto his back now. 

"A total snake!" She exclaimed and he tried to shake her off again. Meanwhile, the two of them provided enough distraction now for Alastor to gently grab you by the arm and pull you away. 

"Oh, with enough motivation, dear," he went on, "He'll betray you, standing right here!"  Before he could get you out of the lobby door, though, Vox had pressed a button to activate the security measures, locking it from the outside. "Usually, you'd learn it on your own, I fear," he went on, "But for you I'd do anything!"

Nifty ran over to the two of you wearing one of your hats she'd gotten off a nearby coat rack now, hugging one of Alastor's legs as if she were pretending to be you. Or at least, a happier version of you. "Thanks, dad!" 

Alastor turned, pointing to Vox, "Who needs a knock-off now that I have returned?" Nifty nodded eagerly, jumping to rest on your father's head. 

"Whoa!" She sang, having way too much fun with this. 

"Come back to radio; have all you could want!" Alastor went on, trying his best to win your favor once more. "I've all the fatherly affection you've earned!" He spun you around once before gently gripping your shoulders and pointing up as if he were showing you something in the sky. "Clothing, safety, souls of the hasty, this we would flaunt!"

Finally, Vox seemed to have had enough because he appeared between the two of you like a bolt of lightning, gently pushing you away from Alastor and towards the elevator. "Who's been here since he was gone?" He reminded you, "Even if you weren't my spawn? Who gave you the segment that makes them yawn?" He pointed to the crowd of sinners outside, who'd gathered by the windows to watch what was going on. Then he smiled and straightened his bowtie. 

"It's your very own producer!" He sang.

"That's true..." You admitted as he pressed the button for the elevator now, already using his demon powers to call the security staff to the lobby to handle Alastor. Any other day, Vox would have done so himself, but having you right there made the situation much more difficult. 

"I support you, day to day!" The tech demon went on, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, "Your books, show; whatever you can name!" The elevator doors opened, and Vox pushed you inside before you could even think of protesting. Once Alastor was out of sight again, he brought up a photo of the bookstore you'd planned to visit.

"Remember I'm taking you shopping today?" He asked just as a video chat with the bookstore's owner appeared.

"Buy our books?" She asked in the same singing-tone everyone seemed to have adopted now, "Thank you sir!" 

The elevator doors dinged now as you reached the third floor, where Vox's security team was stationed. However, the second they opened, all that could be seen was Alastor, along with an empty office and some black tentacles still disappearing from wherever they'd came. 

"I'm truly honored that we've built such a bond," Vox went on as he hurriedly pressed the 'close door' button in the elevator. They began to do so, only for another of Alastor's black tentacles to stop them just in time, ripping the doors open. "You're like the child that I wish that I had!" If Vox could sweat, he surely would have been doing so by now as Alastor's eyes narrowed again. This was the closest you'd ever seen him to not smiling. 

"Excuse me?" The Radio Demon spoke, his pupils already taking the shape of dials. Finally, Vox stood straighter, turning back to you and patting your head. 

"I care for you just like a child spawned!" He sang, knowing it was getting under Alastor's skin. "It's a little funny," he glanced back, a smirk on his features. Your father was seething. "You could almost call me 'dad'!" The second those words left Vox's mouth, Alastor moved to attack him, only for you both to disappear in crackles of electricity. 

The tech demon almost never transported others with him this way, which meant he was taking Alastor's presence in the V's tower seriously. You appeared on your shared floor, which also happened to have a panic room. It had been designed for waiting out exterminations but, considering the situation, Vox figured it would work just fine to keep you from your father now. 

He began pulling you towards it, only for Alastor to appear out of the shadows in front of him. 

"They say when you're looking for assistance," Vox sang, trying to move around him, only to be blocked by a black tentacle, "It's smart to pick the path of least resistance!" He was getting very tired of playing nice with the Radio Demon, especially when the tentacle previously blocking him grabbed onto his arm and pulled him away from you.  

"Others say that in your needy hour," Alastor said, beginning to pull you away from the tech demon, "The one that first raised you is simply never sour!" He spun you around to emphasize the proclamation, then stopped and placed both hands on your shoulders. "Who just happens to have known you in life!" He added a little more intensely.

A second later, though, you were pulled out of your father's grip by Vox, who began rushing you towards the panic room. "Sadly, there are times a child's needs are met with strife!" He exclaimed, pushing you through the door as gently but quickly as possible, "They say the family you choose is better." 

"Pathetic excuses!" Alastor chimed in, grabbing onto your arm just as gently-but-urgently as he attempted to pull you back. 

"Can you butt out of my song?" Vox snapped, pulling harder on your arm. You were halfway through the door now, awkwardly standing there and not knowing what else to do.

"Your song?" Alastor replied with a scoff, "I started it!"

"I'm singing it; I'll finish it!" Vox shouted back, pulling back on your other arm. The pressure was starting to hurt you now but you couldn't seem to get a word in about it as they fought one another. At this rate, you'd be torn in half before they could come to a custody agreement. 

"You're always such a piece of-" Before Alastor could finish his sentence, you finally cut in, pulling your arms out of both their grasps.

"That's it!" You screamed, finally catching their attention despite the entire song having been about you. "I can't do this right now!" You backed away form them both, feeling more than a little hurt and confused. Vox went to speak up but you weren't having it; raising a hand to stop him as you turned and stomped off to your room. "I need time!" And with that, you slammed the door behind you. 

[theaspsaroaceimagines]

Can We Make This Work?

Warning: spoilers for episode 6

A/N: This was requested on wattpad and is tangentially related to my fic, An Angel in Demon's Clothing, but takes place in a separate continuity.

The reader is a mortal angel who volunteered to go to Hell to help with Charlie's redemption project. Charlie and Vaggie are the only ones in Hell who know the reader is an angel, and the reader's mission is a secret that Adam and Lute don't know about.

Song is from Journey to Bethlehem.

--

You'd returned to the Hotel earlier than the others, overwhelmed by Consent's loud music and bright lights.  Not to mention the many, many flirtatious demons making passes at you.  So you were the only one around when Charlie and Vaggie returned from their meeting.

They returned a bit sooner than you would have thought they would.  That's the first red flag.

"You're back early!" you observe, puzzled, and approach the two demonesses slowly.

Immediately, Charlie distances herself from Vaggie, a look of panic and betrayal in her eyes.  "Why didn't you tell me you were an angel?  An exorcist?!" she wails.

You blink in shocked silence.  Vaggie is an angel?  Why hadn't you met her before you came down here?

Vaggie tries to approach Charlie, holding her hands out in a soothing gesture, but the demon princess only backs away.

Slowly, you shake yourself out of your stupor.  "Wait, what's going on?  Why are you guys back so early?"

The two shoot their gazes to you, as if they'd only just noticed your presence.  Vaggie looks anxious and somewhat defeated, and Charlie is nothing short of distressed.  Charlie runs to you, crushing you in a desperate hug, before dragging you up to the Hotel's penthouse suite.

Leaving Vaggie behind.

You're growing more concerned by the second.  "Charlie, what happened?" you ask, stumbling beside her as she continues to cling to you.

She bursts into tears, gripping you tighter.  "They wouldn't listen!" she sobs, "Adam wouldn't listen!  Vaggie's an exorcist and has been lying to me this whole time!"  She releases you, turning to pace around the suite in a tearful panic.  "And the meeting was a disaster!  The Angels don't even know what it takes to get into Heaven! And now the extermination is in a month, and Adam says he's coming for the Hotel first!"

The last bit of news shakes you to the core and you blanch.  "What?  Why?  Why would he do that?!  Is he even allowed to make targeted attacks?"  You try to calm yourself.  Panicking won't help, Charlie needs you calm.

You hear a thump, and whip your head around to see that Charlie has fallen to her knees by one of the windows.

"How could I be," she sings in a soft, defeated voice, "Oh, so naive?"  She wipes at her face with her sleeve as you approach to try to comfort her.

"Foolishly thinking there's more to this life for me," She tearfully looks out the window with a doleful expression as it begins to acid rain on the hellscape below, before glancing back at you.  "Two broken hearts," she lilts, holding a loose fist to her chest, "Right from the start,"

She turns away from the window and curls up in dejection, bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms over them, "Watching the dreams that we have as they fall apart,"

You pause in your efforts, hit with the overwhelming emotion emanating from the princess you've come to know as your friend.

"This will never work," her voice sounds almost bitter as she sings, burying her face into her knees, "Even trying feels insane.  This will only hurt,"

She turns her head, looking at you expectantly, "Don't you feel the same?"

You sigh.  "I feel it too," you admit, joining her in song and making the last few steps to her side, "But what can I do?"

You kneel down next to her, gazing at her from the corner of your eye, "I'm just the stranger they say is the one for you,"

"Maybe with time," you sing, taking Charlie's hand in yours, thinking about Adam, your home in Heaven, and the second home you have in Hell, "Something will change?   Making the best of this might be the only way.

"Can we make this work?" you stand, gently helping Charlie up as you do.  Looking out the window yourself, you take in the oddly beautiful landscape of Hell.  

Charlie joins in and the two of you sing together: "Even trying feels insane."

"Maybe when it hurts," your eyes and voice harden with determination.  Things seem grim, but you aren't giving up on your mission.  Both Heaven and Hell depend on it.  You turn to face Charlie, "We'll be worth the pain."

"There are too many questions, Too little time," Charlie points out.  "Too much to ask for, The rest of my life."

You join in with her in agreement, both of you singing, "It's a mountain too high to climb,

"Too many voices filling me with doubt," the two of you can hear them: Adam, Lute, Alastor, the newscasters at 666 News, Sera, even your first patient, Angel Dust.  "Can you hear them now?"

"It's hard to have faith," you admit.

"It's hard to believe," Charlie agrees.

"Our future holds more Than what we can see," you sing together.

You take Charlie's hands, "We have to trust what we don't understand," you resolve, and Charlie joins in;

"It could be a part of God's plan."

"Can we," you sing, pulling Charlie into a dance, hoping to encourage her.

"Can we," Charlie echoes, falling into step.

"Make this,"

"Make this,"

"Work?" you finish together, before twirling around,  "I know trying feels insane."

"Maybe," you lead the princess of Hell in graceful steps, freeing your true angelic wings.  They give off a silvery shine as the two of you dance together.

"Maybe," you can see the stars, feel the cosmos.

"When it," 

"When it," God's Plan would come together with time.

"Hurts," the two of you sing with resolve, "We'll be worth the pain!"

"Can we make this work?" you pull Charlie into a hug as the two of you wrap up the song, "Can we make this work?"

You tuck your true wings away as you end your dance, sending Charlie a gentle smile as their light disappears.

"We'll get through this," you tell her, "I don't know how yet, but we'll get through this."

"Okay," Charlie breathes.

"We should talk to Vaggie," you give a gentle suggestion, "I didn't know she was an angel, either; I've never met her in my time in Heaven, but I'm sure she had an at least somewhat good reason to hide it.  Besides, she's probably having a rough time right now."

"You're probably right," Charlie admits reluctantly.

You give her a wry smile, "Come on, there's no way to fix this without communication."

So you and the princess of Hell leave the suite with a new resolve.

[jamiedc-they-them]

Family (Platonic)

This one is a bit long!!! Nimona was so good, and meant so much to me! Wanted to do this as soon as I saw the film and have finally completed it! Just a quick warning, story contains some mentions of self doubt over lgbt identity, some mentions of Suicidal Ideation, and I think that is all (if I have forgotten anything, please let me know!!!). All my love to my lgbt siblings with everything going on right now <333 you matter so damn much! And this film coming at a time like this (and even more so after I learnt about the author of the graphic novel!) is everything!

Also, all my love to the WGA and SAG-AFTRA, keep fighting the good fight!!! I wouldn’t be here writing this (or really any fanfic) without your incredible writing and work! <333

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Nimona and Y/N are not siblings by blood, but choice, friendship, and loyalty. They find that support and acceptance in each other; but, when they catch wind of a knight who is just has hated as them, they see an opportunity to find someone else to add to their family.

If you had parents, you didn’t know them.

You just remembered always being out in the streets, just about standing by.

You never stole, you just took whatever left others you either found, or were given out of sympathy.

Pity did get you a long way, you had to admit.

People felt sorry for you, but then did nothing else to help you.

While it hurt, it never really put a chip on your shoulder. There was nothing anything you could do anyway. You couldn’t fight. You didn’t have a lot of strength in you.

One time, a group of people decided to leverage that. People like you; left behind and given nothing but scraps. Instead of coming together, however, they saw you as a weak link; something to blame for their issues and lot in life.

Just when you thought that would be it for you, someone called out. The pain stopped, but even if it lingered. You weren’t hit again. Your hearing was fuzzy, eyesight blurry.

You blacked in and out a few times.

When you came to, you are on a couch. You hear someone humming. You sit up, slowly, and see a girl around your age cooking.

“Oh, hey!” She says, turning back to you with a smile on her face, “don’t worry about those guys,” she assures you, “I took care of them.”

She seems almost proud.

Still, you just feel good that they’re gone now.

“You can have some of this, if you want,” she says, gesturing to her food.

“I don’t…I don’t want to be a burden,” you say.

You hear a growl, and see a red tiger in front of you, baring it’s teeth, “who said that?” She demands.

“No one really. Just…just the vibe, I guess?”

You look down, subconsciously; the girl seems to notice this, only watching you as you scramble to find the words you need. Then —

“I’m sorry…for not – for not knowing anymore. Could use someone like you out there.”

You feel something on your leg. Looking down, you see a red cat, rubbing itself on your leg. It looks up at you, before jumping on the couch.

“It’s not your fault, kid,” the cat says, “we’ll find them.”

You stroke the cat again. You feel safe. Sure, it’s a talking cat, but the cat was a girl a minute ago. You’ve seen what the world can hold magic wise. You know different things exist. Some people thrown out for all sorts of things they can’t control; this is that for her.

“‘We’?” You echo back to her, as she changes back to her redheaded form, arms crossed with a smirk on her face.

“Hell yeah, us!” She says, arms now up in the air, “we can watch each others back! Like a –“ her eyes light up, “like a sidekick!”

Something in your eyes brighten; something in hers soften, slightly.

They both do that a bit more as your smile widens, “ok then, where do we start?”

“Well, how about names?” She says, but there’s excitement in her eyes, “I’m Nimona!” She says, holding her hand out.

“I’m…” you say, holding out your hand and then pausing, “oh…”

She seems to catch onto what you mean, “I have a bunch of lists of names if you want to look?” She offers.

You nod, eagerly, and she fetches it – throwing some other items over her shoulder while she looks. She presents it to you. It’s a massive scroll that unfurls, “take your pick!” She says, arms outstretched to it like a ‘ta-da’ like pose. She’s proud of it.

You do pick one, even if it takes a bit of time. Still, you find one that works for you:

Y/N.

“Had a feeling you’d like that one,” she says, “I like it!”

You smile again. She does too, even if hers looks a bit like a snarl in a way; seems she’s already thinking of the damage you’ll do together. For you though, it’s about not being alone anymore.

You do get up to trouble. A lot of trouble. You paint art on walls; you play pranks on the guards so you can get somewhere – or sometimes just for fun.

Nimona’s ability to shapeshift is so damn cool. Internally, she feels a spark of happiness she hasn’t felt in a long time at your genuine acceptance and awe of her ability.

She, in turn, helps you find yourself as well. Your style, clothing wise. She notes things that make you uncomfortable as well. Sometimes that leads to deep chats; like the one you have about your lack of care for anything to do with sex or romance, or gender norms.

All she has to say to that is, “metal. Norms are for losers, anyway. I mean, end of the day, you’re Y/N, and I’m Nimona. That’s all that matters.”

It doesn’t matter if it’s something small or major that changes identity wise, her words are always the same and always true.

Her loyalty to you is the same as yours is to hers. You’re always defending her – despite her not always needing it – and backing her up in fights.

You always assure her she has you. You see her moments of vulnerability. Where the mask sort of drops. She always appreciates it. As while she’s not like you in the way of comforting people, she tries to learn from your softness and comforting manners.

You’re all each other have. At least, for a while anyway. You see the news of the manhunt for a man who killed the queen. Someone almost as hated as you are.

Nimona looks to you, and you know what your best friend is thinking.

So, you track him down. She does the talking; though at one point Ballister does look at you and seem to start implying you’re a monster to, and says, “hey, don’t look at them. Look at me,” he complies as he sees you looking around his room. You’re a curious thing.

“What — um, who are…?”

She raises an eyebrow, “they,” she starts, “are Y/N. My best friend and partner in crime and all things evil,” she then leans forward, “and I’m Nimona.”

“Yes…but, what does that mean?” He asks, trying not to piss her off. In his mind, scared he’ll become one of her – he’s sure – many victims.

A smirk appears on her face as she answers, “whatever we want it to mean.”

“Right. Yes. Ok,” he says, “that’s understandable.”

He sees you fiddling with one of his spare arms, “please be careful with that!” He says in fear. You put it back carefully, backing away from it. Nimona raises an eyebrow, letting you handle this. She knows you’re tougher than you look. Don’t get her wrong, you look better now; both a bit more comfortable in your own skin, but also decently fed.

“What is that?” You ask.

“Oh…it’s one of my spares. Just an old prototype I guess, for this,” he says, gesturing to his arm.

“Hm,” you say, looking at it and then the old version, “it’s always nice to have a spare.”

“Like a sidekick!” Nimona says, adding it one to try and persuade the knight – or ex-knight you guessed.

“No, no! Those things do not match!”

“Oh, come on!” Nimona snaps at Ballister. You just watch the interaction go on. She’s always been a stubborn one.

Still, he leaves on his own. You sigh, looking to your friend, “come on,” you say, opening the door to go to where he will end up.

“Ok, kid. You ok with a quick flight?” Nimona asks you as you look at the scale of the building. It’s intimidating; that, and heights were never your thing.

You gulp, “y-yeah.”

“Alright!” She says, happy you’re trying to put yourself out there more.

So, up you go. Despite the fact that she can shapeshift, she keeps you in mind as well as you sneak into the cells section. You do, however, keep watch, letting her go into the cell and break Ballister out the old fashion way – and the way she more enjoys, violently punching the release.

In the closet, you help keep it closed, finding more items. Out of the two, you’ve always been the more resourceful one.

She gives you a single look after Ballister makes his promise. You know what she’s going to do, so you just pull Ballister back a bit as Nimona shifts once again.

Having had some close calls and only gotten away via her shifting, you’re able to stay on better than Ballister, though you do help him when you can reach him. As for you and Nimona, however, you’re pretty much in synch with each other.

However, then comes the need for an exit. You know Nimona can fly, but she can’t hold both of you. So —

“I’ll lead them away,” you say, not allowing anyone to stop you as you take off in the opposite direction.

“Y/N, no! Come back!” Nimona calls out to you. She knows you are quick on your feet, but this is a bad place to try to be. Don’t get her wrong, she’s having fun causing havoc, but now what she might gain in a boss, she may lose a friend. She won’t do that.

Still, nothing she can do. Boss comes first.

So, off she goes, getting them both to the floor.

“Do you see them?” Nimona asks; and he hears the concern in her voice. She’s violent, but cares a lot. He respects that. Despite being surround and fighting, he tries as much as he can to keep an eye out for you.

“There!” He shouts, pointing up before dodging another strike.

Nimona turns as well, smirking, but concern still in her eyes as she sees you near a ledge. You don’t even think about it, you just jump.

So, with the wings once again, she flies upwards, dodging any attacks, before catching you and bring you down to the ground.

You both roll, before joining the Frey once again. You’ve never been as good in fights as her, but your agility and quick thinking does help. Nimona goes more aggressive once she sees Ballister in trouble. You go around some of the guards to help, but you’re taken down too.

That’s only enrages her further.

After you escape, you both start to bond with him. And, he seems a bit more at ease with you both now. You did break him out after all. So, he lets you help. Being a bit more open to ideas.

You all get down to the subway, seeing your wanted images. Somehow, you had never been photographed, so you were just a question mark. Seemed fitting, in a way, you guessed.

“Hm, no,” your best friend says, looking from you to the question mark you, “I don’t see the semblance.”

You roll your eyes, and she just giggles to herself. Ballister watches you both, eyes softening slightly at your genuine friendship and connection.

On the subway, he asks you guys, “so, how long have you both known each other?”

You share a look; her’s is asking if you want to say it, and also asking if you are ok with it being said; yours is the same.

You both shrug. She goes first with her tale, using it to make fun of Ballister.

He still seems a little disturbed by her ability to shift, even asking her to go back a to the ‘normal’ version of her. You both raise eyebrows at him. Sure, he tries to cover up by saying that it’s for other people, and not him, but you don’t exactly buy it.

“Are some of your best friends, ‘normal’?” You say, having heard that before with some people trying to cover up their hatred for you by saying that they know others. It’s bullshit.

“What? I — I, no… No, that’s not what I meant —“ he says, trying to correct his error.

“Too late,” you say, folding your arms, looking away.

Nimona changes back to her human self, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“I, uh, I’m sorry,” Ballister says. You keep looking away.

“Boss means it, Y/NN,” Nimona says, squeezing your shoulder a bit.

Ballister goes to say something else, but Nimona only holds up a hand. He nods, knowing that this is your moment. You need your own breather.

After a moment, you look up at him, seeing his eyes holding a genuine guilt to it. And a plead to make this all better. It’s the first time someone other than Nimona has looked at you. Like a person. A friend, maybe even.

You look at your best friend, the only person you’ve ever been able to call family, and she gives you a smile. You mirror it, putting your hand on top of hers.

“Thanks, Nim,” you say softly.

She removes her hand, before nudging you with her arm, “course, squirt. You and me, right?” She says, holding out her pinky finger. You link yours to hers.

“You and me. Nimona and Y/N.”

“And that’s all that matters.”

Ballister smiles. Then a thought comes to him about the question he asked but didn’t get answers to.

“Are you guys siblings?”

You look at each other again, and nod in sync.

“Closest we’ll ever get to it.”

“That’s cool,” he says, “seriously. Having a friend is…it must be nice.”

Again, you share a look; your journeys have been rough, and you’ve saved each other more times than you can count, but he’s right.

Nimona changes to a small boy, and you smile at her comment of “I am today,” before she goes off to do her part of this hastily cobbled together plan.

Ballister notices your look, “what’s wrong?”

“Just…it’s weird.”

Ballister chuckles, but not in a mean why; more surprise than anything else, “can’t be, especially not compared to my day so far.”

You nod, only really half listening. But, the words come out of your mouth before you can stop them, “I don’t…I don’t feel a fit in with…all this,” you say, pointing to him and then a random woman across the road, “and Nim…she’s fluid with it, you know? Labels don’t really matter to her. I like them. But…I can’t find the right ones. We do our names, and it works and it…I mean, it’s a statement and I love that, really. I just — I don’t know.”

“We’ll find it,” he says, not catching himself on the first word, “trust me, from what I’ve seen of Nimona, she’d burn it all down for you to find it.”

“We’ve taken up too much time,” you say, clearing your throat, gesturing for him to follow you, as you watch the man Nimona was – well, once distracting, but now chasing, went around the corner, “sorry.”

You don’t give him time to say anything back in return, you just take his hand and lead him out into the street once again, trying to find a getaway.

He recognises someone; the one with the punchable face? Maybe, you can’t quite remember. Either way, Ballister is terrified.

He hastily gets you into the vehicle with him, but you do see Nimona with a giddy smile as she shuts the boot.

Then, off you go, though Nimona does call out to you to get down.

With nothing but blind luck, you make it to an alley way. Ballister freaks out at Nimona being hurt, but she doesn’t show it hurts that much. You’re sure it does, but not as much as what is going on inside of her. You sit on the boot of the vehicle as they talk, though they do make their conversation loud enough to make you feel included.

You watch with soft eyes at the interaction, and how Nimona describes it all. When she jumps down when saying “I just wouldn’t be me,” she puts a hand on your leg too, “just like they wouldn’t be them.”

She then nudges you, “go on, bud,” she says softly, gesturing over to the bench, “go have your lil session. I’ll stay with this guy,” she says, jumping up on the boot, legs swinging.

Silently, you go over to Ballister. He looks at a cut on your arm. You aren’t entirely sure when you got it, but he does what he can to clean it.

“May I try ask again how you met?”

“Sure,” you say, looking to Nimona, she nods, encouraging smile in tow, “not the greatest of origin stories. I was always a street rat,” a crumbled up piece of paper hits your head, thrown by your best friend, “Was just always out on the streets. Never remembered anything from before. Guess either I was abandoned by parents dying, or they just left me.”

Ballister pauses, looking at you with sympathy. Nimona’s eyes are casted down to the floor. Like noted before, your lives weren’t easy, even if you had each other. The chaos was always fun, when you guys controlled it. Rebellion was something you both loved, but you were always focused more on survival than rebellion; even though you tried.

“I’m so sorry.”

You give him a sad smile, “I have my moments where…” you drift off. Nimona’s eyes shoot right up to your figure. She knows where your thoughts are going.

“Your parents were either unlucky, or bad people,” she says, “if it’s the latter, then they lost out on someone awesome.”

“Thanks, Nim.”

“No, she’s right,” Ballister says in support, “you’re a sweet, kid. You’re loyal, and kind.”

“But I don’t know who I am.”

“Well, if it helps, I thought I liked girls when I was around your age,” you chuckle softly at that after he does.

“I don’t think I want that from anyone,” you admit. Nimona smiles, glad you feel safe enough to say it. It’s your own small rebellion; she can’t be prouder of you, even muttering out a small ‘hell yeah’ under her breath.

“That’s cool,” Ballister says; you scrunch your eyes brows up slightly, not expecting him to say that, “we want what we want from life. And…if I may ask, about the other thing?”

“…I – I don’t…I don’t think ‘he’ or ‘she’ fit me. I mean,” you look to Nimona in self consciousness, “I know that’s swapping one label for another, but —”

“Labels can help us find a home in ourselves,” she says, wisely. Ballister looks to her, seeing her gaze soft as she continues, “sometimes they change. But, as long as it’s your choice on it changing, then it’s all cool with me.”

You nod, but Nimona catches the slight guilt in your eyes. She hops off the boot, approaching you as Ballister finishes his work on the cut – having only resumed it after your addition, “I always said I’ll tell ya as many times as you need. And I don’t mind, really,” she says, putting an arm on your good shoulder, “you’re my little buddy. My best friend. You’re Y/N, and who that is may shift and change, but you’re still you at the core of that.”

Emboldened by your friends and the feeling of safety to be honest, you look to the man in the boot, “shall we?”

The two look to the man, who then speaks. Saying he’s happy for you all, but now really just wants to be let go.

“Oh, yeah,” your best friend says, cracking her knuckles.

You get the video evidence that’s you need. This is it, your boss – and maybe even friend at this point – can be free. Sure, it pisses you both off at his want to still believe in this system – this system that is built to hate people like you – but you still go with him. Nimona says she’s in it because everyone hate’s Ballister too; and yes, that is part of your reasoning too – you guys aren’t alone anymore. But…if you’re honest with yourself, it’s mainly the latter part to that. To find your crew, you go by your labels and accept you fully.

The plan goes well, and you all escape together this time. Ballister holding you as you fly away.

“Why didn’t we think of this the first time?” You shout over the wind.

“We’re not very smart!” Nimona says with a chuckle.

“You have your moments, though?” Ballister asks, cheekily.

You both laugh this time, “seems so!” You say in sync.

Back at Ballister’s, the events of everything, including another brawl - this time you were more successful - though Ballister was almost taken in but you guys won, and feeling of safety, allows you to sleep soundly for once. Nimona runs a hand through your hair, head in her lap. Ballister puts a blanket over her.

“Don’t wake them, Boss,” is all Nimona says, quietly.

Ballister chuckles quietly, “I won’t, don’t worry,” he assures, before going to his computer.

Nimona soon falls asleep herself.

When Ballister meets with Ambrosius, nothing on your past comes up. Ambrosius is question on it, and says, “I’m sorry, Bal. I really am. I think that (he/she) —“

“They,” he interjects.

“Ok, sorry, yes,” Ambrosius says, correcting himself, “I think they may of met Nimona and been taken down a path. But,” he reaches out and takes Ballister’s hands in his own, “you can stop this. You can save them. We can.”

When Ballister comes back, Nimona seemingly has a sixth sense about this. She wakes up, happy, but slightly on edge when she sees the look on his face. Carefully, she removes herself from you.

“What are you?” Ballister seethes.

“We aren’t doing this here,” Nimona says, moving to the back of the couch, as if a shield.

“Answer me.”

“You aren’t dragging them into this,” she says, a fiery protectiveness in her gaze, “do you know how much they’ve been –“

“How much as done because of you?” That stings, she won’t lie, “you drag them around with you into your schemes. They’re an innocent pers-“

“Exactly,” Nimona says, keeping her voice quiet, but letting the anger still roll through her words, “so, if you wanna blame someone, which you oh so apparently do, then blame me, ok?”

“What’s going on?” You say, slurred as you still adjust to the world. You blink a few times, before slowly sit up on the sofa. You turn to your friends, and both have angry looks on their faces, “what’s wrong?”

“Gloreth,” Ballister says, “the darkness she was fighting to keep out? It was her,” he says, ripping the bandaid off instantly.

You look to Nimona, eyes wide, but not filled with fear, just shock.

“Y/N…” Nimona says, seemingly only seeing what she wants to.

“Nim,” you say, taking her hands in your own, “it doesn’t matter,” despite the reassurances, her mind is already made up. Those voices that she’s kept at bay for herself, and help you fight – and you have returned the favour in both small and large ways – are back in full force. You can see it on your friend…on your sister’s face. It pains you to no end.

“Get away from her, Y/N,” Ballister advices.

“No,” you say, firmly.

“Y/N, please…” you hate how her voice cracks a bit, looking at you.

“Hey, what was it you always said? We’re all we’ve got. You and me, yeah?”

“Don’t you understand what she is. She’s a —”

“No,” you spit, looking to Ballister, who is a bit taken aback, “it doesn’t matter. It matters who she really is. She’s Nimona. Just like I’m Y/N, and you’re Ballister. You’re the ex-knight. I’m the street rat, and Nimona is the reason this broken system was made in the first place.”

“It’s not broken,” Ballister says, running a hand through his hair.

“It always has been!” You shout, he jumps, “don’t you get that? Someone framed you for power. That power is used to make people like me hate themselves. It turns people against each other. It tears people apart, and you still support it!”

“Because it keeps us safe from monsters who want to destroy it!” He can’t stop the words as they tumble out. But, as soon as he sees you both flinch, he wants to take it back.

Nimona runs first, and as you go to follow, you pause at Ballister’s door, “you know, I really thought you’d be different,” the words strike him just like Ambrosius’ sword did. Then, you’re gone.

He slams his hand onto the table, swiping objects away. One gets his attention, that old arm he’d made. The spare. The useful spare. The one that got him through a lot before this better one.

Sure, he knew the metaphor didn’t completely work, but you were curious being. You just wanted to find safety, and Nimona just wanted to find that as well. You were both just looking for love in a world that hid it from you because of who you were.

He remembered when he first came out, how it was rocky. You were both young (sure, Nimona was old in terms of this story of her, but she was a young girl in physical form) and your lives had been several levels below rocky.

You and Nimona were all you had. He…god he realises, he was part of that too. For a moment, they let someone else in. Let someone else be a lifeline.

The words he’d said…he could see on Nimona’s face when she looked at you that something had changed in your dynamic as soon as he said it. She looked at you like she was a poison, and there was no antidote. He always remembered your words, about how at the beginning you would…oh, oh he knows what you mean now by what you wanted to do.

That pain because you couldn’t be free; you couldn’t completely be you. Oh no. Oh god.

He finds his sword. The thing that started him on this path. A path that led him to you both. Two spirited, loyal people.

He then feels the ground shake. He looks to the tv. He knows who that is. He knows who is on one last run.

“Good Gloreth,” he says, before running out of the door, just hoping that he isn’t too late. That he can make this right. As right as he can, anyway.

As for you, you try all you can to get Nimona’s attention, and she only flies away. God, you hate it; you’ve never really been out to this part of the walled off city before. You don’t know where she would go. You go to the town. There’s an abandoned building you went to one time when at a low. Nimona saved you that day, flying up to you and sitting with you. It must’ve been hours, but she managed to get you down and home. Sure, that location changed. But Nimona was a constant. She was family. She was home. She was security; always there for a pep talk or defence. You were always there with a plan or a way out. She’d always follow them, executing them to a T. You just worked.

You affirmed each other. Any doubts you’d talk about. You’d clean swap clothes, steal some if they didn’t fit or felt wrong. Tag areas with different names, but the same style so everyone knew it’s was you.

You feel a rumble as you reach the top of the building. A dark, shadowy creature, makes its way into town. Stomping over things, but not hitting anything. The only time it does is when it’s shot, screeching out in pain as it falls down.

You know who it is. You recognise a part of the scream.

It’s Nimona.

You look down the building, a hell of a drop. You see more of the flying vehicles going for her. Quickly, you do some calculations. You take a few steps back. Don’t get yourself wrong, you’re not in the healthiest of mindsets right now. If you miss, it’s a big drop, and then…well, whatever comes next. But, you have to try this. You have to try and protect your family as best you can. So, counting down quickly, you run.

You jump.

You land right on one of the vehicles. The guard is too shocked to really do anything. So, you push him with all your might, and he falls, but catches himself. You just focus on the controls of this thing. Not that many. It’s simple, but effective. It works.

So, despite some near crashes, you sort of get the hang of this thing. You use it to shoot at the attackers hurting Nimona. Some fire back at at you, others dodge and keep going at this person they decided needs to be put down for the benefit of the people.

You try your most, even get lucky, but there’s a lot of carnage going on; all their own doing.

You see, however, what Nimona is making a bee line for. The sharp end of a sword that was pointed at her so long ago.

You race forward, not even noticing your previous guard friend managing to climb back up. He wrestles with you for the controls. Once again sending you pretty much into things. However, he then pulls the breaks, but catches you before you fall. He’s not looking at you now, he’s looking at Nimona, who is stood in front of the sword, white, beating heart out.

“NO!” You cry, sending the vehicle forward once again. You get to the sword, jumping off it. The guard tries to stop you, but just misses.

“Stop —“ he calls. But, a new voice stops him.

“They’re with me!” Ballister, “they’re with me.”

He looks at you; so many apologies and silent words being sent at you at once.

You nod, “later,” you say, before running to save your sister. He follows. You both hold her back. She looks down at you.

Ballister apologises to her as well. She looks to you.

“Please don’t,” is all you can say, “I need my sister. I need my sister,” you say, repeating it as your tears finally leak.

She changes back, and you both catch her. She looks a mess, beaten to high hell, but alive.

“I love you too,” she says to you as the three of you hug. You pull back, looking at her with elation -she’d always shown it, never said it; but you did always, sort of selfishly, wanted to hear her say it – and she chuckles tiredly and brings you into a hug of just the two of you, “I need my sibling in my life too. Besides, you rebelled completely against them,” she says, having seen you on the roof and your stunt, “guess I could do something a bit different, yeah?”

You chuckle, tightening the hug. It feels right. Like pieces of a puzzle coming together. Ballister joins, and it mostly feels complete.

A hug of a family. Of people who love and accept each other.

People soon start running again, and you all see a giant cannon aimed directly at you all. You all look at the citizens, knowing it will hurt them as well.

“No –“ you say, looking to Nimona, knowing what she is planning.

She smiles, however; her mind is mind up.

She kisses you on the forehead, “I love you,” she mumbles, before giving Ballister a wink, “take care of them for me, Boss.”

“Nimona,” Ballister says, trying to stop her. To try find another way.

However, “we know I’m fast enough to stop that thing,” she says, “and we’re wasting too much time. I get to punch someone with a punchable face, like really hard,” she then looks back to you, and sees you about to break again, “hey,” she says, cupping your face in her hands, “I’ll always be here,” she puts her hand on your chest, “you’ve got this. You’re gonna build a new, better, world.”

With that, she turns into a phoenix, and flies right into the cannon. The explosion rocks the wall, creating a massive gap in it. What does it show? It shows that the outside world is beautiful, that they had anything to fear. There is danger there, but also beauty. So much beauty.

Ballister and you go down to try and find Nimona, instead you only find red specs flying around.

You curl up into a ball, letting out sobs.

Ambrosius comforts Ballister, but saw how you were with the guardsman above. Granted in glimpses, but given your friendship with Nimona, your distrust of this system that he too is now questioning is understandable. So, he lets Ballister take his time before bringing you into a hug as you both cry for your fallen friend.

Some time passes, and you are all called heroes. You move in with Ballister, and your friendship rebuilds. He becomes this role model to you of perseverance and light. Softness and love. He becomes a sort of parental figure. He supports you when you stumble, and you do the same for him.

Ambrosius respects your boundries. He’s a nice person, even if you have your many issues with the system. He listens, like actually listens to them, and does what he can to set them right. He knows it will take time, but he knows you’ll appreciate the effort.

It’s slow going with him, but he is sweet. He’s kind. So, you are warming up to him. And he’s getting to know you. And, you do have to admit, him and Bal are sweet.

One day, when you’re in home alone, Bal and Ambrosius out on a date, you hear something. It’s like the wind, but that’s not possible as it’s a peaceful day. You then turn, seeing a glare of light. It gets brighter and brighter —

And then it stops. You lower your hand, and drop your bowl of popcorn. It doesn’t break, but the effect is there.

“Hey, champ,” you hear her say.

And you barrel right into Nimona’s awaiting arms. She chuckles, spinning you around before putting you back on the ground, “oh, look at you!” She says, turning your head with her hands, noting the subtle changes to your style and your looks, “you look so good!”

You chuckle, before going in for another hug. She hugs you back just as tightly.

She shuts her eyes, hoping to hold this moment in her mind forever; just as you are as well.

She pulls back, then looks to the TV, “what you watching, squirt?” She asks. You grab her hand, and pull her to it, hopping over it, which she mirrors on the other side, before now sharing the blanket with her and handing her the bowl and filling it up with more popcorn.

You hit play, and both watch the TV.

Bal comes back, and does a double take when he sees you both. It’s like a mirror version of the last time he saw you asleep on her lap, hand going through your hair again.

“Oh, hey, Boss,” she says, “just figured I’d pop in, say ‘hi’ and all that.”

Ballister can only laugh, tears of happiness forming in his eyes.

“Hi,” he says, holding his arms open.

“Hey,” she says, hugging him.

The family is complete.

Y/N and Nimona the siblings; and Balister and Ambrosius the parental/older siblings. The label isn’t exactly exact, but sometimes labels aren’t. They fluctuate.

But the love, just as the person, is still there. Still them. Still have all that love and hope inside of them.

Some people like labels, some don’t.

Either way, you all fit together. You all know what you are.

Family. And a family who aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.