#someone please tell this cow he looks good in colours

[ronkoza]

More honeymoon cows, these Arne sketches are most likely photos that Tor took.

Tor belongs to @littleulvar

[spreadyovrwings]

64 Oslo Square

"Companion' Middle English. From Old French ‘compaignon', literally 'one who breaks bread with another.

Strapped for cash, John gets a job at a bakery as their new delivery boy. Juggling school and Queen and work is exhausting, but it’s more than worth it. It's worth it because of you.

Warnings for this chapter: obscene flirting... characters realising their life has more to it than their job? other characters learning other people aren't quite so scary and can be trusted? those two characters fancying each other like crazy? yeah.

//

Chapter Nine

Steam billowed from the kettle’s spout. You watched it swell and curl through the air, until it hit the low kitchen ceiling and dispersed. On the mantelpiece, your grandmother’s carriage clock chimed ten.

It was the longest you’d been able to sleep in in years. Though you’d been trying to cast your mind back all morning as you set about making breakfast, you couldn’t recall the last time you’d been able to go to bed without setting an alarm.

Though the days were growing steadily warmer as summer rolled in, mornings were still cold in your little flat. You tucked your chin under the collar of your thick woollen jumper and puffed out a breath to warm your body.

It had not been a good week.

It’s difficult to anticipate how one might react in a situation like yours. You thought if someone had asked you a few months ago what you might say if given life-altering news like the kind Gladys had given you, you probably would’ve said you’d rage and eff and blind until the problem righted itself. You’d go out fighting, at least. But when Gladys set off her grenade, you didn’t say a word. You just stared at her. You stared and stared, and stared some more.

It didn’t take long for you to find your voice, though. Not after Gladys started to describe the whole ordeal. She couldn’t seem to get the words out fast enough, it was like watching someone in confession. Her open mouth was like a gutter, gushing words and apologies and useless explanations until finally, you couldn’t take anymore.

“You selfish cow!”

John came into the room when the shouting started. Mickey was close behind. One of them put a hand on your shoulder, it must have been Mickey because the hand was heavy and solid like a slab of concrete.

“Skip…”

John slipped his fingers between yours, trying to bring you back down to Earth, but you barely felt him.

“How could you do this to us? To Mickey? To me?”

Gladys covered her face with her hands, her chunky rings glinting in the low lights.

“I’m sorry!”

“He’s just had a baby!”

“I know, I know-”

“This is my home!”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m- I’m so sorry, love. I didn’t think in a million years he would-”

You stopped listening. John was murmuring close to your ear, telling you to stop now. His long fingers were wrapped tight around yours, keeping you grounded but only just.

“Sweetheart, leave her,” he murmured. “You should get some air. Just come with me and breathe for a second. Please.”

But that didn’t sound like a reasonable option either. You didn’t want to go outside. You didn’t want to keep having this conversation either. Standing here, shouting at Gladys, that was the only thing that made sense.

“How could you be so stupid.”

The words barely made it out from between your gritted teeth.

You felt John’s hand leave yours. Mickey too took a step back. They both seemed to realise this wasn’t their fight, this wasn’t something they had a right to be involved in, even though they were grieving too.

Gladys was the brightest, most joyous person you knew. She flitted from person to person like a hummingbird. With her brightly coloured hair and her clattering jewellery, she was as dazzling on the outside as she was on the inside. But right now, she seemed to have shrunk a few inches. Her colour had dulled. Her light had gone out.

“I just thought he was interested in me,” Gladys looked down at the floor, ashamed. “No one’s ever been interested in me. And he seemed so eager to learn about the bakery and I thought- I thought maybe he was just proud of me. For building this place. For doing something so amazing on my own. But I was wrong.”

You could still feel your pulse pounding in your neck and the base of your skull. You couldn’t recall ever feeling so angry and let down in all your life. Time seemed to be rushing by you, and all you wanted was for John to hold your hand again.

Gladys still couldn’t look at you. In a way, you were relieved. You didn’t think you’d be able to meet her gaze either.

It was difficult to order the feelings surging through you. You loved Gladys. You owed her so much. You’d do anything for her and until today, you would have sworn she’d always put you, or at least Oslo Square, above all else. Despite everything, she was a good person. You knew that. She was enticing and gregarious and too trusting and a fool. And she had let you down for the last time.

“I will never forgive you for this,” you said, then turned and walked into the kitchen, through the back door and out into the alley.

But you didn’t get far. You never would.

Sinking down on the bakery’s back step, you folded your knees up to your body and prayed the pressure would take the ache away. It didn’t. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the sob that lay in wait in the back of your throat.

Sun filtered through into the alleyway, falling on the ground in puddles of light. Above you, the sky was so clear, there wasn’t a cloud in sight. And you just wanted to cry and cry and cry.

There was a sound behind you, the scuff of a boot against the cement steps. You pushed your face into your crossed arms, not ready to face anyone just yet.

“Skip?”

It was John. Of course it was. Who else would they send after you?

He called you by your nickname again, then as he came to sit beside you, your real name, softer, more intimate.

Finally, you raised your head.

He was looking at you closely, his clever eyes switching across your face. He was trying to work out how upset you were, how carefully he needed to tread around you. That was just his way, John was just being a good friend, but right now, you didn't want kindness and gentleness, you just wanted to be left alone.

“John, I think maybe…”

“It’s going to be alright.”

It wasn’t like him to interrupt. Usually, John weighed every word with care, as if each syllable would cost him a great deal, or he had a finite number at his disposal. You had always admired that about him; everyone else in your life spoke so carelessly, like it didn't matter at all.

“John…”

“C’mon,” he said, nodding now, like he’d made up his mind about something. “Let’s go upstairs. We’ll have a cuppa and we’ll-”

You wrapped a hand around his arm and squeezed gently, asking him to stop without a word. John looked so crestfallen, you couldn’t bear it.

You stood up, crossing your arms over your chest, as if it would help to keep the sickness sitting in your throat at bay.

“I think maybe you should go home,” you said as gently as you could. “I’ll call you later. Okay?”

John looked surprised, then a little hurt. It shouldn’t have annoyed you but it did a little. He had no idea what you were going through, he should just listen and know that when you said you needed some time, you meant it.

But the small part of your brain that could still think clearly knew that wasn’t fair. If the roles were reversed, as they had been before, you knew you would badger John relentlessly until he was forced to talk about whatever was bothering him. But this wasn’t about an exam or a tiff with his band, this was your whole life, your whole future, and it had wrenched from your grasp without you even knowing it

“Okay.” John slowly rose to his feet, his hands awkwardly moving from his pockets to his hips, behind his back and then to his pockets again. “I’ll come see you. Later.”

You nodded, your lips pulled back in a grim smile.

“I’ll call you,” you said again firmly.

For a moment, John didn’t move, he didn’t even blink. Then finally, he seemed to get the message.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Just… Be careful with yourself, darling.”

Then he was gone and you were alone again.

That was two days ago. You hadn’t left your lonely flat since.

You poured boiling water into your favourite mug, waited a few minutes, then added the milk. Your movements were robotic, rehearsed, the habit of a lifetime that required no thought at all, and thank God, as you didn’t have the energy to think or feel much of anything.

The phone rang again but you didn’t even spare it a glance as you padded back to your bedroom and closed the door.

/

Life went on like this for a few more days before finally, you decided to pull yourself together. You got dressed, headed downstairs, and debated whether or not to turn on the ovens.

Mickey hadn’t come into work since the news. You couldn’t blame him, he had a baby at home and a wife to reassure. You had no one. Just an empty flat and a cold, silent bakery. But even that wasn’t yours anymore. Mickey phoned often enough though, asking if there were any updates and if he could do anything to help. You wished you had something to tell him.

You looked around at the old kitchen. The multicoloured tiles from renovation after renovation, the cookers and the ovens, all older than half the buildings on the road, the pots and pans, bowls and utensils, all lying unused. They seemed to stare at you, waiting for answers, just like Mickey, just like the customers you watched from your window, who passed by every day and soon left again, looking disappointed and confused.

Yeah, you thought, me too.

You grabbed some paper from behind the till, scribble a quick note, then sellotaped it to the door.

Closed until further notice.

You stared at the sign, letting the words truly sink in, then turned and went to go hide yourself away upstairs.

Then the door chimed.

“Skip?”

You looked up, heart pounding. It had only been a few days, but it was the longest you’d gone without seeing John for the best part of a year.

You’d somehow forgotten how tall he was, how lanky and gangly he looked standing in the bakery doorway, his perfect, long hair a striking contrast to his shabby clothes.

He smiled at you, shy and unsure, and you wished you could do more than stare back.

“Hi,” John said as he carefully pushed open the door all the way and finally stepped inside.

As the door rang shut again, you gritted your teeth. You thought if he’d asked, if he’d given you the choice, you probably would’ve said that now wasn’t a good time and he should come back later.

“Hi,” you said instead, and watched him pocket the key Gladys had given him on his first day.

John looked at you like he was waiting for you to say more. You couldn’t blame him for that. You’d led every conversation you’d ever shared, guiding him and teasing him, wheedling information out of him with a fine hook. Now, you couldn’t for the life of you think of anything to say.

“You haven’t been answering the phone,” John said eventually. “I was worried.”

He cautiously approached the desk. Perhaps he’d only just noticed the thick tension in the air, or maybe he was just having trouble pushing through it, but he seemed to take careful steps, his eyes fixed on you.

“Well,” You tried not to sound huffy but it came out all wrong. “I’m kind of dealing with something right now. I don’t have time for…”

“What?”

He was challenging you, daring you to say more. You clammed up, feeling chastised.

“Did you talk to Gladys?”

You nodded.

You’d spent the last few days in meetings with your boss, discussing what had happened, trying to figure a way out of this mess, going over the details and again and again until you were both exhausted and resigned to the idea that this place was no longer yours. Everything that Gladys had built, everything you’d worked for, was gone.

“What did she say? What’s going on?”

John came closer until he could rest his hands on the counter. You stared at them, following the outline of each of his long fingers.

He really did have such lovely hands. The round onyx ring he wore on his little finger, the silver one he always took off and pocketed when he was helping out, because it was Freddie’s and he didn’t want to ruin it. The little scars from his childhood and faded burns from mucking about with machines. You’d missed them.

“Did you fix it?”

You pressed your lips together and shook your head.

“No.”

At home, you blankly stared at the ceiling, at the television screen, into the mirror. It had slowly begun to dawn on you that outside of 64 Oslo Square, you had nothing. Friends you saw once in a blue moon, no hobbies, no interests, no idea of what the future would hold. Everything, you’d put everything into the bakery, your whole life. In just a few weeks, you’d even have to find a new flat. Everything was falling apart.

“There has to be something we can do. She’s made a mistake.”

“I know.”

“C’mon, love. We can sort this out.”

It was too much. It was just all too much. You didn’t want to hear positivity and hopefulness, you didn’t want anyone to be kind to you, especially John, not after the way you’d pushed him away. You didn’t want gentleness and softness, because it meant he thought something had happened to warrant that care, and you didn’t want to be someone who needed looking after. You didn’t want to be someone that had had something so awful happen to them.

“I can’t do this.”

You pushed away from the counter and moved into the kitchen, heading for the door to your flat. All you wanted was to crawl back into bed and shut out the world. Compartmentalism had got you nowhere, not when one of the best things about your job had turned up out of the blue asking you a million questions and caring about you far more than you deserved.

You didn’t expect John to follow you, but you heard his boots clunking against the kitchen floor, his voice soft and low as he called out again,

“Skip?”

You bit back a sob. You weren’t Skip anymore. You weren’t the captain of anything. You had no bakery, no business, no prospects, you were just- You were nothing.

“Leave me alone.”

You tried to sound forceful but the words got caught in your throat.

“Love, please-”

John was right behind you as you wrenched open the door up to your flat. You could hear his stupid boots on the stairs.

“John, I can’t-”

“Just talk to me.”

“You don’t understand!”

You stopped in the middle of the stairs and span around. It must have taken John by surprise because he staggered to a halt, one foot hanging in midair, as if he’d been in the middle of a step.

“In a month, I won’t have a home or a job, and this place will be packed up and turned into luxury flats or some half-arsed storefront selling overpriced street food to bastards like him, and I won’t have anything.”

It was as if someone else was doing the talking. You could almost believe you were standing beside yourself, watching as you shouted at John, your eyes shining and your jaw tight. You wanted to tell yourself to stop, that he didn’t deserve to be talked to like that, but you couldn’t close the floodgates.

“And you, you’ll swan off with your band or pack it in and become an engineer, and you’ll forget all about us and this place, and I’ll never see you again.”

John’s eyes flashed but his expression was as neutral and measured as ever.

“That’s not going to happen,” he said evenly. “You really think that little of me?”

“Oh, shut up, I was only-”

“Don’t tell me to shut up. You don’t get to decide how much I care about something. Alright?”

“Why would you care? You’re just the delivery boy. Some student Gladys took pity on cos she can’t resist strays.”

“I love this place too, you know I do. Things aren’t as easy for me as you think.”

You scoffed. It annoyed you that he could be so rational and calm at a time like this, when all you wanted to do was shout and accuse and lash out.

“Oh, poor John. It must be so hard for you, being a genius and having to choose between being rich and famous and being a bloody rocket scientist, or whatever the fuck it is you do. Life must be so difficult.”

Finally, John scowled. He moved closer, so now he was on the step just below yours, your faces level for the first time.

“You don’t know anything about my life.”

“Not for lack of trying!”

“You’re so- I’ve given you more of myself than I’ve ever given anyone!”

“Oh, well lucky me.”

“God, you’re-”

“What?”

“You’re…”

John trailed off. He seemed to realise, at the same time as you, just how close you were to each other.

You waited, hardly daring to breathe. John was maybe a few inches away, his chin tilted up ever so slightly so that he could meet your gaze. His pretty, silvery green eyes were fixed on yours, as if to make a point. You were fighting the same urge, to not look down at his lips, angled so perfectly up towards you, it was enough to make your chest lurch.

Slowly, so slowly it was almost painful, you watched as John’s gaze finally slipped and he glanced down at your mouth. Surrender. You followed immediately, and felt time speed up again. You caught your breath. Your heart was hammering so hard, you were sure John must’ve been able to hear it, feel it.

John’s gaze dropped again and stayed for longer this time, very obviously debating something that terrified and excited you all at once. It was just a matter of who would give in first.

“We’re not going to kiss,” you whispered, not trusting your voice. “Not like…”

You made the mistake of letting your eyes fall to his lips again, one last time. They parted ever so slightly, an invitation, like he was asking you to give in and take what you’d been wanting for so long. You pressed your lips together and immediately regretted it. You’d given yourself away.

The corner of John’s mouth twitched up into a little smile.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured. “You said some horrible things to me.”

You pulled in a lungful of air and closed your eyes. The moment was gone, but it still took you a second or two to get your feet back on the ground.

“I’m sorry,” You rubbed your tired eyes, feeling guilty and ashamed and dizzy all at once. “I was being stupid.”

John shrugged.

“Just because it was hurtful doesn’t mean it wasn’t accurate.”

“Still, I’m being an idiot. I’m sorry, John. It’s been a fucking awful week.”

He smiled to let you know he understood. Then his eyes dropped to your mouth again, just for a second, but you couldn’t have missed it.

“Not like what?” he asked softly.

“What?”

“You said ‘We’re not going to kiss. Not like…’. Not like what?” John raised his eyebrows. “Not like this, you mean?”

It hadn’t occurred to you that you’d spoken those words out loud. It was jarring to hear John repeat them back to you, and even more surprising to realise that’s exactly what you meant.

You nodded.

“Not like this.”

This wasn’t the right time, as much as it pained you. He was so close, looking up at you so sweetly, telling you how much he cared about you and that he just wanted to help. But John was right, you’d been horrible to him, and you were so sad you could barely breathe. When you did kiss him, you wanted it to be right, you wanted it to be good, you wanted to make the world stop turning.

John nodded, looking down at his ridiculous shoes. When he looked up again, his gaze still lingered antagonistically around your mouth. You wondered if he was doing it on purpose.

“When then?”

“What?”

“When can I kiss you?”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed.

“When you get me my bakery back.”

John grinned. He had such a lovely smile, so bright and honest.

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“Promise?”

John crossed his index finger over his heart.

“Promise.”

You beamed at each other. For a moment, it was as if nothing had changed, like nothing was wrong, or could ever be wrong. Because John was here and he was smiling at you, and he wanted to kiss you and knew you wanted to kiss him. But then reality slowly seeped in, harsh and so cold, it made you shiver.

“It’s hopeless, John,” you murmured, and pressed your face into your palms.

John wrapped his long fingers around your forearms and squeezed gently. When he carefully pulled your hands away from your face, you saw he was smiling sweetly.

“Shall I stick the kettle on?” he asked.

You’d never heard anything more romantic in your life.

You led him up the stairs to your flat and let him make you a cup of tea, while you sat on the sofa and watched him move around in the kitchen.

It was only tiny. Even ‘kitchen’ was a generous word, it was just the two sideboards, the hob and some cupboards set into the wall, but John moved around them as if he’d lived there all his life, and you were, once again, assured that he was fated to be 64 Oslo Square’s delivery boy.

“I was thinking about finding a flat. For after uni.” John handed you a mug and sat down beside you. “You could, um… Maybe I could start looking now and… You know, obviously we don’t know when things will… But I could look and…”

You blinked at him.

“Are you asking me to move in with you?”

John’s cheeks were tinged pink.

“I just want you to know you have options. I know you’re going to figure this out, but I want you to know you have somewhere safe to stay.”

Your chest squeezed as a wave of affection washed over you. How did you ever get so lucky? It was a small relief, in a way, to know that no matter what happened, you had a friend in John. The idea of moving into a flat together felt unreal right now. The more you pondered on it, the more the severity of your situation seemed to settle in.

“There’s nothing to figure out, John.” You sighed. “Gladys signed the paperwork. You know, she didn’t even really understand what she was signing? He got her drunk then pushed the papers across the table and told her he wanted to invest in the bakery, she just had to sign. Daft cow.”

“How’s Mickey taking it?”

“He’s alright. He’s a fantastic baker, he could find a job anywhere.”

“So could you.”

“I couldn’t.”

“You’re joking. Everything you make is incredible! And you’re passionate and you’re dedicated… You could find somewhere else. Maybe start your own place someday.”

You laughed softly, embarrassed by the compliment. His faith in you was flattering. No one had ever said anything like that to you before.

You reached out and took John’s hand, folding your fingers between his and interlocking them, as if you’d done it a million times before.

“You’re so sweet. But I can’t.” You squeezed his hand gently. “I started working here when I was sixteen. Have I told you that?”

John shook his head.

“I used to pass by on my way to school. Me and my friends would come in every Friday. And every day, Gladys was there, behind the counter. And she was mad and funny and she let us stay all afternoon, even though we only had enough money for a cuppa and a cake. And when I left school, there was one place I wanted to work.”

You looked up at the photo of you, Gladys and Mickey on your mantelpiece. Your tiny, ridiculous, mismatched family.

“I was just behind the counter at first, like you. But it was fun, it was a living. Then Shaz, the head baker back then, she started letting me help out. I loved it so much. The time things took. The attention to detail. The warmth of the kitchen. And it’s stressful but it’s full of love. You know? Everything we make is…”

You squeezed John’s hand again.

“When you see people smiling because of the things you make… It’s the best feeling in the world. I asked if I could start working as a baker and Gladys agreed, and even knocked a bit off the price of this place.”

Together, you looked around at your tiny flat. It wasn’t much but it was home, it was yours. You’d never had anything that was just yours before, and you couldn’t stress it enough, the importance of having space, having ownership, a room of one’s own, especially for a working class woman in 1973, especially for someone making it on their own.

“This is my home, John. And these people, they’re my family. I had nothing and the bakery gave me a purpose. I can’t just find somewhere else. I can’t. I can’t. It’s Oslo Square or nothing.”

John watched you for a moment, and you wondered if maybe you’d bored him with your outpouring. You wouldn’t be shocked. But then he raised your interlocked hands and held them to his chest.

“I’ll get it back for you. I promise.”

You laughed softly. He’d surprised you yet again.

“Where did you come from, New Boy? You really are an angel, aren’t you.”

“I don’t know about that.” John shyly glanced away. “The bakery means a lot to me too now. I want to help. If I can.”

Was it too early to revise your ‘no kissing’ policy? You really wanted to kiss him. Actually, kissing John would probably fix most of your problems. Or, at the very least, make them much easier to deal with. God, you could probably make him moan with just a kiss, you could tell from looking at him that he’d be a noisy one. Or maybe he’d lay you back on the couch and run those stupidly big hands all over you, playing you like one of his instruments. You wouldn’t mind that at all.

“Skip?”

You blinked. John was looking at you expectantly.

“Oh, sorry,” You gave him a wonky sort of a grin. “Just a bit tired, I think.”

John didn’t look like he believed you but he let you off the hook.

“I think you need to get out of the house.”

You had to agree. Aside from nipping to the shops for the essentials, you hadn’t left your flat since Gladys’ news.

“Where do you wanna go?”

“Well, actually,” John said guiltily. “I have to meet the lads at three. I wondered if you wanted to come.”

“To watch you rehearse?”

“It’ll probably be really boring for you, but you’ll get to see a few arguments. And we can get lunch first or dinner after or… I don’t mind, I just want you with me.” John blushed. “But you can say no, I didn’t mean to-”

You laughed softly. He really was the sweetest boy alive.

“I’d love to, John.”

/

That afternoon, Queen were rehearsing in a studio space in South London. John was tempted to grab the tube but you convinced him onto the bus, remembering, as you handed over your change to the driver, that he’d once admitted he was nervous about travelling that way. If he was going to be a proper Londoner, you thought, he had to learn how to use the buses, and the 49 seemed as good a place to start as any.

You watched John watch the world go by. He really was so beautiful and he had no clue. He had some semblance of an idea that he was alright, you knew that. The way John preened in front of every passing mirror told you so. But he didn’t see the lovely slope of his strong nose, or the way his grey eyes shone every time he saw something that piqued his interest, or the way his lovely, funny mouth twitched at the corners just before he was about to murmur something to you in that lovely, funny voice.

You’d tell him, you decided. Soon. You’d tell him just how beautiful you thought he was.

It was only when you followed John through the quiet, carpeted corridors of the recording studios that you began to feel nervous. You’d never been anywhere like that before, it was a foreign land.

As you passed, you peered through the porthole windows of every door to catch glimpses of steely grey microphones and mixing desks in big glass boxes. It was like something out of a film, something you’d only ever seen in magazines and photographs.

John seemed totally at ease. You supposed you were seeing him in his world for the first time. He would protest, he was a scientist, an engineer, he wasn’t a rockstar, but he was a musician, through and through. This world of dials and crossfades and endless electric cables suited him very well.

Eventually, he pushed open a door and held it open for you, gesturing for you to go in first.

The room was only small, probably all he and his friends could afford to hire by the hour. In the corner sat a shiny, black grand piano. Freddie tapped on the keys, humming under his breath as if building a tune just from a few plaintive notes. Next to that, there was a row of guitars all standing to attention, and a drum kit, steadily being put together to just the right requirements by Roger.

He looked up when the door opened.

“Hi, John. We were just saying-” Roger stopped in his tracks and immediately brightened when he saw you come in. “Bakery girl!”

“Hiya, Rog.”

You laughed as he came over to give you a big hug. It had been a while since you’d seen John, so it had been even longer since you saw his friends. You were sure Roger was only sweet to you because he knew it annoyed John but you were more than happy to play along.

John waited until Roger had gone back to his drum kit to stop frowning.

“Brian not here yet?” he asked, a little gruffly.

Freddie scoffed.

“He’s late. Again. He’s teaching somewhere in Balham. He’ll probably be hours, you know how he likes to bang on. You don’t play guitar, do you, love?”

You smiled shyly as Freddie also came over to greet you.

“No, sorry. Just the recorder in Year 3.”

“Ah, you’ll fit right in.”

Freddie beamed.

You didn’t know him as well as Roger but every time you saw Freddie, you practically tripped over yourself to befriend him. He was just so cool, so beautiful, his voice soft and his mannerisms so enchanting. He drew you in, just as he did the crowds when he was on stage, like a siren beckoning in beguiled ships.

“How are you doing?” Freddie held you by the shoulders as his soft dark eyes searched yours. “We’ve heard about this awful business with that twat. Andrew, was it?”

“Alastair.”

“That’s the bastard.” Freddie shook his head. “I’m so sorry, love.”

You wondered how much John had told them. By all accounts, he wasn’t the most talkative of people. In fact, you were still getting used to how much he spoke now. If you compared the boy standing beside you to the boy who first anxiously walked into the bakery that cold January night, you would almost say they were completely different people.

“Thanks, Freddie.”

“Are you staying?” asked Roger.

You glanced at John and he shot you an encouraging smile.

“If it’s okay with you lot?”

“Make yourself at home!”

You found a seat off to the side, just behind John’s amp.

You couldn’t help staring, transfixed, as he got himself set up. You could watch his hands forever, the way his fingers slipped over the strings, how the instrument fit perfectly against his body. Even watching him plug in his bass was mesmerising. It all just seemed to come so naturally to John, as most things did. He really was wonderful.

Queen warmed up slowly, giving Brian more time to turn up, and as they did, they passed ideas back and forth to each other. It was like a foreign language. Musical terms, notes, lyrics, pacing, you didn’t understand any of it, though you loved to listen to the boys figure it all out together.

For the most part, Freddie and Roger talked back and forth, while John watched, thumbing pensively at the thickest string of his bass as he waited to play. But you noticed how they never decided anything without consulting John for the final say, and his word seemed to be gospel.

John looked back at you over his shoulder and shot you a rare confident smile. You just had time to blush before the door opened and Brian fell in, apologising and shaking his head so that his wild, dark curls danced.

Brian waved to you but didn’t waste any time chatting. He grabbed his guitar and struck up a chord that filled the room with that familiar, quintessentially them sound.

They were magic to watch. You couldn’t wait to see what they became.

Soon, Freddie started to complain that he needed a drink to soothe his raw voice, and Roger and Brian went with him. They asked if you and John wanted anything but you both declined quickly, eager to be alone together again.

As soon as the door shut behind them, John turned to you properly and smiled. He nodded down at his bass, asking wordlessly if you’d like to try.

Grinning, you nodded too, and tried not to look too pleased as he ducked out of the strap. John gently lifted it over your head, and you tried to keep still as he settled the bass against you. You’d never held a bass guitar before. You hadn’t expected it to be so heavy.

“Oof, wow.”

You rolled your shoulders back, adjusting your posture so that you could balance its weight better.

“I know,” John’s hands skirted over your shoulders, making sure the strap was sitting comfortably first before he came round to stand in front of you. “I’ll have a terrible back when I’m an old man, I’m sure of it.”

Trying to remember how his hands moved when you watched him play, you lifted your left hand and pressed the tip of your index finger against the first metal string. It was thick and strong, and indented your skin as you pressed down. You couldn’t imagine how he managed to play so quickly, so deftly. The instrument seemed ungainly and oversensitive to you.

“You make it look so easy.”

John just smiled.

It was nice to see him in his element, to see him confident and sure of himself. He’d had once told you that he only picked up the bass because his first band needed it. You found it hard to believe, John and the bass, they seemed made for each other.

“You’ve almost got it. Here.”

You held your breath as John moved to stand behind you again. His left hand came up to cover yours, gently twisting your wrist around so that it was positioned nicely under the neck. With his other hand, he plucked a few notes on the lowest string, then took your index finger between his and showed you how to curl it just right. You swallowed thickly, and hoped he wouldn’t be able to hear your shaky breaths.

“Feels funny,” John said as he watched you pluck out a few tentative notes. “Me teaching you something for once.”

Face hot, you just tried to concentrate on playing right.

“You’re a much better baker than I am a bassist.”

John moved closer to correct your left hand, and now his chest was pressed up against your back. You tensed, trying to keep as still as possible but it was difficult to concentrate with him so close. All questions about whether he was doing it on purpose left your head when he spoke softly by your ear, his breath tickling your skin.

“I don’t know,” John let his hand slip down your forearm, just as it did the neck of his bass, and tentatively let it rest just above your waist. “Looks pretty good from where I’m standing.”

You stopped attempting to play, it was pointless. You couldn’t so much as hold a thought in your head, let alone carry a tune. You turned your head to the side until you could just see John out of the corner of your eye.

“You’ve taught me a lot, you know,” John went on. “Not just the baking. You’ve made me much braver.”

His big hand felt heavy against your side. You were suddenly hyper aware of the slightest movement of each of his fingers. While his other arm was slung across the body of the bass, his fingers tucked underneath it to support its weight, the fingers of his left hand pressed into your soft waist ever so slightly and you had to hold back a gasp. You were touching so much, it was insane, you could barely remember your own name.

“I think I just bullied you into talking more.”

Your voice was shaky and low. You knew John would catch it but you didn’t care. You were too busy thinking about how warm his chest felt against your back, and how if you angled your hips just right, you could sink back into him until his hips were fitted against your arse. Then John spoke again, so close now that it felt like his lips were close to brushing your neck

“I’m glad you did.”

You could practically feel him smile against your skin as he added,

“You’re good for me, I think.”

Slowly, carefully, you turned your head a little further, and John shifted around so that you could meet each other’s gaze properly.

His confidence seemed to slip the moment he knew you could see him, but the hand that rested heavily on your waist slipped down to your hip and squeezed.

“I think you’re good for me too,” you said, and smiled when John blushed under your gaze.

There was no space between you at all. Just one move, one inclination of your head, one press of John’s hand, and you’d be in his arms, your fingers in his lovely hair, your mouth pressed against his with only the bass between you, and suddenly the worst week of your life would be over.

You had just the wherewithal to realise how wrong you’d been. You thought you were alone, you thought you had no life outside of the bakery, but here you were, in the arms of the sweetest boy you’d ever known, listening to his band create some of the best music you’d ever heard, and John truly believed everything would be okay. Maybe you ought to trust him.

John let out a short breath, the corners of his mouth turning upwards, as if he too was nervous and excited and uncertain all at once. How sweet it was to know he felt exactly what you were feeling.

“What you said about, erm, no kissing till I’ve got your bakery back,” John murmured, his pretty eyes fixed unashamedly on your mouth. “Is that a… Is that a hard and fast rule? Or more like a suggestion?”

You smiled, and watched John’s adam’s apple bob in his lovely throat.

“What do you think, pretty boy?”

It was very clear from the look in John’s eyes what he thought about that. He bent his head, slowly and with great consideration, just like with everything he did, until the tip of his nose brushed yours. You felt your eyes close without you needing to think about it, your lips parting as you heard John say,

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting t-”

“Oh, have we got a new bassist? Lovely.”

Your eyes snapped open in time to see Freddie swoop into the room with a drink in his hand. He was smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

“I can’t tell you how pleased I am, love. You’ll look much better in the costumes.”

John begrudgingly moved away but he was smiling to himself. Caught. When his hands left you, it felt like all the air had come rushing back into the room.

The boys chatted as they filed back in, passing around ideas and thoughts on the next show, but you could barely hear them over the sound of your own heart thumping in your ears.

John stayed close. You couldn’t be more relieved. After today, after this week, you never wanted him to move out of arm’s reach again.

“Thanks for today,” you whispered to him, when you were sure the others wouldn’t hear you. “I needed this.”

John shrugged, then carefully helped you out from under his bass. He slipped it over his head, then swung the guitar round so that it wouldn’t bump against you as he took your hand in his.

“You’ve saved me enough times. It’s about time I returned the favour, Captain.”

“I’m still Captain, am I?”

“Of course! You’ll always be my captain.”

“I was worried… I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to see me anymore, now you don’t have to.”

John smiled.

“It wasn’t the bakery I was coming to see, love. I haven’t been getting up at the crack of dawn and peddling across half of London for the bakery. I didn’t suffer scraped knees and a daft helmet for Gladys and her bloody ancient coffee machine.”

You marvelled at this for a second, then you smiled.

“It’s Mickey, isn’t it.”

John laughed.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. Can’t get enough of the bloke.”

“I knew it, I knew it.”

”It’s the arms.”

“Who can blame you.”

//

Master List

[doll-in-the-walls]

Strangely Charming - Chapter 14

Chapter Sum: When Calcifer sees ‘Dart’ is not alone, he has a decision to make and secrets are revealed. 

A/N: Okay so apparently between writing Charming Eternity and Strangely Charming I changed Cal’s eye colour XD I made it hazel (like blue green) in CE and brown in SC and Colin Morgan’s eyes are actually blue… So I did my best to find gifs where it’s too dark to see that Colin’s eyes are blue so pretend they’re brown XD also this is an AU for the two anyway so this universe Cal has brown eyes.

I also just wanted to give a huge thank you to everyone who has reblogged this fic on Tumblr, and everyone who's commented, given kudos, and bookmarked on AO3. It means a lot to know people are enjoying the fic. ^-^

Warnings: None

Words: 2239

(Previous Chapter)

The group closed themselves in the bus as the sun went down. Once it was dark, Lucas climbed up onto the roof with his binoculars to keep an eye out for Dart. Inside the bus Steve opened and closed his lighter out of boredom while Dustin paced. Max sat in one of the bus seats still attached and Calcifer sat next to Steve.

“So you really fought one of these things before?” Max asked. Steve looked over and nodded. “And you’re, like, totally, 100% sure it wasn’t a bear?”

“Shit. Don’t be an idiot,” Dustin said. “Okay? It wasn’t a bear. Why are you even here if you don’t believe us?” he asked her. “Just go home.”

“Hey,” Calcifer said with a frown, shaking his head when Dustin looked at him.

“Geesh. Someone’s cranky,” Max said as she stood. “Past your bedtime?” she asked before she climbed up to join Lucas. 

“That’s good,” Steve said. “Just show her you don’t care.”

“I don’t,” Dustin said. Steve nodded with a grin and winked. “Why are you winking, Steve? Stop.”

“Please stop giving him relationship advice,” Calcifer muttered into his hands from beside Steve. “It really is painful to watch.”

“Hey, man, I don’t see you giving him any advice. When’s the last time you even had a girlfriend, huh?”

“Steve,” Dustin said with a frown.

“I mean if you’re so good with the ladies, you tell him what he should do,” Steve said. "Well?" Calcifer looked away and let out a scoff as he shook his head. “No really. How do you get girls?”

“I don’t like girls!” Calcifer finally snapped. Steve leaned away but instantly winced at himself. “Relax, I don’t like you either,” Calcifer hissed as he stood and moved away to the window. 

“Hey, man, look I didn’t-”

“Just shut up,” Calcifer said. 

“No, really, I’m sor-” Steve tried again, but Calcifer held up a hand as he moved to look outside.

“No, shh, shh, shut up,” he snapped. “It’s here.”

“What? How do you-?” Dustin was interrupted by a loud growl echoing outside. The two boys quickly moved to look out the window as well. “You see him?”

“No,” Steve said.

“Damn fog,” Calcifer muttered.

“Lucas, what’s going on?” Dustin called up. 

“Hold on!” A few moments later he called back down, “I’ve got eyes! Ten o’clock! T-Ten o’clock!”

“There,” Steve said as he pointed.

“What’s he doing?” Dustin asked.

“I don’t know… He’s not taking the bait. Why is he not taking the bait?”

“Maybe because it smells like gasoline?” Calcifer muttered. 

“Maybe he’s not hungry,” Dustin suggested.

“Yeah.. maybe he filled up on more cats,” Calcifer groaned. 

“Or maybe he’s sick of cow,” Steve said. He stood away from the window and Dustin and Calcifer turned to him. 

“I do not like that look on your face...” Calcifer muttered. Steve headed for the door, picking up his bat.

“Steve? Steve, what are you doing?” Dustin asked. “Steve?” He turned back to the two and held up the lighter.

“Just get ready.” Steve tossed the lighter to Dustin. He left the bus and the two quickly moved back to the window to watch as he slowly walked towards the bait pile, bat ready. Max climbed down the ladder. 

“What’s he doing?” she asked.

“Expanding the menu,” Dustin said. 

“Shit!” Calcifer suddenly hissed as he looked out the window. “Damn it… Fuck…” He moved away from the window to pace, a hand going to his hair. “Shit, shit, shit…”

“He’ll be fine, he fought a bigger one before, this should be easier,” Dustin said, though he sounded like he was trying to convince himself as well. 

“Alright, there’s something I haven’t told you lot, but considering you all kept this demon shit a secret, and apparently you know someone with mind powers, and this is a life or death situation… I think I can trust you.”

“What are you talking about?” Max asked. 

“Just… don’t freak out too much…” Calcifer muttered before heading to the door. 

“Wait, where are you going?” Dustin whisper-shouted after him. “Cal!” Calcifer slipped out the door, closing it behind him quietly before either of the kids could stop him.

“Human tastes better than cat, I promise,” Steve said ahead of him.

“Steve,” Calcifer whispered as he approached.

“Wh-? What are you doing?” Steve hissed, not taking his gaze away from where Lucas saw Dart. “I got this, man, go back inside.”

“Just trust me; you’re gonna want me out here.” He reached where Steve stood beside the bait and turned his back to him.

“You don’t even have a weapon!”

“Let me worry about that,” Calcifer said. “You just worry about that one.”

“...Wait… what-?”

“Steve, watch out!” Lucas called out from the bus roof.

“A little busy here!” Steve called back.

“Three o’clock! Three o’clock!” Steve turned to look the way Calcifer was facing and saw a second Demo-dog jump onto a shell of a car and more slowly coming out of the fog around them

“Steve! Cal!” Dustin called out from the bus, throwing open the doors. “Abort! Abort!” Steve turned back to Dart when it growled. As it started running towards the two boys Calcifer’s arm swung out and it flew to the side crashing into a junk pile out of sight. 

“Wha-?!” Steve spun around to see Calcifer’s eyes glowing gold.

“Gawk later! Go!” Calcifer shouted as he pushed Steve out of the way as more of them started for them. Steve used his bat to hit a second Demo-dog before he and Calcifer started running to the bus. As they reached the door, and Steve scrambled to get inside, Calcifer spun and pushed his arm out knocking back the closest Demo-dog before he too got back inside the bus, Dustin slamming it shut behind them.

Everyone was shouting all at once as Steve used his feet to keep the door closed against another Demo-dog as Calcifer pushed his hands against the top of it. Steve quickly grabbed a metal sheet and he and Calcifer pushed it against the door as the Demo-dog pushed back.

“Shit!”

“Are they rabid or something?” Max shouted.

“What the hell was that?!” Dustin shouted at Calcifer. 

“How did you-?! What-?!” Steve squeaked.

“Not the time!” Calcifer shouted back at them.

“They can’t get in!” Lucas shouted. “They can’t!” The entire bus rocked, making everyone yell out, and Steve and Calcifer were thrown away from the doors. One of the Demo-dogs broke through and Steve yanked Calcifer back to use his bat on it. Dustin scrambled to grab his radio trying to reach any of the rest of the party while Max and Lucas moved further into the bus.

“Is anyone there? Mike? Will? God! Anyone!” They couldn’t tell how many there were as the bus shook, windows broke, and metal was pierced and dented from claws. Calcifer’s eyes were almost a constant gold as he aimed his hands at various parts of the bus. Dents melded flat, metal bent to close openings that weren’t covered by metal sheets, Demo-dogs were thrown away from the bus if Steve didn’t hit them in time. “We’re at the old junkyard, and we are going to die!"

A loud thud above them drew the kids attention to a Demo-dog on the roof. Max screamed as Dart growled down at her from the opening at the top of the ladder.

“Move!” Calcifer pushed them behind him as Steve aimed his bat. Dart went to put a claw on one of the rungs of the ladder but pulled back with a noise of pain as the threshold glimmered.

“You want some?! Come get this!” Steve shouted. Dart screeched down at them before it suddenly looked up, screeched in another direction, and then jumped off the bus. The bus shook violently once more and the group heard the creatures growing further away. Steve opened the bus door and slowly walked out, with his bat raised, to check if it was safe.

“What happened?” Lucas asked as the kids followed.

“I don’t know,” Max said. 

“Steve scared them off?” Dustin suggested.

“No,” Steve said. “No way.” He turned back to him. “They’re going somewhere.” Everyone stepped off the bus.

“Okay, what the hell?” Dustin said as he turned to Calcifer. “What the hell was that?”

“What? There’s Demon-dog things running about and a little magic confuses you?” Calcifer asked as he let himself sit on the bus steps, letting out a breath, and letting his head hang.

“Hey, you okay, man?” Steve asked.

“Not really used to doing a lot of… throwing big dog things around…” He let out a chuckle.

“You alright?” Max asked. 

"Yeah, I'll be fine." He stood up. “So, we staying here or…?” Steve motioned everyone to follow him.

“Let’s go.”

“So… magic,” Dustin said, glancing at Calcifer as they walked.

“Yes, magic.” Calcifer nodded, crossing his arms.

“Not mind powers?”

“Nope.”

“You gotta admit the two look similar though,” Lucas said and Dustin nodded. “Besides the eyes.”

“Yeah, why do they do that?” Steve asked.

“How should I know? I didn’t make the rules,” Calcifer said with a shrug.

“I mean, you have magic, I guess I figured you’d know about it.” Steve gave a shrug.

"That was incredible though," Lucas said. "The way you just threw them out there."

“Eh, that was basic stuff, anyone could do it…uh, well, any witch could do it,” he clarified.

“Or wizard,” Dustin said. “Or warlock.”

“No, no, no.” Calcifer stopped and turned to everyone. “Male, female, whatever, it’s ‘witch’ or maybe wizard if that’s what they prefer to be called but not warlock.”

“Okay,” Dustin said, holding up his hands. Everyone started walking again.

“What’s wrong with being called a warlock?” Lucas asked after a moment. Calcifer hesitated. 

“Let’s just say… if you’re labeled as a warlock then you’re not a nice person. It’s reserved for those who… misuse magic.”

“Oh, so bad guys?” Dustin asked. Calcifer shrugged.

“To put it simply, yeah. You don’t follow the rules enough or you… hurt enough people then you’re labeled… ‘evil’ and a warlock instead of a witch.”

“Rules?” Max asked. “There are rules?”

“Of course there are rules, otherwise there’d be chaos,” Dustin said before looking to Calcifer for confirmation. 

“Uh, yeah, pretty much,” Calcifer said with a nod.

“Do you have a spell book?” Lucas asked.

“Do you have an arcane focus?” Dustin asked.

“Do you have a crystal ball?”

“Do you have a staff or a wand?”

“Do you have a spell to mute these two?” Max muttered even though she was dying to ask similar questions. Calcifer snorted a laugh he tried to hide with a cough.

“Uh, kinda, not really, no, no, and yeah but I won’t,” he said.

“Do you make potions?” Dustin asked.

“Okay, as much as I’d love to play 20 questions about this right now, I think we should focus on the demondogs, yeah?” The two younger boys whined and Max rolled her eyes at them.

“Cal’s right,” Steve said. “Come on.”

“You’re positive that was Dart?” Lucas asked. 

“Yes,” Dustin said. “He had the same exact yellow pattern on his butt.”

“He was tiny two days ago,” Max said.

“Well, he’s molted three times already.”

“Malted?” Steve asked.

“Molted. Shed his skin to make room for growth like hornworms.”

“When’s he going to molt again?” Max asked.

“It’s gotta be soon,” Dustin said. “When he does, he’ll be fully grown, or close to it. And so will his friends.”

“Yeah, and he’s gonna eat a lot more than just cats,” Steve said.

“Why do we have to keep bringing up the cat?” Calcifer muttered. 

“You really like cats or something?” Steve asked.

“Or something,” Calcifer mumbled. 

“Wait, a cat?” Lucas asked, stopping Dustin with a hand to his shoulder. “Dart ate a cat?”

“No, what? No.” Dustin shook his head.

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked, giving Dustin a weird look. “He ate Mews.”

“Mews?” Max asked. “Who’s Mews?”

“It’s Dustin’s cat,” Steve said. 

“Steve!” Dustin shouted.

“I knew it! You kept him!” Lucas said as he gave Dustin’s shoulder a shove.

“No!” Lucas gave him a look. “No. No, I… No, I… He missed me. He wanted to come home.”

“Bullshit!”

“I didn’t know he was a Demogorgon, okay?”

“Oh, so now you admit it?”

“Guys, who cares? We have to go,” Max said.

“I care! You put the party in jeopardy! You broke the rule of law!” Lucas shouted at Dustin. 

“So did you!” Dustin shouted.

“What?”

“You told a stranger the truth!” Dustin pointed his flashlight at Max.

“A stranger?!” Max took a step closer to the fight.

“You wanted to tell her, too!” Lucas shouted.

“Yeah but I didn’t, Lucas, okay!” Dustin shouted. Calcifer stiffened and he and Steve turned towards where a screeching could be heard in the distance. “I didn’t tell her!” The two continued while Steve and Calcifer took a few steps away from the tracks.

“Hey guys?” Steve called. The kids ignored him. “Guys!” The three looked over and heard the screeching. The two boys started to follow after Steve as he moved into the woods.

“No, no, no. Hey, guys, why are you heading towards the sound?” Max asked. “Hello?” The three ignored her and Calcifer groaned. “Hello? Shit…”

“Come on then…” he said with a sigh as he started after them, Max quickly following behind him.

A/N: So the whole warlock = evil thing is taken from Charmed. So is the ‘witch’ being the term for male/female/etc. Magic users (and if I’m remembering correctly it’s also from Sabrina the teenage witch)

Reminder: I’m taking bits and pieces of magic “lore”/rules from multiple shows/movies (Charmed, Merlin, Supernatural, Sabrina The Teenage Witch, etc.) but also, to quote El, I make my own rules.

___________________________

(Next Chapter)

___________________________

[writesowhatnext]

submerse myself in brie // fred weasley

Summary: Bill & Fleur’s wedding is quite the event… too bad about those wedding crashers. Anyway, what wedding is complete without awkwardness at the buffet table?

Request: Are you taking requests? If you are could I ask for another Fred Weasley? Maybe something where they’re fighting together (bills wedding or battle of Hogwarts maybe?) and the reader rescues him in some way but gets injured herself but not fatally because I can’t deal with too much angst 🙈 hope that’s not too specific... also just wanted to say I love your writing it’s amazing 💕💕

A/N: thank you!!!! Terribly sorry for how long this took holy cow but I hope this is alright love I loved the request and that is why this is so long also I wasn’t quite sure how to split up the flashbacks so like we’ll see how this goes

Reader: female

Warnings: injury, battle, suggestive, couple stuff, alcohol, suggestive, implied sex

A groan peeled open your lips before you could even think about opening your eyes. You couldn’t really focus on anything, though, not when everything just ached, not with your head pounding and your ears ringing. People’s feet blurred past you, rushing and falling with flashes of light. You frowned. Blades of wet grass pressed against your cheek. The smell invaded your senses.

__

Fred groaned like a child at Molly’s pestering, the vibrations echoing down your spine. You rolled your eyes, pressing your back further into his chest in response.

“When I get married,” he said, turning to face George with a grimace. “I won’t be bothering with any of this nonsense. You can all wear what you like, and I’ll put a full-body-bind curse on Mum until it’s all over.”

Molly tutted at her son, ignoring him for the most part as she scurried away to fix something else that didn’t really need fixing.

“Oh, really, mate?” George said, drinking his tea.

You were happy to see him up and around; you remembered how scared Fred had been after the incident on the broomsticks. The bandage around George’s head still looked particularly grizzly, but you were glad he was feeling better.

“Does Y/N have anything to say about that?” he said cheekily, hiding his face in his mug as he watched you with playful eyes.

“Why would I?” you asked, pulling away from Fred to grab a piece of toast off the table. “It’s not like my standards are low enough to marry this git.”

“Oi!” Fred huffed.

You tried to move out of his reach before he grabbed you, or worse, tickled you, but you weren’t fast enough and you squealed as he clapped his hand on your arse.

“Cheeky,” Fred said, pointing at your accusatorily as you glared back, pulling your dress straight with your toast balanced in your mouth.

“Might have to teach my wife a lesson,” he teased, shooting you a wink. As you moved to sit by George on the kitchen counter, you mimicked Fred, ignoring the backflips of your stomach at his words.

__

Your stomach flopped again as you rolled over, the wet grass splaying over your face, no doubt covering your cheeks in mud. There was a sharp pain at your side and a nagging in your head as you tried to remember what exactly was happening. Where you were. Where the bloody hell Fred was. Pushing yourself up onto your elbows, every breath felt like daggers in your side, your ribs bruised horribly. Whatever happened had certainly left you winded. It could have been worse, though, you thought as your vision cleared up.

Standing up was almost impossible and each breath was wheezy as you fought the fog clouding your mind, your knees sinking into the mud as you did. Your dress was ruined, that much was obvious. The fabric and your skin were both covered in dirt and dust and black marks as you reached your feet. You tried to smooth it down, but it didn’t seem worth it, especially not as your eyes trailed up to see the wedding tent.

Well, what was left of it.

The golden marquee was in tatters, torn here and scorched there. Guests were running under the archways and disappearing into thin air like there was no tomorrow, no doubt encouraged by the black figures shooting brightly coloured spells at their feet. You almost wished the ringing in your ears hadn’t stopped as the sounds of shouting and carnage began to fill your senses.

__

“Y/N, you look lovely, dear,” Molly said, the pride in her voice obvious.

“Thanks,” you said, shooting her a wink. “I’ll be sure to pass the message on to my stylist.”

She laughed at the joke, patting your hand softly and leaving to tell someone off, no doubt. You remembered fondly her insistence earlier that no, she was never too busy to do her favourite soon-to-be-daughter-in-law’s hair. It was a good job though, you thought, that Fleur was too busy getting dressed up herself to hear that one.

You finished your champagne, more than grateful that the flute was enchanted as you watched it refill. As you stared, you became suddenly aware of someone’s eyes on you and turned to see Fred sat beside you, a strange look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” you asked lightly, sipping your drink.

“Nothing,” he said, a decidedly un-Fred-like smile playing on his lips. It was far too angelic to be recognisable in his features.

“Is there something on my face?”

You all but slammed your glass on the table, using the shiny napkin holders to try and get a better look at your reflection.

“No,” he chuckled, his laughter only growing as you made faces, looking for some stray crumbs or Aunt Mildred’s lipstick. “There’s nothing wrong with your face.”

He placed his hand on top of yours, stopping your borderline-neurotic inspection. You looked up at him with a pout and a fond smile spread across his lips.

“There is,” he said, cupping your face in his hand and running his thumb along your cheekbone. “Nothing wrong with your face.”

Struggling to hide your pleased grin at his compliment, you leant into his touch.

“Sounds like someone has a crush, Weasley.”

“Oh, really?” he said, his hand leaving your face with a pout in its wake. You smirked though, when he scooted his chair closer to yours, like a child, leaning on the back of yours with his elbow instead.

“I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Mhm,” you nodded, his smile contagious. “Is that so?”

“Actually,” he said conversationally, leaning the side of his head on his hand. “I think you might be the one with the crush.”

“How did you know?” you said dully, slowly placing a hand on your chest in mock surprise. “How can I ever cope with the knowledge that you will never feel the same?”

He barked a laugh at your dry, monotonous tone, his head dropping to the side as he watched you for a moment, an unreadable look in his eyes. That was before, however, a sly smile lifted his lips – a look you were very familiar with when it came to Fred. You fixed him with a suspicious stare.

“How about we get out of here?” he said, shifting in his seat.

“What?”

Your eyes followed him as he stood up, brushing down his suit briefly before offering his hand.

“Come on,” he insisted impatiently. He made a face at your unwillingness.

“Fred,” you said incredulously, shaking your head at his gall. “This is your brother’s wedding.”

“I have other brothers,” he shrugged before rolling his eyes and leaning down to grab your hand. “And we’ll be back in 20 minutes, half an hour, maximum.”

You stood up, enjoying the way his hand twisted to thread your fingers together.

“We will, will we?” you said, raising your eyebrows with an amused grin.

“Yes.”

He moved to wrap his hand around your waist, pulling you closer so he could whisper in your ear.

“With you looking like that, I doubt we’ll need any longer, sweetheart.”

You choked out a laugh at his words and looked around you as you escaped through the side of the tent.

“If we get caught-“ you threatened, cutting yourself off when he shot you a smirk.

“Live a little, sweetheart.”

__

“Fred,” you said quietly, your voice coming out hoarse. You blinked, swallowing and letting yourself adjust to the frantic rush of your surroundings.

“Fred,” you repeated, slightly louder this time as your heartbeat began to race.

People were apparating in and out like wildfire and there were already a few bodies collecting on the ground. Only injured, from the looks of it, but your mind thought the worst. Spotting your wand on the ground, you bent down to pick it up, your whole body singing in pain at the stretching of your muscles.

“Merlin,” you muttered, a grimace contorting your features. That was going to hurt tomorrow.

You searched for someone you knew in the crowds, a recognisable face in a sea of sparks and mist and gold wedding decorations. Your reactions weren’t the best, though, and your head was swimming. Albeit, though, you were grateful to be getting your land-legs back with each shaky step. Every flash of red hair you saw had your heartbeat jumping, but none of them were Fred, all most likely some distant Weasley cousin and none of them anybody you wanted to see right now.

What had even happened? One minute you and Fred were watching Fleur and Bill dance – she did look ever so lovely in that dress – and the next you woke up on a bed of damp grass with a killer headache and a distinct lack of memories. You didn’t have to be a genius, though, to put two and two together. The dark figures slowly herding people inside the tent and shooting spells every which way were Death Eaters; you could only hope that Harry had gotten out safely. Despite your hopes, though, your thoughts were preoccupied with Fred and you found yourself praying that he was okay.

“Fred!”

__

You hoped you weren’t giggling too loudly, and that your dress wasn’t too creased, and that it wasn’t too obvious what you’d just spent the last 23 minutes doing. As you snuck back into the tent, you separated from Fred, shushing him and moving to interest yourself in the buffet as to avert suspicion. Necessary, you figured, with Fred being so very suspicious. Typically, he ignored your plans and followed you to the buffet table, a cheeky grin slapped across his face

You glared at him, distracting yourself with the mini sausage rolls and putting as much distance between you both as possible. Harry, unlucky as ever, was caught in the crossfire.

“You alright there, Harry?” Fred said, looking over the display. “Any of the classically beautiful Weasley cousins taking your fancy?”

“I’ve got other things on my mind, actually, Fred,” Harry said tightly. You felt your stomach drop slightly; he was far too young to be carrying so much weight on his shoulders.

“Ah, no mind,” Fred replied, as unaffected and blasé as ever. “I’m sure you’ve got your eye on someone else anyway, eh?”

You watched Harry’s face heat up and rolled your eyes affectionately: Fred had a knack for turning even the darkest of issues to humour.

“I’ve got my eye on someone here actually,” Fred said, piling cocktail sausages onto his plate with a mischievous smirk.

“Oh, really?” Harry asked, turning to face Fred. He clearly didn’t care but you did notice his double-take and frowned, your brows drawing together. “Who’s that?”

“Well, if I told you then I’d have to kill you,” Fred nodded solemnly, shoving three mini sandwiches in his mouth at once and shooting you a surprisingly subtle wink.

“Sorry, uh,” Harry stuttered, pointing at Fred and then gesturing to his own face. “You have, uh, something on your-“

“What?”

Fred frowned, his mouth stretching as he swallowed the food and began to rub at his cheek.

“Lipstick, I think,” Harry said, decidedly awkward.

Your eyes widened and you gulped, not daring to look at Fred

“Ah, cheers for that Harry.”

“Not a problem, Fred.”

With that, Harry turned to leave, surprised to see you behind him. You watched his eyes flicker down to your lips and you prayed to Merlin, Godric and even Salazar that he wouldn’t be able to tell.

“Alright, Y/N?” Harry said softly, his mouth set in an embarrassed smile.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice a couple of octaves too high. “Thanks. Enjoy your…”

You looked down at his plate, swallowing uncomfortably as you felt your face heat up.

“Chocolate frogs.”

“Ah,” Harry nodded. “Thanks.”

You clenched your teeth as Harry walked past you, cursing Fred under your breath. Chuckling, he slid next to you, his plate once again overflowing with food.

“Brilliantly eloquent there, love. I don’t doubt that Harry’ll enjoy those chocolate frogs, but I’m sure your well wishes are appreciated.”

“You’re the worst person alive,” you snapped, not looking at him.

“That is not what you said earlier,” he said smugly. You turned to shoot him a dry look as he pushed a block of cheese into his mouth.

“I hate you so much,” you insisted, your smile giving you away.

“Me?” Fred pressed a hand to his chest defensively, spewing crumbs everywhere as he spoke.

“Yes, you-“

Your bickering was cut off by the clinking of a spoon against a champagne class. You both turned to face Molly, who was looking particularly happy with herself as she announced Fleur & Bill’s first dance.

“Come on, you pig,” you huffed, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the crowd forming around the happy couple. Despite his grumbling, he put down his plate and followed you. Ever the gentleman, he brushed off crumbs onto his trousers before grabbing for your hand.

As you watched them dance, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. It was hard not to imagine you and Fred in their shoes in a couple years. Molly always told you that you argued like an old married couple as it was, surely it wouldn’t do any harm to make it official. You couldn’t think like that now though, not with the constant threat of war looming. It never seemed more real, though, than when Kingsley Shacklebolt’s patronus appeared, his deep voice ringing through the tent, announcing the incoming storm, creating a frenzy.

Fred’s hand tightened around your own and when the Death Eaters started appearing, you were grateful for the contact. You looked between the faces you recognised, somewhere between heartbroken and horrified to see Ginny and Molly already firing out spells; Harry, Ron and Hermione rushing outside, hopefully apparating to safety. Distracted by the others, you barely noticed a Death Eater appearing next to Fred. Fred, in his panic, didn’t seem to either. Just as he readied his wand, you found yourself pushing Fred to the side and out of the crossfire. The force of the hit ripped your hand from his and the last thing you remembered before you were knocked out cold was your body flying through the side of the tent.

__

“Y/N!”

You spun around, the new memories and very familiar headache making you wince as you all but collided with Fred, suffocated instantly in his tight grasp.

“Merlin,” he sighed, his breath fanning against your cheek as you struggled to form a sentence. “Am I glad to see you.”

He pulled away, cupping your cheek with one hand whilst the other still held your waist gently. “You had me so worried.”

He didn’t need to tell you that; you could see it for yourself. His relief was slowly ironing out the deep crease between his brows and his eyes were shining with tears in the light of the moon.

“Pushing me out the way like that, what were you even thinking? Could’ve been killed. Merlin, you flew right through that tent, George had to hold me back, he did. If I wasn’t so bloody worried, I would’ve ripped that bastard to-“

“Fred, we really need to go,“ George insisted, his eyes drifting to you for a moment as he anxiously fiddled with the wand in his grip.

“Hang on a minute,” Fred said distractedly, turning to his brother for a moment as his fingers slotted behind your ears, cradling your face.

“Are you okay, love?”

You breathed for a second, only vaguely aware of the commotion still going on around you. Without another moment’s hesitation, you threw your arms around Fred’s neck, holding him close and revelling in the familiar scent of his shampoo. You smiled as he relaxed in your hold, his chin digging into your shoulder.

“Guys-“ George said, the urgency in his voice unmistakable. Fred pulled away abruptly, his worried eyes scanning your face.

“Are you alright to apparate?” he asked, wetting his lips with his tongue.

You nodded.

“Let’s get the hell out of here then.”

harry potter tag list:

@creator-appreciator​​ @decadentwastelandtrash @loveisblindness​ @xinyourdreamsx​​ @brainlesspasta​​ @hariosborn​​ @staringmoony​ @rexorangecouny​​ @alittletoomanyobsessions​​ @peachesandpinks​ @yuptha-tsme​​ @obsessedwithrandomthings-blog​​ @dreamer821​ @iprobablyshipit91​​ @in-slytherin-we-trust​​ @haphazardhufflepuff​​ @princesof-theuniverse​​ @whovianayesha​​ @msmimimerton​​ @extra-trash77​​ @potterverseimagine​​ @my-own-mindpalace​​ @sxrensxngwrites​​ @damonwhitlock​​ @susceptible-but-siriusexual @answer-the-sirens​ @thisismysketchbook​ @zhangixingxing1 @cedricscoffin​ @ccabian @amourtentiaa​ @ickle-ronniekins​ @harrysweasleys​ 

[wagner-fell]

Spiders Are Ugly And Other Lies Capitalism Has Told Us (part one)

“Dad,” Astrid called out, shutting the coral coloured front door behind her. “Are you home?”

She dumped her cream tote bag spray painted with the words ‘Washing Machine Heart’ in big, rainbow letters onto one of the stools facing the granite countertop. The rest of the Merry Hoes followed suit. It was weird seeing a person as chaotic as Astrid in such a calm environment.

They were all spending the summer in LA with Astrid and her Dad. It had taken a while for Kevin to convince his family it was a good idea. Especially because he and Blessica had finally put years of pinning behind them. Making out on Kit’s bed at Mina’s third birthday party certainly wasn’t the way they had envisioned it but as the longing was over with, they were happy.

The Chu’s didn’t love the idea of their son living in a different country for three months with his girlfriend but we’re on board once Kevin assured them there was no possible way Blessica could get pregnant.

Kit wasn’t officially sleeping at the Yang’s but at the Institute with his boyfriend. Julian wasn’t so thrilled about the situation but Emma was. She was positively ecstatic about having a training partner as skilled as Kit was, courtesy of Jem and Tessa. Though staying a thirty minute drive away (on the wrong side of the road, Mari noted) wouldn’t keep Kit away for long. Even now he was with them instead of having his own reunion make out session.

Speaking of making out…

Mari rested their chin on the top of Astrid’s head and wrapped their arms around her middle. “Why don’t you show us your room while we wait for your dad to get home.”

It was kinda perfect, Mari often remarked, that she realized her feelings for their best friend weren’t so platonic as she previously led herself to believe at the same time they and Kit realized they were better off as just platonic.

Astrid hit her hand playfully. “That’s not fair!” she whined! ”How dare you take advantage of my constant hornyness when my God-fearing Presbyterian father could be in the next room? Shame! Shame on you, shame on your family, shame on your cow.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s ‘dishonor’”, said Kit, who didn’t even look up from his phone when he addressed her, “but go off I guess.”

Astrid looked like she was questioning all her life choices up to this point. “A white boy knows Mulan better than me.” She shook her head in disgust. Mari could feel the loose hairs of her girlfriend’s ponytail ticking her exposed collar bone. “Mulan.”

Mari laughed before softly brushing their lips against Astrid mop of bleached strands of pastel yellow, pink and blue mixed magnificently with her natural inky black.

“Is hornyness even a word?” Kevin wondered aloud as he observed the knickknacks placed at even intervals utop the kitchen cabinets. Blessica was with him. She was gazing at one of a crab steering a ship when she spotted a slim piece of paper taped below it.

“Ast,” she called. The both looked in her direction, despite Blessica needing the attention of one. “Your dad says he won’t be home till seven. Emergency at work.”

“Which leaves us more than enough time to pack and head over to meet Ty, Dru and Thaìs at the arcade,” said Kit. He finally turned his phone off and shoved it into the back pocket of his ripped jeans. “Marstrid can do the ol’ devil’s tango then catch up to us.”

‘Marstrid’ wrinkled their noses. “I thought we agreed on Astari, Christopher.”

“Astari sounds gayer,” confirmed Kevin, his eyes never leaving the miniature decorations.

“Not to be rude but why does Astari sound gayer?” asked a visibly confused Blessica.

“Because,” answered Mari, unraveling herself from Astrid to slide onto one of the bar stools and reaching into the Jolly Rancher jar, blindly searching for a green, “Astari has ‘star’ in it. Star equals astrology. An obsession with astrology is the price you pay for the gay agenda. Besides, Marstrid sounds like an old southern lady.” Then she furrowed her eyebrows and swiveled to face Astrid. “Southern is Texas, right?” Astrid nooded, a smile so big the Cheshire Cat would be jealous.

Without looking, she stuck her hand in the jar and pulled out a green apple flavoured hard candy on her first try. She held it out to Mari, who snatched it out of her hand with an angry huff.

“Hey, Ast, where do you guys keep the crisps?” asked Kevin when he finished inspecting all the knickknacks.

“Uh, under the barbecue sauce, I think.”

Kit’s eyes lit up. “So I’m sitting there”- Astrid understood what was happening in just enough time to quote- “barbecue sauce on my titties” in unison.

Mari put her head into their open palms, still sucking on the pity candy. “Why is this my type?”

“Are you sure this is the right place?” asked Blessica as Kit attempted to parallel park outside the location Ty had texted him to meet at. Key word, attempt. When Tessa had taught him to drive, he’d been such a disaster at parallel parking she had instructed him to ‘take the underground when tight spaces might be a possibility.’ Which he prided himself in doing. But this was America and the underground was called the subway, so, technically, no rules were being broken.

“Yes, Blessie, I’m certain.”

“Okay. Just checking cause a few turns back the GPS said-”

“Blessie!” He nearly crashed into the car in front of him.

“Right. Shutting up.”

When Kit managed to park with minimal damage and the three were about to exit, the voice of Nicki Minaj boomed from his pocket. Ty was calling him. He accepted the call, putting it on speaker.

“Hello Tiberius.” There was giggling from the other end of the line. A groan soon followed it.

“It’s been a year,” came the annoyed voice of Dru. “Get over your British kink already.” Kevin’s laughter echoed from the backseat.

“Hey Ty!

“Hi Kevin.”

”Hey Dru!”

“Fuck off.”

“Ouch. Why do you feel the need to hurt me so?” Blessica laughed.

“Hey…Thaìs?”

“Here,” replied Thaìs cheerfully.

“Are you here yet,” asked Ty.

“Uh, yeah! We were just getting out of the rental car when you called. You didn’t tell me it was going to be crowded. I had to parallel park!”

“What are you talking about?” interrupted Dru. ”There are only four cars in the parking lot.”

“But,” Ty countered, “there are lots of Billy’s Fun Zones’ around here. You guys must have got mixed up and taken a wrong turn. I could have sworn I sent you the correct location on GPS.” Maybe Ty said more on the subject but Kit could hear anything or see anything except the superior smirk Blessica was giving him.

He covered the speaker. “Not. A. Word.” And no word came out of her mouth the entire ride to the correct Billy’s Fun Zone but the ‘I told you so’ look on her face spoke loud enough.

Kit slid back into the booth next to Ty, handing him his pretzel. Ty kissed him on the check in gratitude.

Dru and Ty were right. About this one being empty. He told him he had heard about it from Alyssa. Her pack frequented it often. They were left alone because, well, there was no one else there to bother them.

“Where are Astrid and Mari?” he asked.

“Fucking. I think. Or maybe just making out. I’ll know which one when they finish.” When Ty gave him a puzzled look he continued, “Astrid describes it all to me in full detail. I honestly don’t know whether she doesn’t have a filter or she just needs someone to scream to about how amazing Mari is.”

“Why can’t it be both?”

“True, true.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Ty picked up the conversation again. “When Thaìs first met Astrid, she had a huge crush on her. They got along great. I always thought they would end up together. Or hook up at the very least.”

“Huh, that’s funny,” observed Kit.

“What is?”

“When me and Mari split, I was planning on trying to set them up with Thaìs. But then I caught her ans Astrid making out in a storage closet at school. Which, in hindsight, was pretty stupid cause they were in there so I wouldn’t be sad Mari moved on when I opened the door in the first place avoiding her to call you.”

“Hmmmm.”

The gears in Ty’s head were visibly turning. Kit loved watching this process. An idea was forming in his boyfriend’s genius mind, he could sense it.

“What is their stance on monogamy?” he asked finally.

“Um, fuck, hold on. Mari sent me this whole speech about it.” Kit scrolled through his phone at a rapid rate before he saw what he was looking for. He cleared his throat and began reading aloud.

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:52 AM: monogamy is just another lie capitalism has fed us

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:55 AM: like, for example, the notion that house spiders are ugly and to be feared

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:56 AM: it’s just to sell bug spray

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:56 AM: same with monogamy

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:56 AM: pointless!!!

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:58 AM: in conclusion, if I want to join a polyam cult, who tf is the government to stop me?

Kev-Kev, sent 2:01 AM: mari please go to sleep

Bless-ing_to_the_world, sent 2:04 AM: ^^^^^^^^^^^

Mitski_my_love, sent 2:05 AM: preach!

Mitski_my_love, sent 2:05 AM: go off queen

By the time Kit was finished with his dramatic reading, Ty’s plan was fully formed.

“That settles it! We are going to play matchmakers!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alyssa, Ty’s friend mentioned is @thechangeling OC, not mine.

@the-blackdale @the-wckd-powers @adoravel-fenomeno @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @illusions-give-reasons-to-live @ithurielkeepsgettingkidnapped @im-not-ruined-im-ruination @sofiatheskeleton @cncnbr @its-taff @noah-herondale-lightwood @maxboythedog @arangiajoan @shelvesofgold @book-dragon-not-worm sorry if I missed anyone LMK if you want to be added or removed from The tag List!!

[un-beel-ievable]

The demon brothers making plushies that look like MC 🧸

Author’s note: Please do not repost!! If you like my writing, please leave a like and a comment (and follow me to see similar content in the future :D)!

_____

Lucifer ☕:

• It's impeccable, as everything Lucifer does is. Lucifer's attention to detail is second to none.

• He tries to play the plushie off as no big deal, but literally everyone can see how much effort he's put into his handicraft. The eyes of the plushie are the exact same hue as yours are (Remember when Lucifer disappeared for a week and didn't tell anyone where he was going? I'll tell you now -he was wandering from craft shop to craft shop, trying to find thread that would reflect just how beautiful your eyes are.), and he's somehow managed to replicate a tiny version of your favourite graphic tee -down to the small imperfection on the printed design.

• Wherever he goes, the plushie follows. If he's taking a power nap, it sits on his pillow. If he's doing work at his table, it sits on his laptop, ready to help (however much a plushie can help, anyway). Even when he's in student council meetings, the plushie follows. (Diavolo thinks it's adorable, and has a miniature chair custom made for the "newest student council member". Lucifer can't decide on whether Diavolo is mocking him or not.)

Mammon 💳

• He tried his best, he really did. And I'm not saying that because the plushie he made was terrible, no, it was actually pretty decent!

• He doesn't have a clue on how plushies are made, but when he saw the plushie you made of him, he decided he wanted one too. But of you, of course. 

• He's too prideful (More like your big brother than you'd like to admit, huh, Mammon?) and embarrassed to admit to you that he has no idea what he's doing, so instead of asking you for help, he turns to YouTube videos and craft blogs to learn how to crochet. After restarting his 2nd row for the 76th time and having to untangle his ball of yarn for the 40th, he's almost ready to admit defeat.

• But then he imagines how happy you'd be when you laid eyes on the plushie he'd made of you (because "EVERYONE would want a plushie made by the GREAT Mammon, it's an honour to be chosen to be MY model." )...and suddenly he's crocheting like he's been practicing for years instead of hours, breezing through instructional videos and reading written patterns like a pro.

• His final product is slightly lopsided...but other than that it's really good!! Especially for someone who had never touched a crochet hook in his life before.

• Uses mini you to practice asking real you out.

Leviathan 🎮

• Is relatively decent at using a sewing machine. After all, he tailors his own cosplay. (And if a new season of 'Ruri-chan: Magical Girls Forever!' comes out and Ruri-chan happens to be wearing an outfit he particularly likes in it...sometimes he creates a tiny replica of it for his Ruri-chan nesoberi.)

• Ruri-chan has her own shrine in a corner of Levi's room...and now you do as well!

• Your "shrine" is basically a wooden shelf (painted in your favourite colour, of course) with a cork board mounted on the wall above it. Plushie you sits on a tiny throne on the shelf, with all the presents the real you has ever gifted him surrounding your cotton stuffed twin. The noticeboard holds a countless number of momentos -mostly photographs of the two of you and tickets from all the anime concerts and events you guys have been to.

• (The throne you sit on is a replica of the fairy queen's rose quartz throne in season 4, episode 19 of ‘Ruri-chan: Magical Girls Forever!' . Official merchandise, of course; there are only about 50 of the official ones left in existence. Ruri-chan had been perched on this very throne for over a decade, all of the other demon brothers were shocked when Levi dethroned Ruri-chan just for you.)

Satan 📚

• His plushie is perfect. Almost...too perfect.

• He's become an expert in plushie making after ploughing through an endless mountain of craft books and making his way through all the handicraft videos to ever exist. And his work shows the results of his diligent research...his final product looks machine made. Flawless. No one can fault him on technique...his work is outstanding. But somehow, something is still...off. It's too perfect, too lifeless. There's no personality to it whatsoever.

• So he spends the next week experimenting with different techniques and materials. He tries crocheting, knitting, making sock plushies...but somehow he still can't capture what makes you...you.

• Mammon notices Satan giving himself a brain aneurysm over this, and makes a comment on instead of trying to think his way through the situation like he always does, he should just "feel for it, you know? Put some heart into it."

• Mammon usually says some strange things...but this time Mammon's words actually seem to resonate with Satan. So he gives it a shot, and pours his entire heart and soul into the next plushie he makes. While the plushie looks virtually the same as all his other attempts, somehow this one feels different. 

• It feels right.

Asmodeus 👄

• Commissions someone to make the plushie of you for him

• Okay, so he doesn't make the plushie by himself (he doesn't want to break a nail). But he's incredibly involved in the designing process.

• Fusses over everything from the measurements to the exact colour (and I mean exact ) of thread they're gonna use to embroider on your eyes. Makes whoever he's commissioning do multiple samples throughout the process, and if he even finds 1 tiny fault with it he tells them to burn it and start over. His criticism is brutal, but if it isn't going to be perfect then what's the point?

• When a plushie is finally made to his satisfaction, he immediately gets down to the incredibly important task of creating a doll sized replica of your closet. He's incredibly through, there's even a tiny version of that one sock you have that's had a rip through the heel for years.

Beelzebub 🍔

• Poor Beel has no idea what he's doing...not even a little bit.

• He's watched the same crafting video so many times that half of that content creator's revenue is probably generated solely by Beelzebub himself.

• Where is he supposed to insert his crochet hook again? Oops...time to rewatch the video for the 286th time, I guess...

• His massive, beefy hands are just not made to do delicate handicrafts. He's already lost several sewing needles (pray to Simeon that no one steps on them) and his balls of yarn seem to be getting tangled up with each other just from him looking at them?? Oh, and he snapped a crochet hook clean in half just now, because he set it down on the table too hard. He's crying because all these things are happening and he has no idea why.

• Belphie walks in on the catastrophe and is pretty surprised to see his brother sobbing over a ball of yarn. Beel's never really been that into handicrafts. But when Belphie sees that Beel has actually set his snacks to the side just to concentrate on making this plushie of you...Belphie knows it's serious between the two of you.

• Belphie offers to help his twin out and between the 2 of them, they manage to finish the plushie within the next couple of days (instead of the next couple of years...which is how long it would take if Beel was left to his own devices).

• "Look!! I even attached a tag that says 'made by Belphie and Beel'!" :3

• (Please be proud of this wholesome boi.)

Belphegor 🛏

• Isn't that bad at handicrafts.

• He used to do them with Lilith, back before the war. She was amazing with her hands...much better than he was. She made him one of his cow plushies...he's always treasured it, but after she passed it became all the more precious to him. Her namesake now sits on the softest pillow he has in his bed...the cow plushie to lead all cow plushies.

• He's seen the way you've looked at Lilith (the cow plushie)...and knows while you don't hate her or it, it must be difficult to have a constant reminder of someone whose shadow you'll never know if you can step out of.

• So he decides to make a plushie of you. Not to replace Lilith (both the cow plushie and his actual sister), but as a symbol of his affection for you. To remind you that you're just as important to him as Lilith was (and maybe even more so).

• His plushie making process mostly goes off without a hitch; he doesn't encounter any major problems. He still remembers the basics, and unlike Beel he doesn't have the physical strength to snap his tools in half...he's too sleepy (All that potential nap time wasted on plushie making...).

• His finished product takes up a pride of place on his pillow beside Lilith (the cow plushie). Knowing that the 2 of you are watching over him while he sleeps makes him feel truly happy for the first time in years.

[shadow--writer]

If You Knew my Story Word for Word, Had all of my History, Would You go Along with Someone Like Me?

2 dumbasses in love. That’s it. That’s my a/n (song over here)

Maeve x Lucas. Because I love you. 4.8k

CW: mentions of past abuse (Lucas and Maeve - gaslighting), 

@dela-png

She never really liked warm blustery days. 

Cursing, she held her basket close, hoping the eggs didn’t crack. Lucas was trying to make an apple apricot pie, both for her and to win the affections of Tehi. After the even worse great flour incident of a few days ago, he was determined to get her to like him. 

She ran through the grocery list in her head. Lucas had been in the middle of making the crust when they realized that he had run out of eggs, milk, and the fruit needed. You know, the major part of a fruit pie.

She sighed, massaging her temples as the wind made her stumble. Malory couldn’t call the guards today, she caught the middle of their rotation. The market in the South End was...interesting, to say the least. There was more theft due to poverty, so Lucio’s bright idea was to tighten security in the area instead of helping the people starving.

Nadia just hadn’t...gotten around to them yet. 

The system was...fucked, putting it lightly. After the shitshow that was Lucio’s reign, there was much to fix up and work on. 

Her being chased out of the market every other day due to false theft accusations being one of them. After the disaster that was Doctor 069’s trial, she didn’t have much trust in the legal system. Knowing her luck she’d be executed by the Praetor over theft. The old arena was already stained enough, she didn’t know why they couldn’t tear the eyesore down.

She rubbed her arms, looking through the dairy products for sale. Being a...pet of the Quaestor gave her rights to go into the coliseum to see those under. Blinking, she waved thoughts of bloodied people and plague eyes. 

She didn’t want to go back there, see the hurt on those peoples faces. She was punished for helping them, so eventually she just...stopped.

The Quaestor was a...fascinating thing. She wondered how they could sleep at night for what they did. All and all they felt...otherworldly. 

She groaned softly, placing a few coin in the palm of the farmer. Crimson cows always had the best milk, but they were banned from the city. She hid the jug under the eggs and flowers she bought for Lucas. Crimson cows were much bigger than the regular cow, milk and meat always bloodied red. It baked well though, making everything richer so it was worth the illicit dealings. 

“Good afternoon, thief.” She stiffened at the voice, trying to fight her annoyance. Please, not today. “Come to steal my stocks again?”

“I didn’t steal and you know it.” Damn she fell for the trap, again. Her pride smarted at each theft comment. Eventually people would believe it, and then where would it leave her? She could barely keep herself afloat without even having to pay rent. 

“Now, the guards certainly don’t know that, do they?” 

“Oh fuck off. They aren’t here to protect you today.”

“Mmm, so you're going to steal from me again, aren’t you?”

She breathed in sharply. “I am going to buy some fruit, upfront, and then I am going to leave.”

“For that little bat of yours?”

She scowled. “She was just hungry, and I paid after.”

“Stealing is stealing.” “It wasn’t stealing if I bought it. Just...let me get my ingredients for a pie and I’ll leave.”

“Baking a pie? The last one wasn’t bad enough?” She flushed at the thought. She wasted a lot of good fruit that day, her fingertips stained purple for a week. “Come to waste my hard earned spoils?”

She slammed her basket on his counter with a sour look. “I’ll have you know Lucas is baking it this time. And it’ll be fine.”

Malory paled at the mention of Lucas’ name. “H-He’s not with you, is he?”

…was that a stutter?

“Why do you ask? You’re not scared are you?” she teased, picking through the apples. 

“Anyone with good sense is scared of the beast.”

She lifted an eyebrow, placing enough for the fruit by his hand. She started placing apples in the basket, keeping them away from the bluebells. Her hair was falling out of her handkerchief, again. The front of her dress was splattered with flour, and she did look like she was helping. 

Reality was that she was trying to keep Jolie from sleeping in the flour. 

And failing, miserably. 

“Oh yes, because he is so scary,” she said with an eye roll, thinking of him sulking over Tehi. 

Malory’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t mock me. Just because he has been...subdued, for now, does not mean he isn’t dangerous.”

“Lucas? Dangerous? The only danger he poses is to himself.” Clumsy oaf ran face first into her bookshelf and almost knocked himself out. 

Twice. 

Granted, she did have a lot of bookshelves. 

“An ex gladiator is just that, a gladiator.” Malory shuddered. “I heard he beat a man within an inch of his life before Lucio stopped the fight. He’s a ticking time bomb.”

She paused, blood roaring in her ears. “Glad...iator?” she asked softly, setting an apricot down. “Lucas?”

Malory paused. “You do know about it, don’t you? How could you not? You are his partner and this is something everyone knows.” He paused. “And paired with what surrounds you…” his lips curled in judgment, she bristled under his look. “Well, people talk.”

“What I know and don’t know is none of your business,” she sniffed, stuffing another apricot in her basket. “He doesn’t have to tell me anything he doesn’t please to. I trust him.”

“You...truly, don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?!” she snapped, her gaze low and cold. 

“About the beast?”

“‘The beast’ can you be any more vague?” Even with his...dancing around, the name rang a bell. She huffed, placing her hands on her hips. “If you’re picking a fight with Lucas, don’t. It’s me you hate.”

“I may...dislike you.” She snorted, yeah that was rich. “But I don’t want you dating a murderer.”

“Lucas is not a murderer.”

“Killing people for sport sounds like murder to me.”

“What are you even going on about?!”

“Your little...dog, has quite a past, doesn’t he?”

“Lucas. His name is Lucas. Why am I even still talking to you!” She threw her hands in the air. “I paid, I got what I needed, I’m going to leave.” She snatched her basket up and turned around. 

“He was the Scourge’s replacement. After the escape. Before Lucio’s death. He was the executioner for a while. Don’t you think that’s something you should know, Deathling?”

She flinched, turning around and hauled him over his counter by his shirt. “You don’t get to call me that,” she snarled, Malory letting out a small choked noise. “You never get to call me that.”

“T-Touchy subject,” he breathed, face pale. 

“I will give you a choice. Shut up about Lucas, or I throw you into a canal, got it?”

He let out a laugh as she let him go. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

She sneered. “And so what if I am?”

Malory’s eyes softened, but his smug grin didn’t. “Just letting you know what you’re getting into.”

“This is his secret,” she muttered, smoothing her hair back as she glared at him. “This is for him to tell me. If he wanted to.”

“He never would. And then where would it leave you? Would you still trust him?”

“What he did or did not do in the past is of no concern to me, Malory. He is a good fucking person, and that is why I fell for him.”

“But this is a big secret to keep, don’t you think?”

“It’s none of your business, just as it is none of mine. And if he did those things, he would not have chosen to do so. I know him, he’s a kind person. Choosing to kill someone for the fun of it, is something he would never do.”

“But what if he did?”

“He wouldn’t.” But Malory’s words hit home, and the seed of doubt sprouted. What if it was true? What if he did?

No. No. This was Lucas. He sulked when a bat didn’t like him. He was dramatic and sweet. 

If he did do what Malory was saying, he wouldn’t have done it alone. He had to have been pushed to do it.

“Ask him yourself then,” Malory said with a smile, knowing he was getting to her. “Let’s see how your little sweetheart reacts.”

“He would never lay a hand on me,” she growled. “Ever. He wouldn’t hurt me. I should have your tongue for saying it.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “Food for thought.”

“Leave him alone. It’s me you hate.”

“Hatred for you doesn’t mean I want to see him snap again. Those days were not pretty, and he was an animal.”

She snarled. “I’ll show you an animal if you don’t shut up.”

“Go home then. See what he does.”

“Fine. Maybe I will.” She hooked her basket under her arm again, stomping off. People chuckled as they watched her leave, her cheeks burning with the scrutiny and humiliation. 

The walk home was a blur, she only felt the burning warmth of rage and the seed of doubt and fear in her stomach. 

She didn’t know who to believe, it was hard seeing him in that light. 

But he had the scars of a gladiator. That’s what those were. 

She jogged up the stairs and into his house, tearing the handkerchief out of her hair and letting the locks fall around her shoulders as she slammed her basket down on the counter. 

He turned to look at her, a question on his lips. 

“Was it true.” A statement, not a question. Her chest heaved from her run. “Was what he said true?”

“What? Was what true?” Worry creased his brow as he put the rolling pin down. He wiped his hands on his apron as he moved closer to her. 

She breathed in sharply. “What Malory said.”

“Mal- what did he say to you? Did he hurt you?”

She swatted his hand away, staring into his eyes. He had kind eyes, open and clear.

“He didn’t hurt me. But is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“Were you a gladiator in Lucio’s arena? The replacement for Scourge?”

His face fell, and all the colour drained from his cheeks. The reaction was all she needed to know. He was a terrible liar. 

He laughed, the sound strangled. “What? Me? He must be lying. Do I look like a gladiator to you?” His smile was forced, fear sinking into his eyes. His voice strained, like if she pushed it he’d snap.

It hurt. 

Him lying like this. He knew she knew, and yet he still lied. 

“You’re lying,” she said, hands shaking. “You’re lying to me.” He froze, smile still forced yet wavering. She moved forward, trying to stop her shaking. “Tell me the truth.”

“I am-”

“Batsaikhan,” she growled, pausing a few steps away from him. Her heels clicked when they came to a stop. “Tell. Me. The. Truth.”

Horror flooded his face, hands shaking as he reached for her. She slapped his hand away, keeping his gaze even as he looked away from her. “I don’t want to hear an excuse. You’re a really shitty liar.”

“But I’m-”

She breathed in sharply, blinking back her hurt. It hurt, knowing he was lying. It hurt knowing that he knew she knew and he still wouldn’t tell her himself. She just wanted it from him. Not Malory or any of the others. 

They would twist him, change and lie. 

“I don’t want to hear it,” she snapped, rubbing her eyes. She wasn’t going to cry. “I don’t want to hear it from Malory or anyone else in this fucking city.” Her chest heaved as a tear slipped past. She didn’t want to cry but she was so...angry. It was almost all she could feel. “I want to hear it from you.”

He was trying to make himself smaller, holding the counter so tightly his knuckles turned white. “It’s true,” he whispered, hurt and palpable fear cracking his voice. “I did terrible things.”

“Lucas-”

He looked at her, the look in his eye making her back up a step. He flinched. “I’m a terrible person,” he murmured, looking at his hands. They curled into fists as he turned his head. 

Her expression softened into one of hurt and understanding. “You wouldn’t do it,” she said, taking one step, then two. “You wouldn’t make that choice yourself.”

“What if I did?” he asked, startling her into jumping back with the force of his words. Her heart raced, heat rising to her face with panic. “Maeve-”

She sniffed, covering her eyes. “I know you wouldn’t,” she whispered, trying to fight the doubt sprouting at the base of her stomach. “You wouldn’t. I...I don’t believe you would.”

“I’m a terrible person, Maeve.”

She flinched at the sound of her name in that tone of voice. So soft and hurt. So soft and broken. 

“No,” she murmured, looking back at him. “You’re not.” She breathed in, holding the breath as she moved closer to him. “You’re Lucas.” She paused. “No, Batsaikhan. And...you’re just...that. You’re not terrible. You’re sweet, you’re kind, you have a big heart.”

“I killed people.”

“So have I.”

He paused, staring at her with wounded eyes. Tears slipped down her cheeks, she knew her eyes would redden soon. “I know you didn’t want to,” she murmured, standing in front of him. “And I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Carving herself open. 

All for him.

“How do you know that?” he muttered, not meeting her eyes and shifting nervously. 

“I may not know a lot, but I know this.” She reached over to take his hand, gently opening it up to trace his palm. She kissed his fingertips, unraveling the bandages to trace the burns there. His breathing hitched audibly as she pressed her fingertips against his. Her eyes snapped up to meet his. “The Lucas of now is different from the Lucas of then. And knowing the Lucas of then isn’t going to scare me away from the Lucas of now.”

“But what if the Lucas of then was terrible?”

“He couldn’t have been that bad, he did become the Lucas of now after all.”

“...you’re only here because you didn’t know,” he muttered, staring at her with wounded eyes. “And now that you do know it’s only a matter of time before you leave again.”

She stopped, letting his hand drop. Anger slowly bubbled up in her stomach. “Is that what you think this is?” she asked, her tone sharp. “You think I’d leave over this? After all the time we spent together?”

“Thumbelina-”

“No you’re going to listen to me,” she snapped, jutting a finger in his face. “Fuck you, Karimov. I just want to hear it from you. I’m not going anywhere.” Angry tears cut through her skin, stealing the starlight from her cheeks. “But I want you to stop...running from the issue.” She sniffed, swiping at her eyes. “I want to hear it from you. I don’t want any ‘I’m a terrible person’. I will decide that.”

“But-”

“No. You will fucking tell me so I can make that choice myself.” She rocked back onto her heels, pulling at her hair. “I know what it’s like to want to keep something secret, I know why you kept it from me. I’m not mad. I’m just...hurt. Giant, I like being around you. But I don’t want you to lie to my face about something I want to know.”

She breathed in, trying to calm her panic. “I don’t…” want Lucas to lie like he did. “...you’re a terrible liar. I can see right through you.”

“But what if you do leave?” he whispered, hunching in on himself. 

“Then that’s something I’d do for myself.”

“...” he sighed. “It was...it was a bad time.”

“...and?”

“Just bad. Bad people.”

“Lucas,” she murmured, reaching out to take his hand. The skin on his palm was rough under hers, years of hard labor and burn scars melting into his hands. “Please, I want to hear it from you.”

His gaze darted away from hers again, she squeezed his hand. “I was just...angry, all the time,” he murmured, a flush building across his face. There was a hardness in his eyes. “And if I wasn’t angry I was...numb. Tired. I wanted to see the trees again.”

He was shaking in her hand, she rubbed her thumb along his knuckles, keeping quiet. 

“I…didn’t want to hurt them, they didn’t deserve to die. But I did so maybe I deserve…everything. I don’t deserve you either. I don’t…I’m terrible, Thumbelina, I’m a terrible person. And I don’t…I don’t know why you still…want to be around me. I’m just going to drag you down with me.”

She brought his hand up to her lips, kissing his knuckles. “See? I knew you didn’t want to. You aren’t that kind of person, darling. And you aren’t terrible.”

“But I hurt people. I did it and I was so numb and angry.”

“You were hurt. You didn’t want to.”

“I didn’t want to but I still did.”

“You had a reason.”

He paused. “Lucio…threatened my family. With…petty crimes.”

“So you did it to protect them.”

“What little I had left.”

“That’s more of a show of your character, Giant. Hurting someone for…the fun of it, is different than being forced into it. You didn’t have a choice.”

“I did have a choice! And I chose to kill people. I could…I could hurt you.”

“You wouldn’t make that choice.”

He wouldn’t look her in the eye, he looked so skittish, like he was ready to run. 

“People wanted to test their will and strength against me,” he whispered, clenching and unclenching his fist. He chuckled without humour. “I really was a beast.”

The word struck a chord within her. She knew it, heard it, saw it, smelled it.

But she kept quiet. 

“People were scared of me. Still are. I…deserve it. I’m not, good.”

“You don’t deserve any of that! You are good.”

“Maeve,” he snapped, ripping his hand from hers. She flinched, hands going up by her lips. He watched her back away, horror painting his face in dark colours. His eyes darkened as he fell into the role. “I hurt people for my own gain.” His voice was a low snarl, he was so tall. 

So tall.

Her nerves thrummed; ‘danger’ they seemed to scream at her. Hands, gloves, dark tone. I do it out of love, you’re just being selfish. It was her fault her fault her fault her fault her fault-

“Look, I’m even scaring you too,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. She let out a tiny sob, his façade cracking at the sound. He backed off, and before he looked away she saw flashes of anger and horror on his face. “I’m not good. Whatever good you saw in me is...a lie. I hurt people and I’m trying but it’s all people see in me. How can I change if people only see that?”

“I don’t,” she whispered, trembling. “I don’t see that. I don’t see any of it. I only see you.”

“But what if I’m a monster?”

“I can’t...I won’t believe that.”

He looked at her tear streaked face, fear barely hidden under her skin. “You should. I’m a monster. It’s only a matter of time before I-”

Her fingertips sparked, stomach bubbling. “You won’t. You aren’t like him. You are you. You are broken and awful. You feel like you’re beyond help and unlovable.” He flinched at the bluntness of her tone. “But I’m not going to leave. I made my choice.”

“Why won’t you leave? It’s not like I can offer you anything. I’m not of any worth to you.”

She snarled. “You make me happy. How is that not enough?”

“I want to be useful. I want to be good.”

“You are.”

“It was a lie,” he snapped, staring at her with shaking shoulders. “It’s all they’ll see so it’s all I can be.”

“Where is this coming from?” She stared at him, his eyes peeling back the layers of hurt to show a…

Child.

He was scared.

“You’re just going to leave,” he whispered. “Like everyone else.”

“Lucas-”

“So just get it over with. You already know I’m a beast. You know I’m terrible. So why are you still here?” he snapped. “Just go.”

“I’m not going to,” she snarled, balling her hands into fists. Fire licked at her palms. 

“Why not?” he said, voice rising to a yell. 

She trembled, saying what she never wanted to. She was no good. She was volatile and ugly and snared. She was a rat in a trap. She was a spark waiting for the breath of air to turn into a wildfire. 

She wasn’t good. 

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!”

He stopped, eyes going wide. He trembled, the words deathly soft. Softness that cut through her like winter cold. She almost gasped at the pain. 

“Do you?”

Her lips pulled back in a sneer as she took a step, then two. He moved away, watching her cry out of anger. She scrubbed at her face, jutting a finger in his. “You. Are a fucking. ASSHOLE,” she yelled, making him jump. “‘Do you?!’” she mocked, rolling her eyes. “YES I FUCKING DO.”

“Maeve-”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she snarled. “Oh I’m Lucas and I’m such a bad person. I act all tough in front of everyone but I’m scared.” His eyes were wide as saucers. She overstepped so many lines but she didn’t care. “I know you. You are a good fucking person. I can’t justify what you did but you did it out of desperation. People do things they regret when they are desperate.”

Her sob was choked and low, digging her palm into her eye as she gritted her teeth. “I’m fucked. Okay? I’ve been fucked for fucking years now. I haven’t...I was scared to open myself up to you. And now that I have you say ‘do you?’ what a fucking joke.”

She backed him up far enough that he ran into the sink, leaning back as she rose onto her tiptoes. “I trust you. I trust you with myself. I trust you with my heart, okay?! It’s yours and it’s always been yours. I’ve just been too stupid to see it. Fuck. Fuck you and fuck your ‘terrible person’ shtick. I’m fucking done with it.”

He went cross eyed at her finger. She flicked the tip of his nose. “I’m so fucking in love with you, Batsaikhan, that I’m not even scared. You make falling easy. You make it fun. You make it safe. I know you’ll be there for me when I reach the bottom. And if you don’t love me back that’s fine.”

She huffed, throwing her hair over one shoulder. “But I had love ruined for me. I’ve had it used against me, chaining me down and letting me drown. It’s been tainted and terrible. I wanted you gone because you scared me with how fast and how hard I was falling. It was scary and I wasn’t ready. But you…” she let out a low cry, shoulders shaking as she inhaled and exhaled in gasps. “You make it easy.”

“But I-”

“Yeah yeah. You’re ‘terrible’ so you’ve said. But if you’re a terrible person then I am unforgivable. If you don’t love me back that’s fine. It’s all fine.” She blinked, moving away from him. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling sick. “It’s fine. I know you…you don’t feel the same,” she whispered, choking down a tiny sob. “And that’s okay. It’s okay.” Her voice cracked. It wasn’t okay. She was a fucking liar. She wanted him to love her back. She was selfish and awful. 

She didn’t deserve him. 

“But never doubt that I love you. I know you’re...scared and you’re hurting. I can’t...possibly imagine what you went through, I can’t. But you’re...good. You’re lovely and kind. You make life seem...lighter and I love you. You’re so...bright and wonderful you make me feel like...I can be good too. That I can be good like you.”

Her hair fell into her face as she turned away from her, pain thrumming in her chest. She swayed, stumbling a little. “You don’t have to feel the same. I know...I’m not good. But you are. And you make me want to do...better. More. You make everything more...colourful. When I’m with you everything seems okay. Knowing your past won’t scare me away from your future.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, taking in a shuddering breath. “I-I’ll just go. I’m sorry,” she whispered, moving to the door. It was all so quiet, swallowing her up and making her dizzy. 

He was right. Nicolas, was right. It was always her fault. Always. Her palms slowly cooled down as she sniffed again, trying to stop crying.

“Wait.” His voice was soft, his touch even more so. She let out a tiny sob at his hand against hers, heart lifting against her will. He didn’t love her. Why would he? She wasn’t good like he was. He was beautiful and good. 

She was unforgivable. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, as she turned around. He trembled, and she knew she was staring in the face of a scared child. Broken, scared, longing. 

Fragile. 

“I-I am terrible,” he sniffed, letting her arm go and backing away a step. 

She reached forward, tipping onto her toes as she cupped his cheek. He let out a small hiccup as he watched her with wide eyes. Her hands were cold against his skin, the warmth settling in her stomach as she ran the pad of her thumb against the freckles on his cheek. 

He stared for a moment, shuddering as he leaned into her touch.

“No, you’re good,” she murmured, tears spilling from her eyes again. “That’s my choice. I think you’re good. No, I know you are.”

He shook, melting into her hand. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing heavy and shuddery. 

She placed her other hand on his chest, kissing the tip of his nose. His heart was fluttering and fast under her touch.

He wrapped her up in a hug, almost lifting her up off the ground. He buried his face in her neck, she stiffened for a moment. 

Slowly, she wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning back onto her heels. He tilted forward, hands on either side of her head to balance them. 

“I lo-lov...I love you,” he whispered, her skin erupting with goosebumps. 

He slowly moved his head so she could look at him, hair falling into his eyes. She brushed it back, laughing through her tears. He was crying now as well, face red. 

“D-Don’t laugh,” he sniffed as she swiped at his cheeks. She kissed the tip of his nose as she squished his face, leaning against the door. 

“You really need to get your head out of your ass,” she murmured, kissing his cheek. 

He huffed, sniffing quietly. “P-Please don’t...don’t leave me. I-I’m sorry, d-d-don’t go.” He was crying more now, brows soft. “I don’t want you t-t-to leave.”

She sobbed, wrapping her arms around him again, heel smacking the door. 

He whimpered, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I’m not going anywhere,” she murmured, running her hands through his hair. “I’m not going anywhere.” Not again.

He blinked, his face splotchy now. His nose brushed hers as he kissed her with such reverence she almost whimpered. Her nails scratched his scalp lightly as he pressed her against the door, heels tapping the floor. He caged her in with hands on either side of her face, but kissed her so softly she couldn’t feel much else. 

“I love you,” he murmured softly, breath warm against her face. He kissed her again. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered, cupping his face in her hands. He kissed her palm, staring at her with wounded eyes. Such soft affection, those big blue doe eyes of his. 

She wrapped her arms around him, slowly sliding down the door to the floor. Her dress made a soft ‘puff’ sound as she landed hard, dragging him with her. She rested his head in her lap, hair falling like a curtain between them. 

So soft it was. Soft affection, soft kisses, soft words.

The scars, the anger, the sun, the hurt, were marked along his skin. Her fingertips danced against all of them, taking him in. 

He was a good person who did bad things. 

And maybe...maybe, she was the same way. He made her feel like she was good. She wanted to be good like him. Then maybe she’d… 

He reached up to push some of her hair behind her ear. 

No, she didn’t need to earn his love. It wasn’t even about earning it. 

It was realizing she didn’t need to, because she had it anyway. 

“I love you.”

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Shielded: Chapter Six; Spring Watch.

Anonymous said to imagineclaireandjamie:

A hard man is good to find. [Mae West]

--

Jamie woke with a start, the alarm blaring in the background.

The dream had been intense and had left him panting, a sheen of sweat on his skin as he pushed the duvet aside and stood. As always it was light outside, the sunrise half blinding him as the blasts of orange and red permeated the old curtains. Washing the night from his skin, he plunged himself beneath the pounding rivulets of water coming from his power shower, his body temperature receding slightly as the morning wore on.

Fortunately Claire wouldn’t be awake yet and he could slip from the house almost unnoticed. He needed to get a good day of work done, and to forget the memory of his dream before he faced her again. The mere thought brought colour to his cheeks, the heat in his belly reminding him of how incredibly realistic it had been.

Delicate pink skin appeared without his permission and once more he could feel the remnants of it haunting him as he slid his wellies on and closed the door softly behind him. Working in a daze, he prepared his cows for milking, the heat of the morning fading slightly as the clouds rolled in. The animals barely paid him any mind, going about their own business as he fed, watered and tended to them.

She hadn’t snuck into his bed, as she had in his dreams, but she had infiltrated his thoughts and no matter how hard he tried, sporadic jolts of her came unbidden throughout the day as he worked.

She’s married, he told himself, although the argument felt pretty weak in his own mind. In the abstract she was, he could tell that she still thought herself that way despite starting her new life. Without knowing it, she often rubbed her wedding ring finger - though the ring had long since been removed. It was obvious she was struggling with the transition and who could blame her, it had only been a couple of weeks. She was still hesitating on her name whenever he spoke it out loud to her, the subtle twitch betraying her.

But she was beginning to thaw, the shocked reaction he received when he spoke to her growing less and less as time went on (which, secretly, made him smile).

The baby lambs were out in force as he pulled the sandwich from his rucksack - one Claire had made him the night before. He smiled to himself as he perched on the fence, watching his first time mums as they paraded their babies around the perimeter of the field. Food somehow tasted better when someone else had made it for him, the slight differences in style allowing him a great enough change in routine to be noticeable.

She, it seemed, had a penchant for adding multiple salad products on her ham sandwich. Whereas Jamie was always in a rush at 4am, trying to collect his thermos as well as various food items to keep him going for the day, usually he would just throw slices of meat on top of bread without much thought. Lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber and *butter*, however, made all the difference. He even had potato salad on the side and a bag of what looked like homemade crisps.

Before Claire had arrived, John had given Jamie a very brief update as to her situation. Knowing a limited amount, he gauged that the difficulties she’d encountered recently hadn’t really set in yet and, instead, she was going through some sort of nesting, using her time at Lallybroch to cook and clean, ensuring that her mind is actively kept away from thinking about much at all.

His mind needed something similar as the image of her pottering about in his kitchen whilst he was away brought to the fore those visions that had him startled awake this morning before his alarm had even a chance to ring and he shook the picture of her bare skin from his thoughts, turning back to his task list.

The orphaned lambs were thriving now. Most had been ‘adopted’ by other nursing mothers but he still had two rogue ewes who were waiting for collection - Rupert, his nearest (mostly by proximity but also by friendship) neighbour had offered to take them for him but had yet been unable to drive over to collect them. In lieu of this, Jamie had been spending time hand feeding them every day though he worried each time he left them that he might return to something unmentionable.

Luckily, they’d survived another night in the small outhouse and he crawled in between them, the straw poking and prodding him as he settled with the warm milk bottle. The first, the largest of the two, squirmed in excitement, rushing to plonk herself by his side and suckle noisily at the teet.

“Easy now, lass, there’s enough for the both of you.” He soothed, watching as she butted the bottle, falling to her knees as she fed. Sheep were notoriously terrible pets, losing their fear of humans when in contact for too long and he had worried this close contact wouldn’t be good for the ewes, but watching the smaller of the pair sit helplessly in the corner made him think of Claire.

An idea came to him all of a sudden as he moved towards the lone female. He could, if he wanted, take the lamb home that evening and leave her in Claire’s care. Not only would it give the poor wee thing a greater chance, it might give her something else to turn her attention to in the day. There was a large chance he’d lose this one if he didn’t do something drastic.

-- --- --

An odd feeling settled in her stomach from the moment she woke up. Though she couldn’t put her finger on what the issue was, she felt a strange atmosphere hovering around her. Her skin prickled as she got out of the shower and she immediately felt as though there was something she should be remembering but couldn’t quite hold onto the memory.

She’d heard Jamie leave this morning, which was odd in itself. Usually she was fast asleep at dawn, not waking until much later when the house was quiet and she was alone. But she’d been woken this morning by some forgotten thought or dream that she couldn’t picture from the second she’d opened her eyes.

After barely speaking for two weeks, the weekend had been a welcome change.

Conversation had not been forced or odd, Jamie had allowed her time for quiet reflection and had seemed really quite pleased with her suggestions for the upcycling of his old furniture.

She felt useful, finally. A feeling she hadn’t had in some time.

Putting herself to work, she opted for cleaning downstairs for the best part of the morning. There was still a lot of dust residue from the sanding epic they’d had on Saturday, even spending most of Sunday dusting and hoovering hadn’t removed it all, so she pulled the dyson from under the stairs and tried to be as thorough as she could be.

Like cooking, she had never considered herself to be fluent in the art of housewifery. Before...when she had been able, her time had been dedicated to studying. There had been a cleaner for such tasks and, even afterwards, she hadn’t *needed* to be useful in that way. Here, though, there was nobody else to clean, do the dishes or cook and she found that losing herself to each task kept her mind (and body) active.

Sitting with the remnants of her crisps, she decided that was the dish she’d been most proud of since her introduction to the kitchen. She found herself thinking of Jamie and hoped that he was enjoying them too.

Their food deliveries now consisted of a greater variety of produce and she’d been able to add some colour to his lunch - which she had been making every evening and putting into the fridge for him to take when he left in the mornings.

She felt pleased as well as shocked at how easily she had moulded to fit her new life here.

Happy with her efforts, she turned her attention to the bookshelves in the back living room. There were titles dating back hundreds of years. Thick leather covers with yellowed pages sat proudly amongst the newer softback novels. She could tell which books had been read just by glancing at the spines, though there had been fingerprints in the thin layer of dust that had been there only hours before.

They were categorised, it seemed, by the surname of the author, carefully and methodically organised so that each time a new title had been purchased, it had been added in the right spot though there wasn’t room for many more.

His taste was eclectic, from non-fiction books on farming, agriculture, holistic medicines and horticulture to the classics (neatly bound with multiple editions ordered together, oldest first) including Jane Austin, Victor Hugo, Descartes, Melville and Hemingway. Jumbled in were some biographies but she’d assumed those belonged to either his parents or sister as none had been touched for some time.

Her fingers ran over the spines, stopping to hover over the drawing and painting books she’d first read when learning to doodle on the post-it notes in the first few weeks. She didn’t stop until she reached a relatively new title that she hadn’t noticed before. There was ruffling on the edge, a clear sign of frequent use, and some damage to the corners. Pulling it from the shelves, she settled into the comfy armchair, her cup of tea now cool enough to drink, and began to read.

It was modern, eloquently written with intricate plot weaving from the moment she turned the first page. The front cover clearly denoted that of a romance but there was intrigue and art as well as carefully homegrown characters. Before she’d had time to digest the prose, the front door opened and closed and she blinked. The clock on the desk ticked loudly and she noticed that hours had passed without her knowing.

Placing the book back on the shelf, she decided to leave it where it was for the time being and come back for it before bed. Though the visuals she’d imagined for herself stayed with her as she stretched and went in search of Jamie.

A loud noise caught her attention and she burst out laughing as she walked into the kitchen to find him wrestling with a small lamb.

“A new friend?” She said, her shock fading quickly.

“Ah; lass, I need ye!” His words were breathless, his cheeks a vibrant pink from the exertion of keeping the lamb from darting off and wrecking the joint. “I have a challenge for you, if you’re up for it!?”

[kpop---scenarios]

First Time

Commissioned by: @mon-dayragingslut4monstaxday6​

Pairing: Minhyuk x Reader

Warning: Smut, Unprotected Sex

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: I hope you enjoy!!!

"..It won't be weird, you know? It's just one bestfriend, helping out another best friend to bring up his confidence and lose his virginity." Minhyuk says, clearing his throat awkwardly while avoiding eye contact. 

"Might me momentarily awkward." You fake cough. "But really, Minnie, if you can't even look me in the eye and ask me to sleep with you, how are you actually going to do it? We've been friends for 8 years, I've seen a lot and this would be nothing." You snicker, rolling your eyes. 

"Because it's intimate." He harshly whispers. 

Your cheeks turn bright red at his embarrassment. This is the man you've been in love with for the last 7.5 years. The man who has yet to lose his virginity at the age of 24, the man who gets embarrassed when talking about sex. You shouldn't love him, but you do, with everything you have. 

"When did you have in mind?" You groan, but internally you're excited. You wont lie, there's a part of you that's terrified to do this. What if things become weird between the two of you, or everything gets ruined? Is it a chance you're willing to take? 

Absolutely. You'd felt on occasions that Minhyuk might have shown some kind of signs of liking you back but you need to be convinced enough to admit your feelings to him. Maybe now this was your chance? 

"Tonight. 8pm, don't be late and don't show up hammered either." He chuckles. A part of you knows he's joking but yet the other part, a much larger part knows he's being dead serious too. There have been more times than you'd like to admit where you showed up drunk to important events. You didn't like being nervous and alcohol soothed your nerves. 

"Don't worry, I'll be sober." You yell as Minhyuk walks out of your apartment. 

You had to be painfully sober for this if it was going to happen correctly. You couldn't afford any mistakes, it was now or never for Minhyuk to know how you felt. 

** 

You stare at the countdown on your phone as the time gets closer to 8pm. 

7:58pm 

Take a deep breath.

7:59pm

Knock on the door. 

You raise your hand, preparing to knock on the door but it won't move anymore. Maybe this is a mistake? Sleeping with your bestfriend is usually not the smartest idea, especially when it comes to keeping a friendship. These things tend to never end well, but on the other hand, do you really want to suffer for how many more years of being in love with him and him not knowing. Then you run the risk of him finding someone else, falling in love and you watching him be happy and live a life that should have been with you but instead it's with someone else. 

Knock 

Knock 

Knock 

You weren't willing to chance it. You needed to know if you could have that life, your dream of happily ever after. It was a possibility that was so close. 

"Hey." Minhyuk smiles as he opens the door. You walk into his apartment, his living room is cluttered with lit candles, the lights dim. Laid on the table were two glasses along with a bottle of wine, you hoped was for you. 

"What happened to sober?" You ask, nodding your head towards the wine. 

"Ease the nerves, not get black out drunk." He laughs. "Come sit." He smiles, patting the cushion on the couch next to him.

Quietly, you sit down, placing your purse on the floor before laying your jacket across the arm of the couch. You're wearing a small black dress, with something special underneath for Minhyuk. A sexy red piece of lingerie, his favorite colour. 

"Would you like a glass?" He asks. Eagerly you nod your head, feeling less weird now that you're here. 

The entire time you had been thinking about it, you had failed to remember that this was Minhyuk's first time, but not yours. You were going to have to take the reins, show him what to do and how to do it. If anyone was going to be nervous, it would be him. 

Minhyuk hands you a glass of wine, with what you could only describe as a droplet inside. "The fuck?" You question, looking from the wine to him. "Is this? What do I do with this? I need more, please." You finish holding your glass out in front of you. 

"No getting drunk." Minhyuk warned. "One glass to ease yourself, that's what was said." He tells you. 

"Uh yes a glass, not half a splash, don't be cheap." You smile. 

Minhyuk groans as he pours you now half a glass, as well as himself. He and you down it in one gulp. 

"Okay. So.." you begin before he cuts you off. 

"Come here and sit on my cock, baby. Let me spit in your eye." Minhyuk grunts in a weird deep voice, causing you to choke on your own spit. 

"What?" You ask. 

"Is that not what they say? I've watched a lot of porn you know, Y/N. I do know a thing or two." He smirks. 

"You know a thing or two.. from the unrealistic porn that's like super over dramatic and not very real?" You point out. "Also, what kind of porn are you watching?" 

"I.. well.." he stutters before you wave him off. 

"I don't want to know." You laugh as you get yo and walk towards him. 

Minhyuk stands up, facing you. Your head is pounding while your heart races as you think about the fact you're going to kiss him right now. You wondered if it would be weird, or if he's thought about kissing you? 

You stand in front of him, looking him in the eye as you slowly lean forward, your eyes eventually drifting to his lips instead. 

You finally close your eyes as you press your lips against his, waiting for him to laugh or push you away. But he didn't. Instead he wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you in closer. Your mouth moves in sync with his, as he slides his tongue into your mouth in one swift try. 

You have to admit, you're impressed with his kissing skills, considering he hasn't had much practice. 

"Now what?" He kind of murmurs, his lips barely leaving yours while not even opening his eyes. 

"We need to undress. So take mine, and I'll unbutton yours." You tell him. 

Minhyuk reaches his hands down to the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head and throwing it behind him onto the floor. 

"Nice." He chuckles, staring at your tits while you unbutton his shirt. 

Once you slide it from his body, you tell him to take off your bra. 

"Uh." He mumbles as his hands stay in the air, unsure of where to go, or how to do it. 

"And you've claimed to watch a lot of porn." You scoff. "In the back. The clasp."

"Ah yes. Well they usually already have titties bouncing when I arrive to watch, so.." he tells you, unclasping your bra with one hand on the first try. "Boom." He shouts. 

"Beginners luck." You scoff. 

"Now what?" He asks. 

"Now, most girls enjoy this, but sometimes you might want to wait for them to tell you to do it unless you know they like it. Suck." You say, pointing down at your breast.

Minhyuk smirks just a bit before he cups your breast and lowers his head, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking. 

"Mhm." You moan. 

Minhyuk can feel his cock twitch in his pants. 

He let's go with a pop, your face showing just how horny you were now. 

"Pants off." You say, pulling down your yoga pants while Minhyuk scrambles to discard his jeans.  

The two of you head over to the bedroom where you lay down on the bed and Minhyuk just stands there. 

"Is it fucking time?" He asks. 

"Foreplay. You need to fool around for a bit before you get to it unless it's a quickie, but we aren't doing that." You tell him. 

"So not like the porns. They just get right to it." He sighs. 

"Again, not real. Get down here." You tell him. "You can either rub my clit or lick my pussy, your choice. Most times the girl will tell you what they want." You say. 

"What do you want." He asks. 

"Lick my pussy." You say, spreading your legs. 

Minhyuk gets settled in between your legs, spreading your lips with his fingers before giving a few kitten licks. 

"Don't be afraid too…" you begin before Minhyul wraps his lips around your clit and begins sucking. 

"Oh god." You cry out, your hands gripping the sheets. You weren't entirely sure what he was doing to you but it felt phenomenal. "Two fingers.." you moan but he was one step ahead of you, already inserting two fingers inside you. 

"Shit. Fuck. Yes, just like that." You cry, arching your back. 

Minhyuk hadn't realized how good it would make him feel to see someone squirming under him, moaning his name like that. Now he just wanted to rail you. 

"Stop. Stop stop." You cry. Minhyuk lifts his head and pulls his fingers out of you, looking at you like he had done something wrong. "I don't want to cum yet." You explain. 

He understood, but not really. 

"On your back." You demand. "Have you ever had your dick sucked?" You ask. 

He shakes his head no. 

Excellent. 

You pull his boxers from his body, throwing them somewhere across the room. You're impressed by the length and width of his cock, a very good size. 

Licking your lips, you bend your head down, shoving his cock down your throat. 

"Holy fuck." He yells, his legs twitching. "Fuck." He grunts. 

You place your hand on the base of his cock, pumping him while you swirl your tongue around the tip, causing him to moan loudly while you lick up some pre cum. 

"Please stop, but don't stop, but stop." He groans. 

"Which one is it?" You ask, taking a small break. 

"If you don't stop I will cum." He admits. 

"Okay, so.." you begin but are cut off. 

"Now it's fucking time." Minhyuk excitedly says. 

"What position?" You ask. 

"Uhh.. regular? You know, normal.." he mumbles. 

"Missionary? Cow girl? Doggy? Reverse cowgirl?" You ask, just naming off a few. 

"Doggy?" He asks. You nod your head and get onto all fours, putting your head onto the mattress. 

"Yeah that's right." He grunts. "You gonna take my cock like the whore you are? Dirty fucking slut..face..slut" He says, landing a hard smack on your ass. 

"What the fuck." You partially laugh. 

"Is that not okay?" He wonders. 

"Make sure whoever you're fucking is okay with being called names. Personally I love it, but also have confidence. Slut face slut? Not your finest." You tell him. 

"Fair enough." He agrees, clearing his throat. He lines his cock up with your pussy before slowly pushing himself into you. 

"Oh.. holy.. shit.. so tight." He moans as he enters you fully. "Feels.. amazing." He grunts, tightly gripping onto your hips. 

"Now fuck me." You whine, grinding yourself against him. 

Minhyuk slowly pulls himself out of you before pushing back in, moaning loudly each time.

"Faster." You groaned, and needed him to slam himself into you. 

"I don't want to hurt you." He whispers. 

"I'll tell you if I'm hurting or not, until then rail me hard." You say. 

It was like a switch inside Minhyuk was flicked. He began to pound his cock into you, his nails and fingertips digging into your hips so hard you knew there would be bruises. 

"God yes" you cry. "Pull my hair." 

Without hesitation, Minhyuk grabs a clump of your hair, yanking your head back as he continues to ram you. 

When he let's go, your head hits the mattress once again. You reach down in between your legs to rub your clit while you have your ass as high in the air as you can for Minhyuk. 

Without you needing to ask, he lands another hard smack on your ass, sending shivers down your spine. 

"You like that, baby?" He grunts, fucking you raw. 

You liked it even more when he called you baby. 

"Yes." You moan. 

"Yes what?" He snaps.

You'd never pictured him as a daddy type, but then again you never really know. 

"Yes daddy." You moan.

"Fuck do I love that. Good little cock whore." He grunts. "You gonna cum for me?" He asks. 

"Shit. Yes daddy." You cry out, your fingers rubbing fast allowing your orgasm to come quickly. 

"Cum baby, cum for me." He yells and you do. As your orgasm washes through your body, you cry out while your body shakes and Minhyuk fucks you harshly, chasing his own high. 

"I'm gonna cum." He grunts. 

"Cum inside me." You cry out, just as he cums, filling your pussy up with his warm cream. 

"Oh my god. Fuck." He grunts as he slowly thrusts himself into you, spilling everything he has inside of him. 

"That was.. wow." You huff, laying in his bed, side by side. 

"I have a confession." He breathes. "There's a reason why I haven't fucked anyone " 

"What?" You ask, nervously. 

"I've been waiting for the right time to ask you.. because I've only wanted you but you were with Jooheon or whatever. So I waited." He admits. 

"Why did you wait?" You ask. 

"Because I've loved you for years, and I wanted my first time to be with you. I love you." He tells you, turning his head to look at you. 

"I love you too." You whisper.

[katsitting]

"Audacity"?

AN: So, we’ve got another one that I ran with.  I hope you enjoy, and that this is along the lines of what you had in mind :) All typos are mine

Ships: Tomarry

Rating: T

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern, Canon Divergence, Professor Tom Riddle, Sexual Tension, Student/Teacher Dynamic, Tom Riddle is a Dark Lord but Harry doesn’t know this, POV Third Person Limited, Not Beta-Read

You can read it on AO3 here.

_______________________________________________________________

“That’s total bollocks” Harry said, aware that he was playing a dangerous game, but unwilling to anyway. To do anything else would be to admit defeat, and Harry, even when acquiescence was the safest option in his toolbox, would sooner kiss a Mandrake than do as much.

To hell with that.

“Harry!” Hermione hissed into his ear, with what Harry could imagine was an ashen and horrified look on her face. Harry didn’t turn to face her, though, not when Professor Riddle was standing in front of him with a look of absolute contempt on his face.

“This is insane, Harry. You’re going to get detention, or worse, expelled.” Hermione was buzzing with nervous energy at his side, while Ron, the more terrified of the two, remained silent. It was as if Ron had absorbed all the fear and good sense Harry had because what Harry said, was going to continue to say, wasn’t sensible in the least. “Harry, please, see sense.”

Harry couldn’t, not over the loud rush of anger, of bitterness in his ears. It was a writhing, living mass in the centre of his chest, a poison slowly spreading through his veins.

Stopping wasn’t an option. Not anymore.

“No matter how you slice it, it’s wrong. You can’t just say that the Unforgivables have their moments where they—the total bloody opposite of what the word unforgivable even means—are forgivable.”

Professor Riddle’s expression darkened, his contempt growing into something that resembled loathing.  The murmurs in the classroom had all but vanished; Harry doubted there was even an intake of breath. Still, Harry couldn’t find it within himself to care, to be concerned. He only had room for fury in his heart.

Because how fucking dare he?

A dark wizard had murdered Harry’s parents using an Unforgivable.

A dark witch had tortured Neville’s parents until they’d gone mad using an Unforgivable.

There was no justification, no reason for the use of dark magic. Even if Professor Riddle was brilliant, one of the most talented young wizards to grace this school, he was wrong.

The gall, the bloody nerve, to say that they could somehow be justified.

Harry’s fingers were shaking to the point that he couldn’t keep his pencil in his grip.

“Mr. Potter—“ Riddle began, but Harry didn’t let him finish.  He was on his feet before he realised what he’d done, hands clenched into fists at his hands. His shaking had spread from his fingers to the rest of him.

“No, don’t say another word.”

The room went still. Everyone did. Even Riddle had paused, his expression freezing into one of disbelief.

Harry drank the look in, taking that moment to give Riddle the most disgusted look he could muster, before turning away and beginning to gather his things.  He wasn’t going to stay a second longer.

What would be the point? He was angry, no, furious. Staying in this classroom, with his pissant of a professor, would only invite another argument, would only cost his House more points.

It was such bullshit. Such horseshit.

Harry tried not to think about his anger, tried not to focus on the nervous glances Ron and Hermione cast his way in the hopes he’d face them and sit back down, but that anger—

It was all he could focus on, all he could taste in the back of his tongue as he shoved his books into his bag. He was so furious that he couldn’t stand it, that he couldn’t breathe through his it.

How could someone so brilliant be so blind? How could someone so young be so heartless? It was maddening. It didn’t make any bloody sense!

His head still rung with Riddle’s cavalier discussion of dark magic, of what a fascinating history they had, Riddle had said. He couldn’t get the words out of his head, couldn’t erase the look of fascination in Riddle’s dark eyes as he spoke about the subject to his class.

It was disgusting, so fucking—

Harry shot the thought down before he riled himself up any further.  If he let himself just run with this, there was no telling what else he might do, might say.  Dumbledore could cover for him, but not even he could protect him if Harry took things too far.

“Mr. Potter—“

Harry’s fingers stilled, his head snapping up to look at Riddle without meaning to. Riddle’s expression had grown icier in the time Harry had spent gathering his things. It was like all the colour had been drained out of him, his humanity gone.

Harry didn’t let that intimidate him. Squaring his shoulders, Harry levelled him with a fierce expression of his own.

“Sit down.”

Harry didn’t. He refused to be cowed, to be silenced for his legitimate position. No one got a pass at saying that dark magic was justifiable, not even the professors.

No, especially not the professors.

Riddle had been alright for a Slytherin, even if he was some of the harsher professors when it came to his lessons, but now, Harry was certain that he was worse than all the rubbish in Slytherins he knew.

The Slytherins he knew at least were forthright with their noxious beliefs, but no, not Professor Riddle.  Riddle was the worst kind of Slytherin, the most heinous of all, he was a bloody liar. A terrible person pretending to be kind, to be good. He was—

A dark wizard through and through.

“Mr. Potter, don’t make me repeat myself.”

Still, Harry refused to back down. The room grew chillier still, the tension among the other seventh-year students enough to make everyone rigid in their seats. Harry wanted to feel bad for putting everyone through this, but he didn’t. Harry felt no guilt.

“Class dismissed. Mr. Potter, you stay.”

Riddle’s voice was a whisper; no louder than the flutter of a page turning. With how everyone reacted, it might as well been a Bombarda. Everyone scrambled to gather their things, to rush out of the room and escape from the mounting conflict with between them.

Harry paid them no mind, still not standing down even as Hermione and Ron lingered on the outer perimeter of his sight. They should have left with everyone else, but Harry understood their reservations, their hesitance. A Harry that was alone was a Harry that could get himself into deeper trouble.

Calling Professor a fucking  dark wizard would do precisely that, and the temptation to shout that off the top of his lungs, was growing stronger by the seconds.

“Granger and Weasley, I believe I said that class was dismissed.”

From Harry’s peripheral, he could make out Hermione freezing in place, her hand falling away from where she had tried to reach for the outer edge of his robes. Her face was expressionless, but by the state of her hair, Harry knew she was flustered and on the verge of panicking. Harry almost winced at the look on Ron’s face.  He fared no better than Hermione; he looked faint, his face a shade of pale green.

Hermione was short of having a panic attack, and Ron, by the look of things, was in the middle of one.

Harry did feel a twinge of guilt then.

Harry turned to Hermione with a smile on his face that he meant to be comforting, but Hermione’s expression didn’t look convinced. Her hair was still frizzed up, as if the strands were sucking up the tension in the room.  

“Go. I’ll be fine.”

Hermione hesitated, unwilling to leave him alone but also equally as unwilling to disobey a direct instruction from their professor. The tension radiating from Riddle was growing worse by the second, it was only a matter of time before he directed his ire on Harry’s friends if they didn’t move fast enough.

Harry didn’t want to drag him into his mess.

“Go.”

Hermione gave a subtle nod, and then, with a fierce expression on her face, managed to undo whatever spell of panic Ron was in and lead him out of the classroom.

Harry didn’t watch them as they left, not with Riddle watching him as closely as he was. It was like he was trying to see beneath Harry’s skin, to uncover some sort of secret that he didn’t know.

What he was trying to find, to uncover, Harry didn’t know nor care.

Riddle could look all he fucking liked.

“Mr. Potter—“ Riddle began, voice so soft that Harry struggled to catch it. It wasn’t angry or upset. It wasn’t much of anything. It was empty, but it was still eerie enough to make the hair’s on the nape of Harry’s neck stand on end.

“While I admire your passion on the subject, what you have said and done today, is—“

Harry couldn’t help his smirk when Riddle stopped talking, lifting his chin a little to stare at Riddle from beneath his nose. A gesture that said, no, screamed—

I dare you.

I bloody dare you.

Whatever the circumstances, Harry was not afraid. Nothing Riddle said could scare him, nothing that he did could make him take his words back. Riddle had lost all of his respect, his goodwill. There was nothing Riddle could possibly do to him now that would make a bloody difference.

Detention?

Expulsion?

While detention was definitely a tool in Riddle’s arsenal, Harry’s behaviour wasn’t enough to justify expulsion. Dumbledore wouldn’t allow it, and in fact, Harry was certain, Dumbledore might even praise him for his defiance.

“The audacity Mr. Potter, to accuse me of being accepting of dark magic, to derail my class with your ridiculous tantrum—“

Harry laughed, unable to help it when Riddle’s expression turned lethal, when Riddle crossed the room to loom over Harry like some sort of angry ghost from across his desk. Harry had never considered Riddle the type to throw fists, but with the look he was sporting, Harry had half a mind to prepare himself for an all-out brawl.

“If given the chance, I’d do it again,” Harry said, and Riddle froze, all the anger draining out of him leaving behind an expressionless mask. “Hogwarts has no place for dark wizards…sir.”

It was miraculous just how fast Professor Riddle switched from one emotion to the next. It made one wonder just how sane he was, if one could even call Riddle sane at all for spouting the nonsense he’d had in class.

“Seventy-five points from Gryffindor and a month’s detention, Potter.”

Harry didn’t flinch, already expecting that. His entire house was going to kill him, but it couldn’t be helped. Actions had consequences, and although he would have preferred getting out of this unscathed, that was not going to be possible after what he’d said.

Oh well.

Riddle didn’t say anything more for some time, his gaze burning into Harry’s eyes.  It was uncomfortable, to say the least, but Harry did not blink. He didn’t want to miss a thing even though his eyes were starting to water.

“Listen well, Harry—

The sound of his name coming from that mouth was enough to make Harry’s skin crawl.

“For someone that is so quick to accuse others of being a dark wizard, I find it curious that you would choose to submit yourself to detention with the very wizard you are accusing of condoning dark magic.”

Harry’s blood ran cold, shock enough to drain away all the burning righteous indignation swimming in his gut. Riddle’s lips had into a saccharine smile and—

Those eyes.

They were lit with something Harry couldn’t identify, something he couldn’t place. All that he knew was that it was wrong somehow, that it was—

No, Harry tried to shake off the unease. He’s only trying to scare you.

Harry squared his shoulders, fighting down the wave of unease murmuring in the back of his mind to turn away and run.

“It’s not very intelligent of you, Harry,” Riddle purred and Harry blanched, unsure of how to respond when Riddle’s face changed again, something mischievous now gracing his features. “But I suppose, that is what others find so endearing about you. This recklessness.”

Harry’s throat caught, a burn he didn’t want to acknowledge blooming across his cheeks. How did he even begin responding to that?

“I’d be careful if I were you. Someone might just find you too endearing, and—“ Riddle’s lips were curled into a strange smile, one Harry had never seen on his professor’s face before. Harry tried to swallow down his discomfort, to not take a step back when Riddle tilted his head to one side, observing him from beneath his lashes.

What the fuck?

What the fuck?

“Never you mind, Harry. You’re free to go.”

Riddle waved his hand, and it was like Harry could breathe again, had been snapped out of his unwanted and unexpected stupor for a moment to take a step back and reach for his moleskin bag.

The moment was over as quickly as it had come.

What the fuck was that all about?

Harry couldn’t even begin to answer that question, to sort through this own confusing thoughts. Even after he’d left the classroom, rushing through the halls all the way to Gryffindor Tower at a much faster pace than he would have liked, he was at a loss.

It was obvious Riddle had been upset. That couldn’t have been more clear, but—

But I suppose, that is what others find so endearing about you. This recklessness.

It was almost as though he were paying Harry a compliment, and that was wrong on so many levels that Harry didn’t even want to consider it. Riddle didn’t pay compliments like that. Especially not after what Harry had said, had done, in the middle of class.

What the fuck?

Harry wasn’t looking forward to detention.

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - I Was Given Four Rules to Follow ... I Broke Every One: Chapter 1/3 (Rated PG13)

Summary: When Warlock Dowling is summoned to the old South Downs cottage of Aziraphale and Crowley to help clean out their attic, presumably after their deaths, he is given four rules to follow.

... He breaks every single one.

Notes: For @silver-colour

Written for the @tricketyboo2020 prompt "Creepypasta format story (like a found footage or witness statement kind of thing)" by silver-colour. It is a mild reworking of an older fanfic of mine, but that goes tongue in cheek with the ending of this story sort of. XD I would put this between Spooky Level 2 and 3, with 3 being "major and minor character death, disturbing images or concepts, major dark themes, major violence, etc." But there's only minor mentions of blood/body horror. But the whole undead thing is a trigger for some people and I lean into that imagery a bit. I wanted this to be a sort of leveled up Goosebumps tale. Tl;dr proceed with caution <3

Chapter 1

 I am going to die.

I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die.

I have to keep repeating it because I have to come to grips with it.

I am going to die.

Not in sixty years.

More like sixty minutes.

Oh, Amanda. I am sorry.

If you ever hear this … I never meant for this to happen.

My name is Warlock Dowling and I am 34 years-old. Devoted son and husband, I’ve spent over a decade working towards achieving my dream of following in my father’s footsteps and entering politics one day.

It’s a dream I don’t think I’ll be seeing through to the end.

I am telling you this because after reading what I’ve just read … and hearing what I’ve just heard … I am not certain I’m going to make it through the night.

I broke the rules.

There were four. Only four. And I broke them.

I didn’t break them by accident. I absolutely did it on purpose. I’m not suicidal or anything, but you only live once - am I right?

For the record, I don’t regret a single thing.

…

That’s not entirely true.

I’ll regret dying before morning if that’s the way things play out.

Today happens to be October 31st - Halloween night. I’d been tasked with clearing out the attic above a cottage in The South Downs which once belonged to a pair of old family friends. Technically, they were ex-employees of my parents from back when I was young, but I thought of them as surrogates. They practically raised me, educated me, taught me everything I know about coping in this cruel, pathetic world.

I held them in the highest regard.

They were the only people in my life who treated me as if I could become more than what I had been born into, that fate had something else in store for me. Because of them, I met the best friends a boy could ever have.

I will forever be grateful for that.

Cleaning out this attic was the least I could do to repay them, but to be honest, I don’t know who summoned me here. I assumed it was the executor of their estate, but now I’m not so sure. Looking over the letter in my hands, there is no legible signature. And the gold embossed emblem at the top that I took for granted as belonging to some upscale legal firm is, on closer inspection, gibberish - a mess of fleur-de-lis underscored by Latin words that roughly translate to “the cows shall rise”.

Ludicrous, right?

How did I miss that?

But more ludicrous - and confusing - are the rules.

I had been given rules about cleaning this attic.

The first rule on the list was to touch only what I could see. Under no circumstances was I to open any of the boxes or chests.

So, naturally, I opened every single one.

The second rule was not to put anything on. Fine by me. The only clothes up here are old lady outfits and a pair of white satin shoes.

But …

There was an awesome vintage leather jacket hanging on a dressmaker’s dummy in the corner and … well … it had my name written all over it! I had to try it on, see if it fit.

And it does.

Rule number three - keep to my torch. Don’t light any candles.

Nuh-uh! It’s Halloween! And torches are lame. So on the candles went. Jeez, there are a lot of them. Enough to burn down the whole place if I’m not careful. It actually seems like they’ve multiplied since I’ve been up here.

I won’t lie - it’s unsettling.

But according to the list, rule number four is the most important:

Don’t read any books I find. And definitely not out loud.

The first thing I saw when I entered the attic was a stack of leather-bound books. I scoffed at the sight of them, piled up to my chin, right inside the entryway. Isn’t that a bit like putting a huge bowl of candy front and center on your dining room table in the middle of dinner with a huge sign saying, “Do not eat?” If the most important rule about going into the attic is, “Don’t read anything!” why not put all the books on a high shelf?

Or the moon?

I’m not a book lover. I read hundreds of pages a day for work. I definitely don’t do it for fun. So this shouldn’t have been a hard one for me to follow.

But they looked like diaries.

And diaries hold secrets.

That made them a different matter all together.

I couldn’t resist.

But once I opened the top one, I knew I’d made a mistake.

These weren’t just any diaries.

They were the diaries of my two friends - Aziraphale and Crowley.

There had always been something odd about those two. I didn’t believe for a second that they were a proper nanny or gardener, not even when I was a young, impressionable child. But they were funny - a distraction from the dull as dishwater life of an attache’s son.

Yes, I was a spoiled little rich kid with everything I could ever ask for handed to me and, on top of that, diplomatic immunity.

Woe was me.

I realize how much of a douche whining about that makes me sound.

My life was still dull.

I was still lonely.

I never knew for sure what happened to them after they left us. I made assumptions - erroneous assumptions. I thought they lived happily ever after at least.

Now I know … that wasn’t the case.

I’m recording this in the hopes that someone will find it, so that you might know the true story of what happened to them …

… and why you might not be hearing from me again.

***

The Diary of Aziraphale Fell - Reluctant Widower

January 14th-

“Please, sir,” the decrepit woman hissed, but not unkindly. She came about her speech impediment by a mixture of symptoms - her thick accent coupled with her indeterminable old age caused her to talk that way. “Please, reconsider this decision.”

I glared at her regardless. I knew my eyes were bloodshot; my hair a mass of tangled, wayward strands; my lips quivered from constant, unrelenting crying.

“You said you had it!” I screamed, bypassing her arguments. “You said you would sell it to me! Wh---why else would I come here!?”

“You need to understand,” the woman implored, opening her hands in a pleading gesture. She fixed me with one clear blue eye, the other eye clouded – a useless, milky white lump of tissue bulging inside its socket, “what you ask for … it is unnatural.”

“But your granddaughter said it was a done deal!” I persisted, shooting a steely glare at the simpering young woman who ducked behind her grandmother to hide from my volatile stare. I wasn’t about to leave without the item I came for. At this point, I was willing to tear the place apart and everything inside - including the two of them - to get it.

They must have sensed that.

Even as the woman continued to defy me, she looked slightly more afraid than she had a minute ago.

“My granddaughter is foolish!” The woman directed the comment over her shoulder to the girl cowering there. “But she means well. We need the money. She was thinking with her head and not her heart.”

“I can pay you twice what you’re asking!” I reached into my back pocket for my wallet. “Three times! I’ll give you whatever you want!”

The girl, intrigued by my proposal, peeked over her grandmother’s shoulder, but the woman turned and barked sharply at her in a language I could not understand.

That was when I began to think I might be in danger.

I’d spent my entire life studying languages, so hearing one I didn’t comprehend, not even an inch, sent a shiver down my spine.

“Mr. Fell …” The old woman reached out, I presumed to comfort me, and took my shaking hand in hers “… your husband is dead. And I am more sorry than I can ever express at your loss. You carry your love for him like a beacon. I see it in your eyes. It shines from every part of you. With him gone, it is up to you to carry it. It will never fade as long as you remember him.”

Those were, without a doubt, the kindest words anyone had said to me since my husband passed. I crumbled, new tears falling hot down my cheeks. But regardless of her sympathy, sincere though it might be, I refused to relent.

I refused!

“I don’t want to remember him!” I whimpered, my anger renewed at the sound of my voice fracturing. “I want him here with me! I need you to help me bring him back!”

The woman sighed in pity but shook her head.

“The effects of life are varied, Mr. Fell. Our fate … it changes every day, with every choice that we make. But the effects of death should remain permanent.”

I flinched at that word as if she’d struck me across the face.

Permanent.

Crowley dead … my husband gone … and nothing for me to look forward to in life but emptiness. We’d had every moment of our lives planned together.

One arsehole drunk driver later and now I was alone.

I literally had no one.

I had lost contact with my mum early in life, never knew my father, didn’t have children of my own. My boss and mentor was an abusive prick who tormented me throughout the span of my career until I found a way out from under his thumb.

Until Crowley helped me discover a life where I didn’t need the man’s guidance or control.

But now I was going to lose him!? The only one who had stuck by me, who defended me, loved me through thick and thin!?

No! That was beyond cruel! And I wasn’t going to roll over and accept it!

I let the sorrow within me curdle, turn sour as I yanked my hand out of the old woman’s grasp.

“Your granddaughter said there are other methods of getting what I want!” I snarled. “Dangerous methods. Methods that might require payment in sacrifice … even blood. And not necessarily my blood. Innocent blood, if you catch my meaning.”

Both women gasped.

Despite the conversation at hand, I smiled.

Good, I thought. We were finally all on the same page.

Up until a few days ago, I never considered violence to be the answer to anything. But I had since come to a crossroads where an exception had made itself clear.

I was prepared to annihilate my humanity to get my husband back.

The old woman snapped her head over her shoulder, scolding her granddaughter in a harsh, guttural voice. The girl, who had started to brave coming out of hiding, shrank down once again.

“Be reasonable,” the woman begged, “please, and think about what you are saying. What you are willing to do.”

“No,” I said, my calm more potent than my anger … or so my husband used to say. “The time for me being reasonable is over. I will get what I want, no matter what the cost. The question is whether or not you will be the one to give it to me.”

The woman looked down at her gnarled hands and sighed a long, exhausted sigh. “Alright, Mr. Fell. I will sell the potion to you at the promised price.”

I stared at her for a moment in shock. I was relieved, of course. I hadn’t thought I would get this far. It frightened me how much I had begun looking forward to throttling her with my bare hands, imagined her neck snapping within my grasp, effortlessly like a twig.

That couldn’t be me though. I wasn’t that kind of person. It was this place - this shop and all of its trinkets, their age and professed magical abilities amplifying my grief, turning every rational thought I had into rage.

I had to get out of here and fast before I did something I might regret.

I opened my wallet with the onset of happier tears and thumbed through the bills, pulling out extra for the joy of getting what I wanted. I handed the money over, but the woman refused to touch it. She waved it away, her granddaughter popping up long enough to grab the money and then scurry off again. The woman reached into the folds of her skirts and retrieved a leather pouch that hung from a thin belt around her waist. From it she fished out a tiny blue bottle with a cork stopper sealing the mouth. She gave it a long, troubled look, then handed it to me.

For the first time, her hand trembled.

“Pour the contents of this bottle into your husband’s mouth, Mr. Fell,” she instructed, “and your husband will return.”

I held the bottle up to the dim candlelight of the musty Soho shop. The blue glass glimmered, a thick liquid inside swaying back and forth, shimmering like sun-tossed sparkles across a dark, foreboding sea.

“There are some rules that go along with that potion,” the woman said, her voice weeding into my head, summoning me back from my momentary trance, “and a few warnings you must heed as well.”

I sighed. I had hoped it would be a simple matter of giving my husband the liquid and living happily ever after, but I knew in my heart that nothing was ever that simple.

“Okay,” I said, slipping the bottle carefully into my pocket and patting over it twice to ensure its safety. “Tell me. What are the rules?”

“First of all, you will give that to your husband, but what will come back …” she paused, swallowed hard “… will not entirely be your husband.”

I nodded. I had expected her to say something along those lines, like a scene straight from an old time-y horror movie.

The woman locked both eyes, one clear and one clouded, on my face as I waited for her to finish her speech, eager to go back home and get on with my life. She realized, with regret, that I had every intention of going through with this, and took on the heavy burden of allowing this to continue.

“Be there to look into his eyes when he wakes,” she said.

I hadn’t dreamed of leaving his side, but since the woman made such a point of it, I asked, “Why?”

“He is being reborn, in a sense. And like other simple-minded creatures, he will imprint on the first person he sees.” She took my hands and squeezed them. “That person needs to be you!”

My gulp was audible, the weight of her words and of my plan suddenly settling within me. They pressed in on me, like that moment when the police came to my door. Their words – “Mr. Fell? I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but … it’s about your husband …” had turned me inside out, left my heart out in the cold.

I felt that cold now.

“Once the potion absorbs into his tissues, it will restart his heart,” she continued. “Then the potion will replicate. It will begin to take the place of his blood. It will make him calm, easier for you to control.”

I nodded again. I wanted to say something, assure the woman that I understood, but she didn’t pause long enough for me to speak. It wouldn’t have mattered. I saw the trepidation in her one, clear eye. I had no clue what to say to make this better.

“It will be a slow process, and you must learn to be a patient man!” She raised her voice, letting go of one hand to waggle an emphatic finger in front of my face. “You will be teaching him, raising him as you would a child. Remember, even if only a small portion of his soul returns, that soul belongs to your husband, and you must love him or this will not work!”

The woman stepped back, out of breath from her outburst, and her granddaughter (whom I had forgotten about) returned, pushing forward an ornate but dusty antique chair to catch her in. I held the woman’s arms gently and helped her into it, feeling strangely protective. The woman sat and waved us both off, not wanting us to make a fuss when she still had more to say.

“But most importantly,” she labored on, barely missing a beat in her speech, “do not let him taste blood.” I knelt down so that she didn’t feel the need to yell for her words to reach me. “He cannot eat meat, but most of all, don’t let him bite you or lick your wounds. Or anyone else’s – human or animal.”

“Will … will I become a zombie? If he does bite me?”

I’m not quite sure why the word ‘zombie’ leapt to my mind. In every interaction I had had with the woman’s granddaughter before tonight, she had been so careful not to use that term. She used other, more romantic euphemisms such as ‘bring back to the land of the living’, ‘re-associate with life’, and the most used - ‘rebirth’. But that’s what he would be, right? When we moved past the flowery vernacular and got right down to it? This potion I had pocketed would turn my husband into the walking dead, - a simple-minded creature that was once deposed from this Earth.

And that meant ‘zombie’.

As if I had nothing more pressing at hand, I suddenly recalled the Walking Dead marathon Crowley had convinced me to watch (against my better judgement). Crowley thought the show was hilarious, but I could barely make it to the middle of the first season. I had started watching with my hands over my eyes, then with my arm locked around Crowley’s, anxiously smacking his shoulder, and finally with most of my body lying over his lap and my face buried in his shirt.

It wasn’t just the gore in the show that skewered me, made me nauseous, unable to breathe. It was the fear and the pain those characters felt, being chased by a relentless enemy that needed no rest, constantly running into people they couldn’t trust, people who were so out for themselves they no longer believed in the sanctity of life, with nowhere to hide, nowhere safe at all, even behind thick, concrete and metal walls.

Watching your loved ones get turned into soulless monsters - still there, but everything about them that you had once loved out of reach.

And this ‘illness’ or whatever these people had - it spared no one. Even children had become zombies. And in the game that was survival for the remaining uninfected, children had become pawns.

Everything about it seemed so horrendous.

And while I suffered through my existential crisis, Crowley laughed at my antics.

I fought not to smile at the sound of his teasing voice.

“Uh … a little squeamish there, are you, angel?”

Angel.

From the first day we met, that’s what he called me.

Oh, what I wouldn’t give to hear him call me that again!

The old woman chuckled, bringing me reluctantly back from my daydream. “No. Not in this case. That’s not the nature of this spell. No, blood will give him back his memories.”

I looked at the woman, bug-eyed, and shook my head. “I … I don’t …”

“It will ignite his brain. He will begin to feel. In many ways, he will become more the man you married than in any other.”

“Wha---?“ I stuttered, baffled as to how that could be a bad thing. If drinking blood could make Crowley more Crowley, I’d set up an IV drip the minute I got home! I would serve him cups of blood with every meal! I’d make donating blood a requirement for entrance into my bookshop! (That one would definitely kill two birds with one stone. In fact, I might consider doing that anyhow.) “And why wouldn’t I want that again?” I asked, trying not to sound like turning my husband into a blood-sipping fiend was the greatest idea in known history.

The old woman smiled, but it wasn’t fond. It was shrewd, as if she could read every one of my thoughts.

And she didn’t approve.

“Once he has his memories back, he will start to crave it. Soon, drinking blood won’t be enough for him. It won’t work as well. It won’t keep the memories as fresh. He will have to go further, do more. He will become a killer.”

My face must have gone as green as I felt because the woman laughed again, this time with a touch of wickedness. A killer? My Crowley? My sweet, kind, compassionate Crowley?

Okay, maybe I was going too far with the endearments. He’d been a bit of a bastard, after all. Which was why I could picture Crowley becoming a full-fledged bad boy. With that leather jacket he wore like a second skin and his gleaming classic car, he’d been well on his way.

But a killer? No.

Then again, I was willing to become one myself a second ago, so maybe I wasn’t in the best position to judge.

“You are playing with the laws of nature, Mr. Fell,” she said, patting me on the cheek. “You are responsible not only for your own life, but for the lives of those around you.” The woman leaned in close, those eyes – one alive, one dead - more menacing than when I had walked into the shop; her face no longer that of a frail old woman but of a powerful witch.

This time, it was my turn to feel afraid.

“So don’t fuck it up.”

[repmet]

Fic: Iris

For FowlFest2020: Obscure Character Appreciation Day. Iris is actually an OC, but her family is mentioned so... that counts right? Shoutout to @ms-nothingspecial for betaing  and listening to me stress about word choice for far too long.

--

The fairy shuttle port at Tara was an impressive operation. Ten thousand cubic metres of terminal concealed beneath an overgrown hillock in the middle of the McGraney farm. For centuries, the McGraneys had respected the fairy fort's boundaries and, for centuries, they had enjoyed exceptional good luck.

- Artemis Fowl: The Arctic Incident

--

Iris McGraney is born at midnight on a full moon, which for a McGraney is the very best of luck.

The birth goes smoothly and without complications, and Iris is born quietly, wailing briefly to let the world know she’s arrived, before settling on her mother’s chest, quietly basking in the comfort of her family around her.

Iris McGraney is born lucky. Then again, her family always has been.

--

When Iris is 7 she gets sick, as children do.

Plans are made to see the doctor in the morning, but McGraneys have a certain way of treating illnesses first that most others don’t.

Iris is well enough to listen to her Dad tell her to keep the bedroom window open all night, even as he bundles her up in blankets and turns the heater on.

He puts a note on the sill along with a single gold nugget, just in case.

“We’ve invited them in before, but it’s better safe than sorry, isn’t it? And you should never ask without offering something in return. It’s rare they take it but it’s only polite.”

The McGraney’s were always digging up gold, especially near the fairy fort. Iris knew it was a secret though, or else everyone would want to come dig on their farm which would make the cows sad.

“Now, go to sleep,” her Dad tells her, tucking her in tight. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Iris doesn’t wake all night, and in the morning, the note is gone, the small piece of gold now sitting on her night stand.

Iris picks it up and runs to the kitchen.

“It moved, Daddy!” she announces proudly, the picture of a healthy child. “They didn’t take it but it moved.”

Her father laughs and hugs her.

“That’s how they let us know they were here.”

--

When Iris is 14 a severe looking boy in a suit sits down across from her at a cafe she’s in, and puts a phone on the table.

Iris recognises the model, it’s seven months away from being released and the hype is already intense.

“For a moment of your time.”

Iris stares at him.

“My parents are gonna think I fucking stole this.”

The boy sets a letter down on the table as well. Iris has a brother so she ignores the letter at first and continues staring at the boy, hoping to unnerve him. He seems unbothered, maybe he has siblings too. She picks up the paper and reads a very official looking letter from the phone manufacturer congratulating her on being selected to test an early release prototype.

It’s fake of course. Iris isn’t an idiot, she is however a teenager in a tiny village with not much going for it. In short, she’s bored and whatever the hell this is, it’s interesting. Also her parents don’t know shit about technology or how major releases work.

She shoves the phone in her backpack.

“What do you want?”

“The fairy fort on your property, I want to know about it.”

Iris raises her eyebrows, that’s hardly top-secret information.

“I don’t know, man, it’s been there for ages. We take care of it, respect the boundaries, and we get lucky.”

“In just the past fifty years your family has uncovered a lost work of Holbein the Younger, a sword owned by Íriel Fáid and seven seperate stores of gold. You’ve also never lost an animal to bovine spongiform encephalopathy in all the history I could find of your farm.”

Well it was more gold than that at last count but they’d stopped being so vocal about it and also-

“Yeah... what’s that last one?”

The kid gives her a disdainful and patronising look. “Mad cow disease.”

“Right.” This dude is a dick. “Like I said. Lucky.”

“It seems a bit more than lucky.”

Iris shrugs. “Look man, you don’t need to believe in the People if you don’t want but you’re in the wrong town. We eat that shit up here, the Hill of Tara borders our farm, there’s three fairy-dedicated gift shops in this village alone.”

He looks interested now though, leaning forward in his seat.

“The People?”

His eyes are weirdly intense, Iris can’t wait to tell her friends about this. Orla is super into vampires right now, she’s going to love it.

“Fairies, the fae, the fair folk, aos sí, whatever you want to call them. Maybe it is just luck, I’ve never seen one-” She frowns, a memory bubbling up then she shakes her head, brushing off a dream of a small winged figure on her windowsill one night. “The People is what my grandparents called them though. Capital P.”

“What else did your grandparents tell you about them? Did they have any superstitions specific to your family?”

Iris doesn't even need to think on that one.

“Grandpa Rob had this thing where he would make everyone wash their hands after we came back from church. Said it was not to harm the People with the holy water, but no one else I know does that, even the Creideamh Sí families.That means -”

“The Fairy Faith,” he interrupts. “Yes, I’m aware. I’ll need to know anything else your family knows about them.”

He pulls a laptop out of his bag which looks like nothing Iris has ever seen and her family is pretty well-off (selling lost works or art tends to help).

“This is getting to be more than a moment, dude.”

“I can take the phone back.”

Iris laughs, he’s not wrong that the phone is worth more than a short conversation, but the threat is just plain funny coming from a pre-teen who looks like he’d never seen the sun in his life and a stiff breeze would knock him over.

The man standing behind him, who Iris initially assumed was his dad but now isn’t so sure, clears his throat and there’s something in the way he does it, or maybe the way he glances down at her, that makes it very clear this tiny undertaker looking child would be leaving with either his answers, or the phone.

If Iris were older or wiser, she would be suitably unsettled but today she just waves a hand at the mountain of a man.

“Chill, I don’t mind, just weird to be honest.”

“You’re welcome to whatever opinion you please so long as you answer all of my questions with as much detail as possible. Now, tell me more about the holy water.”

This phone better be worth it. (It is.)

--

When Iris is 19 the world ends.

Kinda.

Her PlayStation is ruined at least which is annoying as shit.

More importantly, the fairy fort is gone and there’s an actual fucking fort there.

“I always thought it would be a bit less… concrete.”

She’s not sure who she’s talking to, her brother’s moved to London and her parents are out at lunch with friends. But it’s rather the sort of day where Iris thinks she might not believe anything at all if she keeps it just in her head.

The door gives a loud bang and Iris yells and leaps backwards. The banging continues and she realises there’s someone on the other side.

“Are you okay?’ she calls, trying to keep the sudden nervousness in her chest from coming through the words.

“There’s a fire in here, and the suppression systems aren’t working.”

Iris takes several long breaths, processing several things. One, her family is not mad, fairies do exist. Two, they do in fact have a fort on their farm. Three, she might be about to meet them for real. Four, it’s kinda ugly and dull, she expected a bit more… magical?

She looks up to try and centre herself and catches sight of a plane, trailing smoke and flying disturbingly low before it disappears over a hill. In the distance there’s the sound of thunder.

Right, the world is possibly ending, perhaps that should be higher on the list. That part is plain not registering in her head.

She tells herself she imagined the plane, there’s no room in her head to process the alternative right now.

“Who are you anyway?”

Iris’ head snaps back up at the question. Right, fairies trapped in a burning building. Focus.

“Iris McGraney! Stand back, I’ll kick the door in.”

“This door is built to withstand more than you, human.”

Iris frowns, annoyed. “You prefer to suffocate?”

There’s a long pause then, from what sounds like a distance, the voice calls back, “Alright, give it a go.”

Iris is a farmgirl through and through. She’s been stacking hay and climbing fences and eating well her entire life, she wouldn’t be carrying the Dinnie Stones any time soon but she could best all the local boys in an arm wrestle and carry a small calf several fields if she had too.

Her first kick connects with a satisfying crack. The second gives more of a crunch and on the third the door snaps and slams inwards. It’s a pretty cool moment, Iris wishes the day wasn’t so surreal so she could bask in it more.

Smoke starts to billow out as soon as it meets the outside air and there’s a lot of yelling and organised panic as thirty-odd fairies of differing colours and various sizes of small come pouring out, most coughing.

One, in an official looking uniform, makes a line for Iris.

“You’re a fairy,” she tells him.

“Yes, a gnome if we’re getting technical.” He pulls out a handkerchief and starts dabbing at his forehead. “Thanks for that, by the way, Frond only knows what’s going on. One moment we’re getting the call that Haven’s locking down the next the electronics start sparking and melting off the walls.”

“The same thing happened in the house.” Iris tells him, rapidly compartmentalising, there was far too much to take in today. Fairies sure, but gnomes? She pushes it in a box for later. “My phone melted, and the TV almost started a fire.”

The gnome shakes his head worriedly. “This is not good, not good. No contact with Haven and all our tech going bust. I bet it’s that Koboi pixie somehow, right crazy one she is.”

Iris nods for a moment, then shakes her head. “No, I don’t know what that means.”

“Not good, is what it means.”

Iris looks across the fields to several columns of smoke rising in the distance, the further she looks in every direction the more there are.

Not good at all.

--

When Iris is 32 her parents die.

It’s sudden and so plain, after a life of quiet magic and unrelenting luck. Her mother took a turn too fast and hit a patch of ice.

They didn’t suffer at least.

She blames the People at first, but even as the anger bubbles inside her she knows it’s only grief behind it. She’s learnt over the years they’re just people themselves, no capital letter. They can do extraordinary things but miracles are miracles for a reason.

After the wake is passed and the friends gone home, her brother reluctantly back across the channel, promising to call that same night, Iris is at a loss.

She had expected to be but still.

The knocks at the door are so frequent she doesn’t even startle when another comes. She’s not sure she’s in a mood for more well-wishers but she’s not doing well alone either so- she sighs and goes to open the door.

On the other side is a black-haired man in a three-piece suit, still pale but Iris felt less concern now that he might combust if the sun ever does manage to find him.

“Artemis Fowl, I didn’t expect us to meet again.”

“You remember me.” He doesn’t seem surprised.

“Being interrogated by a ten year old tends to stick in a girl’s mind.”

He smiles. “I was 12.”

Iris invites him in and makes tea.

It’s a welcome distraction right now because you have to be living under rock in Ireland not to know how just very extraordinary Artemis Fowl the Second is. Three doctorates, Time Man of the Year at 22, already one Nobel Prize and smart money’s on a second soon.

If anyone could have done it at 12… well.

For a moment she almost hesitates, but Artemis gives her a real smile, as if he already knows what’s on her mind.

(In the years ahead she will come to know him well enough to realise that’s exactly the case.)

She hands him a cup and sits down.

“Tell me, Dr. Fowl, did you ever find the People?”

[cilldaracailin]

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Hello my Tumblr lovelys!

Here is the next part of this story. Anyone looking for a heavy dose of emotional writing - You have come to the right place below!

Hope you all enjoy.

Suze xx )

4

“The past can't hurt you anymore, not unless you let it.”

Taron was used to the walk back to Robyn’s but she brought him a short cut, back around by the green they had previously sat on and through a little walk way and housing estate which led right onto the road that was near the cull de sac where her house was. They made it inside just as the shower of rain turned heavy, both taking to a quick jog down the road as it sprinkled on them at first, getting to the door as it turned heavy.

Taron stripped himself of his coat and flag and found himself on the couch while Robyn put her guitar away. She hung up her own coat and as she walked over to the couch, he was tucked neatly into the corner, his head leaning back against the cushions with his eyes closed. Inside her heart was hurting for him because she knew he was knackered and could easily fall asleep as he sat and slept until he needed to leave the next day. He had been so full of energy during the morning but now as the excitement had left his body, she was left with a tired man who was in desperate need of a nap.

She sat beside him, noticing that he didn’t move, and her face turned sad. If he was this tired after some work at the weekend, she hated to think what he would be like during his promotional tour for Kingsman, understanding a little better now why he found it so easy to just fall asleep where he sat, knowing himself, it was the only way he could get any sort of rest and sleep to keep his body going.

Without hesitation, she moved to a keeling position and placed her hands on his shoulders, his eyes opening to look at her. She didn’t speak to him but pulled on his shoulders and she moved from her knees to a sitting position further down the couch and guided his head right to her lap, Taron moving so he was stretched out on her couch. Her right hand rested on his chest while her left went straight into his hair, fingers scratching his head.

“Robyn…”

“Shh...” She soothed.

“Robyn, we have dinner planned.”

“And it is only just after four. The céilí doesn’t start until nine and we can get dinner any time before that. I don’t have a table booked. We can just walk in and sit down and to be honest we are better off waiting a little until the families with young children filter out. The GAA will be packed for a while.”

“What are you doing?” He asked as his eyes closed as she dug just a little harder into his head.

“You need to sleep.”

“Robyn…” Taron opened his eyes and as always was met with such concern in Robyn’s blue ones, he knew in an instant he would do whatever she asked of him.

“You are in my home and are fighting to stay awake. Three hours sleep will do you the world of good and we will still have time for food, Guinness and the céilí.”

“But what about your friends?”

“Meeting us at the céilí.” She answered him. “Taron please just close your eyes.” She very lightly ran her hand over his face, her fingers lingering on the dark circles on the delicate skin under his eyes. “Let me do this for you.”

Even if he wanted to keep his eyes open, his own body betrayed him, and his lids fluttered closed, long eye lashes resting on his cheeks. Robyn’s right hand found his on his stomach and held it while her left which had been in his hair, moved to his face and after trailing so lightly on the skin under his eyes, he felt those strokes on his nose which he had no words to describe except that it brought him to a little place of heaven. Though his body was tired and Robyn’s soothing actions were relaxing him, his mind was still thinking. “Robyn?”

“Hmm?” She answered him, realising that the green hair dye in his hair was making it difficult for her to play with the strands so she had settled for running her finger down his nose instead and not seeing Taron’s facial expression change with the touch to his face, continued her motions.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You know you can ask me anything.”

“What actually happened between you and Keith?”

Robyn’s hand stalled on the bridge of his nose and Taron opened his eyes to see her blue ones looking at him, the colour just a little bit darker than before. “You’ve been talking to my mam.” She simply said.

“She might have mentioned his name.”

“I saw you two whispering to each other.”

“Just some girl talk.” He answered her back, a little smile on his lips, a smile of relief as she resumed rubbing his nose. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“So, you know that cliched term ‘the one’?” She asked him, still running a finger down his nose. When he nodded, she continued. “Well for me Keith was the one. Six years we were together. Four of which were perfect, two of which were shit but of course it wasn’t until I kicked his arse to the curb that I realised they were shit.” Robyn’s fingers stopped. “Without going into too much detail let me just bullet point it for you.” She resumed her strokes on his nose. “Cheated once, promised he wouldn’t do it again, hated my hair long, hated my involvement in the musical society and choir, jealous I was promoted, cheated again, caught him in the act and when I stood up for myself went to hit me but I ducked and he missed, broke his hand on the wall, then I broke his nose and two fingers of my right hand. Then he spread rumours around the town that I was a frigid selfish cow and did I mention it was a work colleague of mine that he was sleeping with for the last year of our relationship, one who had complained to Emma that I was terrible at my job and had it out for me, demanding my supervisory position be taken away from me.”

Taron’s eyes were wide with shock as Robyn spoke, her voice just reeling off with no emotion at all, with a very brief explanation of what had happened between her and Keith, while all the time her fingers kept their rhythm on his nose.

“Easy to say we are no longer friends but obviously I still have my job and position. I walked away from that toxic tosspot but my trust was hurt and betrayed and those walls you have met began to build and pretty much stayed put until I met you and Richard in the 7/11. It was actually Emma who suggested to me to apply for the exchange programme. She told me she was sick of me moping around the office and a change of scenery would be good healing for me. After a bit of research and a year after Keith pissed off with my ex friend, I applied for the programme asking for Clearwater as my exchange location. It’s quite a long process and it took another year before everything was sorted and off I went. It was perfect for me. Just what I needed to have a retreat of sorts while still working, doing what I love and am good at, learning to love myself again after everything that Keith did and said to me, grew my hair out and then I met you and well you know where my life picks up from there.”

Taron gently took Robyn’s hand, stopping her mid-motion and he sat up turning to look at her. “I get now why your mother called him a fucker.”

Robyn grinned. “My mother.” She said. “So eloquent with her words.”

“I think I would have used something worse than fucker to be fair.”

“Thanks Taron.”

“Robyn….”

She could hear the pity in his voice and she didn’t have any want for it. “Hey, there is no need. I am over it and have become a much stronger person because of it. Perhaps withdrew and retreated too much into myself then I should have but definitely moving away helped as did my friends, Claire and Emma and the girls I work with and Maggie in Florida too. I am excited to introduce you to them this evening.”

“I am very much looking forward to meeting your friends Robyn. I am glad you have a good circle of friends around you.”

Taron’s blood was boiling under his skin and he was trying very hard to keep his tone light and his anger at bay. He was thoroughly disgusted by Robyn’s quick explanation of Keith and what he done and felt sick to his stomach that someone could treat his beautiful, caring, and wonderful Robyn like that. Robyn who had saved his life without question, taken him into her home and looked after him almost better than his own mother.

But then his whole body suddenly froze and his memory of her visit to New York to see him made a horrible shiver run down his spine. She had told him someone, a man had hurt her before, had broken her trust and now he was finally learning who it was and how he had done it and closing his eyes, their argument had suddenly taken on a whole new meaning to him. He had done the same thing to her. Hurt her without even thinking about it. He accused her of something and he understood so much better why she had to fly to him to defend herself, to question his words, to show him that he couldn’t treat her the way he had. It was because she had already had an arsehole of a man do it to her before and she refused to let another do it again.

“Taron. Taron!” Robyn shouted his name, waking him from the little trance he went into. “Please don’t start over thinking any of what I told you. It’s not something I talk about a lot. It’s in the past and I have moved on and like I said, it was good for me in an ironic kind of way.”

“I understand so much more now how my accusations hurt you Robyn, why you had to fly to New York to talk to me. Jesus Christ I am so sorry.”

Robyn felt her eyes fill with tears as she saw a look of pain fill his beautiful soft features and immediately pulled him to her for a hug, “I could kill my mother.” She whispered into his neck. “Please don’t apologise to me for something we have already talked through Taron, something that happened that has nothing to do with you.”

“But my words and actions must have opened so many healed wounds for you.”

Robyn gripped him tight against her, feeling tears drip down her cheeks, noticing how he held her just as tight in his arms and as he hid his face in her neck, she was sure she could feel a wetness on her skin from his face and without a doubt, she knew Taron was just as upset and emotional as she was. The conversation of past relationships had obviously been a topic the two had spoken about but they never really went into detail about them. Keith was a man she had long forgotten and although it took her nearly two years to get over that man, she had grown up and learnt so much about herself along the way. Behind her walls, she became more confident in herself, learnt a tough lesson about true friends and how at the end of the day apart from family, the person you need to look after first and foremost is yourself. She was never going to let a man treat her so again and when Taron had blown up at her, she went into fight mode and confronted him. The difference with Taron though was that he immediately had seen the terrible mistake he had made and admitted he was wrong, and he had been a wonderful caring confident and friend since and her mantra of only looking after and caring for herself was very quickly changing as all she could think about now was making sure Taron was ok. She ran her fingers around her favourite spot at the back of his neck and pulled his body even closer to her.

“Taron please. We cannot go back there. I cannot go back there.”

“Fucking hell Robyn, I am really really sorry.”

“And we talked through New York Taron. Really and properly talked through it all and there is nothing to be sorry for. Please Taron.” As Robyn rubbed his back with her other hand, she could feel him heave against her and knew it was from a sob he had tried to hold in but couldn’t quite manage to. “Taron, please. Don’t get upset over it all. You are nothing like him. Nothing like him at all. New York was a completely different situation Taron. Do not even think about comparing our argument to a man who doesn’t deserve any of these emotions you are feeling.” She pulled herself away from with a struggle as he clung to her and when she saw more tears on his eye lashes ready to fall, she immediately put her hands on his cheeks. “It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you Taron. I didn’t say anything because I know you and how your emotions run, even more so when you are running on little sleep and fumes and I didn’t want to see you like this. Do not say sorry to me again. It was a shitty situation but the Robyn before Keith wouldn’t have been brave enough to do what I did in the 7/11. It is fucking messed up that shit like that makes a person so much stronger but you have to take the positives from it and I am really going to kill my mother. I wish she hadn’t of said anything to you. Please don’t be so sad.” Taron’s lashes glistened with more tears and his eyes were blood shot, his cheeks blotchy and Robyn knew she looked the same as he did. “You are running your tattoo.” She said, her thumb wiping over the wet shamrock on his cheek “Please don’t shed any more tears for that fucktard.”

“They are not for him. They are for you because you have been nothing but a friend to me and to hear how someone could take advantage of your kindness and be such a fucking bastard.” Taron roughly wiped his eyes, her hands falling from his face. “I love you Robyn and I love your fierceness, ability to scare me shitless with your words, the way you stand up for yourself and how you willingly have given me everything I have asked for and so much more.” Without thinking Taron leaned forward, with his eyes still open, lightly kissed her lips, tasting salty tears on hers, not knowing if they were hers tears or his. He moved back and took her hands. “I know you don’t want to hear it but I am sorry you had to go through that and I am sorry for…” He felt Robyn’s hand cover his mouth and he smiled under her palm, resisting the urge to lick her hand. He waited for her to take her hand away before he spoke again. “I have had bad relationship experiences too but nowhere near as rotten at yours.”

“Like I said, it’s in my past and it has made me a better person. My only regret from it, the only one is the wasted years on a man I thought loved me. I ain’t getting any younger.”

Taron’s face immediately filled with a scowl. “Don’t even go there.” He ran his hands through her hair so it wasn’t covering her face. “He was a fucker.”

Robyn titled her head and she watched as his eyes roamed her face, but his worried green ones avoided hers and she could see a multitude of emotions pass over his face as his forehead frowned and his lips curled down in a glower, biting his lower lip in the process. “Tell me what you are thinking.”

“You have shown me nothing but affection and love and it just makes me sad and so angry to think you gave that same attention to him and he didn’t appreciate it at all.”

“He didn’t get head massages.” She watched him try to stop himself from grinning. “And I never baked for him either. He was a proper gym nut and felt my baking ruined his routine.”

“And then all those years with him when you could have been with someone who gave as much to you as you would give to them.”

“And don’t even say that Taron. You have no idea how many sleepless nights I had thinking that too but they say things happen for a reason so I have to believe that.”

“Well you know I firmly believe you were meant to be there in the 7/11 at the same time as me, that you were the only one who could rip my shirt open to get your hands all over me.”

Robyn laughed, shaking her head at him. “Now you just take your shirt off to let me get to your body of your own accord.” Without a second though Robyn started to sing. “Well I guess it would be nice, if I could touch your body…” Her words and song were cut off as Taron launched himself at her, his arms squeezing around her shoulders.

“My song.” He said to her. “You get Freddie, I get everyone else.”

With another chuckle, Robyn let herself rest against him, her hands caught in between his chest and hers. She soaked up his heat and with the way her hands were positioned flat against his chest, could feel his heart racing. She wished they were free so she could hug him back but Taron wasn’t letting his grip go, so she settled for snuggling into his chest and closing her eyes. It was a complete and utter unexpected conversation, the one about her ex who was, as her mother called him, a fucker and the reaction from Taron, watching him get so upset, hurt her to the core. Taron still carried so much guilt from what happened in New York and after hearing about Keith, Robyn knew he was even more rattled and remorseful over it all but after their skype call, she had put New York behind her and had completely forgiven Taron for everything and she thought he knew that but it was obvious that deep down he was still quite ashamed of his actions.

“Taron…”

“Hmm.”

“Can we please forget about New York. It’s done. It’s over and behind us. We learnt a lot from it, we talked about it and we have been together so many times since then and I need you to stop feeling guilty about it. Our picture has been posted online and in the papers since then and look how well we communicate about it now and if we really look at the articles, the world is getting used to seeing you and me together and the fans, some of which we have met are too. We can’t keep going back to it. It’s just a pain that my past has triggered it for you but it’s our past rocketman and believe me there are so many other memories I have with you that I cherish.”

“Like what.” He mumbled into her shoulder.

“The first time I fell asleep on your shoulder.”

“I make a good pillow.”

“Yep.”

“What else.”

“When you sat in my office and we had our first proper hug together.”

“I was a horrible heated, sweaty and exhausted mess.”

“True but you were there in front of me and I don’t think you actually know how much it meant for me to see you there. You carry guilt from New York, well I carry so much more from leaving you in Florida.”

“We are quite a pair.” He whispered.

Robyn wriggled her hands so she could pull them out and finally was able to wrap her arms around his back. “Yes we are. What are yours?”

“My what chicken?”

“Your memories.”

“Everything.”

“Well that’s a cop out. I could have said that.”

“The time you held me close against you on your bed when I was worrying about the media finding out about what had happened to us in Florida. My first head massage.” He felt Robyn start to rub his back. “Every time we sang together and New Year’s Eve. My friends have not stopped talking about you. You made quite an impression on them.” He took a long deep breathe. “Robyn if I ever, ever even try to treat you like Keith did, you have my full permission to slap me just as hard as you slapped Pete ok? Even a word out of place, just slap the stupid out of me.”

Robyn pushed herself away from him and gripped his face probably a little harder than she should have. “Not a chance in the world of that ever happening.”

“Robyn…”

“You haven’t a bad bone in your body. Perhaps a senseless bone when you aren’t thinking straight but just no. Ok?”

He nodded. “Ok.” He took her hands away from his face and linked her fingers with his. “When we spoke about hospital visits, you never mentioned that you broke your fingers.”

“Didn’t really want to go into that story right there and then. It’s not a great one to share with a man you just met and shared a bed with.”

“You broke his nose?” He asked with a little grin.

“Yeah. Imagine what happened on New Year’s Eve but with a little more gusto and force. Hence the two broken fingers.”

Taron shook his head. “You scare me sometimes.”

“I scare myself too.”

“I am beginning to understand you a little better Robyn.”

“How so.” She asked wiping a lone tear that slowly dripped down his cheek.

“Your experiences are what make you who you are, the good and the bad and now I can see why you are so willing to stand up for others, to take risks, to be a little careful with your heart and to be so passionate about what you believe in and be so independent and strong.” It was blush that was more from embarrassment then anything else that caused her cheeks to redden. “Thank you for being honest with me. I know that wasn’t easy for you.”

“I think it might have been harder for you to hear than for me to tell. I am going to ask you again but please please don’t overthink New York any more ok? New York was good for us.”

“In that shitty way.”

“Yeah.” She agreed. “And we have had such wonderful adventures together since then and only more are to come. We are good Taron and always will be and you kissed me.” Robyn brought her fingers to her lips.

“Are you only realising that now?” He asked her.

“Yeah I am.” She admitted. “You kissed me.”

“It just felt right.” He said, lifting his shoulders in a little shrug. “Don’t tell Deian.”

Robyn smiled. “I won’t. Thanks Taron.”

“For what?”

“Just being you and not getting angry.”

“Angry?”

“At what happened.”

“I went to angry for about ten seconds and the moved straight to tears.”

“Hey, you know you never have to worry about showing your emotions around me rocketman. It’s what makes us strong. Just ‘cos you are a man doesn’t mean you need to keep how you are feeling inside. I would rather you told me how you felt than doing that. It’s so important to talk me about these things.”

“I will. I promise. Are we adulting?”

“I think so.”

“And keeping our promise of open communication with each other.”

“Always important.” Robyn said.

“Do you know what else is important?” Asked Taron.

“Nope.”

“Naps.”

“Naps?” She laughed.

“I was getting ready for a good one and then I asked a stupid question.”

“No question is ever stupid Taron”

“Took my nap away from me.”

“You can still have your nap.”

“You too.”

Robyn shook her head. “This one is for your Taron. I don’t need a nap. I have literally spent my days off sleeping but you need a sleep and a head massage too but the hair dye is in the way.”

“I will take a shoulder one instead.”

Robyn laughed and it felt wonderful as the tense air cleared around them. “Did you bring a voucher.” She watched as his body deflated a little. “Tough luck Taron.”

“I am bringing a shoulder and back massage one with me when I come and see you in RENT.” He grinned. “I think I will cash them in before I go on tour.”

“A pre tour relaxation.”

He nodded. “And because head ones are free, I will take one of those too.”

Robyn swotted at his arm. “Don’t take advantage.” She chuckled. “Hey you know I love you too right? I realised I never actually said it during all the tears and kisses and what not.”

“I know chicken.”

Taron stretched over and hugged her hard, pressing his body into hers, his arms wrapping fully around her, his head in his favourite place on her shoulder at her neck his fingers resting on the bare skin of her back as her crop top rose up as they hugged. If there was any doubt about his love for her, it was well and truly gone. He absolutely loved the woman in his arms with his heart and soul and put every ounce of his love into the hug. He had fallen head over heels, ready to jump in front of a bus for her, needed to protect her at all costs kind of love. Closing his eyes, he felt more exhausted then he had when he had gotten off the plane, the sudden emotional exchange between the two taking whatever energy he had left and without thinking he snuggled a little deeper into her.

“Taron you can’t sleep like this.”

“Sure I can.”

“No hun, you can’t,”

“Just gotta close my eyes.”

Moving her body forward, Taron had to end the hug or he was going to fall backwards onto the couch bringing Robyn with him. “Mean.” He said through a yawn.

“No not mean.” She replied as she got up and moved to sit in the corner of the couch. “I am thinking of your back. Now get over here for your nap.” Robyn held her arm out and it took Taron less than three seconds to lay against her chest, snuggling deeply into her, his arm going around her waist, his fingers dipping in what he hoped was discreetly into the gap between her top and skirt, his fingertips resting on warm soft skin. “You nap and I will wake you.”

Taron didn’t answer her, already halfway to sleeping. He hugged himself a little closer to her and he felt her fingers running up and down his arm in the same wonderful motion she had used with him when they were in London last month. He wished he could be brave and tell her how he really felt, how he absolutely without a doubt was madly in love with her, in love with every part of her and even more so needed to be there for her and protect her and just treat her the way she deserved to be treated, the same way she treated him with love and cuddles and just pure affection.

[runner5ive]

And the award for the most popular request goes to..... Radio Cabel!

I hear Zoe's name and I have a primal need to give her ALL THE FRECKLES!

This one is for @indelible-colouring-markers @roamingneverland and @running4chaos 💕💕💕

If you’d like to request something please go here to see who’s who! I’ve had a few requests so far and I’m starting to work through them, but there’s still plenty of characters available 💕

Info below the cut for neatness 🥰

Radio Abel - No Spoilers

The very start of Five’s life at Abel, before they really knew anyone else, Five had Radio Abel. 

It wasn’t that there wasn’t anyone who was willing to try to be friends with Five, but they were mute, and no one knew at this point that they knew BSL because... well, Five didn’t expect anyone else to know it. In Mullins, no one had really been bothered about learning either, so they had sort of accepted that it would be the same in Abel.

So, whilst everyone else would spend their evening in the rec room together, Five would take their headset and a transmitter, go and sit in their bunk, and listen to Jack and Eugene’s show. And for a while, they didn’t feel so lonely. 

The moment Sam realises they know how to sign, the loneliness is eased tremendously, and Five finally begins to mix with others. But Five is always fond of the show, and listens almost daily. Even if it’s just old reruns, it’s comfort for them. 

The first time they meet Jack or Gene, its after a decontamonation shower. They’re rubbing their hair dry on a towel, heading to the mess hall, and suddenly Jack has seized them.

“You’re the new runner! How about an interview for the listeners?” 

Five is stunned. It takes a moment of confused silence for Jack to realise: “ohhhh, so you’re like mute mute!” Gene, of course, is wondering how the hell he had fallen for someone with quite literally 0 braincells. 

Still, Five is a little honoured. They find Sam, drag him to the radio shack, and the interview goes ahead with him translating for them.

After that, if Jack and Gene ever catch Five leaving the comms shack, they’ll come them in and ask them to pick the next song for the listeners. 

Eugene makes the mistake of criticizing Five’s choice in song one day. He groans and says it’s the worst song he’s ever heard, how could they like that rubbish? Five looks at him for a moment, then smirks, and switches the song to the actual worst song ever, ramps up the volume and switches the music to Abel’s tannoy system so the entire township can hear it. 

Three hours. Three hours it goes on for. For hours, all anyone in the town can hear is Disney’s ‘It’s a Small World’ on loop. The boys try everything to change the song, to get it off the tannoys, but nothing they try works. Five doesn’t turn it off for them until Gene apologises and promises never to criticize again. 

After that, Janine decides that Five is not allowed in the radio shack ever again. They are banned. That doesn’t stop them from breaking in constantly. Jack and Gene have no idea how they do it. 

Five is not good with mental health stuff. Anyone else's, they are fine. They know what they can do to help. They know who to fetch if they can’t do anything. But their own mental health? They’re particularly bad at dealing with it. They don’t tell anyone when they’re starting to feel panicky, when their chest is tightening, or their heart racing. But Radio Abel: that always helps. They go to their bunk, put their headphones on, and close their eyes as they listen to the boys. It helps to ground them.

Radio New Tomorrow - Season 2  spoilers

When Five finds themselves as a refugee in New Canton, Five finds themselves panicking. There’s nothing but confusion about the attack on Abel. Sara’s probably dead. They’re in the middle of the enemies territory The last they heard of Sam or Janine was before the rocket launcher attack. As far as they’re aware, everyone is dead. They can feel themself panicking. So they find themself a quiet corner amongst the hubbub, switch to Radio Abel... and are met with nothing. Error tones. And a replay of the attack. The explosion. Five feels sick. 

And then comes Phils voice.

They hear static-y sounds of Jack and Gene’s voices coming through but they tell themselves that it’s just old footage. They yank their headset off at these points and waits a few moments until they hope it’s tuned out again. 

Five resents Phil and Zoe for the longest time. They continue to tune in out of habit alone. But its not Jack or Eugene. Five has no way of contacting Abel, and no one is willing to do it for them. They’re stuck in another place where not a soul can talk to them, and once again they’re alone. 

One morning, after doing a few laps around New Canton, they tune into Radio New tomorrow... and hear Jack and Gene’s voice, loud and clear and alive.

And then Five is racing to New Canton’s radio shack. The moment the doors open, their hands are signing so quickly. Phil and Zoe have no clue what the hell is happening or what they want. But Five pushes past them and sends ‘Its a Small World’ over to Abel before either of them can pull Five away. 

Once dragged away from the controls, Five FIGHTS to get back, and Phil and Zoe are shooketh.

Phil: “Who the hell is this- this goblin in our shack! OUCH! THEY BIT ME!”  

J&G: “HOLY COW! THAT’S FIVE!” 

After Five is given a stern talking to how they can not bite people with things the way they are, Jack and Gene keep the communication private between Zoe and Phil between songs. Five’s scrawling questions onto scraps of paper (Phil’s notes) and they get a message across. Five almost cries when they tell them that everyones okay. Sam, Janine, Max. They’re alive. 

Five goes to the radio shack whenever they need send a message to Abel. Sometimes, they even get to talk to Sam. But Zoe and Phil are particularly bad at learning BSL. Maybe its because Five doesn’t have a translator. How the hell do they not know the sign for Abel Township yet after Five has used it so many times? It’s frustrating. But Phil has started hiding his notes.

Knowing Jack and Gene are alive and as well as they can be in the apocalypse, Five begins to warm to Phil and Zoe. They think their bickering is funny. 

Plus, it’s quite sweet to hear the four of them get close. 

Five adores playing with Zoe's cats. Sometimes, when they're at New Canton, Zoe will just... Find Five there with her pets. She doesn't mind, as they seem to like them, and she learns of cat related signs from that.

Phil is still salty for a while that Five bit him. But Phil has a kind heart. He trades for a notebook and a pencil so Five doesn't scrawl over his notes again, and when they show up to contact Abel he always puts the kettle on and provides them with biscuits.

After they hear there's been some bad missions, Zoe and Phil always plays Five's favourite songs. Or at least songs that Five had ended up dancing around like a kid in their radio shack. This all amounts to them both having that moment that everyone who meets Five has: wait this lovable kid is THE Runner Five?!?!!

They're glad to return to Abel when they do. They'd wanted nothing but to be able to go home the entire time they stayed at New Canton. But when they visit, it's nice to see Zoe and Phil around. And they always seem somewhat pleased to see them.

[dhwty-writes]

Chapter 2 - Facades, Family and Forgery

Chapter 2 already, wow! We are now 10k words in and there is no fucking way this story will be told in under 10 chapters. I guess more fun for you readers? This chapter is mostly me figuring out the different plot threads out. And to do the Jaskier has ADHD tag justice. The executive dysfunction is strong in that one. Also, I am still looking for a beta reader for this fic, if you’re interested.

Summary: Jaskier wakes up with two new additions to his household. Time to get the plan on tracks. 

part 1 | part 2 | part 4

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When Jaskier woke up the next morning he couldn't quite force himself to get out of bed. There were days like that, he knew. When the world outside of his pillows and blankets just wasn't interesting enough to lure him out of his heavy cocoon of warmth and bliss. Not that the world inside was any more interesting, but at least he didn't have to move to get there.

It wasn't as if there weren't enough things to do. Melitele have mercy, there was a whole fucking lot to do. There had been some complaints about taxes lately what with the war and a cow had died on the far end of Lettenhove and then there was the matter with Cirilla and Geralt and- ughhh.

He flopped over on his stomach. "It's too much," he complained into his pillow.

He supposed he really should get up, though. The matter of the lost princess half the continent was looking for in his house was somewhat time sensitive, after all.

Ah, there was the other problem. Not only had he woken up already bored, he had also woken up feeling guilty. He wasn't a cruel man; he didn't want anyone to suffer. Anyone but Geralt, and even him just a little bit. He was just angry and he didn't think he'd be able to trust him again for a long time and- great, his mind was getting side-tracked again.

What had he been thinking about before? He groaned again, trying to force his body to get up while he attempted to sort his thoughts that were hidden behind some mysterious fog in his mind. Not a muscle moved. He hated the fog days. He much preferred the days when his mind moved too fast for anyone to follow instead. Well, anyone but Geralt, that was. He had always been rather good at that and now that he was back it could be like that again, maybe. 'No!' he told himself determinately. 'I am still cross with him. I can't allow him to get under my skin that easily again.'

He started tapping out a rapid rhythm on his blanket. 'Oh good,' he thought. 'So, I can move. You know what would be great now? Getting out of bed.' He continued tapping his rhythm, the rest of his body still not moving.

Jaskier sighed heavily. What had he been thinking about? Cirilla, right. Truth be told he was glad, that she was here now. And that she was with Geralt. He didn't want any harm to come to her and there were... approximately two people and a dead horse on the entire continent he would trust her life with.

'Pity that Roach died before making it here,' he caught himself thinking. 'I think she would have liked it. Maybe I should get him a replacement? And the princess, too, they can't very well ride double all the time and I won't allow Geralt to make the poor girl walk the whole way. I know what that's like, I had to suffer through it long enough. I wonder if she likes flowers? She deserves a nice saddle. And nice clothes, too! Oh, maybe I can call a tailor. That would be a great opportunity to get Geralt into something resembling fashion, too. Maybe even a bit of colour? Oh, bad memories, that went totally sideways the last time we tried-'

"Fuck!" he cursed quietly. One moment he had been thinking about Roach and the next about Pavetta's betrothal - how had he even gotten there? And what had he been thinking about before that?

Right, two people and a dead horse. One of them had nearly died on Sodden Hill according to his intelligence and the other one was somewhere in Lettenhove Hall - preferably in his room next to Cirilla (of course he hadn't separated them, he was no complete monster). He should probably go talk to her soon. Welcome her, apologise for his harsh treatment of the day before, that sort of thing.

Ah, yes, like that he could put the cranky villagers off for a while. Slowly, he sat up. 'Finally.'

He still needed a plan. Jaskier groaned and dropped back down.

"Why did I do this?" he whined into the empty room. "It's always easier when I'm already sitting."

Well, now he wasn't sitting anymore. Great. And the idea of meeting the princess was not enticing enough to move him again. Great.

"I really need to get better at this..." He just laid there for a while, staring at the canopy above, following the same colourful threads with his eyes he had stared at a thousand times, bored out of his mind. Yet, every time he tried to pull a thought close it either vanished or actively tried to get away, to be replaced with the insufferable chorus of The Fishmonger's Daughter. 'Why on earth did I write such a despicable song?' he asked himself not for the first time.

His salvation came in form of a firm knock. "My lord?" the voice of Jakub, his manservant sounded muffled through the wood. "Are you up yet?"

"Almost!" Suddenly, it was very easy to jump out of bed and scurry over to the clothes laid out for him. "You, Jakub" he exclaimed excitedly when he entered with a tray of food, "are god-sent. You see, I just couldn't bring myself to get up and go about my day and the you appeared and now it is all very easy- Oh, are those raspberry tarts? I love those-"

"They are, my lord," he answered calmly and moved to lace up Jaskier's shirt, while the latter shoved little raspberry cakes into his mouth.

He could see his exasperation plain on his face when that didn't keep him from talking: "I couldn't even think right, I was thinking about Roach and the witcher and do you think the girl would like an embroidered saddle? I was thinking buttercups, though, no, that would be better for my next one. Can saddles be embroidered posthumously? No, that's not the right word, I seem to have forgotten it- Jakub, you are very silent today, is everything alright?"

"Quite, my lord. You are very talkative today. I wouldn't want to interrupt you."

"Right," his mind seemed to slow for just a moment. "I am sorry about that. It seems I am having one of those days."

The servant shook out the doublet and held it for him to slip into the sleeves. "Shall I inform the staff, my lord?"

"I think that would be reasonable. How are my dear sisters?"

"Very vocal about their displeasure to share a roof with a witcher, my lord." He buttoned up the last of Jaskier's doublet.

Jaskier frowned and popped the last two buttons open again. "Only Janina, I hope?"

"Indeed, my lord. She has also pronounced her plans to leave for Goldfurt immediately. They are already packing. Lady Józefa, on the other hand, appears quite smitten with... both of your guests."

He wrinkled his nose and ate the last of the raspberry tarts. "As I have feared. Stop the packing at once, no one is to leave Lettenhove unless I tell them to. Until further notice. Make time in my schedule for both of them." He halted and sat down to let Jakub put on his boots. "Actually, clear my whole schedule for the day." He sucked the last of the sour berry juice from his fingers. "But be sure to put the names of my sisters and my two guests on it. And think of solutions."

"Think of solutions, my lord?"

He shot him a confused look. "Did I say something else?"

"Not at all, my lord," Jaskier admired him for keeping a straight face. "I just wanted to make sure."

"Good." He looked around. It was obviously light in his rooms, so it couldn't be that early anymore. He only hoped he hadn't wasted half of his day. Again. "What time is it?"

"The sun has risen an hour ago and your witcher with it. He is stalking the halls in the guest wing and frightening the servants."

Jaskier frowned. "Send someone to tell him to stop. I won't have that."

"If I may be so frank, my lord?"

He waved his hand as a sign for him to continue.

"I fear you may be pressed to find some kind of occupation for him lest you want this to be a frequent occurrence. As long as he is meant to be in your service, I mean."

"I know. I am already thinking about it." He flashed him a bright smile. "That is exactly why you will put 'think of solutions' on the schedule. If he gets too restless before I find one, send him to the stables. He's good with horses."

"Shall I write down the issues you need to find them for, too?"

He smiled even brighter. "See? That is why you are in my service. You are very clever."

For a moment he thought, Jakub smiled, too. "Thank you, my lord." He surely had to be mistaken.

"Just do not put the names of my guests on it, if you please. Such a document would be very dangerous indeed."

He blinked. "I do not know the names of the witcher and the girl yet, my lord."

"Even better." He leaned back and folded his hands across his stomach. "Now go. I believe you've got a witcher to chastise."

Jakub looked very uneasy all of a sudden. "And the girl, my lord?"

Jaskier stood and straightened his doublet. "And the girl, indeed, Jakub. And the girl, indeed."

He made his way towards the door and was only stopped when Jakub said: "Your sword, my lord."

"Right!" He whirled around and took the offered weapon, tightening the belt. "I'm bad with new things, I'm sorry..."

"Always the same routine, Lord Julian," he said quietly and Jaskier half suspected that he wasn't supposed to hear that.

"Right," he answered cheerfully, "and I always forget." He was already out the door when he peeked his head back inside. "Don't forget the schedule," he reminded his manservant with a quick smile. "And the pacing witcher."

For the first time in a long while there was an odd little spring in his step when Jaskier walked. He even smiled at some of the servants, startling poor Marta that she dropped the pitcher of water she was carrying. When he apologised and bent to pick up the shards, she dropped the mop, too.

It was just his luck that that was the moment Józefa rushed along. "My darling sister," he jumped into her way, "how are you this morning?"

"I'm fine, Julek," she kissed him on the cheek lightly. "It seems you are, too."

"It seems, doesn't it?" He smiled at her. "Where are you going?"

She rolled her eyes. "What do you want?"

Jaskier gasped and clutched at his chest in mock hurt. "Why, can't a man not crave a simple conversation with his sister to wish her a good morning?"

"A different man, most certainly. You are not that kind of man. So?"

He smirked and batted his eyelashes at her. "Will you do me a favour?"

"Depends," she crossed her arms. "What's in it for me?"

"You get to spend more time with our lovely young guest, uh-"

"Fiona?" she supplied.

"Fiona! That's good! Show her around the castle, will you? The stables, the gardens, the library. Find out what she likes."

"I will. Will you tell me who she is in turn?"

Jaskier laughed. "Most certainly. A hundred different stories. Will you spread them for me?"

"I have already written Nadia and Irena about it; the word will be out in no time. You know they cannot keep their mouths shut. Will any of these stories be true?"

"Perhaps. Not a word about who she arrived with, I trust?"

She frowned. "What are you talking about? She arrived alone. The witcher isn't due to arrive until tomorrow."

"I do love you, Józia." He smiled and kissed her on the cheek, too. "Why have you never come to Oxenfurt? I am sure Dijkstra would be delighted to have you in his faculty."

"I would have. Alas, I think one runaway is enough for the family." She winked. "Off you go, brother, I'm sure you have a lot of things to do."

He groaned loudly. "Don't remind me..." Still he walked away, quickly bending out of the way of a servant. "See you at dinner," he called after her, "and keep Janina out of my hair for a few hours, will you?"

She laughed loudly. "I'll do my worst. Good day, my lord." And with that she had twirled around a corner and vanished.

Jaskier took his time to check upon the kitchens and the stables and his new horse, Pegasus. He was still small, hardly large enough to be ridden yet, but in a year or two he would make a very fine steed, he hoped. Not that he knew anything about horses but he trusted that he would be in good hands with his stablemaster Wiktor. He also informed the man that he could expect a very grumpy witcher to join him in the course of the day who he was advised to treat kindly.

"Why?" Wiktor asked distrustful. "Is he dangerous?"

Jaskier smiled brightly at that. "Not in the slightest. It is I who do not take kindly to insults made about my guests."

The old equerry shrugged. "As long as he's kind to the horses he won't find any trouble here."

"Good." He turned to leave. "Should there be trouble regardless, call for me if you will."

He grunted in reply. 'The two of them will get along very well,' he thought. He passed Cirilla and Józefa on his way inside and smiled and waved at them. When his sister signalled for him that Janina was nearby, he slipped away quickly.

When he shouldered the door to his study open, laden with an array of heavy tomes there was his schedule on his desk already. "Good man, Jakub," he muttered and began sorting through the books and sheets of parchments. Once satisfied he plopped down on his seat.

"Now, father," he murmured and pulled open the drawer of the desk, closely examining the writing utensils, "let's see what kind of semi-legal activities you were prepared for."

A fully developed plan had settled in his mind during the course of the morning. All that was needed now, was a tiny bit of forgery and they would be on their merry way. It should be done in no more than four hours - with some kind of allowance, he was a bit rusty after all.

He was just correcting the last few strokes on the fake latter he had written, when there were furious steps in the corridor. "Julian Alfred Pankratz!" The door flew open with a bang and nearly knocked an unspeakably ugly vase off its pedestal.

"Not the vase," Jaskier said emotionless, "Father loved it oh so much."

Janina ignored him completely as she stormed inside with swirling skirts. "What," she demanded and slammed her hands on his desk with just enough time for him to save his handiwork, "were you thinking?"

"Good day to you, too, dear sister," he said and blew the ink dry. "What has gotten into you?"

"You can't just order me to stay!"

He tapped the tip of his quill against his lip as if he were contemplating the issue. "In fact, I can." He pointed her quill at her. "I already have."

"I will not tolerate this! I refuse to live under the same roof as a mutant-"

He rolled his eyes as he tried to secure as many breakable objects on his desk as possible. "Here we go..."

"- who steals and eats children!" She grabbed a bar of seal wax and chucked it across the room. "I knew you were eccentric; I knew you travelled with one of them for two decades though I cannot fathom why, but bringing on here? Forcing me to share my home with him? A home you haven't even deigned to visit in the last quarter century? You are going too far, Julian!"

"Are you finished?"

"Finished?" she shouted. "I haven't even started yet!" Jaskier sighed and leaned his chin on his palm. That could take a while. He suffered through her tirade dispassionately, trying to flesh out the last details of his plan while she raged on and on and on. He had long learned to stop listening to her rants. Until- "And the child!"

He sighed. "What about her?"

"Who is she even-"

"None of your business."

"-one of your bastards? Did you bed a monster to need a witcher to bring her here?"

He stood abruptly. "Janina, you go too far."

"No, Julian, you went too far! Twenty years ago, when you just vanished! And then you just show up again and get the title."

"I didn't want it!" he shouted back. "I still don't want it! It was what father wanted, not me. Do not confuse your anger at him with your anger at me!"

"You still took it!"

"Take it back once I am a dead, for all I care. But as long as I am breathing, I am the Lord of Lettenhove, whether we like it or not. When I tell you, you do not leave, you do not leave. Get it together, Janina. I will not have you insult my guests any longer."

She narrowed her eyes to slits and leaned in close. "I hate you," she hissed in his ear. Then, she whirled around and stalked from the room.

"Well, you're not my favourite sister at the moment either!" he called after her, though his voice was drowned out by the bang the door shut with.

With a sigh he sat back down and pulled his letters out again. It was not his best work, he had to admit, though anything he forged these days could hardly compare to what he had done during his time in Oxenfurt. He had memorised the handwriting of all of his classmates perfectly and of quite a few professors and nobles, too. That had been one of the reasons why Dijkstra had recruited him in the first place. Well, that and that there were not many people who were as reliable as him when it came to spreading as well as listening to rumours.

He was just dispassionately drawing a scrawly sketch by young 'Fiona' - always a nice touch - when the door flew open again. "You frighten Ciri with your shouting," Geralt growled.

Jaskier was very glad that an angry witcher had long lost its effect on him. "You frighten my people with your pacing," he shot back.

Geralt snarled. "I have stopped."

"Good," he answered and turned back to his sketch, purposefully smudging the lines. No child ever drew without smudging the lines. When the witcher was still in the door a few moments later he looked up again. "I have stopped shouting, too."

"Just... don't do it again!"

"I'm sorry," he said slowly and put his pencil down. "What did you just say?"

That gave him the opportunity to see something truly marvellous happen: for a moment he saw a witcher - oh no, not just any witcher, but Geralt of Rivia - pale. "Nothing."

"Interesting sounds you make when you say nothing."

"I'm sorry. Is that what you want to hear?" Geralt's eyes darted around like a doe's before being shot. "Fuck, Jaskier, I can't read you anymore."

He allowed himself the tiniest of smiles. 'Good.' "I want another tone, witcher. You're forgetting who you're talking to. And I want you to never utter that name within these walls again."

"Jaskier?" He sounded confused. 'Poor man.' "It's your name, what else should I call you?"

"Oh? I thought I'd told you already. You may call me "my lord", here."

Geralt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Jaskier could see how he was fighting with himself. "Forgive me, my lord," he said finally, "I did not mean to." He didn't clarify what he hadn't meant to but for the moment that was enough for Jaskier. "Is there anything else?"

"Come sit with me, witcher," Jaskier said and pointed to the chair opposite to him. "Time to tell you why you are here."

Begrudgingly he pushed away from the door and sat down across him. If he didn't know it any better, Jaskier could have sworn he was limping. "Why am I here then, my lord?"

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach. "First things first: The girl you didn't arrive with is one my cousins."

"Cousin," Geralt deadpanned.

He waved his hand around. "Distant relative, I have a lot of them. You see, she normally lives with her family down in Verden but has recently been orphaned. And because I have such a soft heart, I have decided to take her in. I have visited my dear cousin Daniela not three years past and have become acquainted with the girl then. We have been in contact ever since I got here. Look, not three months ago Daniela even sent me a sketch Fiona had made!"

He held up the drawing he was working on and let Geralt scowl at it. "It's hideous."

He very nearly pouted. "Don't be mean, witcher. Cousin Fiona drew this!"

He sighed. "Fine. That's a good story but what if they discover you don't actually have a cousin named Fiona?"

"What do you mean? I actually do have a cousin Daniela in Verden! Well, did, she died in the cradle but that's the least of my problems." He turned the big tome he had been working on around. "Good thing Lettenhove uses the good parchment for the family records, eh? So easy to scratch one date off, replace it by another and add a new name. It's clear as day, witcher. The girl staying at my home is Fiona Nowak and no-one can doubt it. And we are all thrilled to have her here."

Geralt stared at the family tree and the letters in disbelief. "How did you..."

"I didn't attend Oxenfurt Academy for nothing, keep it up, witcher. Anyways, where was I?"

"You wanted to tell me what I am doing here."

"Why, you're just an old friend of mine, arriving tomorrow, by the way, enjoying my company and drowning your grief about your dead child surprise you never knew in my wine cellar while I comfort you with my ballads."

"Really?"

His expression grew serious once more. "No, witcher. My wine cellar is off limits. As are my ballads."

He nodded, looking over the letters again. "That is more than I hoped for, actually," Geralt confessed. "You do not have to keep us here. My lord."

Jaskier hummed thoughtfully. "I assume you had a destination with Cousin Fiona?"

He grunted.

"Words, witcher."

"Kaedwen."

He sighed. "And I assume it is not exactly near Montecalvo? Or Mirt? Or anywhere within a reasonable distance of here?"

"No, my lord."

"I didn't think so. So, your plan was to cross one mountain range travel through probably half of Kaedwen in what? One month before your wherever-you're-going becomes inaccessible due to the snow? The leaves start falling already. Normally you were nowhere to be seen by now."

Geralt blinked stupidly as if he was realising only now just how ridiculous that sounded.

"No, witcher, I think it is better for you to stay here for the winter and start out again come spring. So, you are not only staying a week. Which is why I need a good cover story to explain how my household has gained two new members."

He didn't reply to that for a while, just sat there and ducked his head. Then, very quietly: "Thank you, my lord."

"Do not thank me yet. Thank me once we have weathered this winter without being disturbed. I am a bit concerned about... some of the loyalties in my hose."

He snorted. "I noticed. It seems not all of your family are as inclined to my kind as you are."

"You'd do best to keep your ears to yourself here, witcher." Jaskier frowned. Of course, he should have thought of that before starting a screaming match with Janina. Well, he would have to remember for the future.

"I will. Though if you ever needed someone to talk to, my lord-"

"I will certainly not call upon you." That hurt. He could see it in Geralt's eyes. 'Not as much as the mountain, I bet.'

The witcher wrinkled his nose in disgust, grossed his arms and leaned back in his seat.

Jaskier did his best to turn back to the letters, he still had to age them after all, but his skin prickled under the intense stare of his former friend. "What?" he snapped after a short while.

Geralt raised an eyebrow in answer.

"There's something bothering you, I can sense it. Out with it. Now."

He sighed and leaned forward. "Where are all the people, my lord?"

"What people?" He scoffed. "I'm just a viscount, witcher. And although I might be famous for my life before returning to my rightful place, we do not entertain big courts. The biggest thing that happens here is the annual fair. Then people from my other two villages and a few in the area come here to get drunk and leave again a week later."

"You're still rich, though. I expected-"

"What?"

"- a bard, maybe?"

"Why would I be in need of a bard?"

"Some friends from Oxenfurt, then?"

"I appear to have lost them when I took to the Path for a quarter century."

"You have two other sisters-"

"Married."

"Nieces and nephews-"

"Too young."

"Cousins-!"

"Stop it!"

"You're evading my questions, bard."

"And you're overstepping your boundaries," he hissed. "I am no bard anymore. Back off, witcher!"

Something changed in Geralt's expression. A tiny part that had been soft, hardened once more. "Right..." he said quietly. "In that case, my lord, forgive me."

"Leave," Jaskier ordered icily.

"Jas- my lord-" Geralt started but he didn't even let him finish: "I don't care, I tell you to leave, you leave."

He got up with a quiet sigh. "Sure. Whatever my lord commands." The door still shut behind him with a bang.

“If all of you,” he shouted after him, “could stop abusing my poor doorframes, it would be greatly appreciated!”

The door opened again and Jakub peered inside. “Is something the matter, my lord?”

“No,” he huffed as he collected the letters. “Everything is going just peachy. Why wouldn’t it be with my witcher-hating sister – who also hates me by the way – a witcher, his- charge and everyone else in my household who dislikes me for some reason or another!”

He blinked, obviously overwhelmed with the burst of words of his lord. “My lord?”

He sighed and rubbed his temples. “Just forget it. Find out if the witcher's injured. Once you have an answer, come to me at once."

He bowed quickly. “Of course, my lord.”

And with that he brushed past him out of the study, armed with letters and family tree alike, looking for his sisters. The viscount had news to deliver.

[afoxysunny]

Robbie as Bullock

This post will probably differ from the others in structure and be a lot longer for one big reason

When choosing Miraculous for the Lazytown characters i really wanted to only use ones that we've already seen in use in Miraculous Ladybug and know how they work from there.

For Robbie i broke that rule. I don't really remember what first made me consider it but it probably had to do with the fact that i think the Ox Miraculous, just aesthetically, would fit Robbie perfectly!

So for this one i had to start from scratch completely, no reference for a canon hero design, no idea what power or weapon he'd get, no clue what the phrase to transform could be.

Of cause i used the most references for him but here are the ten i found most important

Obviously i don't expect any of my speculations to become even remotely canon once we find out what Stompp, the Ox Miraculous, actually does but i hope it at least makes sense for now.

I like how I've drawn all the others standing head on to face the camera and Robbie just leans there. That's because you have to think he doesn't care, the little Tsundere

Concept Overview:

In the Miraculous Ladybug episode we meet all the Kwamis, including Stompp, he is the most actively concerned about Nooroo so now that the Butterfly Kwami is back I'm sure Stompp would want to stay around him. With Sportacus partnering with Nooroo, teaming up Robbie and Stompp made the most sense to them.

Design Notes Incoherent Thoughts I had to justify what I'm Drawing:

Purple and Blue - it amused me no end that with the choices i made blue Sportacus got a purple Kwami and purple Robbie got a blue kwami. I did kinda dislike at first how little blue the costume has in comparison to purple but i decided i don't have to make a decision because apparently the canon show can't make up its mind about Stompp's colour either. The blue and purple can always be swapped if i decide i don't like it

Harness - Ox' are hard working animals, mostly used to pull heavy objects. For that purpose they get strapped into a harness. Obviously i had to include that in this design, the chain hanging from the collar around his neck has a similar purpose (it only occured to me way too late how kinky it looks please ignore that)

Cape? No cape? - because of the imbalance in colours i briefly considered giving him a cape like a Matador would have but only for a second or so. I wanted to keep Robbie's iconic body shape untouched by a bunky cape, also the few times he wore a cape in the show he really struggled with it and also i think it would've clashed with the tail

Tail - speaking of which, an ox' tail has that frizzy end to it but i really liked the chain as his tail so to emulate the thicker part at the end i hung a padlock there. And that really worked. Not only bc that's just how bulls and ox are kept in check with their strength but also because the oblong shape of a combination lock makes for a fitting shape and can be used in universe. You see, Robbie is not that good with just saying what he wants or expressing how he feels. This four letter combination lock is magic and kinda betrays and helps him at the same time. It spells out any given four letter word that fits his mood best at any given moment

Miraculous Nosering - if a Lazytown character would unironically get a nosering, it'd be Robbie. I'm sorry, i don't take criticism on that

Horns - he needed horns. He just did. Look how good he looks with horns! But for real, in Miraculous Ladybug Chat Noir gets actual cat ears so he can get actual horns, also like Chat he the white parts of his eyes turn yellow like Stompp's while keeping his signature grey iris

Hair - ox' are mostly shown with like bangs covering their eyes so i couldn't resist ruffling his usually so perfectly done hair up to make it fall a little like that

Weapon - my first thought of "Miraculous takes cliché traits for animals to base their powers on so i guess bullfighting is the way to go here" made me really sad. This "Sport" is so disgusting i wanted to cry and puke while reading about it. I'll spare you the details but in addition to the Matador in the arena there's other guys too to weaken the bull before the Matador kills it, one of them throws knives. Miraculous Ladybug likes combining weapons with toys so I'm giving him darts. They are fastened to the front of his harness and i think how they can be used is along the lines of, once he zhrows them with his super strength and they pin into something they can only be removed when he allows that, also like the ladybug's jojo they can fly how long and whatever direction he wants, and probably also is able to just manifest them back to himself if ever one gets lost

Miraculous Power - again, just pure speculation here, but the powers we so far know of are all loosely based on an exaggerated cartoon trope of each animal so for the ox that is hard working and persistent and for the bull that'd be aggression and tunnel vision. While typing this i get the urge to add blinders to his mask but i digress. So i made up an exaggerated power that'd fit both but when i told my test group (two people) one said "oh, kinda like Bloodhound from Apex Legends" and the ozher said "so like hunter's mark from DnD" i play neither so i don't know but maybe you do do that's the short version of the explanation xD his power is based on the cartoonish depiction of a bull seeing something that bothers him and then charging at it for as long as he can until he gets it. Once Robbie focuses on an enemy or someone running away or someone he is following for whatever reason he can use his power to keep track of them. No matter how far away they go or where they try to hide. It sounds OP as shit but think of the Snake and Bunny who can both time travel and then say that again. The catch is he needs to use it while that person is still in clear sight for him so i think it balances a little better

Name:

Do you know the difference between a Bull and an Ox? Well, let me mansplain it to you anyway

The reason i kept switching between drawing inspiration from bulls and ox' is because it's the same animal. Those are both names for an adult male cow. The only difference being that an ox is castrated and a bull is not. Stompp is the Ox Miraculous so tough nuts Robbie, literally. But making babies isn't really on his to do list anyway with Sportacus as his partner so who cares.

Anyway, I had the design done and like always i struggled a lot with naming it

But then i learned a Bullock is not only a cool word that seems to be a mix of bull and lock like his design is but it also is the official name of a male cow too young to be castrated yet! Isn't that just perfect? I think it is

Also I'll include in this section the phrases one needs to speak to have Stompp transform them into this Ox themed Superhero and for the power to activate. If you think of something more fitting for either please let me know!

Transformation:

simple version - horns up / horns down

More detailed - time to charge / time to loaf

(charging is when a bull starts running blindly at something; loafing is the professional farmer term for a resting cow)

Power: Target Charge, Locked On, or my personal favorite option Head-On. Again going with the more in depth terminology, that's what the running style of a bull is called when he's chatging at a target

Story:

Robbie lived in Lazytown but when the kids grew louder and older and he got more annoyed wih not having his peace and quiet he just up and left. He spent a lot of time traveling around, living wherever it was comfortable and leaving when it wasn't anymore. Thanks to being an inventor and overall talanted crafty person he got by pretty easily as there was always a company running on "hire a lazy person for an important job, they'll find the easiest solution for the most complicated problems" so he never really had to worry.

Whether by coincidence or fate Robbie and Sportacus run into each other and despite Robbie being a little difficult they both immediately feel strangely drawn to one another. With time going by they meet more often, at first more or less by chance but eventually they plan to meet up regularly. They might have very different ways of doing it but they share a common lifestyle: helping out others to live a comfortable and fulfilling life.

Only after Sportacus was chosen to be the new Guardian of the Miracle Box he finally asks Robbie to join him, full time by his side traveling in his airship around the world wherever they may be needed. Of cause only for moral support and such, obviously. You see, they always enjoyed each others company and sort of over time eased into a relationship like coexistence but neither of them ever really acknowledged that. Only when Sportacus got Nooroo's power to sense other people's feelings that barrier of miscommunication fully fell. Robbie is incredibly bad with conveying his emotions but now Sportacus can sense that he has potentially the most powerful and purest emotions he ever encountered. Not only is each feeling of his powerful but when there is more than one at play they don't mix together and muddy each other but instead boost even more. He knew before that he wanted Robbie to join him but that discovery made it a necessity.

Despite not being able to actually say so Robbie is thrilled to come along. Only over time and with a lot of painfully slow conversations they manage to agree to make their relationship official.

Stompp, the sassy Ox Kwami, regularly bursts out of the Miracle Box to want to check on Nooroo and slowly he and Robbie bond over telling Sportacus and Nooroo to go easier on themselves and let a little responsibility get taken off their shoulders so eventually they team up and Bullock is created.

Thanks to Robbie's hard work to better himself with Sportacus' help, Stompp's magic transformation provides him with a tail that conveys his feelings for him.

When they hear that Lazytown has been wiped clean of grown-ups Sportacus immediately flies them over there so Robbie can check on his hometown. Finding only a few children, now teens, left there Robbie recognizes them and the two form the plan to give them Miraculous' too so they can help to find their lost family, friends and neighbors and fight together to bring them back.

Wow that was so much to read and you did it! I'm so impressed and thankful! You deserve a pat on the back (if you want one) and a cookie and/or sportscandy on your way out