#v: of course you are a storm. are you not magic? do you not burn? ( 09. ) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pedrito-friskito · 2 years

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the warrior and the witch - part one

summary: tucked away in a quiet village that constantly questions your true nature, pero tovar stumbles his way into your life, and you are both quick to realize that things will truly never be the same.

warnings: a decent amount of worldbuilding/exposition, this is not even slightly a slow burn, depictions of magic (is that a warning? idk), canon-typical violence, blood, cursing, oral (f receiving), unprotected p-in-v (wrap ur shit), Pero Tovar is a warning all his own cuz fuck me

a/n: the first of the autumn adventures! I’m having so much fun writing these already, and this one has sparked something magical in me let me tell U 🧡 and huge thanks 2 my sweet sil @psychedelic-ink for beta-ing this for me and hyping (and feeding) my pero obsession 🧡

🍂kay’s autumn adventures🍂 PART TWO PART THREE

There were whispers about you from the very first day.

It didn’t shock you — nothing did, truly — and you traversed the gossip as you always had: by ignoring it. People ducked across the cobblestones when they saw you coming, refused to meet your eye as you walked through the square, murmured nasty rumours that often made you snicker to yourself.

I hear she killed her last husband. Poisoned him and used his body for her potions. Wretch.

You see that scar on her cheek? A bear. She cursed a man who spurned her and turned him into a beast! What a bitter woman she must be.

You know she’s actually thousands of years old? These witches don’t age like us normal folk. It’s unnatural.

Wretch. Bitter. Unnatural. The taunts were endless, and though you weren’t surprised by the words, and did your best not to take stock in them, they lurked overhead like a looming storm, pricking at the back of your neck like the static that comes just before lightning strikes. It’s not the first place you haven’t felt welcome, but that’s besides the point.

Taunts and names thrown your way each day, and yet, when one of the more soft-spoken women of the village came knocking on the door of your cottage one night, tears on her face and blood on her lips, you didn’t hesitate. The smithy’s wife, you’d often seen her by the fountain in the square, doing her washing with the other wives, a small boy clinging to her skirts.

One look at her, and it was obvious that the smithy had a temper.

You tended to her wounds, bandaged her crushed fingers and wiped the red from her skin. You brewed the tea without question, gave her a warm bed to sleep in for the night, and refused to take her coin when she offered it the next morning.

“I don’t need your money,” you told her, returning her newly mended dress and cloak. You’d spent most of the night scrubbing the woman’s blood from the fabric. “Just your trust.”

She was grateful, you knew it to be true. She promised to tell the town how giving you had been, how safe she had felt in your home, how she was tended to and healed without question. You looked for her in the square the next day, but she was nowhere to be found. Not even two days later, and the smithy was empty, the entire family gone from the residence above the shop.

Of course, the town blamed you.

It was to the point where you considered leaving. It wouldn’t be the first time, nor would it be the last, but you were loathe to let them force you out. The cottage was comfortable; you’d made it so. It had been abandoned when up first arrived, but you’d felt the pull, known that your ancestors had once tread the land, that the foundations of the house was filled to burst with magical potential. The first night you’d arrived, you’d planted a single apple seed, pulled from a fruit you’d eaten somewhere along your journey.

When you woke the next morning, the tree was full grown, it’s branches laden with the sweetest apples you’d ever tasted. And curled up beneath the trunk, a small black cat with amber eyes, peering up at you, head tilted to the side and a curious chirp reaching your ears.

“Well, hello there.”

You couldn’t leave. Not yet. There was work to be done, something you were meant to do.

After the departure of the smithy, you were more of a pariah than before. The sneers and insults were darker, but you kept your ground. You were determined.

You sold your apples in the square, and the children of the town were your most loyal customers, darting up to your basket and tossing their silver coins at you before running away with their goodies. The cat, who you affectionately named Soot, always accompanied you, and some of the braver children would hang around, petting the cat’s soft fur and giggling when he offered loud purrs and happy meows.

When the seasons began to change, the heat of summer giving way to the chill of autumn, you started baking. Tarts and little pies with faces cut into the top, sprinkled with sugar and making your entire home smell like cinnamon. The children were overjoyed, and a few of the older folk grew curious. The tavern-keep even asked for your recipe.

It didn’t gain you their trust, not entirely. They still whispered, still warned newcomers not to travel past your cottage after dark, to make sure they always paid you in full for your goods if they were to buy from you. The smithy remained empty for a long time until a new man and his young family moved in and took over the shop.

You walked into the shop and requested a set of small knives, to replace the set you currently used for the herbs and plants you collected. The new smithy looked at you for a long moment, scrutinizing you beyond belief, and you found yourself holding your breath until his face softened.

“You know, you’re not nearly as terrifying as they make you out to be.”

You’d actually laughed, grinning at the man. “Good to know.”

You paid him more than he asked for the knives, agreed without question when he said it would take him three days to complete the set, and left one of the larger pies on the tabletop before you left the smithy, happier than you’d felt in a long time.

When you went back three days later, he greeted you with that same smile, and this time, his wife was standing there as well, as soot-covered as her husband, their grins almost identical.

“You must be the witch.”

You grinned back. “You must be the wife.”

It became a quick companionship. Her name was Lena, his was Tomas, their young boy Roland and their girl Wren. Lena was one of the most boisterous women you’d ever met, shouting her way around the smithy, often giving Tomas orders instead of receiving them. A stark contrast to the smithy’s wife that had appeared on your doorstep before the arrival of your new friends.

Lena ran the shop, essentially, and was endlessly curious about your…abilities. She peppered you with questions daily, and was always the first to buy apples or pastries when you arrived in the square.

“I don’t suppose you have a potion that would stop my hair turning grey, would you?”

You’d laughed initially, but the next time you stopped in to the smithy to have new shoes made for your horse, you slipped a small vial of dark liquid that smelled of chestnuts into her hand. “Two drops a day,” you said quietly, and tapped a finger to your head. “Just around the temples.”

Her jaw had dropped, and you’d stifled your chuckle.

You turned away any coin she offered, and in turn, she always did the same for you. Your mare was well taken care of, your knives sharper than ever, and when the chill started to come harder, she sent Tomas over to your cottage with bundles of firewood and two new cast iron pans. Roland came along as well, hiding behind his father’s leg when you offered a tart, Soot twining his way through the child’s legs as you packed up a bushel of apples to send back with them. “I think he likes you,” you commented, winking at the boy, and he blushed crimson, but crouched down and gave the cat plenty of pets before his father called him to leave.

“Oh, I’m meant to ask you,” Tomas said as you walked the dirt path from the cottage to the main road that led back towards the village. “Lena asked if you’d have supper with us at the tavern tomorrow. Her parents are visiting us, and they’ve agreed to watch over the children for the night.”

Soot had followed you out, chasing his new friend Roland down the path, and you laughed as the two zipped past, ruffling Roland’s hair as he went. “A night free of your children and you choose to spend it with the likes of me?” you asked, jesting, and Tomas went red. You touched his arm lightly. “I’m honoured. I wouldn’t miss it.”

And you haven’t, leaving the cottage again shortly after returning from your day in the square, your basket empty. Soot is less than happy to be left behind, perching in the window and yowling loudly as you close the door behind you, shaking your head at the silly creature when he paws at the glass.

The tavern is bustling with people, and you quickly spot Lena and Tomas in the corner, the table laden with large mugs of ale, a spot left open for you to sit. They greet you warmly, Lena getting to her feet and kissing your cheeks before letting you sit. The conversation comes easily, as it always does, the three of you chattering away, drinking your ale and ordering bowls of stew with hunks of bread. It’s a perfect evening, in good company, your chest warmed by the hearty food and ale.

Well, nearly perfect.

You get up from the table to supply the next round of ale, and a large shadow blocks your path.

“The fuck’re you doing here, witch?” a familiar gruff voice growls and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

Of all the taunts and torments and dirty looks that still follow you around the village from time to time, Farrell has been the most persistent. You’ve had men despise you before, but the hatred that rolls of the man and coils towards you is more than emotion. It’s dark, the shadow that passes over you in his presence leaving a chill on your skin and a sickly taste in the back of your mouth. It looms like a snake, poised to attack, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Your grip on the glass in your hand grows tighter, and you grit your teeth, electing to ignore him, trying to side-step the large man to reach the bar, but a rough hand grips your shoulder.

“I asked you a question, bitch. You’re no’ welcome here.”

“Oh, that’s very clever of you, Farrell,” you spit, already fed up, your words fuelled mostly by the buzz of ale in the back of your mind. A dangerous thing, for a witch. More dangerous for the man daring to lay hands on you. “The witch and the bitch. You even made it rhyme, how charming.”

In a flash, your back slams into the wall of the tavern, shoulders shaking with the force of it. Magic surges beneath your skin, angry and hot in response to the threat looming over you. The glass in your hand cracks; it doesn’t shatter, but you can feel the edge slice in your skin all the same. Farrell plants his other palm against the wall, making any sort of escape impossible. His grip on your shoulder tightens before it disappears, and you see fingers heading for your throat.

Suddenly, there’s a glint of metal flying through the air, the sharp tip of a blade finding its mark, plunging right into the centre of Farrell’s palm. He shouts loudly, face pinching in pain, and tries to spin towards the source of the knife, but goes the wrong way, finding himself stuck against the wall. You use the flurry of movement to your advantage, ducking under the large man’s arm. But before you make a clean escape, the hand that had been heading for your throat grabs the back of your dress, yanking you back and throwing you to the ground. The glass shatters now, blood dripping from your hand, and all of your breath is knocked out of you as you hit the wooden floor. Faintly, you hear Lena call your name over the commotion.

A different shadow steps over you now, a dark cloak fluttering as the knife-thrower steps between you and Farrell. You slink back across the floor, trying to avoid the shattered glass as you take in your saviour. Dressed in heavy chainmail over plain clothes, a thick leather belt, two swords at his back — one straight blade and one curved. More knives like the one lodged in Farrell’s hand hang from his belt, another fastened to the lace of his boot.

You can barely see his face from your spot on the floor, treated only to the messy dark hair, the patchy beard along his strong jaw. His shoulders are broad, hips tapered slightly beneath the mail, but everything about him just screams strength, protector. A warrior, through and through.

“It would do you well, I think,” the man sneers at Farrell, his voice carrying the trace of an accent, somewhere far from here, “if you let the lady be, don’t you?”

He’s only supposed to be passing through.

The village was a speck in the dirt, the name barely legible on the map William had supplied him with. In plotting his course, he’d barely considered the place, planned to pass through it on his way to the larger town down the main roads. But his horse had broken a shoe, the chill in the air was making gooseflesh rise on the back of his neck, and the sky had gone dark. He didn’t have much of a choice but to stop in the village, buying a room for the night from the tavern-keeper, leaving his horse in the stable.

It was quiet when he arrived, the sun starting its descent, the main square mostly empty of people. Someone pointed him in the direction of the tavern, and an hour later, he was sat at table tucked in the corner of the room, a hot meal and a large mug of ale in front of him.

He hadn’t moved from the spot, and was still sat there when you came in, carrying that intoxicating scent with you, and instantly, everything in Pero Tovar’s body was on high alert. His eyes followed you across the room, watched you shrug the cloak from your shoulders, your hair braided down your back. You laughed with your companions, baring sharp white teeth and a wickedly curved grin. You’re beautiful — of course, you are — and he grit his teeth at the thought. He knows what you are.

Witch.

After the Wall, he knew there was nothing in the world that could shock him, not anymore. The Tao Tei had been beyond anything his mind could have imagined, so you are a paltry notion to begin with, but his brow pulls down further as he studies you from afar.

Soon after the dust had settled, before he and William had parted ways, they had came upon a village not unlike the one he has set foot in now. Similar in size, but with fewer inhabitants, most of the buildings abandoned and falling to pieces, some of them still smouldering from a recent fire. William, ever the kindhearted, tried to help, asking those who still remained what had happened, offering food from their saddlebags.

Pero found himself wandering, sword gripped tightly in his hand as he stepped through the rubble. Deeper and deeper into the village, until he could no longer hear the conversation of his travelling companions. Until he was sure he’d passed the same building five times over, and when he turned a corner, a cloth tent stood in the middle of the road, the outside painted with shapes and symbols he had no name for. Smoke billowed out the top — not on fire, but a fire inside — and he could not stop his feet, his body seeming to have a mind of its own, pulling him forward and through the open flap before he even realized what was happening.

I have been waiting for you, Pero Tovar.

The tent was much bigger on in the inside than it appeared on the outside. Darker, too, the large fire in the centre crackling away. Crystals glittered in the firelight everywhere he looked, sparkling like stars on every available surface. Bundles of herbs, jars of liquid, stacks of books. Clutter covered the space, and Pero nearly stumbled backward when he spotted her.

You needn’t be afraid, child.

Her lips didn’t move, but he heard her voice as though she were speaking to him. Old and weathered, eyes like hunks of amethyst glittered at him from the depths of a leathery face. She was covered in necklaces, her thin arms stacked with metallic bracelets, fingers heavy with large rings. A moth-eaten shawl draped her shoulders, a dress made of a patchwork of fabric peeking out. Something in her lap moved, and it took him a moment to realize there was a large white cat curled up there.

A fortune teller? Something darker? He wasn’t sure. The woman smiled, gestured to the seat in front of her, across the table covered with stones and books and cards.

I only wish to tell you what you seek.

His feet carried him to the table, sat him down in the chair that slid out as he approached. He sank onto the cushion, lost in the feeling that his body was not quite his own for the time being. The woman surveyed him, those strange purple eyes taking in every part of him. She reached for a stack of cards, shuffled them in her ring-laden hands, drew two from the pile. She looked at the cards, then at him, then back at the cards again.

Give me your hand, Pero, the strange mind-voice said, and he reached across without a second thought. The woman surged up to grip his hand in her much smaller ones, lurching out of her seat and over the table, upsetting the cat in her lap and earning a loud yowl from the creature. She hissed at the cat, baring her teeth, before turning his hand palm-up and staring down into it. Then she smiled.

You seek a woman. A witch, no less.

He couldn’t stop himself from scoffing. It had been a long while since he’d had a woman, too long a time spent in the company of other men, no time to sneak away to ease his aches by anything other than his own hand. And the women at the Wall had barely given him a second thought, most of them much too preoccupied with William to give his scarred companion a second glance. But a witch?

This one is different, Pero Tovar, the woman continued, and he felt the tip of her finger trace a line in his palm. Her soul calls to yours. She is who you seek. Find her, and find yourself.

Something in him twinged. Dreams riled themselves in the back of his mind, pulling images to the surface. Soft skin bathed in moonlight, hair that sifted like silk between his knuckles, eyes that kept him nailed in place but begged questions and gave answers. A wild woman. His woman.

He’d dreamt of her that first night on the Wall, after he and William had barely scraped by with their lives, everything they thought they knew torn asunder by the strange creatures that attacked. The dreams had come quick, as soon as he’d shut his lids, landscapes he didn’t recognize, the pleats of a dress made of dark silk, and those eyes.

Your eyes.

The same eyes pinning him in place now, staring up at him from your spot on the ground. Your gaze is wild, a fire in your irises he’s never seen before, but ignites something in his chest. He wants to run to you automatically, every muscle in his body screaming for him to move, but then the man he has pinned against the wall barks at him.

“She isn’t welcome here!”

A hand flashes toward him, but Pero is quicker, snatching a knife from his belt and jamming it into the man’s other palm, pinning it to the wall, a mirror of the injury he’s already sustained. The man howls and Pero grins. Something feral in his stomach roils in pleasure, keening and possessive; don’t touch my woman.

“Where I come from,” Pero starts, pulling another knife, getting closer to the man, pressing the tip of the blade into his fat chin, “you know what they do to men who put their hands on a woman?” He grins. “Much worse than what I’ve done to you, amigo, much, much worse.”

He flicks his wrist, leaving a tiny cut in the man’s chin, before sheathing his knife and reaching for the others.

“I want you to listen close, yes?” He curls his hands around the hilts of each dagger, wiggling them slightly. He can still feel you watching. “I’m going to pull these out, and you’re going to run. There’s lots of veins in your hands, you know, so there’s going to be a lot of blood. You’ll be fine, if you move fast. So, you’re going to get out of here, scurry home to whatever sorry woman has been unlucky enough to marry you, and leave the lady alone, you understand me?”

The man whimpers, the sound pitiful, and Pero just grins again, yanking hard on the knives. A path of dripping blood follows the man out, and Pero wipes the blood from his blades, sheathing them once more.

Then he turns to you.

“Tell me your name,” are your first words, your pretty mouth parting as he offers you a hand, pulling you to your feet. Your skirts swish as your body rights itself, your skin warm against his. A wince pulls at your lips as you flex your other hand, and he bristles at the sight of blood pooled in your palm.

“He did this?” he asks, taking your wrist carefully. You’re still watching him.

“I asked for your name.”

“Pero,” he answers instantly this time, eyes flicking up to your face from your palm and back again. “Pero Tovar.” He can feel your pulse racing against his fingertips. “Did he do this to you?”

“In a way,” you reply, glancing at the shattered glass on the floor. “Thank you, for that.”

He says nothing. The dreams rise in his mind. Since the woman told him to find you, he’s played the scenario over and over in his head a hundred different ways. What he would say, what he would do. He should have known it wouldn’t happen any way he imagined.

All eyes in the tavern have turned on the pair of you, the blood on the floor and the stranger in their midst, but no one makes a move to remove Pero from the tavern. A few eyes flicker your way with disdain, but no one says a word. There’s fear in some faces, but he’s more preoccupied with your eyes on his own.

“Sit with us,” you say, your voice soft, melodic to his ears. “Let me buy you a drink for your chivalry.”

Pero opens his mouth to say no, but his body follows you back to the table you’d been sat at before hell had broken loose. “Your hand,” he says as you pull a chair back for him to sit. With a grin, you close your fingers with a flourish, and when you open them again, the blood is gone, the cut sealed, your skin unmarked.

Witch.

The woman you’re with jumps up and hugs you close as soon as you’re within reach, and Pero sinks down into the chair beside you. A man he assumes to be her husband eyes him, but ultimately reaches over and offers his hand. “Tomas,” he says, grunting slightly when Pero grips his hand tight. “That was quite the spectacle.”

“I don’t like men who make games of harming women,” he replies simply. “Witch or not, there’s no reason for cruelty when it’s unwarranted.”

Tomas raises a brow at him. “How do you know it’s unwarranted? You know her?”

You’ve disappeared from his line of sight, and he turns his head to see you standing at the bar with Tomas’s wife, your bottom lip pinched between your thumb and finger, watching him. A chill shoots down his spine when your eyes lock.

“In a way,” Pero replies, mirroring your earlier words.

The night passes quickly, the sky outside darkening further and further until it feels as though a blanket has been draped over the world. There are no stars tonight, the moon hanging behind clouds, offering little light. The tavern empties slowly, a barmaid coming to clean up the blood at some point. Pero watches you shoot up from your chair, helping the girl, watches her eyes go wide and she scurries off, leaving the bucket and cloth. You clean every drop of blood from the wood, and he wonders idly if your magic could do it faster, like you’d healed your hand.

When the hour grows even later, Tomas and his wife — who Pero learns is named Lena — take their leave. Tomas claps Pero on the shoulder as they go, Lena kissing your cheeks before they depart. “Your friends are kind,” he tells you, a nearly awkward silence settling over the two of you, leaving him desperate to break it. “They do not fear you like some of the others in this village.”

“Well,” you say, your voice growing soft. You lean forward on the table, planting your elbows, and his throat grows dry at the way your cleavage shifts with the movement. “They have nothing to fear.”

“Do I?” he asks, his tone nearing suggestive. It’s easy, talking to you, flirtations starting to roll off his tongue. But gods, it’s been a long time since he spoke to a woman like this.

“How did you know what I was?” you ask, one hand reaching down until your fingers brush the back of his, sparks shooting beneath his skin at the feel of your touch.

I’ve been dreaming of you. He almost says it. A woman in a tent told me my future, told me I had to find you. He almost says that as well. But what comes out is: “I heard what he said to you. He called you witch, called you bitch.” He shrugs a shoulder. “I intervened.”

The corner of your mouth quirks in a grin. “And I thank you for it, truly.” Slowly, your finger drags over the back of his hand, tracing the ridges of is knuckles, the ink tattooed into the web between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll have to think of some way to repay you for your chivalry.”

He looks down his nose at you, sinking his teeth into the inside of his cheek at your sultry tone. “I’m sure you can think of something.”

He continues his chivalry. The tavern-keep starts to shuffle those who remain inside out onto the street, and Pero fetches your cloak for you, standing all too close as he drapes it around your shoulders. “I would not want you to be cold, amor,” he says, his voice low in your ear, fingers brushing the back of your neck.

It’s not lost on you, the ember that’s igniting, turning to flame on the kindling of conversation and stolen touches. Something has burrowed itself deep in your chest, spanning through your rib cage and taking root around your heart. It’s foreign, this feeling, but the ache that blooms between your legs at the mere sight of the warrior, your saviour — protector, your hindbrain screams — is all too familiar.

The skies have cleared, and moonlight pours over the both of you as you step onto the cobblestones, and you tip your face towards it, basking in the glow the crescent moon offers. You can feel him watching, those dark eyes on your face, examining your features intensely. He’s standing so close your sides are pressed together, your shoulder at his bicep.

“You’re staring, Pero Tovar,” you comment, keeping your eyes shut, a smile winding across your face.

“I have a habit of staring at beautiful things,” he replies, and you feel his fingers brush against yours.

“Where are you staying?” you ask, blinking up at him. The expression on his face is not lost to you either, the mix of lust and want, the same emotions swirling through your gut with every second you spend in his presence. “A friend in the village?”

He juts his chin towards the tavern behind you. “A room upstairs.”

“Ah.”

You feel his hand twitch against yours now, and his pinky curls around yours, his skin rougher and hotter than your own. “I will not sleep a moment,” he tells you, body turning towards yours completely now, your hands linked and his other coming up to knock a knuckle beneath your chin, lifting your face to his, “until I know you are home safe, amor.”

Your breath is catching, rioting in your chest like a caged bird, and the words fall out of you. “Come home with me.”

His eyes widen slightly, and you wait for the hitch, for him to be pushed away by your forwardness. You curse yourself internally, the voice in your head grating. You couldn’t deny your own attraction, and he hadn’t been shy about his own, but had you crossed a line? Was the heat you felt building still nothing but a farce, a trick of the light, a cruel machination of your own lonely mind?

But then you feel the bad of his thumb across the lower curve of your lip, riding the line until it rests right in the centre, pulling ever so slightly on your skin. You inhale again, your heart climbing up into your throat. “Yes,” he says simply, as if you’d asked the easiest question in the world.

The walk to your cottage from the village has never felt longer. Pero does not let you stray far, your fingers still linked, falling into step with one another. The moon lights the path, and that strange something in your chest only grows heavier, hungrier. As does the ache.

You have a feeling you can cure both with the same antidote.

Soot greets you at the door when you both step through, chirping with interest and coming to inspect your guest. You shrug out of your cloak, stepping through the rooms to light candles. When you turn back, you see Pero crouched on the ground, arms resting on his knees, scratching the cat under the chin with one hand. There’s an almost boyish grin on his face, and you just watch him for a moment, leaning against the wall.

“He’ll never leave you alone if you keep that up,” you say, jutting your chin to the little ball of fur when Pero looks up at you. “He’s a menace for attention.”

Soot meows loudly, as if disagreeing, and you both chuckle. But, surprising to you, as Pero stands, he disappears into the shadows, off to chase a mouse or lounge in a dark corner. You step towards Pero as he lifts the belt holding his swords over his head, hanging them carefully on the hook by your door. His hands lift to unhook his cloak, but you beat him to it, your hands faster than his, knocking his palms away when he tries. He just watches you, dark eyes simmering down at you, as you pull the cloak from his shoulders, folding it and setting it down.

It leaves him in his chainmail and boots, the metal hanging heavily over his frame. You cock your head to the side, searching for some sort of clasp or fastening, but your patience wears thin, and you snap a finger, feeling a surge of magic through your arm. In a flash, the mail is gone, piled atop his cloak, and Pero just continues to stare, a rakish smile pulling on his lips.

You leave him to his boots, unlacing your own and setting them by the door. You ensure the door is properly locked, and when you turn away, you feel hands on your hips a moment later, the growing beast in your chest keening into the touch. The grip isn’t tight, but it promises to be, something possessive in his hands. “Show me to your bedroom,” he murmurs, his mouth by your ear, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your lobe. It sends a chill down your spine, “or else I will ravish you right here on this floor.”

You wrap one hand around his wrist, stepping far enough out of his grip that you can tug him behind you, leading him through your small home and towards the bedroom. You wave a hand as you enter, the hearth erupting with flame and the door swinging shut. You hear his sharp inhale, releasing your hold on him, and you turn to face him, stepping backward until he follows a step, then another.

“Do I scare you?”

Slowly, he shakes his head.

Your cheeks heat, the gravity of the situation you’ve found yourself in making your mind spin. You turn again, facing away from him, but feeling his gradual approach until his heat covers you one more. With careful fingers, he brushes the braid from the back of your neck until it hangs over your shoulder.

“Tell me where you’ve been hiding, amor,” he whispers, lips nearly touching your skin, your pulse leaping in response. His hand trails up your side, palm flattening against your ribs. “Tell me why I’ve waited so long to find you.”

You can’t hold back any longer. The feeling — the something — is too much.

Spinning on your heel, you startle him, his pretty mouth dropping open as you surge up to meet it. It’s nothing short of euphoric, like every kiss you’ve ever received has lead up to this one. The hand at your ribs stays there, fingers pressing through the fabric of your dress, while the other roves around your body, snaking up your spine until it rests at the back of your neck, spanning so wide you can feel his fingertips press either side of your throat.

He tastes like everything you’ve ever dreamed of, a taste that was only meant for your tongue. You can’t stop yourself from moaning into his mouth, a whine tumbling from your lips when he sinks his teeth into your lower one. It’s nearly enough to draw blood, and it only feeds the feeling in your chest, what you can only describe as a beast keening at the attention, rallying for more, making your heart riot harder.

You could snap your fingers and have you both naked as the day you were born, but something stops you. The hurried movement of hands, both his and yours, pulling at ties and pushing at fabric, his fingers hooked into the strings of your corset, yours in the laces of his pants. The way he murmurs slowly in that foreign tongue of his, words you don’t understand but hang off of all the same.

“He viajado por todo el mundo por ti, mi amor. Y con mucho gusto lo volvería a hacer.”

You can’t stop to ask, your mouth too busy gasping for air when he manages you out of your skirts and corset, your shirt nearly shredded by his hand. His lips leave yours only to travel down your chest, tonguing at your collarbone and laving at your nipple. It makes your body react in a way you’ve never known, one hand plunging into his hair, keeping his head at your breast, while your hips push towards him, chasing a feeling that hasn’t been granted yet.

“You are needy, amor,” he murmurs into your skin, licking at your sensitive skin and pressing a soft kiss to the curve. “Tell me, how long has it been since someone touched your body like this, hmm?”

You’re completely bare now, your shirt a puddle of fabric at your feet, the combined heat of Pero Tovar and the fire making sparks shoot across your vision. You’ve managed to divest him of his shirt, his chest a broad expanse of bronze, scarred skin. He looks up at you from his bent position at your chest, the brown of his eyes nearly eclipsed by the black of his pupil. He stares you down, lips closing around your nipple, and you yelp when he gives you the slightest bit of teeth, both hands holding your hips, thumbs rubbing at your bones.

“Tell me.”

“Too long,” you breathe out, head tilting back on your shoulders as he sucks at you, one hand dipping down to squeeze the meat of your ass. “Far too long.”

He descends lower, kissing along your skin like he’s drawing a map of you, outlining every inch. You take another step back and your thighs hit the bed. He uses his grip on you as leverage, tilting you backward until you’re splayed on the blankets. As soon as your shoulders lay flat, your knees are pushed apart by his big hands, and you blink up to see him situated between your legs, his mouth now pressed to the hinge of your knee.

“Then I must fix that,” he murmurs into your skin, palm skimming the outside of your thigh. “Would you let me taste you, amor?”

You barely have a chance to breathe out a yes before he’s dipping his head between your legs, open-mouth kisses pressed along every inch of you. The heat is nearly too much, the beast in your chest screaming for more, and when his tongue finally touches that most intimate part of you, it finally goes silent, sated for the time being.

Instead, all you feel is pleasure.

He’s a skilled man, to be sure. Unsurprisingly good with his hands, and even more talented with his tongue. He draws shapes along the insides of your thighs, sucks on that little bundle of nerves until your back is arching up off the bed, plunges two fingers into your cunt at precisely the right moment. You thrash in the blankets, at the mercy of the man before you, already feeling that sometimes unreachable peak skidding towards you. You’re almost hesitant, not wanting your body to catapult over the edge so quickly, if that means this will all be over sooner.

But then you chance a look down at the bulk of Pero between your legs, broad shoulders keeping your thighs wide. His hair is a mess, the work of your own fingers, and you watch the trail of his free hand over the length of your leg, squeezing in a different place with each pass. He lifts his head slightly, mouth detaching from you, and you catch sight of his fingers disappearing into the very depths of your body, his skin glistening with your slick, and the image makes you gasp.

His head lifts then, dark eyes locked with yours, and he grins. “You like to watch?”

Mouth dropped open, you just nod.

He thrusts his fingers hard, curling his knuckles, and the pads of his fingers brush against something absolutely devastating inside you, white-hot shocks of pleasure shooting through your limbs. At the same time, he lowers his head, keeping his eyes locked with yours as he does it, going so slow you’re sure you might die with anticipation, until his mouth touches you once more.

The edge is right there, and you have no choice but to tumble over.

It’s the most intense feeling, every muscle going taut and then loose and then taut and then loose. You’re half-sure your eyes roll back, your vision spotted with black dots, and it doesn’t seem to stop. Your vision returns after a moment, body still quaking with pleasure, and Pero grins, pulling his mouth from you, but keeping his fingers in place.

“Tell me what you want, amor,” he breathes, leaning up and over you, his knees keeping your legs wide, offering you a kiss that tastes of your own pleasure. “Tell me what you need.”

His fingers prod that spot again, and your hips lift into his hand.

“More.”

Your orgasm hasn’t stopped, you’re quite sure, spurred on by his fingers still thrusting, your body still twitching. You can barely catch your breath, but then you glance down again, and see he’s as naked as you are, pulling his fingers from you only to coat his cock with your slick, leaning his hips forward to drag the tip through your wet folds. He’s big, thick and achingly hard, the head weeping. When he bumps your clit, you moan. “You want more?” he asks, nearly taunting, and you lift your hips again, trying to notch him inside you.

“Please.”

He gives you exactly what you ask for. As soon as his hot cock slides into you, it’s like the air has been punched from your lungs. You scrabble for him, hauling him down onto you until his chest is pressed to yours. You know you’re leaving scratch marks on his back, but you can’t bring yourself to care, stealing breaths from the man above you as his mouth searches for yours.

His hips snap into you with a ferocity you have no name for, a fervour you’ve never experienced before. You can’t catch your breath, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters.

None of it, except for him.

As the realization settles over you, the beast in your chest purrs with delight. You hold Pero closer, hips lifting to match his thrusts, doubling the feeling for you both. The sounds he makes are absolutely sinful, but it’s the sweetest melody you’ve ever heard, spurring your body back towards the edge. Your blood is singing in your veins, your mind a mess of pleasure and emotions you cannot describe.

You topple a second time, tossing your head back and baring your throat. He takes the bait, closing his mouth around your pulse, and you fist your hand in the back of his hair, keeping him as close as possible. Your body feels as though it might implode, an impossible amount of pleasure surging through your veins.

His cock twitches hard, and with a groan more akin to a growl, Pero rips himself from you, fisting his cock and cumming in thick ropes across your stomach. You watch his face as he cums, the hard pinch in his brow, the way the scar on his eye ripples with the movement. His lips part, heavy breaths falling from him, and you reach up with one hand, covering his hand with your own as he continues to stroke himself. The other reaches down, and you wait for his eyes to open before you drag two fingers through the mess he’s left on your skin, bringing them to your lips and sucking off the taste of him.

“Mierda.”

Pero collapses beside you a moment later, broad chest heaving with exertion, turning towards you to press a heavy kiss to your mouth. You return it with enthusiasm, testing the bend in your legs a moment later, planting your feet carefully before trusting your shaky knees with your weight. You find a rag to clean yourself with, disappearing down the hall and returning with two cups of water. Pero grumbles his thanks, his voice low and raspy, and steals another kiss when you settle back into the bed with him. It strikes you for a moment how at ease he looks, as though the empty side of your bed is where he’s been his whole life, how perfectly he fits.

He looks up at you, same as he had when he was between your legs, and you reach out, cupping his cheek in your hand. Your thumb rides the ridge of his scar. “What did you say to me earlier?”

You get a roguish grin in return. “I just said a great many things to you, amor. You will have to be more specific.”

“The things you said when you undressed me,” you say, your voice growing soft, still stroking the raised skin of his scar. “I don’t know the language.”

“Ah,” he murmurs, understanding. You shuffle closer to him, and his head leans into your palm, his hand reaching out to trace shapes on your thigh. “He viajado por todo el mundo por ti, mi amor. Y con mucho gusto lo volvería a hacer.”

“Yes,” you nod eagerly. “What does it mean?”

He peers up at you again. “I have travelled a world over for you, amor,” he answers, and the beast in your chest sings happily, “And I would gladly do it again.”

You sink lower until you’re laid out beside him, pulling the blankets over you both, seeking his warmth beneath them. “And amor,” you repeat, trying to mimic his accent best you can, “what does that mean?”

“Love,” he says simply, like it’s obvious. “Mi amor. My love.”

—————

I have a taglist! if you’d like to be tagged in future works, please fill out this form!💕

pero tovar tags: @iamskyereads @ancientbeing10 @woomen23 @plutoneu @pedropascalsx @allfoolsinluv @bluestuesday @i-simp-much @trickstersp8 @kirsteng42 @lovesbiggerthanpride @beskarprincessjenny @loonymagizoologist @greeneyedblondie44 @tanzthompson @mswarriorbabe80 @vickytogisa @dead-pool-simp @ruhro7 @thevoiceinyourheadx @littlemisspascal @pastafossa @boliv-jenta @iccedays @detectivecarisi-1 @Grotzu @paintlavillered @tusk89 @myguiltypleasures21 @alexxavicry @chaoticgeminate @phandoz @psychedelic-ink @jitterbugs927 @amneris21

#pero tovar #kay’s autumn adventures #the warrior and the witch #my fics #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x you #pero tovar smut #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar fic

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ceilingfan5 · 3 years

Text

Safe Harbor

“Lighthouses,” the tour guide drawls, “Aren’t just pretty pictures on calendars. They’re a beacon in the darkness, symbols of hope, all that jazz. But they’ve also literally got a job to do, even today.”

His name is Taako, and unlike the other lighthouse keepers Kravitz has seen on this tour his moms dragged him into, he’s about Kravitz’s age, and he’s beautiful. Kravitz hangs on every word, even though a lot of them are recycled from the other tours. There’s only so much a guy can learn about lighthouses. He tried to tell his moms this, but they just laughed and kept taking windswept pictures. He’s almost ready to thank them, though, for the privilege of getting to spend the better part of an hour in Taako’s intimate radius.

There’s not a lot of personal space in a lighthouse.

“You lot seem familiar with the poetry. I’ll skip the rest. This gorgeous beastie has been around for almost two hundred years, despite the ocean’s best attempts on her life. And she’s got something special.”

Kravitz read the pamphlet, but he asks anyway.

“What’s special about it?”

“You can divine the future from all the damn bird shit on the ground,” Taako deadpans, and then laughs at his own joke. Kravitz laughs too, so incredibly, foolishly charmed. “Nah, it’s a whole thing. Every lighthouse has got a characteristic, yeah? A pattern for the light so you know who’s who and where’s where? This one’s characteristic is a flash of one, one-two-three-four, one-two-three.”

Kravitz blinks.

“Cool?”

Taako grins. Kravitz’s moms look at each other and laugh. Kravitz had almost forgotten they were there again. Taako holds up his fingers as he spells out:

“One, four, three. I l-o-v-e y-o-u.”

Kravitz’s cheeks burn about as bright as the giant night-light above their heads.His moms awwww behind them.

“They were actually going to change it, and the community got way upset, like, ahh, I took my soulmate here when we first dated, you can’t do that, so they didn’t.”

“Wow,” Kravitz says, fully aware he sounds like a big dumb idiot. “Love wins.”

Taako snickers.

“Yeah, guess so. Hey, you crew wanna see the top?”

“Oh, I don’t know if I can do the stairs on this one,” Raven says, and Istus nods as seriously as she can manage. “My knees, you know.”

Traitors. Or wingladies? The world may never know.

“I’ll go with you,” Kravitz volunteers. “It’s. Cool to see the view.” He doesn’t like heights. This is a lie to talk to a pretty boy for a little bit longer. But Taako grins and leads him up the terrifying stairs, so...he wins? Taako rattles off more facts as they spiral upwards, seemingly more excited now, and Kravitz tries not to swoon, because those stairs forgive no sins, no sins whatsoever.

“So you’ve already been on a few of these tours, you’ve probably heard all the hot deets, you know, about tallow versus lard and wicks and glass chimneys, right? Fresnel lenses and all that?”

Kravitz nods, which he realizes Taako can’t see.

“Yeah, they’re also in, um.” There’s so many fucking stairs. “Car headlights.”

“Smart boy.” Kravitz gets the firm impression Taako would be winking at him if he could. His cheeks burn even brighter. He’ll guide the ships back home with his fucking face. “So I won’t bore you with all that. But I will bore you with this--did you know magic likes significant places?” He doesn’t wait for a response, mercifully letting Kravitz just climb the stairs. “And high places, too. The grip of reality is thin. And you know, sometimes, sometimes you can see things.”

Kravitz figures if he sees anything funky, it’s probably his body warning him he’s about to pass out after climbing up God’s asshole, but he keeps that to himself. Taako seems to believe it. Kravitz will pretend it’s a real thing for Taako. Gorgeous Taako.

“You don’t have a soulmate yet, do you?” Taako finally gets to the top, and he turns and offers Kravitz a hand. It feels incredibly significant. He takes it, of course, and Taako helps him up to the very top of the lighthouse. The eye of the beast glitters brightly as it slowly turns, massive and celestial in a way that leaves Kravitz reverent.

“No,” he says, editing out what gave it away, the fact that I’m on vacation with my moms?

“Cool,” Taako says, with a gap-toothed grin. “Check out that view.”

Kravitz doesn’t want to look at the view, but obediently, he turns, and he sees the world and the ocean spread out before him, glistening and inviting, and he squeezes Taako’s hand tightly as vertigo grips him by the guts and shakes him like a doll. His life flashes before his eyes--no, not his life, another man’s life, and he’s out on the sea in a little fishing boat, and he’s made the worst and definitely last mistake of his life. The storm is rolling in like a train made of pea soup, and he knows, knows deep down in his soul, he’s going to die. There’s no way he’ll find the shore again.

And then he turns, and there’s a light in the darkness, hope against the hopeless sea, flashing once, four times, three times. His love is guiding him home, and he paddles like his sorry life depends on it. And it does. He crashes on those vulturous rocks, and he imagines he’s gone and died after all, and he wakes up in a tiny bed, a man with beautiful eyes bringing him something to eat.

“I do feel awful about your boat,” he says, in a familiar voice. “But I knew you’d come back to me.”

Kravitz hurls back to the present and almost loses his clam chowder lunch about it, but Taako steadies him. Those eyes, those familiar eyes, glittering like the sea, they guide him back to reality. A beacon of hope, and all that jazz.

“What did you see?” Taako begs, absolutely thrilled. “Did you see your soulmate?”

“Yeah,” Kravitz whispers, so lightheaded and terrified and confused and happy he could just combust. “Yeah, I did.”

#taakitz #taakitz fic #taz #tazb #taz balance #the adventure zone #the adventure zone balance #long post #sorry this is long it took me a bit to get to the point #okay so listen. ive been watching modern marvels on youtube and it makes me feel things okay. tonights episode was about (guess) lighthouse #anyway brrrrrrrr #fan5fics

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candied-peach · 4 years

Text

ao3: “christmas baubles” rating: T warnings: platonic dlampr, some violent humor, food, christmas genre: fluff (tiny bit of angst) description: Virgil spends Christmas with everyone. It goes surprisingly well. (this is written for @potatopriestlord for @sanderssidesgiftxchange ! happy holidays ♡)

It's Christmas time.

It's Christmas time, and Virgil doesn't know how to feel. This year, Patton's invited Janus and Remus. "A new beginning," he claimed, and who is Virgil to argue? He wants a new beginning. He does, but he just-

Well, it's not quite the same. He's used to Christmas with Janus and Remus and he's slowly becoming used to Christmas with Logan, Roman, and Patton, but- Combining them?

His heart stutters at the thought.

Don't be such a dummy, he tells himself as he carries in one last box of Christmas finery for the tree. The lights have already been strewn, in white and gold. Multi-colored tinsel is densely packed in one box, ready to be flung over evergreen branches in a rainbow tapestry. All that's left, really, are the ornaments.

Virgil isn't sure he's ready for the ornaments.

They aren't regular ornaments, you see. They aren't shiny glass baubles or childish popsicle stick and Elmer's glue contraptions. They're memories.

And he's painfully aware of every memory destined to fit on the tree.

"You ready, Virge?" Roman asks, a candy cane sticking out of his mouth. Virgil nods, swallowing his nerves back. It will be fine, he reminds himself. Just because Jan and Remus are coming this time doesn't mean anything will go wrong.

Roman hands him an ornament. It's a delicate reenactment of a cabin, snow falling down the windows in little drifts. Virgil grasps it with shaking fingers, his mind already drawn into the bauble's memory.

It's his first Christmas with the other sides since childhood. He doesn't want to intrude, but Patton insists. They don't even know his name yet, think he's nothing but a bother, but Virgil goes anyway because Patton gave him that look and he can't resist it.

They've transformed the commons into what looks like the inside of a cozy log cabin. Patton beams when he sees Virgil's hesitant tread down the stairs.

"You made it!" Patton says cheerfully. Logan gives him a cordial nod. Roman ignores him altogether, too focused on putting the last finishing touches on the tree. There are heaps of red and blue ornaments in various shades, but no purple, yellow, or green. Not that Virgil expected any.

"Uh, yeah," he says, shrinking into his hoodie. He feels like an imposition. Desperately wishing he could go back up the stairs and take refuge in his room, Patton instead takes his sleeve and tows him further in, handing him a mug of hot chocolate. It warms his perpetually chilled fingers and he can't help but awkwardly smile in thanks at the moral side.

"Thanks," he mumbles, his cheeks flaming like the sunset.

"Sorry," Roman apologizes, his face tinted red. "I um, I wasn't very princely that year."

"It's fine, Princey," Virgil says with a shrug. "The feeling was mutual, remember?" The next ornament is an old one. A fragile one. One that Virgil thought had been lost.

"Patton found that one," Roman tells him. "I haven't checked it out myself."

"Oh," Virgil says, feeling dazed. His fingertips brush the childish blobs of paint that stain the ornament's surface.

"Come on!" Creativity says impatiently, hopping down the stairs two at a time.

"You're gonna fall," Caution warns, flapping an oversized sweater sleeve. "Be careful."

"I am careful," Creativity retorts, but Caution notices that he takes the remaining steps a little slower. "Come on, Curiosity's already awake!"

"What 'bout Lies?" Caution asks. Creativity shrugs.

"Not sure," he says. "We gotta get Heart up, too. He's such a sleepyhead. Doesn't he know it's Christmas!?"

"I think the whole mind palace knows," Caution says dryly. Then he steps into the living room and gasps. An enormous Christmas tree squats proudly in the corner, decorated with strings of multi-colored lights and loads and loads of tinsel. Not a single ornament adorns its fluffy branches, causing Caution to give Creativity a curious look.

"It's not done," Creativity admits. "I thought- I thought the ornaments could hold memories! Of all the Christmasses we ever have together! Or like...other times, maybe, I don't know. Doesn't that sound cool?" He enthuses.

"Y-yeah," Caution stammers. "That- that sounds neat, Creativity."

"Show us how!" Curiosity exclaims, storming out of the kitchen. "I'll make the best memory ornament the world has ever seen!" Caution bursts into giggles, covering his mouth with one sleeve.

"Virgil?" Roman asks, touching his shoulder and drawing him out of the memory. "You okay?"

"Fine," Virgil says. "I'm fine. I just. Yeah." He sets the ornament down, as gently as if he cradled a snowflake, and hurried to his box. Dust still gathers, thick and cloying, on a few of the ornaments, buried in the back. The ones with Janus and Remus. He swallows hard, stretching out a hand to pluck the nearest one free.

"Remus, I swear to all that is holy if you have decided to replace the tinsel with tentacles again-" Janus threatens. Remus laughs, dancing backward around the tree as Janus chases him. Each evergreen branch is heavily laden with a wet and floppy tentacle, making Virgil scrunch his nose when he walks in.

"Again?" He complains mildly. Janus looks up, his face brightening.

"Virgil!" He exclaims. "You- you made it."

"Uh, yeah," Virgil says, his face flushed. "Um. I didn't- I didn't know that you uh, did anything? For Christmas?"

"Well, I'm sure it's nothing compared to the others," Janus dismisses, with one light wave of a gloved hand. "But Remus and I try our best. And now you! What tradition would you like to bring to the table, my dear Anxiety?"

Virgil blinks.

"Uh, what?" He asks, completely nonplussed. Remus grins and bounces forward, flapping his hands to make the ruffles on his sleeves move.

"Janus came up with it!" He explains. "We each get a Christmas tradition, just for us. Janus's is singing Christmas carols- only the funny ones- and mine is decorating the tree on December first. What do you want yours to be? It can be anything!"

"Anything?" Virgil asks. Janus looks like he regrets all his life choices, but he nods anyway.

"Anything," he confirms.

"Could- could it be making Christmas cookies?" He asks, hugging himself and remembering Patton's baking with a pang. Janus nods in agreement, though his own mismatched eyes look shadowed.

"Of course," Janus says. "To the kitchen!"

"To the kitchen!" Remus echoes in a howl, galloping toward the kitchen and nearly tripping over a stray tentacle.

Virgil's throat aches when he returns to himself. Their cookies had burned that time, because Remus forgot to set the timer, and truthfully, Virgil still isn't sure if Remus managed to add anything inedible to them, but the experience had been-

Well, the experience had been magical.

"Virgil," Janus greets him carefully. He has a dusty cardboard box held tightly in gloved hands, and his face is carefully neutral. He glances at the cookie-shaped ornament still clasped in Virgil's hands and the faintest dusting of pink brushes his cheekbones.

"Janus," Virgil greets just as carefully. Tension dissipates as Remus thumps his way between the two, lugging his own box.

"Virgey!" Remus exclaims. "Ice to see you!"

"It's nice-" Virgil starts, before realizing Remus is holding an icicle towards him. He recoils, setting the cookie ornament back down into the box, just as Remus laughs and dramatically stabs the icicle against his own heart. Nothing happens. Janus rolls his eyes, a fond smile tugging at his lips, as he watches Remus's antics.

"Janus, Remus!" Patton greets warmly. His words are only a little stilted when he realizes Remus is still holding a melting icicle, dripping all over the floor. Remus waves cheerily with it.

"This is a murder weapon!" He says, cheerful. Patton blanches.

"That's- that's nice," Patton says, recovering admirably. "I'm so glad you could make it!"

"Likewise," Janus drawls. He looks hesitantly down into his box of ornaments. Despite himself, Virgil cranes his neck to have a peek himself. He doesn't even have to touch it to be drawn into the first ornament's memory.

"Virgil, what do you want for Christmas?"

"Huh?" Virgil asks inelegantly, spinning around to see Janus leaning against the door of his bedroom, studying his glove with practiced casualness. He shoves his headphones down, curling around his neck, as he advances toward Janus.

"What do you want for Christmas?" Janus repeats. His snake eye gleams in the dim light. "It's a simple question, storm cloud."

"No, it isn't," he retorts, flustered. "There's so many things that are out there in the world, how could I possibly choose just one-"

"Who says it has to be one?" Janus's question stops him in his tracks.

"Be- because," he splutters. One side of Janus's mouth tips up in a crooked smile.

"We're figments of Thomas's imagination, we can have whatever we want," Janus says. Virgil doesn't point out that's not true, not really, doesn't mumble anything about wishing they could all have Christmas together for once. Instead, he stares at the ground and mutters something about new headphones.

"Well, that's easily done," Janus says lightly. "I'll ensure you get the prettiest lump of coal in your stocking, Virge. Unless Remus gets to it first." Virgil laughs despite himself and Janus's eyes light up, even as he saunters out the door.

The bauble, shaped like a pair of over-the-ear headphones, reluctantly lets Virgil free. He glances up to see Janus's own eyes, misty with memories.

"You kept it," Virgil mumbles. "You kept all of them."

"Of course I did," Janus says softly.

"Look at mine!" Remus exclaims, jostling his way between the two of them and shoving an ornament in Virgil's direction. It's shaped like a very misshapen pie and his startled fingers close around it, preventing it from clattering to the floor.

"Remus!" Virgil chases him around the kitchen, laughing only partly from frustration. Remus circles the kitchen island, cackling, holding the mixing bowl aloft.

"What's the matter, Fright Night?" Remus gleefully taunts.

"The matter is that batteries don't belong in pie crust and you know it!" Virgil exclaims, huffing out a breath and stirring his bangs.

"Sure they do," Remus says smugly. "They fit in here, didn't they?"

"That doesn't mean anything!" Virgil says, rolling his eyes. "A lot of things could fit in th- I mean-" Remus's eyes light up with a wicked gleam.

"A lot of things, you say?" He purrs. Virgil puts his face in his hands.

"Janus, how could you leave me with him?" He mutters into his palms.

"Because you can handle it," Janus retorts, appearing out of nowhere. He has a string of Christmas lights tangled around one arm. "Remus, put the bowl down."

"Yes, sir!" Remus says, saluting (thankfully with the hand not holding the bowl). The mixing bowl clatters to the counter.

"And help me with these lights for a minute, would you?" Janus implores. The wink he sends Virgil's way lets him know that he'll take charge of Remus, at least for a few minutes. Enough time for Virgil to fish out the batteries, if nothing else, and see if they need to start over.

"I remember that," Virgil mumbles. His cheeks feel like they're on fire. Remus beams at him.

"Good," he says. "Merry Christmas, Panic at the Emo."

"Likewise," Virgil mutters.

"Remus!" Roman shouts, startling all three of them. "Stop bothering Virgil and help me with these lights for the window."

"Same old, same old," Remus says, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated fashion and adding a little shoulder shimmy. He shoves his box of ornaments in Virgil's arms and dashes to his brother's rescue.

"Thanks," Virgil says dryly, looking after Remus's departing back.

"I can take them," Janus offers. Virgil sighs and shakes his head.

"It's fine," he says. "I wouldn't want you to drop anything."

"As if I would," Janus says, putting one hand to his chest in mock offense. It makes Virgil snicker. Janus smiles, a genuine expression of mirth that makes Virgil's heart twinge.

"Shall we?" He asks, motioning toward the tree with a jerk of his head.

"Ah, good," Logan says, adjusting his glasses with one hand. "I was wondering when you would appear, Janus. The twins are already hopelessly tangled in Christmas lights."

"Who put the ones on the tree?" Janus asks, looking amused. Logan smiles, a trifle smug.

"Me," he says. "Would you like to help with the tinsel?"

"Me?" Janus asks, clearly surprised. Logan nods.

"Is there some reason you shouldn't?" He asks.

"No," Virgil speaks on Janus's behalf, carefully setting down Remus's box of ornaments. "I'm gonna go see if Patton needs help," he adds and hurries away as Logan encourages Janus to set down his ornaments and pick up the first strand of tinsel.

"You're doing well," Patton murmurs, as Virgil stumbles into the kitchen. Red colors his cheeks like a candy cane.

"I guess," Virgil says, leaning against the counter top. "You uh, you need any help?"

"I think I've got it for now," Patton says. "But if you'd like to decorate cookies in a bit..."

"Sounds good to me, pop star," Virgil says, relieved. Patton rummages in a box on the table for a second, holding out an ornament.

"Remember this one?" Patton asks softly. Virgil's fingertips brush the smooth edges and he's helplessly drawn in.

"Caution?"

"Go away!"

"No," Heart insists, tiptoeing in the room and looking around. The spider curtains make him wrap his arms around himself and shiver. "You're upset. I can feel it. What's wrong?"

"Christmas," Caution mumbles. He's curled up on his bed, arms around his knees. "Christmas is what's wrong."

"What?!" Heart squawks. "What do you mean, Caution?"

"Thomas has so much stuff to do," Caution says. "How can he do all of them? It's just- I just-" His breathing speeds up. Alarmed, Heart crawls onto the bed, coming to a stop right beside him.

"Breathe," Heart directs, exaggerating his own breath into a gusty whoosh of air and making Caution's lips struggle not to form a smile. "Like this, 'kay? Follow how I sound."

It takes a few minutes for Caution to match his breathing, but he does. Both cheeks flush red as Heart smiles at him.

"Better?" Heart asks gently. Caution nods, playing with one of his sleeves.

"Will Thomas be okay?" Caution asks in a tiny voice. Heart doesn't even have to think about it for his next words to spill out, ringing with the sincerity of truth.

"Absolutely he will!"

Caution smiles, his hair flopping into his eyes. Heart reaches over and brushes it back, giving Caution an encouraging look.

"Wanna help me bake?" Heart asks. "I think I can make a pretty mean cookie!"

"Sure," Caution says, and laughs. "Why not?"

Virgil comes out of the memory slowly, his face flushed.

"I forgot about that," he mumbles, carefully setting aside the cookie-shaped bauble. Patton smiles gently.

"I never did," he admits, just as they hear a crash from the living room.

Virgil runs to the rescue, Patton hot on his heels. His mouth falls open at the scene of wanton destruction. The tree is still up (which is a miracle) and as far as he can tell, no ornament has been broken. But the tinsel lies in haphazard clumps all over the floor, and the same can be said for several strings of Christmas lights. A ladder sprawls on the ground, still holding a loudly protesting Roman.

"You didn't hold it steady!"

"Sure I did," Remus argues. His brows are scrunched tight in worry. "You overbalanced!"

"Well, it isn't like I did that on purpose," Roman says. Remus huffs.

"I never said it was on purpose!" Remus points out. Roman's face acquires a particularly rosy hue.

"Oh," he says weakly. Virgil snorts with barely suppressed laughter at the twins' banter, and all eyes turn to him and Patton.

"Roman fell off the ladder," Janus explains.

"Ouch," Roman tacks on. Virgil snorts.

"That would be an ouch," he says. "You better be okay, Princey."

"I will be," Roman promises. His expression turns irascible. "At least, I will when this bloody ladder is off me-"

"Oh, right," Remus says, his own face reddening. He reaches down and snags the ladder, carefully setting it upright. "There you go, bro."

"Thank you," Roman huffs. Logan gives him a hand and he cautiously makes it to his feet, breaking out in an enormous smile. "All is well on the Creativity train!"

"Please be careful," Patton implores, clasping his hands beneath his chin.

"I'm always careful, padre!" Roman exclaims, nearly slipping on a bushel of tinsel. Logan groans, snatching it up from the carpet.

"Ornament time," Patton says. "And then after that, I need help decorating some Christmas cookies!"

Virgil makes a beeline for his box, pulling out the ornament in the very back. Janus and Remus watch him as he delicately plucks it free, blowing away the dust.

"This one," he shyly requests. The memory plays, pulling them all in.

"Janus?"

Janus looks up from his idle place on the couch, a frown tugging at his face.

"Storm cloud? I thought you were in bed."

"I can't sleep," Virgil admits. He fidgets in the doorway to the living room, his eyes entranced by the Christmas tree (thankfully tentacle-free....for now).

"Come here," Janus coaxes, patting the couch next to him. Virgil shuffles over, his instincts screaming at him to go back to his room. Thankfully, he doesn't listen. He plops down on the sofa, and Janus tugs him closer, draping an arm around his shoulders. It should feel too tight and confining, but instead, it just feels...

Right.

"I can't sleep either!" Remus shouts from the hallway. Janus fondly rolls his eyes.

"Then come on out, Remus," Janus says. "I have two sides and six arms, you're more than welcome."

"Good," Remus says, but it's a subdued Creativity who finally slips out of the darkness and into the flickering colors of the Christmas lights. His eyes are red-rimmed. Virgil thinks he must have had a bad dream or something. He hardly ever cries otherwise.

"Bad dreams?" Janus asks, echoing Virgil's thoughts. Remus hesitates, then nods, as he crawls onto the couch on Janus's other side.

"Hark, hear the bells, sweet silver bells..." Janus sings lowly, elongating each phrase until the Christmas carol becomes nothing more than a lullaby, lulling both Virgil and Remus to sleep.

Virgil carefully hooks the ornament on the tree, front and center. He steps back, surrounded by old family and new, and nods to himself.

He's home.

231 notes · View notes

harrysweasleys · 4 years

Text

a little sunshine never hurt // d.m

Summary: hi alexa!!! if your requests are still open, could i request a draco x reader fic? in it’s the first day of holidays/vacation and the reader and draco are best friends who (obviously) have feelings for the other but think the other doesn’t like them that way, and they’re having a picnic at malfoy manor, relaxing in the sun reading or doing homework and draco just blurts it and confession + kiss?? if you can’t there’s no problem! thanks 🥰💓

Warnings: mentions of food! also v v short but v v sweet (also not proofread/edited so pls dont come @ me)

Word count: 1.9k

a/n: yikes, so completely ignore my message about not posing a fic before christmas because here i am, posting another fic before christmas. hope you all enjoy!!! xx [I DO NOT GIVE CONSENT OR PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE REPOSTED ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM!]

— —

Ah, finally summer break.

The start of the holidays meant that you’d now have a good months time to catch up on rest, relaxation, and obviously, assignments. Though you usually disliked the prospect of doing homework while on vacation, you couldn’t help but feel a little thankful at the fact that you now had something to keep your mind laced on magic while you were away from Hogwarts.

Though you were staying with Draco for the first two weeks — where magic was very much present — you still liked to learn. You liked to keep that ever-growing passion for the magical arts, and you were most likely going to finish every single project within the first week of the break.

Draco, however, had different thoughts.

“Bloody ridiculous,” he scoffed, raising his hand to move his blond bangs out of his face, “Giving out homework while we’re on break? What kind of git does that?”

“Those are your professors, Draco,” you grinned, turning to face him, squinting slightly in the blinding sunlight, “Have a little respect, yeah?”

He rolled his eyes, laying back down on the freshly mowed lawn, his dark clothing most likely scorching his skin under the blazing afternoon sun, “Is giving out homework a show of respect? I don’t think so.”

You leaned up on your elbows, a fresh summer breeze rolling through and pushing your hair over your shoulder. It wasn’t necessarily a cold breeze, but it did cause you to let out a small shiver. Draco’s eyes followed you as you sat up properly, crossing you legs and reaching into the tiny basket that carried your snacks.

He had asked you to share a picnic lunch with him today, which came as a bit of an odd question, to be honest. A picnic? You knew Draco wasn’t the kind of person to ‘enjoy the fresh air’ so it was a little bit of a strange request coming from him, to be honest. But there was no bloody way you’d complain. An outdoor lunch with him meant that you got to spend more time one on one — it meant that you’d get to continue seeing the side of him that he chose not to show anyone else.

He was quite a complex fellow, if you were to be honest. In school, he closed himself off. He hid away from the world and kept his cold exterior up, not daring to let anyone in. You had gotten through to him — after trying for multiple years, of course — but there really was nothing better than seeing him as relaxed as he was when he was home. Maybe ‘relaxed’ isn’t the proper term; but he did have a totally different air. Less arrogant, less obnoxious, and definitely less pompous.

It didn’t help your ever-blossoming crush in the slightest.

“Can you toss me an apple?” he asked, now mimicking your position and crossing his legs as well. His knee brushed against yours, and even though you were both clothed, you felt a jolt of sparks rush through your body.

You let out a small cough to clear your throat, “Sure.”

Completely forgetting whatever it was that you were looking for in the first place, you tossed him the bright green apple that he had insisted on bringing to lunch. You were surprised that the Malfoy family didn’t decide to grow their own apple trees, to be honest, with how often Draco would scavenge the pantries for the perfect one to eat, they’d most likely be better off by growing some in their own vast yard.

“What are your plans for the summer, then?” he asked, taking a big bite, crunching loudly and closing his eyes as he craned his head up to look at the sky.

Your mouth went dry at the sight of him, his defined jawline and smooth neck looking sharper than ever under the bright sunlight, casting shadows around the base of his neck. His platinum hair hurt your eyes to look at, but even then, you’d love nothing more than to run your hands through it. While he rested his head on your lap, while you made out in bed, while you —

“Are you ignoring me?” he snapped your attention back to reality with the low chuckle in his throat.

“No. No, sorry, just got caught in a daydream,” you turned away from him, hiding the growing redness on your cheeks before trying your best to play it off, “I don’t really have plans for the remainder of summer, honestly. Just taking it one day at a time.”

You laid back down on the grass next to him, resting your arm at your side and brushing your fingers against Draco’s. Your heart jolted and you tried to quickly pull your hand away, but you felt his finger twitch against your skin, his pinky finger locking with yours.

It was as if you totally forgot to breathe.

“I’m happy to have you here,” he said softly, placing the unfinished apple down on top of the closed basket, giving you his undivided attention, “I’m gonna miss you when you leave.”

You could hardly think straight, but you couldn’t give in to his charm that easily. He’d only tease you for the rest of the break, wouldn’t he? But, it was hard not to give in. His finger was awfully soft locked with yours, and you could feel both the heat from his body next to you, on top of your own body temperature spiking. It was way too warm to be in the sunshine.

“I’m happy to be here, too,” you replied, voice awfully quiet. You were almost sure he didn’t hear you, but the way that his hand gave yours a little squeeze, you knew that he did.

You two were often on the same page, it was rare he didn’t know exactly how you were feeling. And it was rare that you didn’t know exactly how he was feeling. Right now was one of those rare moments. You couldn’t tell if he was honestly just pleased to have you here — mostly to help him deal with his pain in the ass father — or if this was something more. More than friendship, more than just... platonic. You couldn’t tell what he was feeling and it was driving you absolutely bonkers.

How could you even begin to ask him? Could you even ask? How would that go?

“Hey, Draco, I think I like you.” Pathetic, really. What a way to embarrass yourself.

You felt his hand give yours another squeeze, “You alright?”

Turning to face him, you thought that it was now or never. When would you get another moment of privacy with him like this? Where you could tell him the truth without the possibility of being overheard?

To weight the pros and cons; if he felt the same, you guys could get the next little while together before going your separate ways for the remainder of the holidays. But if he didn’t, you’d have to deal with the brutal awkwardness of spending the next ten days with him, knowing that your feelings were one sided. Then, you’d have to see him again once returned to school. It wasn’t a very balanced list, in your opinion.

“I’m fine,” you turned to face him, forcing a small smile.

As mentioned before, Draco could always tell how you were feeling. Which is why he pulled his hand from yours, turning over on his side to look at you. With furrowed eyebrows and concerned written across his features, you wanted nothing more than to peel your eyes away from him and completely ignore his gaze. But that was nearly impossible. It’s hard to look away from Draco Malfoy.

“Something tells me you’re lying,” he said softly, eyes scanning your face as if he could read your emotions written into your skin — as if the light freckles dotting your cheeks could give him the answers he was looking for.

You sucked in a deep breath, feeling the expansion of your lungs in your chest — it felt as if you were going to crush your heart any second now. Quite an unpleasant feeling, really.

“I’m not lying,” you said, voice cracking as you spoke. The worst possible lie. There was no way he’d believe that.

He scoffed lightly, “So you’re just going to ignore your feelings then, yeah?”

It was now your turn to sit up, leaning against one of your elbows as you turned your body to face him. His cheeks were tinted with a pale shade of pink, most likely from the burning sun. It was a rather warm afternoon for summer in England.

“What feelings?” you asked, averting your eyes, choosing to stare at an ant crawling slowly up a blade of grass. Not fascinating, but better than giving in to Draco.

“Y/N,” one of his hands reached over and touched your chin, lightly tilting it so you could turn your head up and face him, “I asked you to a picnic today so we could be alone, you know?”

You finally looked over to him, eyes scanning from the base of his throat, slowly up to meet his eyes, “Why?”

“Well, I thought I was being bloody obvious,” he grinned, “I like being alone with you.”

“But why?” you sounded like a child

His laugh was taunting you — effortless and relaxed. Completely juxtaposed to the raging storm of emotions going through your heart and head. How he could say something like that; so heavy and heartfelt, to acting like it was nothing, you could never understand.

“Because,” he scooted closer, his hand leaving your chin, but coming to rest atop of yours, “I don’t know how much clearer I can make this, but I like you.”

You looked over at him, eyes wide and mouth gaped open like a fish. You must look like a bloody idiot, but there was really no other way to respond to that. He liked you back. All this time, he liked you back. And you genuinely had no idea.

There were really no words you could say in response, so you decided on showing him how you felt instead, placing your hand at the back of his neck and bringing his lips to yours. They were incredibly warm — possibly from the sun — and soft. Softer than the grass beneath your skin, and sweeter than the chocolates melting in the basket by your feet. He tasted like mint and green apple, a mixture that felt odd when spoken, but tasted like heaven when experienced.

You felt him mumble against your lips, “I’ll take it you feel the same way?”

Pulling away to let out a small laugh, you nodded your head, “If it wasn’t obvious, yes.”

“Just making sure,” he gave you a lopsided grin, his hand cupping your cheek to connect his lips to yours once again.

— — —

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@grierpilots @hxfflxpxffs @mikumana @msmimimerton @pit-and-the-pen @diary-of-an-onliner @theweirdsideofstuff @thoseofgreatambition @theweasleysredhair @haphazardhufflepuff @starlightweasley @mytreec @thisismysketchbook @valwritesx @vogueweasley @hufflrpuffforfred @phuvioqhile @marvelettesassemble @shadowsinger11 @breadqueen95 @hahee154hq @ickle-ronniekins @beiahadid @mymessedupbrain49

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy reader insert #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy one shots

198 notes · View notes

fedonciadale · 3 years

Note

What’s your take on what’s going to happen at Castle Black once everyone knows that he’s dead? Is it going to be immediate chaos? Or something else? I hesitate to think Stannis will have Shireen burned in the books... could Selyse and Mel take Mance’s “baby” to burn only for the wildlings to retaliate and take Shireen? Or will Selyse choose to burn Shireen? Is GRRM going to do something with human/child sacrifice trope? Where is he taking this scenario?

Hi there!

I am not quite sure, what will happen or in what order. There will be chaos and Satin will probably be the one who brings Jon’s body to safety. The NW will be rudderless and out for the time being.

I do think though, that Stannis will indeed sacrifice Shireen. If I remember correctly it was more or less confirmed after season 5 that the burning of Shireen is supposed to be a WTF moment and that it was together with Hodor and one other thing one of the three WTF moments yet to come in the books.

I do think Stannis is build up to make the ‘wrong’ sacrifice for the ‘wrong’ reasons. More so, since Davos, who is his conscience and who has a clear cut opinion on child sacrifice is not available.

Remember that Stannis already wanted to kill Edric Storm as a king’s son and that was before he sailed to the Wall.

Stannis is a hypocrite and I think he will get into an almost impossible situation and will decide to make a huge sacrifice, something that will count.

I can easily imagine that it will be a clusterfuck of a situation, because of course Stannis will think of Mance’s son first. Val who knows that Mance’s son is gone and that the baby ‘Monster’ is Craster’s son will either try to save the baby she has grown attached to and spirit him away or she will spill the truth about him. This will then mean that the only king’s blood available will be Shireen. And Val might direct desperate people towards Shireen. She thinks Shireen should be dead anyway because she has greyscale. I think Stannis will sacrifice her in an act of desperation.

I’m not sure what will happen to Craster’s son. We had another baby swap in King’s Landing: Aegon, son of Rhaegar, possibly swapped against not a random baby but against the child of Brandon and Ashara Dayne (cf. @une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir posts on Lemora, the ‘septa’ that raises Young Griff). If the second baby swap plays out like the first it is the swapped baby that will die in place of the king’s son.

I think that Selyse will be the one to take revenge for Shireen, the Klytemnaestra to Stannis’ Agamemmnon. It can’t have a good ending.

Also I think that the real effect of Shireen’s sacrifice will not be a ‘change of winds‘ (something that Stannis probably will pray for) but that it will give Melissandre the magic to resurrect Jon. Or Meilissandre will think that Shireen’s sacrifice gave her the power, when in reality it was Jon’s warging abilities - a gift from the old Gods of the North.

When Jon will be ressurected, Craster and Gilly’s son will be dead, Stannis gone and he’ll be half beast because he will have stayed quite some time in Ghost. I don’t know if Val will survive. If she had a hand in Shireen’s death Jon will probably be very angry with her.

I think Davos has it right and speaks for the author:

"Your Grace," said Davos, "the cost . . ."

"I know the cost! Last night, gazing into that hearth, I saw things in the flames as well. I saw a king, a crown of fire on his brows, burning . . . burning, Davos. His own crown consumed his flesh and turned him into ash. Do you think I need Melisandre to tell me what that means? Or you?" The king moved, so his shadow fell upon King's Landing. "If Joffrey should die . . . what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?"

"Everything," said Davos, softly. (ASOS, Davos V)

There can be no victory when you do not care about the lives of the innocent, because this is what this is about after all. The ends do not justify the means.

Thanks for the ask!

#anon ask #Stannis Baratheon #Shireen Baratheon #Will Stannis sacrifice Shireen #I think he will #He has already sacrificed all king of people #He is hubris incarnate

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stardust-walker · 3 years

Text

Undying Fidelity

(Loki X Sigyn!OC)

Summary: Sigyn is feeling v stressy and depressy after Loki dies. She volunteers to return to 2012 New York with Tony, Steve, Scott, and Bruce. Her reasons weren’t selfish, she promises. Chaos ensues. Big dorks.

My first time writing for any fandom besides TWD but this idea has been in my head since the Loki trailer came out and I couldn’t shake it so here it is lmao.

Sigyn had felt like the world moved in slow motion from the moment the life had left Loki’s body. The snap had only made things worse. It had been 5 years since she had seen pretty much anyone other than Thor and sometimes the residents of New Asgard. She kept to herself more often than not.

It was almost ironic how Loki had spoken of undying fidelity shortly before his life had been snuffed out. Meanwhile her own undying fidelity had seemed to leave her cursed with never-ending grief.

The talk of time travel had gained her interest almost as soon as the idea was pitched to the team. Asgard was an option but she knew that wouldn’t be the best option for her. Odds were that in the time they would send them back to, the residents would still think that she was dead.

Her heart had done a funny sort of flip-flop as they talked about heading back to New York. Her stomach sank even lower as an image of Loki was pulled up on the screen.

“So Sigyn will come to Asgard with myself and the rabbit,” Thor began to announce.

Her brown eyes drifted over to where Rocket had, once again, slapped himself on the forehead in frustration. “As much as I would love to go back to Asgard, I believe my skills are needed in New York.”

“You sure that’s such a good idea there, Frosty?” Tony quirked an eyebrow.

“Are you sure it’s such a good idea to have two Hulks in one place? No offense, Bruce.”

“She’s right.” Steve spoke up, “I know what you’re thinking, Tony, and it won’t happen.”

Sigyn locked eyes with Tony for a moment before the older man relented. “Fine. But any funny business and I’m leaving your ass back in 2012.”

She hated travel. Whether it was through space or time, it all sucked to her. All the hair on her arms seemed to stand up inside of the suit as she shared one last worried look with Thor before they were off. Something was different about hurtling through space when you were a lot smaller.

“We all have our assignments,” Steve began as Sigyn stood up straighter and began to glance around. She knew he was around but more importantly she could feel him again.

A loud roar jolted her from her thoughts as she took a step closer to the men she had traveled with. There was the Hulk. Or the old Hulk. However time travel worked, there was the previous Hulk from that time smashing up a car like his life depended on it.

A small smirk crept onto her face as she caught the embarrassed look that Banner had on his face. That was the champion she had seen back on Sakaar. A total wild animal.

This Bruce, however, didn’t seem to have any of that in him anymore. Sigyn’s head tilted slightly as the rest of them watched the green man try to get back into how he was before. “Well, he’s a little confused..” She muttered.

“But he’s sure got the spirit.” Tony joked. “Let’s roll.”

Sigyn didn’t even have to ask where they were going. Sure, they had talked about it in the plans but she felt like she was almost in a trance as she scurried after Tony and Scott as Steve split off from them with a flash of a reassuring smile.

After not using her magic for what was probably years, she was surprised that she didn’t stumble as she landed inside the Stark tower right after Tony. As she slipped behind the stone wall to hide from their old selves, she couldn’t help but sneak a peek. Did her hair really look like that from behind? Ew.

“If it’s all the same to you,” her heart leapt into her throat, “I’ll have that drink now.” Tony gripped her arm a little too hard. Her eyes narrowed as she shot him a look.

The 2012 version of her let out a quiet snort of laughter. She remembered the look that Natasha had shot her. “What?” She heard herself say.

“All right, get him on his feet.” The younger Tony Stark ordered. “Uh-uh. Not you, princess. Come on, Point Break. Get him up. We can all stand around posing up a storm later. By the way, feel free to clean up.”

“Wow I almost forgot how much of an ass you were, Stark,” Sigyn hissed through gritted teeth.

“At least I had style. Speaking of! Mr. Rogers, I almost forgot. That suit did nothing for your ass.” Tony shook his head in mock sympathy.

Steve practically sounded like he was rolling his eyes. “No one asked you to look, Tony.”

Sigyn raised an eyebrow and shrugged in agreement as she caught sight of Captain America. That suit really was terrible.

“I think you look great, Cap. As far as I’m concerned, that’s America’s ass,” Scott called out over the line.

“C’mon.” Sigyn whispered, “No one likes a...kiss ass.” She smirked as Tony shot her an appreciative look.

“Who gets the magic wand?” Nat asked.

Thank god that Tony knew his way around Stark tower more than anyone even after years of not living there. Sigyn’s eyes narrowed as she watched the Hydra agents in disguise begin to file into the apartment from their new hiding place.

A laugh nearly slipped out as she watched Loki transform into Steve from across the room. “I mean honestly,” he joked as he turned back into himself, “how do you keep your food down?”

“Shut up,” Thor snapped as he placed a lock over Loki’s mouth.

“I wish I could tell you dearest,” she heard herself say as she watched the scene unfolding in front of her. In spite of Loki being in chains. A prisoner. She watched herself grab him gently by the arm to lead him into the elevator with Thor almost like when they used to walk through the gardens together. “But then I would have to kill you.”

Tony’s grasp on her shoulder pulled her out of the moment as he pulled her back towards the window. The plan flooded back into her mind as she began to plummet backwards towards the ground. She let out a grunt as she was finally able to regain her own balance to drift back towards the ground without Stark’s help.

“What’s-a matter, Frosty? No knight in shining metal armor today,” Stark joked.

“You burn my hair with those flaming feet of yours and you won’t make it back to the future,” she hissed through gritted teeth as the small green embers flickered from her own fingers as she continued on a quick course back to the ground.

“Looking fresh, Stark,” Sigyn mumbled as she walked up beside Tony in her own security outfit. The only difference was her long blonde hair hung out from under the helmet. “Almost didn’t recognize you without the extra few inches of metal.”

“That really hurts me, you know. I would think for someone so old you would want to be a little nicer to the younger gen-ow!” Tony rubbed his arm as he received a hard pinch.

“Shut up. Here we come,” she swallowed hard as she spotted herself again out of the corner of her eye. She walked side by side with Loki with her head held high. It was amazing how she could walk like that when she remembered how she’d felt. She had known that Loki had pretty much signed his own death sentence and yet still she walked beside him with pride. He was her husband and she was loyal to him. It was her gift and her biggest curse.

“Thumbelina, do you copy? I’ve got eyes on the prize,” Tony chirped into the ear piece.

“I’m going inside you,” Scott whispered back after a moment. Sigyn’s eyebrows shot up as she shot an amused glance at Tony.

Sigyn flashed him a delicate smile. “I didn’t realize I would learn so much about your personal life today, Mr. Stark.”

“Quiet down, Glinda. We don’t want Elphaba to hear you.”

“May I ask you where you’re going?” Pierce’s voice made her skin crawl as she watched him approach the group.

“A bit of lunch and then Asgard,” Thor answered cheerfully.

“Perhaps a stop for gas. I hear mileage on the Bifrost is killer these days,” past Sigyn cooed as she shot a look back at Loki over her shoulder.

Pierce stood up a little straighter. “I’m going to have to ask you to turn the prisoner over to me.”

Sigyn could almost feel her throat close up all over again as she watched herself take a defensive step back towards Loki. Her hand came to rest a mere inch away from the handle of her knife.

Tony whispered beside her, “Easy, Sig. We know how this goes, right?” He paused. “I see what you mean by the whole fidelity thing though but the victory thing?”

“Hush!” She hissed back as she watched Loki turn slightly with an annoyed look in his eye. The woman turned to face the other way quickly as chaos seemed to be breaking out behind them again. Pierce had always been an asshole that much was sure. She wished she could’ve said she were surprised when she found out he was Hydra all along. Her stomach churned as more thoughts raced through her head of what they would have done to her husband if they’d gotten a hold of him in the first place.

Sigyn squeezed her eyes shut tight as she heard the crackle through the ear piece and a different sort of chaos broke out. “Oh my gods! Stark,” she heard her own panicked voice and the two of them turned to see herself abandon Loki and reach a hand out to steady Tony.

“Aw, you do care.”

Sigyn resisted the urge to punch Tony in the chest for good measure. Her heart leapt as the suitcase with the tesseract spun towards them. Her pulse quickened as Tony leaned down to pick up the case and her gaze wandered for just a moment. Loki had noticed.

“Good job, meet me in the alley,” Tony mumbled as he began to quickly exit the building. She was just about to take a few steps to follow when another explosion happened. Except it wasn’t so much of an explosion as it was a rampaging green monster busting down a door.

“Oh shit,” she hissed through her teeth as she skittered back. Stark landed at her feet with a groan but a softer noise drew her attention. A soft tinkling noise and her gaze flickered to the case. The tesseract.

Time seemed to stand still again as Loki glanced over his shoulder and locked eyes with her. A confused look crossed the upper portion of his face for a moment before he glanced back towards the chaos ensuing over past Tony. He had noticed.

With one last look back at her, he knelt down to pick up the tesseract. She thought she heard Tony grunt something but her feet carried her quicker than she could ever remember running before.

Just as Loki stood again, Sigyn came within one step of him. The sudden noise behind him made him turn once more. She gritted her teeth into a grimace as she placed both her hands on the tesseract. Sigyn fully intended to yank the damned thing right out of his fingers but before she could, she felt a strange sensation. A wall of blue and black smoke engulfed the pair of them.

She hated space travel.

Loki landed in the sand with a loud grunt despite the muzzle still over his mouth. The tesseract was still in his grasp. Had he even really seen what he thought he had?

A loud scream echoed through the air around him. His eyebrows raised as another portal seemed to open in the sky right above him. A figure all in black fell through it; arms flailed and legs kicked as the ground seemed to raise to meet them.

Another loud grunt left Loki, this time a more pained one as the smaller figure landed right on top of him.

Quickly, the woman rolled to the other side and let out a quiet groan as she pulled the helmet from her head. With a fluid movement, the black object was tossed aside into the sand before she flopped back onto the sand. A grunt beside her alerted her to the presence of the man. Without even a glance to the side, she reached over and pressed a hand to his mouth to deactivate the muzzle.

“Lovely of you to drop in, Sigyn,” Loki coughed as he took a deep breath.

Sigyn let out an annoyed grunt. “A pleasure, as always.”

Loki caught her gaze out of the corner of his eye as he rose to a sitting position. “You should have just let me take it,” he hissed through his teeth.

Sigyn let out a heavy sigh as she sat up and shrugged off the heavy black bulletproof vest and jacket she wore. “And let you cause more chaos and destroy more cities?”

Loki glanced over at her. A nearly imperceptible look of nervousness crossed his face before he smirked at her. “Who says that’s what I was going to do with it.”

Sigyn rolled her eyes as her gaze flickered forward to a small group of people that were moving slowly towards them. “I would like to think I know you better than you know yourself. Whatever you do, we’re in this together now.” She wasn’t about to lose him again. Not so soon.

“I’m positively touched,” he cooed.

“Til death do us part, darling.” And even after.

#loki x reader #loki x sigyn #loki x oc #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki friggason #loki fanfic #loki fic #sigyn #loki fanDOM HERE I COME #listen im fully aware this might suck but the idea wouldn't leave my ass alone #chaotic space babies #i know the loki series probably wont start with him falling into the desert #but that scene in the trailer with him just waking up in the sand made me cackle #so here this is lmao

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mydrug-is-dragonage · 4 years

Text

Veda Adaar, A Letter from Home

The balcony off my room had great light in the morning. The sun shining through the clouds, the crisp mountain air, spring properly arrived and ready to melt into summer. My belly swelled, slowly but surely. No kicks or stirring, a growing bump where they said a child would be. I hid myself in long, flowing robes and oversized tunics. I spent most my days here, staring out the window, feeling the sun on my skin. I wondered if this was the feeling my parents missed, living in this cold land so far from their home. I sighed and looked out at the mountains, so calm with the wars ceased. The sky still bore the thin green scar.

The week after the healer confirmed the child, Lace came into my room with tea. “Hey, V.” I nodded and waved her in. She handed me the cup and we settled onto the sofa. The fire crackled, I pulled my robe closer around me and placed both hands on the warm cup. “I haven’t written the Divine yet,” she said.

“You haven’t written or you haven’t sent it?” I asked.

“Sent. I’ve written a draft,” she said.

“Do we have to send it now?”

“No,” she paused. Her eyes stared at the burning logs. “We will have to tell her soon, though.”

“I suppose we can get it over with. Not like it’ll get any easier,” I sighed. I took a sip of my tea. My hands stayed on the cup, the warmth passing through my palms.

“She’ll make it easier to keep this quiet, if that’s still what you want to do,” she said.

I swallowed and stared out, the sun setting, the chill of the mountains taking over. “I want to keep it quiet. I’ll tell a few friends, in time, but for now it needs to stay with only those we trust the most.”

She nodded. “Have you written your mother yet? We got another two letters from her this week.” I shook my head. “The Divine considers her trustworthy. She hasn’t betrayed any Inquisition secrets thus far.”

“I know,” I said, “I just don’t know how to tell her.” Lace tapped her feet. “Go on, you’ve got a mind full of something.”

“Veda, she loves you. She loved Bull. She’ll be thrilled.” I took another sip of my tea.

“She does love me. She did love Bull. She also loves my father and will certainly tell him,” I said. Lace started to speak, but I interrupted. “Pa never trusted him. He had his reasons, of course.”

“I think he’ll support you more than he hates Bull,” she said.

“You’ve met my father. Do you really believe that?”

“He’s a hardass, but he’s always been bolder in affection than hatred.” I nodded, took another sip of my tea.

“Lace, can you bring me a fresh candle and ink?” She nodded and went to fetch them. I settled into my desk.

Tama,

I’m sorry I haven’t written. Lace tells me she’d get you informed about the immediate developments. I’ll also admit I haven’t read your letters. I’m going to, I keep them in a safe place. I simply haven’t found the time or the gumption. For being so brave, I’m so afraid. I don’t know why. I’ve face dragons and magisters and time travel. I suppose the risk there is death. Dying never seemed as scary.

I remember the stories you told me of when you were a girl. A young apprentice baker, elbows deep in flour. You wanted to be a Tamassaran, raising the children, guiding their growth, comforting their hurts. I suppose it’s the closest thing to motherhood in Par Vollen. They didn’t let you into the priesthood, though. They didn’t let you raise the babies and cuddle them, tend to their wounds. They sent you to a small bakery near the sea. I remember the gull songs you’d sing to me as we wandered along the coastline of the Waking Sea.

Pa never told me the same stories you did. I pieced them together from stories you’d told me. Pa, part of the antaam, stopping by your bakery for bread in the morning. Pa, the good soldier, making jokes as you packed his rations You, the naughty the baker, sneaking him sweetened bread, baked with too much sugar. His hands lingering on yours too long in front of the baker. You two sitting on beach, the sea lapping the shore, your hands finding their way to each other’s again. When I got older and understood the Qun, I always wondered how you weren’t quaking with fear. To love, while not forbidden, was certainly not allowed like this.

When you fled, were you afraid? Crossing through Seheron and Tevinter, Pa joining mercenary companies to gain passage, did you regret it? Did you miss the calm of the bakery, the friends you left behind? Was he worth it? Was I worth it? Were you afraid?

I remember when you sent me off with my first company, an apprentice myself, unsure of the power in my fingertips. I remember Pa standing, arm around you. You held back your tears, but I saw your eyes well up, so afraid for your only child, your only daughter. You wanted more for me than mercenary companies, killing for my dinner. You sang from the Chant of Light, you warned me of magic, yet it came to me anyway, taking me away from you. The first letter I got from you started and ended with, “May the Maker guide you.”

He guided me through mountains and valleys, along the seas. I’d seen the Free Marches, Nevarra, Orlais, the South Western corner of the Anderfels, all while learning to protect myself from demons, manipulate the fade to bend to my very will. The best, of course, was when I’d come home, a year older, a head taller, hardly the child you’d sent away, still so far from real womanhood. You fussed over me so, made goat pies, asked about the places I’d been and the joy I’d found. When you went to bed, Pa and I sat outside, looking towards the sky, the moon so full and hungry. He took a sip of the wine you’d opened, offered me my first glass. He put his arm around me and pointed out constellations. He said something softly, the sounds still ringing in my ears, “We wanted better for you. We wanted safer for you.”

The first time you visited Skyhold, we’d stopped the demon army, but we hadn’t yet gone to Halamshiral to save the empress. You wore a simple cotton dress, you hair braided down your back. Pa put on his nice shirt, his horn caps. You looked so nervous around the nobility. They didn’t know what to make of you. The deafening whispers, everyone so curious about the new Qunari amongst the Inquisition. I heard you sing from some Canticle as you walked towards the throne, up towards my room.

I was scared then, too, my mission unfinished, the Magister still on the loose. When we got to my room you gave me the biggest hug. “My little girl has gone on to be something so much bigger!” You beamed, your own daughter the Herald of Andraste. Pa hugged me too. While I was pressed against him he whispered, “I’m happy you’re safe, for now.” Pa pulled away and glanced at my neck.

The dragon’s tooth was heavy. It rested against my skin, cool and smooth. He didn’t say anything, eyes stuck on the tooth. Your eyes were stuck on me, until Pa’s hand reached your back. Your gaze went where his rested. I can hear your voice now, the surpise and curiosity, “Veda, is that….” your voice trailed off, so Pa, forever your rock, finished for you, “A necklace of the Kadan.” He didn’t share your curiosity.

I said yes. No use in lying to you. I felt my heartbeat in my ears. Your eyes widened when you asked me, “Do you have a Kadan?” I nodded, so unsure and afraid. Not of my love. I knew I loved Bull. I hoped he loved me, but the two of you, seeing me in love with a man closer to your age than mine, a Ben Hassrath agent no less. You two joined me in Herald’s Rest, we found a small table in the corner upstairs. Pa drank a full ale before Bull came to join us. It was awkward, so painfully awkward. When Pa excused himself, I wanted to be sick when Bull said he’d take a walk with him. The men gone, us alone at the table. “He’s,” you thought so carefully about your words, “a lot of man.” I laughed and agreed. You asked if he made me happy.

He did. He made me so happy. He made me happy for years. He made me happy dancing at Halamshiral, he made me happy fighting dragons, he made happy in taverns and campsites, in castles and caves. He held my hand in carriages, he held me in cold storms. He took blows meant for me, he killed foes sent to strike me down. I saw the whole future, I saw the danger you and Pa had lived through. I knew we’d have troubles. I knew he’d be called away from me, but he was mine and he made me so happy, Tama. I couldn’t have loved him more.

I assume you know now what he did. Pa was right. Pa, despite walking with Bull, pulled me into a great big hug before he left. Again, he whispered in my ear, “He’ll never love you more than the Qun.” I shrugged him off. What did Pa know? He didn’t know Bull. He didn’t know me or our circumstances. I thought myself so grown then, barely nineteen, but the most powerful woman in the world. I loved Bull. Bull loved me. I was so sure Bull loved me.

I don’t know if love persists once we return to the Maker’s side. I don’t know if he even gets to return to the Maker. I don’t know what the Qun says happens we die. He obeyed the Qun. He did what the Qun demanded. If there is satisfaction to be had there, he’s earned it. At the cost of himself, at the cost of our love, at the cost of my dignity.

It’s been scarcely two months, his body left to rot near that dragon’s prison. I saw my love struck down before me. Cassandra delivered the killing blow, saving me the anguish of having to kill him myself. He’s dead, Tama. He’s gone. He’s gone forever and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to accept that he loved me and still did this. I don’t know how to accept that he never loved me and felt no guilt. I don’t understand. I don’t understand.

It’s been two months, I’m in Skyhold with Lace and the few others who stayed behind to serve what was the Inquisition. I’m no longer the Inquisitor, I’m no longer a fearsome fighter. I’m no longer someone’s Kadan. I’m just Veda. I’m just Veda and that’s all I’ll ever be. I’ll try to help stop Solas, but I won’t lead the charge. I can’t, not anymore. I’m going to be a glorified advisor, one-armed and tired. All that is so hard to write. Forgive the smudges. I’ve finally cried without violence and I don’t know how to accept any of this, but I do have something I have to tell you.

I’m no longer the Inquisitor, a Valo-Kas mercenary, a Knight Enchanter. But I’m still your daughter, and I’m going to be a mother.

Love,

Veda

Lace sent the raven to my mother, I sat down and finally read her letters, her usual, motherly concern filling each page. Father was doing well, a goat had twin kids. When she’d found out about Bull, the letter was longer. Words about love and loss, the way pain settles in our chest, proving our love mattered at all. Beautiful words, frustrating as they were comforting. I heard her and Thom ringing in my ears. I lounged on the sofa, my hands resting at my side, sometimes settling on the top of it. My stomach was warm and tight. Sometimes my fingers would wander towards my stomach, but I’d pull them away. The child would have to be acknowledged eventually. I would have to care for the child, provide for its needs. But I didn’t have to love it, caress its home. Not yet, not now.

Two weeks passed, visitors came and went, spring got brighter, the documents and plans seemed more convoluted. A sunny afternoon, Lace came to my room with two letters. “I thought you’d want this as soon as possible,” she said. I opened the first, smelled the pages. The light scent of lavender and smoke, the oils mother loved and the constant cooking.

Sweetling,

Asit tal-eb. It is to be. Maraas Kata. Nothing is ended.

Love,

Tama

I held the letter to my chest, weeping. So few words, yet they struck right into my heart. Asit tal-eb, what mother would say whenever we suffered and lost. One summer, before I’d come into my magic, Pa came home furious. He cursed and threw down his sword. They spoke in quick Qunlat, too fast for me to understand. Pa sat down and put his elbows on his knees, his head in his hand. Tama put her arms around his head, rested her head on his. She whispered, “Asit tal-eb,” over and over, stroking his hair. I put my doll aside, walked up beside them. Pa took an arm off Tama’s waist and pulled me into their embrace. She leaned up, dried her eyes, and squatted down to my height. “We’ve got to go, sweetling,” she said. Her voice calm despite it all.

“But I like it here! They’re not even mean at the Chantry!” I said, full of childlike fury.

“They won’t sell us the land,” Pa said. “So we can’t grow food for ourselves. We can’t raise animals of our own.” He sniffed and stared at the wall. His gaze moved down to me, little girl with little horns still budding. “We will try again. Find a new place we can stay. Asit tal-eb.”

I caught my breath and opened the next letter. Instead of my mother’s gentle writing, a harsher, sturdier hand had written it.

Imekari,

Your mother says you are having a child. This means we will be grandparents. I have never known a grandparent. Like parenthood, it is a concept we’ve stolen from the Bas. Regardless, I will inquire with the man who sells wheat what this entails. I presume we will love this child, just as we love you. The stories I’ve heard, being a grandparent is easier. That brings some joy.

I read the letter you sent your mother. I read it a few times. I lost count after seven. You’re not so wrong with your telling of me. I was in the antaam. I tried to make your mother laugh often. We did hold hands when we shouldn’t have. Due to your existence, you know we fled together, children ourselves. We chose love over duty. We abandoned the Qun.

I never told you of the walk Hissrad and I took the day we met. You were right. It was awkward. I hoped for a moment to compose myself. Perhaps find a man to hit me with a stick. Of course, Hissrad chose to join me. We walked along the battlements for some time. He was quiet, as I was quiet. We reached a corner and overlooked the endless mountains. I asked him about the necklace. Your mother and I had never told you of this. Kadans and necklaces of Kadans were a memory we left behind. It had to be his idea. He kept a blank face. I presume he was a very good Hissrad. After some contemplation, he said (translated for your sake), “I mentioned it off hand. We killed a dragon less than a week later. I thought we were just having fun, but she surprised me. She constantly surprises me.” I asked if he loved you. He said yes. I asked if he loved you as the Qunari he was or the Tal-Vashoth he pretended to be. He said (again, translated for your sake. You need to learn more Qunlat. The child should know Qunlat), “Both. I love her as the friend and companion I’d get to have in Par Vollen. I love her as a Tal-Vashoth would love whomever they chose.” When I asked about the Qun and when he’d be pulled back to Par Vollen, he gave meaningless answers. He’d spent too much time around bas, he’d forgotten how to talk to men like men.

Imekari, I was wrong. He’s dead. He died obeying orders. But, presuming this new imekari—Imekari II? Small imekari? Ari-imekari? I’ll discuss with Tama—was not of your planning, he broke the Qun. He knew how to control his seed. We all grow up knowing, waiting to be called for breeding. He made a choice. He violated the Qun.

He died Tal-Vashoth. I wish he had lived to fulfill that betrayal of the Qun. The child will come. Tama and I will come too, to discuss and guide. For now, I’ve enclosed something that gave me great comfort during our great suffering.

You’re still a Kadan. You’ve always been our Kadan.

Your Father,

Beres

Behind his letter there was another piece of paper. I opened it slowly, the creases deep and discolored. Inside was a drawing, crude, of a little house. Two Qunari stood, both smiling. The drawing was labeled, “This will be our house. This is where the goats will sleep. This is where the goats will chase the chickens. This is where Veda will play. This is where Tama will sing to Veda. This is where Pa will squeeze Veda on days the Maker didn’t bring kindness to school.” A smaller Qunari reached both hands up, a parent grabbing each hand. At the bottom, it said, “Home.”

I read and re-read the letter. When my hand drifted to my belly, I let it rest.

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ialwayscomewhenyoucall · 3 years

Text

Space to Run, Space to Hide

fandom: marvel

pairing: winterhawk

~ 1.1k

Clint

He’s not running away. He’s not. He just needs some…

space.

Yeah. Space.

The city gets too close sometimes, so many people all shoved together, an overfilled bookshelf– no room to move, barely any room to breathe. Even the Tower, with its huge open floor plans and giant windows, just reminds him that he’s a rat in a cage. So sometimes he just has to grab Lucky and run– well, okay, fly– away for a while.

It has absolutely nothing to do with anything that may or may not have happened between him and a certain metal-armed supersoldier four days ago.

Nothing at all.

ii.

Clint

It feels good to work. Clint spends two days splitting wood, and it’s too exhausting to think of anything at all. He doesn’t even dream.

Then he repairs a barn door, a storm window, a porch step. He replaces two fence posts and cuts down a large, recently damaged tree. His muscles burn with the different kind of use and he falls into bed every night.

iii.

Lucky

Lucky runs and sprawls in sunlight. Sometimes his human throws ball or stick, sometimes they eat pizza, but mostly his human is busy doing human things. He does noisy things, or things with big sticks– sticks too heavy to throw– and that is boring, so Lucky chases rabbits. Or rolls in grass. He even chases a butterfly, but doesn’t really try to catch it. He just likes the way it moves.

After a whole day with big sticks Lucky brings his human a small stick. A chasing stick. He wags his tail and licks his human’s face.

I’m sorry boy. I’ve been ignoring you today, haven’t I.

Lucky’s human does magic ear scratches. Almost as good as pizza. When he stops Lucky licks his face again. Lucky likes the sounds his human makes when he gets licked.

Am I hiding out here, boy?

Lucky tilts his head. Does his human want something?

I didn’t mean to kiss him! It just… happened. He keeps making me coffee and he’s just so hot with his murder glare and his eyes peeking out from behind that fall of hair and he’s quiet but when he smiles I just–

Lucky tilts his head again. His human is looking at him, waiting, so Lucky gives a soft woof. His human buries his face in Lucky’s fur.

You’re right. Of course you’re right. I’ll call Tasha in the morning. She always knows what to do.

Tasha? Lucky knows that human. She brings good treats. Lucky wags his tail, gives another small woof.

Okay. Fine. I’ll call now. Come on boy, phone’s in the house.

iv.

Natasha

Took you long enough.

Silence.

A long silence.

But Natasha can wait forever, and Clint knows it. He’ll break first.

I did something stupid.

She holds in the laugh. I know that, little bird.

Tash, I… I kissed Bucky.

Kissing Bucky wasn’t the stupid thing, glupiy. running away after was the stupid thing. he’s–

But she stops, because maybe this part isn’t hers to tell.

You already know?

She doesn’t answer stupid questions.

Look. You need to come home. Hiding on the farm isn’t going to solve anything.

She hears his sigh, hears Lucky scratch and jingle his tags.

Not yet. Soon, maybe.

He hangs up without saying goodbye; she’s left staring out the window but all she sees is Clint and Bucky and a quinjet and an Iowa sunset– and she wonders if these four things are compatible.

Bucky

Natalia didn’t explain, just gave Bucky that look and told him to be ready to leave in twenty. Pack a bag, she’d said. So now he’s on a quinjet heading into the setting sun, feeling more nervous with each passing mile.

Because Natalia only gets this agitated for Clint Barton.

Barton’s been off the grid for over a week. Since that day in the kitchen–

Bucky closes his eyes, remembering. After Barton swallowed his mandatory giant mugs of coffee– two, seemingly without a breath– they’d decided to make breakfast for the team. So they’d been at the stove together, bumping elbows and cracking jokes and eggs all at once. They’d been laughing when they’d come face to face…

He’s glad Natalia is concentrating on landing… wherever it is they are. He can school his features, can wear his “soldat” mask, but he can’t stop the blush rising up his neck to his cheeks when he remembers that kiss. He’d been surprised, sure, but only for a fraction of a breath. Then he’d kissed back– and with enthusiasm.

They’re on the ground; Natalia’s flipping switches, settling the quinjet to its rest. I know where you sleep, she says casually. Just keep that in mind.

He doesn’t react at all– no twitch, no flinch– but she smiles, says, Good. We understand each other. The smile is all knives and poison.

He does understand. But he doesn’t need this warning from Natalia. He doesn’t want to hurt Barton.

He just wants to find out what it feels like to hold onto him. To kiss him again.

Maybe even…

But that is for later.

vi.

Clint

The sun is setting when the quinjet lands in his yard. He’s been expecting it; Tasha likes to “fix” things for him. She’s the most annoying big (little) sister he could ever ask for.

She’s lucky he loves her so much.

Here to knock me out and carry me home?

She gives her most innocent smile. He shivers.

I just came for a visit, little bird. Don’t be so paranoid.

We both know that’s a lie. He hugs her anyway, even kisses the top of her head, because she’s his Natasha.

And then Bucky walks off the plane.

vii.

Lucky

Lucky hears Tasha’s voice after the big noise stops, so he runs to the yard to see what is happening.

His human stands very still, looking at another human. Lucky sniffs the air, sneezes. The other human smells sharp. Tangy. Like shiny things that hurt to chew.

Bucky?

You didn’t say anything. You just ran away.

I–

It’s okay. I just– I thought maybe we could… try it again?

Lucky’s human sits down on the grass Hard. Did he fall? He falls sometimes.

Lucky checks to see if his human is okay.

He smells okay, no sick or hurt smells. Maybe it is time for pets. He lays on his human’s lap and yes, he gets pets. And the magic ear scratches. Lucky wags his tail.

Lucky wiggles himself around to lick his human’s face– but the human is in his way. Not Tasha, the other one. He’s on the grass too, with his face squished right up against Lucky’s human’s face.

Lucky flops down, huffs out his breath. He’s going to have to wait until later for more ear scratches.

***

NaPoWriMo Day 23 || clint barton and space

for @wolfarrowepz

#lirael writes #napowrimo 2021 #winterhawk #free verse #poetry #marvel poetry #clint barton pov #bucky barnes pov #natasha romanov pov #lucky the pizza dog pov #mutual pining #fluff #clint's farm #natasha is a good bro #story in verse

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huearmy · 4 years

Text

The Smell of Truth - IV

Summary: After years being forced to fight in clandestine hybrid ring, Jungkook is now living in shelter, but life remains bad, the place is abusive, and nobody seems to want adopt him. Until one night a pro-hybrid activist group invades the shelter, and a woman in black smelling like truth promises that things will get better, and he decides to follow her wherever she goes.

Pairing: pitbull!Jungkook x human!Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, future smut maybe.

Words: 4781

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Some violent nightmares, nothing too bad.

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III - Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII

Jungkook was ready to fight.

After eating cake and tons of meat, taste coke for the first time and fall in love with it, you showed him another thing to love about his new life. Something exciting, entertaining and beautiful... He wasn't good at it at first, but seeing you doing it so well just motivated him to do better. Video games of course. All the sounds and colors made his eyes sparkle. The characters were so amazing too. You let him choose what game he wanted to try first, without much reference he didn't know where to start, using as a criterion the cover that most caught his attention and the little you said about each one. In the end he tested so many games that the order wasn't even important.

You noticed that he avoided violent themes, like fight games, and he preferred the sports, adventure, or cute-looking ones. You came to that conclusion when you decided to show one of your favorites, Dead By Daylight, and before you could start a match he wanted to change to Plant vs. Zombie. At some point you both stopped by Mario Kart and that was the thing. One hour later Jungkook was better than you, throwing all the bananas on you, like losing wasn't an option to him. The bastard is competitive.

"AAaaaaah! nonononon noooooo!" You lose the control of your kart just before finish line as he passes you, crossing the line and winning for the sixth time in a row.

"Yeah!" He jumped from his spot on the floor, running circles arond the couch and you, who was also on the floor.

"That's not fair, half of an hour ago you didn't even know how the controls work..."

"Let's play again!" He seated beside you again, and then his ears perked up. "Can I eat more cake?"

He already ate almost half of the cake, and was clearly in a sugar rush. "Of course. The cake is yours."

With a happy squick he ran to the kitchen, sliding the new pair of white socks over the apartment's wooden floor. As you waited for hi to come back you once again searched your games, looking for any more he might like, and came to the conclusion that you have a very violent taste to games - you are a fervent Outlast fan, for example. You have never dealt with a hybrid so full of trauma so directly, let alone inside your home, so involved in your life, and despite having some sense of Jungkook's past, you don't know everything that torments him or how much, so making him one hundred percent comfortable in this new life is your plan. What you need is to pay more attention to the small details. And maybe you can start by letting him choose some lighter games himself in the online store.

Jungkook emerged from the kitchen, now walking slower, balancing two plates of cake in one hand, and a huge glass of coke, full to the top, in the other, taking care not to make a mess. Carefully he sat next to you again.

"I brought cake for you too." He gave you one plate and got ready for another round.

"Oh, that's sweet of you. Thanks." You played for another hour or so, Jungkook's victories proving that it was not beginner's luck but that he is indeed a fast learner. You were already more asleep than awake, as a result of bad nights and unregulated sleep in the last week, when he got tired of running and decided to change the game. "What is this about?" Jungkook asked, showing you another one. "Ah, is a remake of one of my childhood favorites. It's about a bandicoot who lives on an island in the south pacific, and a magic mask that flies around him, and has a big-headed villain. It's pretty fun." You yawned. "Let's play this one then." He excitedly stated. "Sorry, Jungkook. I'm really tired, and even if I'll work from home, I need to get up early tomorow... I'm going to bed now." You saw the disappointment in his eyes, his ears and tail falling, and added. "But you can keep playing without me." Jungkook looked around, clearly not so happy as before. "Ok. I will play another one that is not your favorite then. See you tomorrow?" He was pouting again, and you thought to yourself if you're going to be able to get used to it. Despite being upset, you could see that he didn't want to have a tantrum asking you to stay. "You are so cute." You said before you could stop yourself, pulling him by the hands for a hug. You rested you head on his chest and reasurely passed your hands on his back. You couldn't see right now, but the brightest smile settled in Jungkook's face. "See you in the morning. Sleep well, JK." "Sleep well, Y/N." _____________________________________________________________________________________ You took a fast shower, put yourself in comfy pijamas and dropped your tired body in the bed. In less than five minutes you were fast asleep. You are the type that has a heavy sleep, that doesn't wake up with anything, and if it happens it is not fully awake, easily coming back into slumber. Normally a lightning storm would not be enough to get you out of dreamland, quite the opposite, the thick rain hitting the window glass has always been like a lullaby. But for some reason, by two in the morning your sleep-pumping eyes were open and alert. Something was off.

You sit, checking your surroundings, listening. Everything seemed ordinary. You got up, looking for your phone, trying to remember where you left it last. You found it lying on the floor beside the bed, between your slippers, some social media notifications and messages that you didn't see before stamping the screen.

Opening one of the messages, a smile formed at the corners of your mouth, as you rubbed your swollen eyes. Still half asleep you played the audio massage, a male voice sounding low. "Hey sweetheart, I'm coming back already. If my flight doesn't delay, I'll be home in the late afternoon... Then I will see you before anything else ok! I'm missing you so fucking much it feels like dying... So..." Before you could finish hearing the message something else caught your attention. You were silent trying to hear again. A soft sound from the floor below. A cry. It brought you from the brink of slumber, zombie mode of yours, to full alert awake mode.

"Jungkook" You went to the door and, knowing the way even in the dark, did not even bother to turn on the lights in the corridor, or the stairs, to run to the hybrid who now lives with you. The closer you got, the more certain you were that the crying came from Jungkook's room, a tightness in your chest leaving you worried at every step without knowing what was happening.

You entered as quietly as you could, stepping inside on the tip of your feet, the room was lighter than the corridor you came from, because of the headlamp on. Jungkook was lying in the shape of a ball, his back to you, wearing silk pajamas that you bought him earlier, the cover lying on the floor indicating he was having restless sleep. He was crying, but still asleep, clutching the pillow as hard as if his life depended on it, his body shivering, from cold or stress, or both, you couldn't say. Regardless, the nightmare he was having must have been horrible. Sitting next to him on the bed next to him, you put your hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly.

"Jungkook, wake up." As if your touch had burned him, Jungkook's eyes snapped open, his body reacting defensively before you could do anything. In a second his hand was around your wrist, holding tightly at a sore angle, making you gasp in pain. For a moment it seemed that even looking directly at you, he didn't recognize you.

"Jungkook, it's me. Y/N. You were having a nightmare, but is everything ok. You are ok." You softly said, ignoring the pain in your wrist he was still holding, and reaching your other hand to his face, brushing the hair away from his sweaty forehead. "You are ok, Jungkook." "Y/N..." His lips quivered, small voice barelly reached your ears. Jungkook is a pile of muscles, much taller than you, bigger in every way, but at that moment, with scared eyes full of tears... you never thought he was so small. "It's, ok." You whispered, afraid that if you spoke a little louder it might scare him. "I don't know where you were, or what was happening... But now you are home, safe."

He blinked a couple times, looking around, recognizing his own new room, his things, the smell of the surroundings. His tense, ready to fight body, relaxed as his breathing was soothing. He finally noticed his tight hold hurting you, released you and more quickly he sat against the headboard, moving away from you and your touch. The boy's pale face acquired a feeling beyond fear... guilt.

"So- sorry..." He weakly apologized.

It is not the first time he has had this nightmare. It is always the same, sometimes with small differences, but in short it is a ring, metal screens closing all sides and the ceiling, with electric barriers and poles, that if he tries to escape or fall out by accident the injuries will be terrible, that if he doesn’t die by it. There’s a white light on him, as if it were a show and he was the star, but it’s a show of horrors, the fans screaming loudly, from the dark, asking for blood, dozens of men without face wanting someone to die in front of them. Jungkook experienced this so many times in real life, that in a dream it shouldn't be so scary, but here comes the worst part... He's losing, this time he's the one going to die today. While the other guy is sitting on top of him, giving blow after blow he can't defend himself, he looks back, looking for his owner. Jungkook's owner is sitting in a deck chair in the middle of the audience, watching the fight with his eyes without emotion, he is not happy, and Jungkook knows why: he has not been a good boy, he is no longer valuable, and doesn't bring tons of money anymore... So the owner won't help him, he won't find a way to stop the fight to save Jungkook, because it's not worth it. When Jungkook looks up again and faces his opponent it is his own face what he sees, like a mirror, violent and empty... He sees himself as the scariest hybrid in the world.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to... Y/N I'm sorry." He started to sob, bringing his knees close to his chest, turning into a ball again, to look smaller and not threatening.

Carefully you risked approaching him again, placing your hand on his knee in an attempt to make some comforting contact, without being too invasive.

"Shhhh... No need to apologize now." Seeing that he didn't withdraw from you again, you finally took his face in your cold little hands. "How are you feeling?"

"What?" A tear ran down his cheekbone, wetting your hand.

"I want to know if you are ok, JK." You smiled softly. He hurting you it's not ok, even if by accident, but that's a subject for another moment, now the focus is on him only. He sighed, closing his eyes and letting himself relax at your touch, feeling the soft tips of your fingers drying his tears. He took a deep breath once, twice, three times before nodding.

"I'm. I just need to go to bathroom."

"Ok." You let him get up, his well-built body looking so fragile as he walked out of the room, disappearing into the dark corridor. You got up yourself, to fix the bedding, get it ready for when he returned.

Jungkook washed his face several times, trying to get the bad impression he could still see when looking in the mirror. "When you're scared, laugh in the face of fear, he won't take you seriously and then he'll leave you alone." The child's voice rang in Jungkook's mind, making him give a weak little smile when he thought that this silly psychology has kept his sanity for years. He wiped his face with a soft towel, and then looking at himself in the mirror he made a funny face. And then another ... And one more. One funny face after another until he feels like smiling for real.

Your happy bathroom, with a nice scent of soap and cute plants, also helped a lot. The urge to cry went away much easier than at any time in Jungkook's old life.

Not really in the mood of trying to sleep again, he dragged himself back to the room, feeling the weight of the world on his legs, considering returning to playing video games and staying up all night... He saw you still on his bed, waiting for him, and stopped by the door, surprised.

"You still here..." You were zoning out, due to his delay in returning. His voice - now more peaceful - put a smile of relief in your distracted face.

"Do you want me to stay with you till you fall asleep again?" You suggested. Jungkook felt something in his chest, almost like a heartache, warm, when he heard that question.

"You don't need to..." He spoke before he could stop himself, regretting immediately, because it wasn't what he wanted to answer.

You left a warm laugh scape your lips.

"That's not what I asked, JK. Do you want me to stay?"

"Yes." You caring for him like this is like a dream to him, so, afraid of making a mistake that would make this moment end, he camly walked to you, lying on the spot you were invitingly tapping beside you, almost with his head on your lap. Almost... You covered him, taking care to wrap every inch of him with the blanket, to keep him warm, as you would do to a child, or at least, how you like to sleep when it's cold, like a comfy burrito. He felt loved. A few minutes went by, you patiently petting his hair. When you thought he would have fallen asleep, Jungkook opened his eyes to look at you thoughtfully.

"Y/N..." His voice was already sleepy.

"Hum?"

"Why aren't you afraid of me?" It's not like you're not expecting such conversation to happen sometime in the future, but at that moment the question took you by surprise.

"What do you mean, Jungkook?"

Jungkook had a hard time finding the right words. He didn't expect you to respond with another question, he wanted you to answer more objectively. A line of frustration formed between the boy's eyebrows as he thought hard on it. You just kept petting him, waiting for him to elaborate his thoughts. "I don't... know. Everybody does... I'm a pitbull and I was a fight dog... I've done so many bad and scary things, so everybody is afraid of me. The people that didn't want to adopt me, the employees of the shelter who beat me, even the doctor who saw me... She was so sweet to me, but she always saw me with a security guard in the room. Even my former owner was always armed when he came to talk to me..." He was frustrated and agitated when speaking. "He always told me that being a fighter is the only thing I good at... That I'm good at being violent. So why aren't you afraid?"

He could sense you getting dark feelings as he spoke. You were pissed, just thinking about what they did to his head made you want to punch someone. Making Jungkook think he deserves to be feared instead of being loved, pampered and adored every day of his life is unforgivable.

"First of all... Get ready because I'm going to give a speech here. Second: it is a protocol, standard procedure, to have support staff when treating new hybrids, especially when they have a history of abuse. It's not because the doctor was afraid of you, it's because she wanted to take good care of you." You paused for a breath, taking care not to be too harsh when speaking and it looked like you were scolding him, which was nowhere near your intention. You sighed and pulled a lock of hair out of his eyes. "Jungkook, you can't believe in any word your former owner told you. If he was always armed when he came to talk to you, it wasn't because he was afraid of you, it was because he wanted you to be afraid of him. He is very bad person. And he's in jail for all the evil he's done, for you and many other people ... And he's a liar. Nothing he has ever said or done to you can define your future or who you are. Can you believe me?"

"Yes." He said with a soft and vulnerable voice.

He was crying again, with a little smile forming in the corner of his mouth, but still crying. And your heart can't take it.

"And the reason I'm not afraid of you...?" You raised an eyebrow and looked deep into his eyes, as if you were going to tell an incredible secret. "I recognize a cinnamonroll when I see one."

At this, one laugh left Jungkook mouth, and you couln't think he is any cuter. "Seriously... Look at this doe eyes and sweet smile! You are a cutie pie, JK! The most precious one..." He let you squish his check with a blush taking over his whole face, but then he noticed the bruise forming in your wrist and his smile fell.

"But I did hurt you." He sadly took your hand in his. "Yes, but it can be fixed. It will heal, and it can heal even faster if I treat it right. And you can never do that again." You said logically. "How?" You pointed your index finger to the middle of Jungkook's forehead, and then to the middle of his chest.

"Healing yourself too. I know you're messed up, and that's ok. I'm here to help. We can start with therapy, you know..." Jungkook didn't like the idea of therapy at all, but for now he won't discuss it. You were probably right. "Ok." He said, snuggling closer to your leg. A very loud thunder burst outside, coming very close to the lightning, startling Jungkook, who reflexively grabbed the hem of your cotton shorts. You didn't refrain yourself from hugging him with your whole body, planting a heavy kiss on his cheek.

"Saw what i mean? You are too precious."

With his heat beating frantically he answered in a timid way.

"I don't like loud sounds... That's all."

"Is just loud, it can't hurt you." You said looking into his eyes, your nose almost touching his nose. "As long I'm here no one can hurt you." And there it is again. The smell of truth. The idea of someone as small as you protecting Jungkook from anything or anyone may seem absurd, but for no second he doubt your words, because each one of it smell like sincerity. Your eyes too, so intense as you said it, that made him want to protect you too.

"And what if you are not around when I need you?" He tested playfully. "Then you scream my name as loud as you can and I'll be there in no time!"

"Seriously?"

You seated straight, handson your hips.

"Of course! I was on the athletics team at college. I'm super fast!" He was laughing, your work was done. "Sorry I woke you up... And thank you for saving me." Jungkook said it with so much affection it made you heart skip a beat.

"Don't worry, sweetie, I woke up to the thunder." You simply said, but he knew this one was a lie. _________________________________________________________________________ After the incredible conversation he had with you in the middle of the night, and the rest of the night well slept, Jungkook started the day very willing and happy. He could barely walk, instead it was as if his legs were jumping around the apartment by itselves. You were up hours before him, but waited to eat breakfast with him - you already had a liter of coffee by yourself anyway. Despite not being what you like to do with your life, and and having another job - running a chain of stores for your family - you have been working as a lawyer for a member office for a few months. Even working from home, you have soooo much paperwork to fill out and study, reports with deadline to deliver, to be a suuuuuper efficient employee. So after you finished eating your cereal bowl, you left Jungkook to play video games alone and locked yourself in your personal upstairs office to work.

He can hear you walking around as you talk on the phone, your voice sounding serious and professional. He was having fun by himself, such a good time with snaks and left over cake, but at the same time he was struggling on not gonna check you out. You strictly asked him to not interrupt you till lunch time. Jungkook spent an hour in this internal fight to go or not to see if you didn't need something or want a glass of juice, to maybe get scratch behind his ear and a smile from you as reward. Like... You were just upstairs and he miss you too much. He was so focused on the game and his own thoughts that he didn't even notice his steps down the stairs and into the living room.

"Jungkook. I need to sign some papers in the office. If anything I'm downstairs."

"Ok." Then you left the apartment. You were too serious. Too cold. Too focused on serious and adult things. A world-sized pout formed in Jungkook's cute face. It is only the third day with you in his life, but he already feels very used to it - your presence of light and warm hugs was able to erase all the years of loneliness that in which he learned to be alone and be satisfied with his own company. Thinking about it he decided to change his plans. He turned off the video game, stretched out and went on an adventure ... He was going to inspect every corner of the house. Field recognition.

He started in the kitchen. He found out where everything, utensils, different types of pots, foods, is kept, and with that he learned a little bit about your personality too... Everything is so methodically organized by category and size that it became very clear that you are a tidy freaky. No problem, learning to respect your habits and quirks, being clean, shouldn't be that difficult. The same style of organization also in the hall closet, and in the bathroom, and on the bookcase for games and movies. He did not enter your room or private office - although the door was open, and he could see a very large bookcase and a table full of papers and an open notebook - because he thought it would be too much intrusion. So the only place on the top floor that went through Jungkook's inspection was the terrace, where your plants are also very well cared for and categorized by type and alphabetical order - including name and scientific name signs. In the tool cabinet, he found gardening tools - as expected - and some useless things or at least he hadn't imagined you'd have ... Like a neon pink pilates ball and an inflatable Santa Claus.

Jungkook lay on the deck chair on the terrace to sunbathe - few times in his life he had this luxury - and took the opportunity to take a nap. He woke up just before lunchtime.

"Y/N?" He checked on your office, and then in the living room. You weren't back yet, but since it was time for lunch he could finally go after you. Without hesitating he ran downstairs when he saw what time it was, escaping some steps to go faster, and without thinking, or rather remembering, that you probably wouldn't be alone in the office, Jungkook knocked twice on the door and went in before hearing an answer. So he froze by the door when he saw the two men from the other day with you in the room.

You were sharing the office chair with that hybrid - in fact he was practically sitting on your lap while you typed something on the computer, arms around him, both focused on the screen. The other guy, the human, had his back to Jungkook, hunched over the table, also looking at the same thing as you. It must be something important, because none of them noticed Jungkook's presence at first. Once again he felt that he was interrupting something he shouldn't be getting into - the little line forming between your eyebrows, while you read something on the screen in deep concentration saying it. With a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach he also felt that he should be interrupting for sure. No other hybrid should be on your lap while he is home alone. He was about to cough to get your attention, ready to make it very clear how unhappy he was with the scene, to let you know that your attitude was not cool, but the hybrid looked up from the computer, making eye contact with him. All of Jungkook's feelings are gone all of a sudden, leaving only the need to hide in a hole on the ground.

"Hi." The hybrid smiled at him, eyes turning into two crescent moons. This made you and the other guy see Jungkook too. The man, who today was dressed as a very stylish grandpa, turned around, sitting on the edge of the table and crossed his arms. JUngkook felt his face getting hot with all eyes on him.

"Oh, JK. I didn't see it's lunchtime already. Sorry." You said, checking your wristwatch.

Jungkook couldn't answer, his voice stuck in his throat.

"We ran into each other in the hall yesterday, right?" The human calmly asked Jungkook, not really waiting for an answer. His eyes were so intimidating, a whole dominating vibe coming from him. "He's the one living with you?"

"Yes! This is Jungkook." You pridely said, giving a light pat on the hybrid knee, so he could let you get up. "And this is Taehyung, my friend who rents the studio across the hall. And this little cutie here Jimin he works for me as a counter."

"I like numbers!" Jimin said, cat ears excitedly pointed up. "Nice to meet you." Jungkook finally put some word out, still avoiding eye contact. You closed some folders, saved some docs... Finding it super cute that Jungkook was so shy.

"Let's eat." You stated. "Finally..." Teahyung and Jimin whined in unison. Taehyung out of nowhere lost his frightening posture, practically becoming a child right in front of Jungkook. A very excited child.

"Can we get hamburgers today? Last time Jimin chose, and before him was you..." He picked his shoulder bag and went to the door, stopping right next to Jungkook, who practically froze in place.

You followed suit, stopping on the other side of Jungkook, pressing a reassuring hand against the boy's back.

"I actually want to put Jungkook on a healthier diet. A regular meal would be better." You softly but certainly said with a smile, no room for debate. You wouldn't say that out loud, because it would be exposing Jungkook unnecessarily, and you don't know if he would like it, but his blood tests, done at the shelter, showed anemia, among other consequences of a poor diet, even though he is strong his health was not very good, and your plan is to take care of it.

" I think Jungkook could choose, since he is new." Jimin practically put everyone out to lock the door.

The silence that followed made Jungkook look up from the floor to see that the three were looking at him expecting him to say something he wanted to eat.

"Me..meat?" It was the first thing that came to his mind.

________________________________________________________________

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choosingfreedom-a · 7 years

Text

harry potter au.

name. levi ackerman house. slytherin wand. pine and phoenix feather, 10 inches, reasonably supple blood status. half-blood patronus. has a difficult time producing a corporeal patronus, but it would be a peregrine falcon.

summary / au-specific tidbits.

grew up in muggle france but moved back to britain with kenny when he was ten; attended hogwarts; is bilingual, but consciously speaks with a british accent rather than a french one, though the french may slip through if he isn’t paying attention.

(note, though, that i can play a slight alternate where he attends beauxbatons, either transferring to hogwarts halfway through his schooling or remaining in france until after he graduates.)

was in the order of the phoenix for both the first and second wars.

powerful wizard and incredibly skilled duelist. excelled at defense against the dark arts. prefers a wand but can perform wandless magic.

also a wonderful flier. never joined a quidditch team but often flew around the pitch on his own. flying calms him. is notable for being able to aim remarkably well while flying, so can essentially duel from a broomstick.

comes from a family of purebloods (his father is an unknown muggle), but not a blood purist.

knows some dark magic and isn’t morally against using it if he deems it necessary to achieve greater ends, but doesn’t often, aware of the stigma against it

wand analysis.

pine.

The straight-grained pine wand always chooses an independent, individual master who may be perceived as a loner, intriguing and perhaps mysterious. Pine wands enjoy being used creatively, and unlike some others, will adapt unprotestingly to new methods and spells. Many wandmakers insist that pine wands are able to detect, and perform best for, owners who are destined for long lives, and I can confirm this in as much as I have never personally known the master of a pine wand to die young. The pine wand is one of those that is most sensitive to non-verbal magic.

phoenix feather.

This is the rarest core type. Phoenix feathers are capable of the greatest range of magic, though they may take longer than either unicorn or dragon cores to reveal this. They show the most initiative, sometimes acting of their own accord, a quality that many witches and wizards dislike.

Phoenix feather wands are always the pickiest when it comes to potential owners, for the creature from which they are taken is one of the most independent and detached in the world. These wands are the hardest to tame and to personalise, and their allegiance is usually hard won.

a pine’s owner tends to be an independent loner, which clearly works for levi, and its penchant for creativity and adaptability is representative of levi’s own resourceful ability to adapt quickly to new situations. he has been known to modify his spells in ways that make them either more powerful or more effective in certain circumstances, and his pine wand reacts well to it. as for the rumor that pine owners live long lives, well, levi considers that to be bitterly ironic, as he doesn’t expect to live long at all, but then, the fact that he seems to keep on surviving while the people around him die might belie that.

as for the phoenix feather, levi is well-represented in the phoenix: an intensely powerful and independent creature whose loyalty, when won, is invaluable, but whose trust takes a great deal to earn. levi is not easily tamed, and he, too, has a tendency to act of his own accord when he believes it necessary, defying orders if need be, so it’s fitting that his wand has the potential for the same.

house analysis.

first, let me discuss why i didn’t place him in any other houses, because i’ve seen people headcanon pretty much all of them for levi.

hufflepuff: i guess he gets this one because he’s loyal and cares about protecting people? but slytherins are also loyal and care about protecting people - and levi simply doesn’t have the temperament of a hufflepuff. despite his protectiveness and good intentions, he doesn’t project patience or kindness (those qualities exist, but they aren’t on display), he isn’t team- or family-oriented, he doesn’t care about avoiding conflict, and he doesn’t have the affinity for nature, food, etc that hufflepuffs often have. to be blunt, y’all, he’s not a good enough person for hufflepuff.

ravenclaw: this one i understand, because levi is very intelligent, and he does care about honesty and truth, and he is innovative. but levi’s intelligence is very practical and in-the-moment; he doesn’t really care about academia for academia’s sake. he values learning for the sake of putting it to use more than for its own merits. he’s not the kind of free-thinker ravenclaws often are. his cleverness is more slytherin than ravenclaw.

gryffindor. yes, levi cares about a cause. yes, levi can be noble. but here’s the thing: gryffindors tend to have a strong moral code and stick to it; they have a clear idea of what a just world is and try their hardest to achieve it. levi sees the world in shades of grey, without a clear good and evil. his morality is much more flexible and individualistic; a gryffindor would frown upon levi’s machiavellian does-whatever-is-necessary-to-achieve-his-ends philosophy. levi also doesn’t care about glory and isn’t as social as gryffindors tend to be. frankly, though he can be friends with gryffindors individually (isabel is a gryffindor), as a whole they’re more likely to tire and frustrate him. (to be quite honest with you, it baffles me to see people draw/sort levi as a gryffindor. he’d be so annoyed if he had to be around gryffindors all the time??? let him Rest????)

slytherin. slytherins can be very loyal, but this loyalty tends to be conditional to their in-group. they aren’t highly social, but they do protect their groups, their families, to a fault. this mirrors levi’s brand of loyalty: he’ll only attach himself to a person, like erwin, who has proven themselves to him, and while he’s very individual, he’s protective of the small groups that may form around him.

he’s both cunning and underhanded - his ability to think on the spot and adapt to situations plus his willingness to play dirty to get what he wants would offend a gryffindor, as would his belief that unpleasant methods can be justified by a necessary result. he doesn’t see the world as divided into good and evil, but rather into groups of people who’ve had to make choices; his grey view of the world, plus his ability to read people and guess the motivations behind their choices, strike me as more slytherin than anything else.

now, one thing that isn’t very slytherin of him is his tendency towards blunt honesty; he might flatly refuse to practice the deceit another slytherin might say is wiser or more necessary. levi is underhanded, but openly so - he’ll do whatever he needs to to get his way, but he’ll tell you that upfront. he isn’t manipulative in the way erwin is, in that his manipulations are, while effective, also transparent. in fact, some might accuse his style of blunt intimidation of being unpleasantly gryffindor - an insult among slytherins, who see discreet manipulation and finesse as far more valuable than physical intimidation, when getting one’s way. (levi, of course, ignores these jabs and continues on anyway.)

i suppose the whole slytherins are evil thing needs to be addressed. obviously slytherins aren’t evil, not as a whole, and levi certainly isn’t. (he isn’t the exception here; there are plenty of slytherins with their hearts in the right place.) but he also isn’t concerned with being seen as a good person - he’d like to be a good person, if he can, but whether others think of him that way is less important. he does want to be seen as a competent person, and recognized for his skills, but the fact is that he’s rude, he’s crass, he’s broody, and he’s unapologetic about it. so while his compassion belies the heartless slytherins stereotype other houses love to indulge in, his general antisocial nature doesn’t do the house image many favors.

he also, as noted, cares for gaining knowledge so it can be used, rather than for its own sake; hange, a definite ravenclaw (imo), might want to study something just to see what it does, while levi is looking for ways to put that knowledge to use in his favor. (he’s constantly doing this, actually, observing the world around him and filing away any knowledge that might prove useful in the future, as a survival mechanism.) that’s very slytherin, as is his pragmatism in how to use what he discovers. i also think that the kind of adaptability and self-preservation instincts levi possesses and cultivates are pretty slytherin - slytherins are probably the best out of any house at constantly observing, evaluating, and adapting to the situation around them

history.

(note that anything during his school years and after is flexible, depending on plotting; consider this the default.)

the ackermans were, once, a prominent pureblood family, renowned for producing wizards of great power. at some point in the past, however - before grindelwald’s rise, but continuing into it - they fell out of favor in the pureblood community when prominent members of the family refused to support the increasing demand for subjugation of muggles and muggleborns. labeled blood-traitors, the ackermans lost their positions of power (discreetly dismissed from the wizengamot, forced out of government seats), and there were those, especially in the fervor of grindelwald’s propaganda, who even actively persecuted the members of the ackerman family, hunting them down until there were few left.

kuchel ackerman, a young woman and competent, if not particularly powerful, witch, fled to france in the late 1950s with her infant son levi to escape such persecution, hoping that disappearing into the muggle world on the continent would keep her son safe. she didn’t dare to use magic lest it give her away, but her lack of muggle knowledge or muggle qualifications made finding and keeping a job difficult, so she and levi lived in poverty. nevertheless, she raised him as best she could, until, when levi was seven years old, she grew very ill and died.

her brother, kenny ackerman, had meanwhile found other ways of avoiding persecution. in his youth, angry at the rest of pureblood society, kenny had secretly murdered several purebloods, with such skill and stealth that he’d never been caught. that ended, however, when he attempted to murder uri reiss, a powerful wizard - uri caught him, but rather than having kenny punished, struck a deal with him: kenny would be uri’s right hand man, lending uri his immense magical skill, and in turn kenny would be under the reiss family’s protection. this deal lasted for almost a decade - until uri died, and his successor had no such kindness for kenny; he cast kenny out of his household, threatening to reveal kenny’s past murders to the public, and kenny was forced into hiding.

he went to france, thinking to find his sister, whom he hadn’t seen in many years, but when his search led him to a rundown tenement, he found only a scrawny, half-starved child hunkered down in the dirt. unaware that his sister had ever had a child, assuming that this boy was nothing but a squatter, kenny almost left - until the boy looked up and saw him, and kenny was blasted backwards with a force that made the rotting foundation shake.

the boy’s posture hadn’t changed - he still huddled on the ground, his knees drawn up to his chin - but the force was clearly magic, and powerful magic at that. so kenny investigated, and wrung the story of his mother’s life and death out of levi. kenny decided to stay and look after his nephew, though he never revealed to levi that they were related, introducing himself only as a family friend.

levi’s magic was powerful but dangerously uncontrolled; the burn marks on his hands proved that it had already hurt him at least once. kenny taught him to harness and control his magic. levi didn’t of course have his own wand and kenny refused to give him his, but he taught levi the basics of wandless magic, as well as how to open his senses to other people’s magic and focus his intent. but that wasn’t all -- kenny also taught levi to survive in a magicless world, to fight with both fists and blade, to steal, to observe, to trust his own strength. it was the only way he knew how to raise a child: teach him to survive, whatever it takes.

when levi was ten, they moved back to britain, and kenny started disappearing for a few days at a time, never explaining his errands to levi. the summer after levi’s eleventh birthday, he got his hogwarts letter. (this was, incidentally, the first time levi saw his last name; neither kuchel nor kenny had ever told him, so at first he thought the letter addressed to mr l ackerman was a mistake.) kenny wouldn’t go with him to diagon alley, so levi went alone with the money he had saved up and bought himself as much as he could from his list. when he returned home, robes and new wand in hand, kenny wasn’t there. levi assumed he was off on another errand, or testing levi in some way, but when kenny still hadn’t returned by september first, it was left to levi to find his way to king’s cross alone.

at hogwarts, he was sorted into slytherin, but showed little interest in the forming of alliances that quickly began amongst other slytherin first-years. in fact, he ignored both friendly and unfriendly advances from his housemates, some of whom thought him easy prey because of both his size and his last name. but when one would-be bully ended up in the hospital wing with a broken wrist after a confrontation with levi, he was left mostly alone.

the truth was that levi had no idea how to make friends, how to even try, and he couldn’t help but size up everyone around him as a potential threat; years under kenny’s tutelage had ingrained him with suspicion. his main goal was simply to avoid being bothered, and he focused more on his classes than his classmates. he quickly proved himself an intimidatingly skilled wizard: he excelled especially at defense against the dark arts, with charms as a close second. he also discovered, during their first flying lesson, an immediate love of flying, and though he never joined a quidditch team, he would often sneak out to the quidditch pitch at night, pick the broomshed lock, and steal a broom to fly until he felt calm.

when levi went home for the winter holidays, kenny wasn’t there, and obviously hadn’t been there in quite some time. rather than tell anyone, however, levi resigned himself to living alone; the small amount of wizarding money he possessed was useless here, but he could steal and forage for what he needed, and that’s what he continued to do throughout his years at school. it was an odd sort of double life, spending most of the year in comfort if not joy, and then returning to the muggle world over the summer to live alone as just another kid on the muggle streets.

he didn’t make his first real friend until farlan church, a charismatic ravenclaw, partnered himself with levi on a project and hadn’t left him alone since. levi resisted farlan’s attempts at friendship at first, but eventually relented; farlan was clever and humorous, but also perceptive and level-headed, and never seemed to mind levi’s dour attitude or black humor. in time the duo became three when levi stepped in to protect isabel magnolia, a younger gryffindor, from a gang of students she’d managed to offend. isabel attached herself to levi, calling him her big brother - a move that garnered both laughter and anger from other students, in a time when, as death eater attacks were becoming more common outside hogwarts’ walls, befriending slytherins was becoming increasingly taboo.

by the time levi and farlan graduated, the three were an inseparable trio. farlan and levi moved in together, and isabel began joining them over breaks rather than going home to the orphanage. though war had broken out in the wizarding world, levi had no desire to take part; all he cared about was keeping his head down and sticking with the people he’d begun to think of as his family.

but the luxury of remaining uninvolved didn’t last long. it wasn’t long after isabel’s graduation. there was a death eater attack. farlan and isabel (a half-blood and a muggle-born respectively) were killed, and levi - levi who had gone out, levi who had left instead of staying home like isabel had asked him to - arrived only in time to see the bodies fall, lit by the curses from within.

he snapped. by the time members of the order of the phoenix arrived in pursuit of the death eaters, what they found instead was levi, blood-spattered in the middle of a ring of carnage, wizards falling around him, the crackle of his magic in the air. one of the order members, erwin smith, a hogwarts graduate some years above levi, already knew of levi and his dueling skills, and it was he who approached levi and convinced him to join in the order, to fight for revenge against the people responsible for isabel and farlan’s death.

so levi joined. as one would expect, he made few friends in the order, at least at first - he was a slytherin, for one thing, and utterly uninterested in working with the rest of the order. angry, antisocial, he tended towards solo missions, convinced anyone else would get in his way, and it was a long time before he learned to work with others. in fact, when suspicions of a spy within the order came out, there were more than a few fingers pointed levi’s way. but erwin vouched for him, and dumbledore trusted him, and it became clear soon enough that whatever else levi was, he was dedicated to saving lives, and the amount of times he protected his fellow order members and civilians alike from death eaters was undeniable. some said that he was the reason the order hung on as long as it did, even fighting a losing battle.

eventually, though, the battle ended. they won, not through levi’s skill or erwin’s planning, but through little more than luck, or so it seemed - one baby’s inability to die. and just like that there was no more fighting to be done. levi was left to figure out how to live in a world at peace - until, of course, a new war came along, and a new generation to fight alongside.

(this is where the timeline gets especially flexible. what does levi do in the intervening years between the wars? whatever works best for the thread, really. some options are these:

dragged along by erwin and hange, who both become professors at hogwarts after the war, levi becomes the flying instructor and head of the dueling club. he isn’t exactly a personable teacher, but he’s a formidable and respected figure, and legends run rampant about his deeds during the war. some students dislike or fear him, while others hope to impress him, and others still have seen the kindness he shows to young students who need a listening ear.

though he refuses to actually work in the ministry, and turns down offers to join the auror program, he does consent to help the aurors hunt down death eaters who fled after voldemort’s fall. once that’s done, he - sticks around, call him a freelancer, there are aurors he knows who were in the order, and he helps them, tracks down dangerous criminals, steps in when his skills are needed. he’s still not ministry, though. shut up.

it’s hard, adjusting to peace. it’s hard, trying to live a quiet life when his body seems trained to expect disaster. but damn it, levi’s going to try. he’s earned that. he owns a tea shop in hogsmeade, a tidy little place. he doesn’t make a fuss, and only a few people think to the connection between levi the tea proprietor and the levi ackerman who killed so many death eaters during the war. but his instincts never go away, and neither do the nightmares.

when voldemort returns, levi isn’t surprised. the world’s a shitty place, after all, and it’s too much to expect that evil dark lords will just stay dead. it sucks, but in some ways it’s almost a relief, rejoining the order, taking up the fight - because this, in the end, feels like it’s all he was ever meant to do. he was made for war; let war take him.

#( me: spends entire days writing up aus i'll probably barely use :))) )#( I DON'T CARE I LOVE CRAFTING HP AUS YOU GUYS )#( I'M A FUCKIN NERD )#long post //#( seriously so long i'm so sorry )#( it's hella detailed but also hella flexible?? )#; don't you ever tame your demons but always keep them on a leash ( about. )#v: of course you are a storm. are you not magic? do you not burn? ( 09. )#( sb: rhys stop with the storm imagery )#( me: n e v e r )

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join-the-joywrite · 4 years

Text

Hamish & Vera soulmate au headcannons

Lil headcannons for a colours soulmate au in which the S1 finale wasn't the first time Hamish had been hit in the face with the powder. Because why not? This version of the colours is the one where you can only see varying shades of the colour of your soulmate's eyes. Because why not?

Here is part two, as promised

To everyone who knows Vera on any level, she hasn't changed a bit. Okay, maybe she's a little bit more sharp now and then and she gets a little testy whenever it rains. But maybe that's just the stress of being Grand Magus, and Temple Magus, and Chancellor of Belgrave setting in.

When she's alone at home, Vera stays up late into the night, wondering if she made the right decisions. She falls asleep in Hamish's jacket often.

The jacket is completely worn through now, the suede verging on ruined again. But she doesn't want to make back to brand new again nor does she ever want to get rid of it. It's quite literally that last bit of Hamish -- her Hamish -- that she has left.

She tells herself that it's for the best. If the Knights remained active, the Order would pursue them to the ends of the earth. But you have a seat of power almost all disciples would die for, that inner voice says, you can turn the Order around.

"They're our enemies." "But they don't know that." Well ok fine but I'm also deathly afraid of seeing Hamish's face again so let's not talk about this ever.

Eventually, logic trumps all else and Vera agrees to induct the Knights.

When Alyssa returns their memories, Jack is consumed by rage and hatred. Hamish wants to feel the same, he wants to be burned bitter by the betrayal, but he can't.

"Secrets are terrible things. They ruin the best of things and can break down nearly everything."

"I love you."

Hamish understands Randall's apprehension, Lilith's disgust and Jack's rage. He wants to say he feels the same. But all he feels his confusion. All he thinks about is the day he watched Vera leave.

Who's jacket had she been wearing?

Hamish runs his thumb over the letter hanging from the chain before tucking it under his new Order robes.

Did the necklace belong ..... to Vera? Because he knows it isn't his and he found it right where he'd fallen.

What the fuck is in Hamish's head on repeat for the entire evening.

"If you're going to stand there, at least make yourself useful." While Vera congratulates herself on her ability to appear as normal in front of Hamish, Hamish studies Vera as he passes her a drink. The same drink he'd watched her make back in the den.

Vera is momentarily distracted by the taste of the drink in her hand.

"Drinks are an art form, V, which means I can make whatever I want with justifiable reasoning." Laughter echoes. "And what are you calling this drink? It's a bit . . . harsh for all your old suggestions." "I'm thinking something along the lines of Vera."

"Are you calling me harsh?!" "I would never!" Pure, unfiltered joy echoes through the entire apartment.

"Magus?" Hamish's voice brings Vera back to the present. "Mingle, Acolyte. It's your party, after all."

Hamish reluctantly leaves the bar. He wants to stand there longer and study Vera -- maybe some of his questions will get answered.

"Drink it all in one go or your brain will shrivel up to the size of a raisin." "Bottoms up."

Suddenly, Hamish can recall his high school locker combination. Lilith is talking about some childhood fear, Randall's complaining about a retainer, Jack's crying about a tattoo -- frankly, that part scared Hamish a little -- and then he's stunned into silence with the flood of memories.

And then he's as angry as Jack was. He's furious. But not at Vera for what she did. He's furious at her for not waiting. Waiting for him to respond, waiting to see if they could have made it work.

He's furious because now he'll never know if they could have avoided all the deaths between then and now. Maybe the Knights could have allied with the Order. Maybe the Knights could have weeded out all the bad magic in the Order. Maybe he and Vera could have done it together, made the Order what she said it could be, a secret society of magic practitioners that is dedicated to preserving and passing on the art of magic. So many maybes, so many what ifs.

A part of him wants to storm into the temple, into the reliquary and demand that Vera confess. The more rational part of him keeps him grounded to protect the fact that they have their memories.

He'd feel a little bad about planning to rob the Order blind if he wasn't so pissed at them for raiding the den. Thanks to Lilith's potion, Hamish is slowly developing burning rage at the idea of being betrayed by his own goddamn soulmate. As time passes, he's starting to forget that he used to understand her circumstances, her choices being bad or worse.

So when they come across Zecchia, he's ready for it without any hesitation.

"Bring me something in a tall glass." Okay maybe a little hesitance. Just a little.

Hamish thinks it might have been a mistake when the news about Rogwan is delivered. He realises he's gone and royally fucked up on a Jack Morton level when they find out Zecchia robbed them.

"So, what's all this talk about wolves?"

Vera's too pissed with them to register the fact that Hamish has his memories (not all, though, right?) "Where is my inventory?"

"It was . . . stolen from us." "For fuck's sake, Hamish, can't you keep track of anything in that fucking apartment?" Randall: ( ͡° ʖ ͡°) (ಠ_ಠ) what the fuck is happening here 🙃 "I am seriously considering killing both of you." "Please don't." "SHUT UP"

Rogwan taking Hamish's fear could have been incredibly catastrophic if Vera had had her phone on her around the same time Hamish got his hands on money and a phone booth, even worse if she had answered any of those calls (though to be honest, she might just have been incredibly confused about it or more accurately, Hamish might not have even dialled her number properly)

Hamish standing at the phone booth with the dial tone while Randall repeatedly tries to climb a nearby tree: I know what you did, Vera Stone. You wicked witch with a cute butt. You jacket thief, alcohol thief, heart thief-- vest thief! + stupider and stupider things until Randall eventually gets his attention again.

"I give my life to the cause to protect the Hermetic Order of the Blue Rose from threats both inside and out." "So . . . we're supposed to babysit the Grand Magus aka you?" Both Vera and Hamish shoot Jack a withering glare. Randall finds it funny and Jack is grateful for Randall.

"Is everyone okay?" Awww she cares. Stop smirking at her -- stop -- STOP IT, FACE!

As much as Hamish was internally laughing at Vera for her still harbouring her old feelings, Hamish realises that he hasn't forgotten his own instincts when it comes to Vera when he sees the Magistratus, Angus, charge at Vera.

He may have fucked several things up, but no one is allowed to harm Vera. Tundra is a Knight of the Blue Rose, but Hamish is Vera's -- it's not as if he'd have it any other way anyway.

Vera's pretty stressed, what with the impending end of the world. Hamish is waiting for Vera in the reliquary, having discovered something ... interesting about the Tartarus explosions.

"I got your text." Hamish stands, book in hand. "Yeah, I found -- . . . is wearing three different shades of black a conscious decision or--" "Shut up."

Hamish happily complies. Who cares what colours she's wearing when he's got her in his arms? For someone who doesn't like anyone kissing in the reliquary, Vera seems to be very unopposed to the idea when she and Hamish are the ones doing all the kissing.

Not that Hamish is complaining. He wouldn't ever want to stop Vera. "Wait -- wait, this isn't why I'm here." "Your text specifically said you had something big to show me." "I ... see how that can be misconstrued."

Vera glares. "Make it quick, I'm busy."

"Tease," Hamish mutters with a grin before delving into the very solid fact that the world is going to end.

"The council wouldn't listen to reason so . . . I gave them fear. Stopping Praxis is the only way to stopping these eruptions." "Or is it the only option you'll consider?" The glass hits the table hard. Hamish is beyond pissed, but he's not sure at what. Vera is clearly stuck between a rock and a hard place. Perhaps he should let her know about his first clash with pulveris memoria

"They're asking for something I can't give them." "Or won't." He knows he's being difficult but he doesn't feel guilty about it at all. He's still mildly miffed that Vera didn't think he could make the choice for himself on whether or not he wanted anything to do with the Order.

Of course, his entire demeanour changes when Alyssa shows up in the reliquary. He may be pissed and a little disappointed in Vera but that doesn't mean he's willing to let her stand in harm's way. And of course, Alyssa knocks him straight the fuck out. (I mean personally I don't like her but I have to admit, that was a smart move)

I can't fucking remember how the scene goes word-for-word but you all know it.

Hamish wakes with the gripping fear that Vera is hurt or worse, dead. As soon as he sees Vera though, he's incredibly calmer. She seems okay. She's alive.

"She took your magic." Honestly, it could have been worse. It really could have been a lot worse. But he doesn't say so because he knows magic is something that is important to Vera and he knows that she's fucking terrified -- even if she won't say.

"I imagine she, like you, finds me a selfish woman." "Vera, I don't think you're selfish. You're demanding and ... weirdly ticklish, but not selfish."

Vera thinks about all that she's put Hamish alone through. She has very many a regret in her life, but Hamish somehow seems to dominate that lost. "How can you be so sure?" "Because of all the times you could have killed the Knights but you didn't, because you wanted th-- us to live. To learn."

It's a little hard to separate Vera's soulmate from Tundra's champion, but Hamish does it. He's still a Knight, despite whatever feelings he and Vera might share. Both of them are him but not together. Not just yet.

"It's all right to let someone care about you, V." "You--" "You dropped this." Vera stands still as Hamish puts the chain over her own head. How long had he had all his memories? Said nothing? All this time, he'd kept his mouth shut -- was it for her sake? Old guilt creeps back into her.

"Maybe you are selfish, V, but not for all the reasons you think. Your selfish acts are always about protecting other people. Me, Jack, Alyssa, the Knights, the Order. Selfish doesn't mean evil."

"What's he doing here?" "We're not staying." "Yes, we are."

"No, you're not." "It's not safe." "I'm no threat to her."

Hamish really doesn't want to leave Vera alone with Alyssa. But she trusts herself so he'll trust her. Besides that, he still has to save Lilith.

When Hamish returns to the temple, chasing Midnight, Alyssa is dead and Vera is shaking.

"V, it's not your fault." How does he know exactly what she's thinking?

Hamish sets a drink, Vera's drink, in front of her and turns to leave. To give her space. To give her the choice. He drags his hand over hers. Do you want me to stay?

Vera makes no movement other than wrapping her fingers around Hamish's hand and holding fast. Yes.

And as he stands there and the doors to the reliquary closes, he glances down at Vera and realises that bad as things are, they could be worse. Vera tried so many times to push him away, but she's failed every time. And he's incredibly thankful for that.

Vera doesn't have her magic, but she's got all the colours in the world because of Hamish and somehow, that's so much more important to her.

Someone help me I'm Sad™ I wanna write this but like ,,,,, not as a full book because that would make me cry ,,,,, maybe like a nice collection of scenes 0.0 what do you think?

Take a look at other soulmate aus I've chosen to torment myself with

#hamish x vera #hamish duke #vera stone #vermish #the order #netflix #the hermetic order of the blue rose #the knights of st christopher #the knights of the blue rose #the knights of saint christopher #soulmate #soulmates au #soulmate au #please just give me the soulmate au i want #mara-writes

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meghancooking · 4 years

Text

My pitch for the eventual ‘Community Movie’

The film opens in 2023. After a brief bounce back from the efforts of the Save Greendale Committee, Greendale came upon hard times during the global pandemic (due to a poor attempt to transition classes like “Ladders” and “Nicolas Cage: Good or Bad” to an online setting.) Frankie left long ago to help hospitals rearrange their budgets for life saving PPE.

The Dean informs Jeffrey that things have gotten so bad that he has to let him go, and Jeff ends up at Britta’s bar for a drink. On the TV in the corner they see a commercial for a film that looks oddly familiar, about a community college study group that goes on wacky adventures. Jeff looks the movie up online to realize that Abed is the director and the film has a ton of buzz from Indie Film Festivals.

In “Community: The Movie,” Timothy Olyphant stars as Jiff Wanger, with Alexandro Daddario as Allie Anniston, Nicole Byer as Sally Benton, Dev Patel as Abed Nadir (no name change), John David Washington as Trey Burns, and Abed’s hero Harrison Ford as Piers Hawksworth.

Jeff tries to call Abed on the phone and realizes that Abed has changed his phone number since they last spoke. Feeling more disconnected from his old friends than ever, Jeff announces to Britta that they’re going to get the study group back together and confront Abed in L.A., intent on suing him for using their likeness without permission so that they can save Greendale. Britta says, “But neither of our cars can make it across the country.”

“But mine can.”

Jeff and Britta whip around to see Rick. Britta and Rick start making out over the bar counter. Jeff takes the keys from Rick’s hand and goes to “warm up the car.”

In their Honda CR-V, Jeff, Rick, and Britta go to D.C. to pick up Annie. At first she’s reluctant to take time off work, but when she realizes that Greendale is in trouble of closing for good, she throws her FBI badge in a nearby fountain.

Cut to the group looking for Annie’s badge in the water. “I wanted to be like those people that throw their cellphones in the ocean, in movies,” Annie sighs. “But you never think about them going back to get them.”

After they get Annie’s badge they head for Atlanta, Georgia to scoop up Shirley. Shirley’s sons are now old enough to attend college, and it breaks her heart to realize that her old school is closing down. “Not that I want them to go to Greendale,” Shirley adds. “They’re going to an Ivy. But if they need a back-up for their back-up’s back-up…”

Throughout their whole journey the group does their best to find out where Troy is, but no one has heard from him in years. Every time someone wonders aloud if he died in a horrible boating accident, Annie starts sobbing and they turn on the radio. A song by a popular new rapper Kiddish Bambino seems to be always playing whenever they turn the radio on. Shirley says she hates rap but she nods her head along with everyone else.

Rounding out their journey through New Mexico on the way to L.A., the gang stops at a Mexican restaurant on the side of the road. Annie pretends like its Jeff’s birthday to make up for “all those years of birthday cards I owe you.” And Britta says, “What about my birthdays? Are mine less important because he’s a man?” At which point they all tell the waiter they are celebrating a joint five-way birthday. The waiter goes to get the manager to catch them in a lie, and the group worries that they pushed it too far. Until they realize that the restaurant owner is Chang, speaking perfect Spanish. He’s so excited to see them that he says, “Birthdays on the house!” And every patron in the restaurant gets trashed on free margaritas.

As they’re drunkenly catching up, Chang fills them in on what happened to him after season six. With a renewed sense of ambition, Chang realized that he was happiest when he was a student-torturing Spanish teacher. But before he could let him get his job back, the Dean challenged him to actually learn Spanish. He moved to New Mexico to take classes and learn about Latin Culture, and ended up marrying a woman and having three kids. “Now I dog on my kids instead of dogging on students,” Chang says. “It’s great.”

After hearing about their road trip across the country, Chang decides to join them. He makes the joke “And my axe” at an off moment and over-explains his reference. Everyone groans but Rick asks to hear more, because he never actually watched Lord of the Rings, “Though of course I love it in the way that people love things they’ve never seen in person, like the Northern Lights or God,” Rick says genially.

So Jeff, Britta, Annie, Shirley, Rick, and Chang end up in L.A. to storm into Abed’s office, only to be told that he’s getting ready for the theatrical release of “Community: The Movie” at the Chinese Theater. The gang pulls a scheme to get into the premiere and bumps into the movie-star versions of themselves on the red carpet. Classic trope.

When they finally slide into their seats at the theater, the film starts. And it’s amazing. There’s laughter, there’s tears. Rick and Britta hold hands…Jeff and Annie accidentally brush hands but look away as Sara Bareilles’ “Gravity” plays on screen. Chang tries to hold Shirley’s hand but gets slapped away with a “Ben, you’re married” as he defensively says, “As friends. You never hold hands with your friends?”

At the end of the movie Abed stands up for a Q&A. The old study group was moved to tears, so they’re not angry anymore, but Jeff is enraged. He wrestles the microphone away from a fan and wakes to the middle of the aisle to confront Abed.

“That Greendale on screen is a lie built by Disney magic and Timothy Olyphant blood money. Do you know right now the real Greendale is a sinking ship?” Jeff asks. “Our home is about to plummet under the waves and here you are, weaving movie magic to show the ‘perfect’ version of our lives. Well the truth is far from perfect. Because in reality, Abed doesn’t even care about his friends. He hasn’t called in years.”

Jeff starts to tear up as he talks. Abed tilts his head.

“Jeff, this isn’t some Sony Pictures presents Marvel’s Disney project. This was a kickstarter, Zach Braff style. This was my ‘Wish I Was Here,’ but better because I’m not a famous movie star asking people in a lower tax bracket for money. This wasn’t funded by corporations, it was funded by the people.” Abed stands up. “The first tier got donors a ‘Community: The Movie’ pin. The second tier got them a swag bag. And the third tier…well the third tier paid admission for a semester at Greendale Community College. The real one.”

Abed looks out to the audience. “Could all the third tier donors in the audience stand up?”

Jeff, Britta, Annie, Shirley, Chang, and Rick look on in shock as three-fourths of the audience get to their feet. Even Timothy Olyphant stands up from the front row. “What?” He asks his co-stars. “They’ve got a class on Nicolas Cage. Is he good?”

Jeff approaches the stage and Abed helps him up. Their silhouettes are backlit by the stage lights as they hug. “But…” Jeff says. “You never called.”

“I threw my phone in the ocean when I got to L.A.” Abed shrugs. “I see it in movies all the time when people have fresh starts. I didn’t realize it would be so hard to get back.”

The rest of the gang comes up from the audience to hug Abed. The Q&A host (maybe a Josh Horowitz type) says “The real cast of Community!” as the crowd cheers.

End-credits scene is Abed and Troy hanging out in the green room after the movie premiere, just chatting normally. Everyone else stares at him.

“And after I found Abed in California I became a famous rapper and I changed my name to Kiddish Bambino,” Troy says, finishing his story. “You can kind of do whatever you want when you’re a millionaire.”

Troy and Abed do their handshake.

“But you never called,” Annie chimes in.

“Oh I threw my phone in the ocean like Day One on the boat,” Troy says. “Not to get a fresh start. I was just trying to give a mermaid my phone number.”

“Troy got heat stroke 12 times,” Abed says.

“The doctors say my brain is ‘basically’ normal,” Troy says.

“Same,” Abed responds.

Handshake.

“Don’t you work at Subway?” Troy asks Rick.

The group laughs.

End credits (Elroy watches “Community: The Movie” in his RV after it comes out on DVD, with Julie from Natalie is Freezing at his side. “I knew most of those people you know. They’re all uglier in person. Nice kids, though.”)

-------

What would you add? What would you throw out? I know there's too much Rick but it can't be helped. How else would they get a Honda CR-V, America's dream car?

#community #community movie #community tv show #alison brie #gillian jacobs #yvette nicole brown

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magpiemorality · 4 years

Note

Okay okay okay can we learn more about Tall Logan :0?

You absolutely can :D

Warnings: fantasy battle and accompanying implied violence, minor character death (multiple), implied injury

First | Previous | AO3

***

"I'd like to tell you a tale, Remus," Logan said one evening. It was the depth of what passed for winter there in the land of eternal temperate weather. Mostly the nights just felt a little longer, and Eavan's cousins had joined them to journey into the mountains to explore for the season. They'd found a cave and had stoked up a fire, and with Eavan's head in his lap Remus had suggested they find a way to pass the time.

"You have my leave," Remus agreed, getting comfortable and pulling his Fae into his lap and back against his chest to cuddle. "What's it about, your tale?"

Logan glanced at the two other cousins, and they apparently understood some unspoken signal because the first sat bolt upright with wide eyes and the other hid his face in the first's side with a soft sound. "A King, a long time ago," Logan answered slowly, dragging his eyes away from the other two and back over to Remus. "A King of lands unimaginable. Perhaps more than a King, because he ruled entirely unopposed for more years than can be counted, revered almost as a god of the world you now tread."

Eavan shifted. "I don't know this tale," he murmured.

"That's because I have never told it. It's too old and too sad for most days, but it feels right to tell it now, here." Logan and the other two Fae looked around with a curious expression in their eyes before all three refocused on the fire, their glow outlining them to Remus from the opposite side. "Will you hear it?"

The mortal shrugged and his Fae nodded. "Yes, go right ahead," Remus agreed, and tugged his Firefly a little closer for comfort as they got ready to listen.

The tallest Fae nodded slowly, staring into the fire with eyes already gone distant again. "Where to start?" He murmured to himself, as the air hung still and saturated with anticipation.

For a moment the only sound was the soft crackle of the flames, before the Fae who'd hidden his face sat back up, still clutching the other for support. "Start with the beginning of the end, Lo," he whispered, reaching out a hand that Logan took, locking their fingers together. The second Fae nodded his agreement, curling tighter around the first, gazing attentively at their soon-to-be storyteller.

"The beginning of the end, indeed."

"I must stress first that it truly was a shock when things changed. Change was almost unthinkable before that time, after so long of the same and the same and more of the same. The world was smaller then, or perhaps it was bigger, but it felt entirely complete from land to sea to sky and nothing ever strayed from the norm. Oh, people would travel, bicker perhaps, have their own little intrigues and very occasionally there were children born or changes to households through bonding ceremonies or departures, but true change was quite inconceivable. Even the land was simple then, mostly flat plains and rolling hills all covered in rich forest, and the folk gathered in large droves around the shore where the seas would provide for there was little water inland.

The first tremors of change came with the winds. Where there had once been peace with the sky before now there was instead a restlessness. The flurries agitated the trees, and the tides, and the people who walked across the land, sometimes playful or gentle but often biting and bitter and cruel. The King who ruled heard of this new attitude of his once great ally, but little did he know he should not blame the wind, for it was not of its own accord that it was acting so strange.

If only they'd known that then.

Next came the seas, clashing on the shore, stealing the fish, drawing out and rushing in, still when they should run with current and sneaky when anyone tried to swim. Too many were lost to the depths before caution was observed, and the sprawling towns that ran up and down the shoreline grew afraid, always waiting for the sea to rise and claim their homes as it seemed so likely to do.

Which left, of course, just the land as not turned traitor to the folk that lived on it. Before the land could inevitably also rise up against them, the King had word of a possible cause of all of their sudden troubles. There was a faction of miscreants, troublemakers, traitors, who were using magics too dark to contemplate to upset the world against the inhabitants thereof. They weren't targeting the King directly, nor did they seem to have much motivation other than to sow pure chaos, but what they were spreading in its wake was fear and uncertainty and most importantly doubt. People were growing wary and losing faith in their King, and the witches and warlocks delighted in what they'd caused, growing ever bolder.

The King called a council swiftly together, of the Lords of the land he presided over. They came from every corner, all but one. She was called Lord of West because of where she held dominion, but she had reportedly been waylaid by a group of these fanatics. At first there was much sorrow and shock, because Fae were so rarely lost in those days, and even now death is often far from our minds. But the messenger who brought the news had other information to share as well.

The fanatics had been bold, loudly proclaiming themselves true children of the land, which in our oldest language we knew as 'dragon'. These dragons had spun their sorcery over the Lord and had not killed her but entrapped her in a new form, that was bound to unleash destruction on the towns, already burning a wide trail through the forests from her home towards their goal, leaving great swathes of open land where once the trees had flourished.

So the sorrow turned to rage and determination, and the King and his council rode out, gathering armies out of Fae who were more used to tilling and tending the land than defending it. There were a few protests from those Fae who turned out to be sympathetic to the cause, calling for change and crowing injustice whenever they were caught and expelled from the army, but the King and his people carried on despite the growing dissent and he told his people to be merciful, to let them leave to join their chosen side and fight with what honour they had left.

They intercepted the dragons, the Fae who had joined them, and their enslaved Lord long before they reached the peaceful shore, clashing against them army to gaggle of scum. The fight was long and bloody and hard, and magic rent and tore the world around them all, pulling seas inland in great rivers, thrusting the earth up to form new mountains at the top of which great storms gathered, shaking trees down many miles away from earthquakes that rocked the ground beneath their feet.

But they were vanquished when one brave young Fae threw themself from their horse and climbed up the wing of the Lord, foolishly sacrificing themself so that she may be freed from the magic with a spell that has been since banished from memory. The energy involved in that sacrifice shook the foundations of the earth more than any quake before and all those who had fought on those plains were lost in a moment. Too much other magic lay in the air and the sacrifice in the end, ended the battle only at unbelievable cost.

The King himself had been stood at what passed for the enchanted Lord's feet, near the very epicentre of the spell, attempting to reach one of the dragons spouting the foulest magic.

The remaining Fae saw the lights all the way from their homes by the sea and knew what it meant. That magic left behind the first cracks through to the world of mortals, and the Fae that remained living became wary of one another and governed only in small tribes at most. The shoreside towns were abandoned as the seas grew too unpredictable and the Fae became rovers, almost solitary, wild. Changed.

In many ways the dragons in fact achieved their goals."

Logan paused for breath, shaking his head slowly and bowing it with a weight Remus could almost see crushing down on him. "That's... awful," the mortal whispered hoarsely, hugging Eavan tighter. The air felt colder and he shivered.

"Awful does not begin to cover it," the second cousin said, lifting his head from where he'd clung to the first. "It hurts my very soul to hear the tale."

"And there is more to come, hush," the first murmured, still holding Logan's hand tightly. "There is more, Lo. Don't stop there." They all watched as Logan took a deep, unsteady breath, and lifted his head again, squaring his shoulders with a determined nod.

"Quite right."

"It was not the end of the story for the King. For he had not been killed, but thrown far, far away. The dragon he had been fighting had hit him with a bolt of some still unknown magic at the moment the sacrifice was made. I'm sure you may have realised by now that magic is incredibly delicate, and easily mixed and merged to disastrous effect. That magic that enveloped the King combined with the sacrificial spell and every other piece of wild magic in the air and, through some stroke of perhaps fated luck; protected the heart of him as he was transported.

For many years he remained unseen, unknown and yet alive, healing deep in the mountains with V- it appears I- I must have missed a part, my apologies.

Something else happened when he first awoke after the battle. There was the sound of a child crying, and he sat up. Everything hurt, of course it did after what he'd been through, but he could only think to get to the child. A tiny Fae child, so rare, was lying nearby and calling for him. He cradled it in his arms and promised to care for it. No one else could be nearby, he reasoned, if they'd left the child next to his body and run off.

Except there was someone else. Another Fae, but this one an adult. He was surprised to find the King awake, and explained that he'd been running with the child, fleeing from the growing mountains, when he had heard an almighty crash and had diverted to investigate as the mountains finally settled and the magic dispersed. He had recognised the King and set out to find the herbs to help with his injuries, leaving the child alongside his body as he swiftly searched nearby. His home had once been where the mountains now stood, he said, and the remains of it lay far up in the peaks that towered above them. He had pledged himself immediately to help the King and the child, and together they built a home in a cavern, far away from the rest of the Fae where they would be safe and the King could recover.

It was slow progress, and the King insisted every time the Fae offered, that they not send word to anyone about his whereabouts. He was changed, he said, and he had only one charge left to protect, which was the child. After a while the answer changed to two charges, as the other Fae grew to mean much to him in their solitary convalescence. Years passed until they were all strong enough to travel, and the King finally felt restless enough to want to see the aftermath of what had happened, ready to mourn the losses and adapt to the new world.

They found the world as I said, much changed. Insular, isolated pockets of Fae, distrustful and doubtful and proud. It hurt his heart to see it, and to see how few and far between they really had become, but nonetheless there were survivors and he could be nothing but glad for that. The Fae with him helped him raise the orphan child as they journeyed, and they found a new and deeper bond between them, growing close on their long travels across the world that he'd once called his own.

While there were many years to come we will skip to the final chapter to this story. It comes some while after, when the King had long been forgotten. Or so he had thought, but one auspicious day, upon finding a copse and staying in it a while, they were interrupted by another Fae journeying, equally restlessly, across the land.

Once a member of the King's court, this new Fae recognised his King immediately and wept to find him alive, falling into his arms with grief and relief in equal measures. They spoke for many long hours as his first companion tended the child, and after much arguing finally agreed that the decision to no longer be king was the right one, much as the court Fae despised seeing his King no longer afforded the respect his long term of service to their people had rightfully earned. He joined their party and ever since they have all roamed together, closer than family, the three of them raising the child as their young cousin until he was ready to explore the land of his own accord.

The young child Fae left, roaming alone, and for a long while the three old Fae travelled without him. They turned to a new task, keeping order among the Fae that remained in the world and keeping as tight a grasp as possible on the doorways between your land and ours. Their little cousin visited from time to time, until one day he quite abruptly vanished from the world. And when he at last returned he brought an entirely new chapter to their lives, one that has yet again changed things anew. Perhaps, hopefully, for the better."

Logan leaned back and nodded slowly, satisfied with the conclusion to his storytelling.

They sat in silence for a while, gazing at the flickering fire and letting the tale sit in the air between them all. Then the first cousin, the one holding Logan's hand, squeezed it and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek with a soft look, and the other took up residence on the tallest Fae's other side, bracketing Logan with twin embraces.

Eavan sighed quietly, absently stroking the back of Remus's hand where it sat over his stomach. "It sounds familiar somehow, but I don't believe you've told it before," he said, frowning over at his cousins, something tense in the line of his shoulders as though his words weren't quite revealing everything they were actually saying. "It is true?"

"More true than most," the first cousin said with a smile, even though his voice was hoarse with repressed emotion. "Most of it was a very long time ago though."

"I remember it still," Logan said sagely.

Remus looked up at him with raised eyebrows, trying to read the expression on the tall Fae's face. "You remember it? Were you there? Did you know the King?"

"In a sense," Logan replied with a wry smile. "In some ways I only joined the story later on, but that's a matter of interpretation. And as for the King, I knew him better than anyone, you might say."

"Oh talking in riddles is unfair," the second cousin said, snorting softly. "You chose to tell the tale and you must answer their questions now."

"I will, I will. But tomorrow, after the night is done. Leave tonight for stories, tomorrow we can come to truth and answers."

Silence fell again as the five went wandering in their own thoughts. Remus could feel Eavan shifting restlessly and wondered what was going on in that pretty blond head. He was clearly thinking something through but whatever it was was, Remus was apparently going to have to wait until the morning to find out. Remus had learned a new patience from the experience of living with his Firefly, and while often he had to fight to outlast Eavan's stubbornness; this time he thought he might be able to guess what thoughts troubled his beloved.

It wouldn't be such a stretch to imagine Logan as the King of the story, with the two other Fae completing the trio, and his Fae, his Eavan as the child they'd found. It was mysteries upon mysteries and opened more questions than it answered, but such seemed to be the way with these Fae in particular, and Remus counted himself lucky to have been generously given a piece of the puzzle at all, no matter how small it might end up being.

If he was a betting man though; he'd put all he had on this being the biggest piece of all.

#writepie #dukeceit #demus #ts remus #ts deceit #ts logan #fae folk #owing me owing you au #ts writing #ts sanders sides #ts sanders sides aus #ts sanders sides fic #sanders sides #death mention

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kpopwrites · 4 years

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Drowning in A Dream Chapter 6

A/N: It’s here! LMK what you guys think of this one. It’s a little more angsty, but it had to happen at some point!

TW: Possible smut in upcoming chapters, angst, fluff, swearing, mentions of depression, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, slight gore

You couldn’t believe this. How could you? You just happened to be saved by the ghosts of the same 7 men who haunted young children's nightmares? The most infamous town legends? You looked down at the paper article again, hands shaking as your eyes scanned over the only known picture of the men. It was them alright. They looked the same, for the most part, just… Happier, filled with life. “Richard, are you sure this is the correct picture?” You ask shakily, looking up at your boss as he carefully framed the documents. “Of course, look at the date, the headline. It’s them alright, why do you ask?” He didn’t even look up from his work. “I… Nothing. I was just making sure.” You whisper, clasping a hand over your mouth. What was going on? Had you finally lost it? Did you die when you jumped? Was this hell? “Jesus kid, you look sick.” Richard walked over to you, concerned for your well being.

“Do you need to go home? I’ll have Sean take over for you.” You shook your head quickly. “What do you need, kid? You know I’ll do anything.” Richard had always been a family friend, someone your grandmother kept close her whole life. He was like a father or uncle to you, offering you a job and money when you needed it most. “Would it be possible to borrow your four wheeler tomorrow after work?” You ask, looking up at him. You had to see for yourself, had to see if you were losing it. As if reading your mind, Richard looked over at the newspaper clipping. “You saw something, didn’t you?” He asked, placing a hand on your shoulder slowly.

“N-no… I just left something in the woods the other day, I want to go get it without having to do that hellish walk again.” You joke weakly, gulping. Richard clearly didn’t believe you, but he nodded anyway. “You can take it tonight, in case it rains and whatever you left gets ruined. Finish up this project and then head off. Take the walkie with, in case you need help.” With that, Richard walked away, pulling his cell phone out and making a call. You quickly finished framing your section before snapping a picture of the clipping, wanting to make sure. You snatched the walkie and keys from Richard’s desk and took off, climbing onto the four wheeler and placing the helmet on your head.

The journey back to the cabin was long, even on a four wheeler. The cabin was pitch black inside, much more rustic and dingy looking than you remembered. The rocking chair on the front porch held Namjoon, sitting calmly as he read from his book. “(Y/N), back so soon?” He asked, not looking up. “You’re real? But, you can’t be.” Your voice was shaky and panicked as you looked at him. This caused Namjoon to look up, smirking. “I assure you dear, I am very real. I’m assuming you found out?” Lightning flashed ahead, and for that split second, you could see a pale, bloodied Namjoon before he returned to normal. You let out a scream, backing up quickly.

“You’re dead! You’re dead, I’ve lost it. Oh god, oh god I’ve lost it.” Tears of fear fell from your eyes as you paced around the yard nervously. You looked up at Namjoon again, growing frustrated when you saw how calm he was. “How are you here?!” You scream, thunder booming behind you. Namjoon’s calm facade broke as he looked up at the sky. “You need to calm down. I can explain everything, but you need to calm down before you tear down the city.” Anger flushed through your body as the storm got worse and worse. “Do not tell me to calm down!” You snarl dangerously, storming up to the tall man. “I just found out I’ve gone insane and started imagining the ghosts of seven dead guys.” Namjoon laughed as your smacked his chest over and over. He grabbed your hands, ignoring the rain falling heavily from the sky as he looked you in the eyes.

“If I wasn’t real, would I be able to hold you like this?” He whispered, face mere inches from yours. “If you’d stop with your temper tantrum and come inside, I could explain to you everything.” He let your hands go roughly before turning around and walking inside. You whimpered, following slowly behind. It felt like a bunny walking into a wolves den. The other six men were all sat in the main room, staring at you with blank faces. Even Jimin and Jin, who you were so used to see smiling, stared at you with little emotion on their faces. “Take a seat.” Namjoon instructed, pushing you down into an armchair by the fireplace. “So obedient.” Jimin hummed, a flash of lust in his eyes before Yoongi slapped his head.

“You’re all dead…” You whisper, feeling any and all fight drain from your being. “Yes. We are.” Namjoon hummed. “Sort of. Yes, we did die so many years ago, just as your little story said, but there was more to it than what people say.” Yoongi added. “When this town was first settled, it was founded by a man and a woman, husband and wife. The man was a strong Christian, loved God and placed it upon himself to say what was wrong and right in the village. His wife, however, was a witch, the head witch of a coven, in fact. That woman’s name was Emily (Y/L/N).” Namjoon handed you a book, opening it to the first page. There was a small painting of a family, a mother, a father, and three children. He pointed at the woman. “Her husband, Clyde, found out she was a witch, he freaked out, banishing her from the village as well as all of the other women, just in case. Even the young children.”

Sympathy flooded your being for the poor woman. “Was she practicing the dark stuff?” You asked, looking up at Namjoon. He shook his head. “No. Not at first. When her husband kicked her from the village, she wanted revenge. It was their magic that was helping crops grow. And it wasn’t only women who practiced magic. There were men in the coven who would sneak food out to the banished group, keep them healthy.” You sniffled. “What does this have to do with you?” You ask, looking at the group. Jungkook rolled his eyes. “So impatient.” He grumbled. “Emily wanted revenge, so she signed her soul away to the devil in exchange for his seven nastiest demons. She released the sins onto the village, letting each demon take the lives of any adult male who wasn’t in the coven. After that, she released the sins, letting them roam the forest.”

You began to realize what he was going to say next. “The sins plagued the forest, so when you guys came, they…. Took over you, didn’t they?” You asked, meeting Namjoon’s eyes. He smiled and nodded, adding another log to the fire. “Yes. We were once seven innocent immigrants. However, the forest changed us. Wrath chose Jungkook, causing him to kill all of us. The other sins saved us, each inhabiting our bodies.” You tensed in fear. “You’re demons, holding the bodies of seven dead men.”

You could hear one of the men snicker in amusement. “No. Think of it as what your people call a superhero. We gained eternal life and powers and traits in exchange for our humanity.” Namjoon explained. “So… All the missing hikers, all the bodies found, you were responsible.” You whispered in horror. Namjoon shrugged. “Yes. We are. Some of us kill for fun, others only when necessary.” Thinking quickly, you grabbed the iron fire poker, holding it against Namjoons throat. “I don’t plan on dying today.” The iron seered into his flesh, causing Namjoon to hiss in pain, his eyes turning black. The others stood up quickly, ready to defend their brother. “Iron. Smart. Someone knows how to defend themselves.” Namjoon growled out. “We aren’t going to hurt you (Y/N).” Taehyung said, his hands up as he tried to calm you down.

“If we were to kill you, I would have done so when you let me do your makeup.” Jin said. Your eyes widen with horror. “You are the one who cuts up peoples face, leaves them horribly disfigured…” You whisper, whimpering as fear fills your body. Jin smirked proudly. “I couldn’t let them remain as attractive as they were. I am the most handsome, simple as that. I couldn’t bear even the thought of doing it to you. I had full intentions, but something stopped me.” Taehyung piped up. “V would have eaten you in a moment if you weren’t special. We all want to protect you.” You scoffed, pressing the iron deeper into Namjoon’s neck.

“Why should I believe you, hm?” You glare weakly, trying to make sure your courage was intact. “What makes me so different from any of the others you murdered?” Namjoon struggled against the iron, trying to get away. “Because you’re her reincarnation. You may not look like her, but (Y/N), each human is reborn. Sometimes as human, or animal, male, female, or anything in between. Each person has been thousands of beings, and you are Emily. You hold her powers. When she summoned our sins, part of each of them attached to her. When she died, she wasn’t reborn as a human for a long time, until you.” Yoongi explained, causing you to slowly release pressure on Namjoon.

“Your grandmother knew. She took you in, you and your brothers, saved you from people who would harm you and kept you safe.” Namjoon added. “How do you know all this, hm?” You asked, letting Namjoon go, but keeping the iron poker in front of you. “It’s been a legend for a long time. The mortal who would have Hell’s strongest demon’s under their command, willing to die for them.” Jimin piped up, wincing at the sight of Namjoon’s burned neck. “What do you mean? Why would you guys be so attached to me, huh?” You ask, the poker lowering as you grew more confused.

“To put it simply (Y/N), you are ours, and we are yours. I believe people call them soulmates nowadays.” Namjoon spoke, holding his neck as he looked into your eyes. “We will do whatever you ask, and if anyone hurts you, they have the wrath of seven of Hell’s princes to deal with.”

Taglist for Drowning in a Dream @jennyjq @boy9wolf @slutkoo @flakeypancake @leftflowerprunedonut @vickylamore @elenaramos1 @trinityautumn @blackgirlutopia @viralsoftspot @qween-of-trash

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alisonembers · 4 years

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Cogs and Queens (D&D Eberron Fan Fic) - Week 6

This one is a longer one, I hope you enjoy it.

Content Warning: Blood, Course Language, NSFW scene included in full version inside Google Drive link.

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Google Drive Link for correctly formatted version: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1-jnvaN0ui2c-7yUR0BzSNwkpD63Lzhmo/view?usp=sharing

Cogs and Queens - Part Six

“You’re just the cutest little thing,” Elisen says, standing almost a foot taller than Mercury.

“Oh? Am I?”

Elisen unwraps a leather pouch, revealing medical tools. “So, Mercury, how did this happen?”

“I tried to get back at a man and failed.”

“Ah,” Elisen kneels before Mercury, pulling out a pair of tweezers and a scalpel from the leather pouch. “Have you ever been operated on, my dear?”

Mercury wiggles the damaged fingers on their left arm, hearing the slight whirring of stuck motors.

“Of course. Is it okay if you take your top off? It will make getting at the wound easier.”

“Oh, sure,” Mercury slides their coat off and then unbuttons their shirt. They slide it off their shoulders, sitting topless in the chair.

“Oh dear,” Elisen says. “What happened? Your shoulders…” Elisen stands, looking over them, noticing large bruises on their back, along with scaring and cuts. “Are you okay?”

“Just the life of a Mercury.”

“Excuse me, good woman, but getting yoursel-”

“Please don’t call me a woman,” Mercury says sternly.

“Ah.”

“Now, are you going to fix the damn hole in my stomach?”

“Oh, of course,” Elisen kneels back down and applies pressure around the wound. “You’re lucky it hit nothing important.”

“Oh, that’s good, minus the blood loss.”

Elisen pokes around with the scalpel. “Found the bullet.”

“Yeah?”

Elisen reaches for the tweezers. She reaches towards Mercury’s stomach, poking them into the wound.

“Ah, lords!” Mercury screams.

“You said you’d been operated on before!”

“I was unconscious, okay!?”

“Almost got it. Stay sill.”

Mercury clenches down on the arm of the chair with their right hand, their toes wriggling in pain.

“Got it!” Elisen pulls back with the metal bullet held by the tweezers. She places her hand over the wound. “By the shine of the flame, heal this poor soul.”

Mercury hisses in pain as a searing devine burn impales their stomach. They bat Elisen away. “What in Mabar did you do to me!?” they look down and notice that their wound was completely healed.

“Better?”

“Divinity.”

Elisen stands up. “So, where are you off to now?”

“Honestly… I have no idea. I kind of need a nap.”

Elisen looks over her shoulder. “Bed’s large enough for two.”

“It is,” Mercury says.

“Don’t get any ideas, little devil.”

“Lady, please. I just got shot, fell thirty feet onto a roof, and cried in pain from divine magic. I just want to sleep.”

Elisen giggles. “Be my guest,” she gestures to the bed.

“What are you doing!? You can’t just leave, *******,” a taller human man says, wearing a black cloak.

“Stop calling me that, for waste sake!” Mercury yells back, standing in a small doorway.

“And what of the deal, *******? Do you not care what the headmaster will do to us if you leave? To your own mother and father?” a human woman in purple robes says.

“Burn for all I care! I want nothing to do with you and this cursed place!” Mercury storms out the front door.

“ *******! Stop! Come right back here, you disobedient child!”

“The same child you cursed at birth!? Made my life not my own, but a guaranteed pre-paid sacrifice to your patron!? You disgust me, you vial humans! I hate you!”

Their father rushes towards them, grabbing them by the collar, and starts pulling them towards the house. “You will not leave us. Your life is here. In this sanctuary.”

Mercury pulls grabs a dagger from their belt and spins around. They cut their father all along the bottom of their arm. “I am not your experiment! Your sacrifice! I will claim a life you deny me!”

Their father lets go of them, cursing a thousand times.

Their mother runs out with a look of horror. “How could you do such a thing!?”

Mercury pulls their ragged coat closer and pushes into the rainy afternoon, ignoring their parents in pain.

Mercury opens their eyes, spotting Elisen lying beside them, reading a book. “Where…”

“Bad dream? Your tail was thrashing around quite a bit.”

“It’s always bad dreams. You get used to it…” Mercury pulls themselves up, back against the bed head. “Didn’t say anything in my sleep, did I?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Tell me, Mercury, what is it that you do?”

Mercury begins laughing.

“What’s so funny, pinky.”

“I raid cargo, shoot criminals, get shot, drink alcohol, gamble. That’s what I do.”

“I see.”

“The sharn guard is included in criminals, by the way.”

“Ah.”

“What do you do? You’re a doctor?”

“A psychologist. I work in the upper city, and sometimes the skyway. Though I am practicing to be more than a psychologist. These are… practice tools.”

“Of couuurse you work for the elite. You’re an aristocrat,” Mercury lays their head against the back of the bed.

“We’re not all bad, you know.”

Mercury looks at them with dagger eyes. “Really.”

“I helped you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“Does that not count for something?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I haven’t decided if I like you or not… Why are you staying in a tavern if you’re from here?”

“Ah, in the middle of a divorce with my ex-wife. Better to stay in a tavern away from them, give them space.”

“How old are you?” Mercury turns to them, legs crossing.

“Never ask a woman their age. It’s rule number one,” Elisen says, giggling. “Two hundred.”

“Elves, huh?” Mercury says.

“Yourself?” Elisen asks.

“I don’t actually know, and I’d rather not find out,” Mercury lies.

“Odd. Where were you born? Surely there’d be a record.”

“Demon wastes.”

“Oh, you’re a tiefling. Of course.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Tieflings cant be born elsewhere?”

“I didn’t say that!” Elisen yells.

Mercury smiles.

The sound of shouting erupts from outside the room. “Find me that fiend! I’ll make an example of it!”

“This is my queue to leave, princess!” Mercury runs for the window, vaulting out of it into the alleyway once more. Shit. Where do I go from here?

They moved on from the alley looking for a way down,

They sought for another night under the queen's crown.

Their metal hand was ruined from a hard days fight,

They’d need to get it fixed before the end of night.

The Dwarf man would mend it getting further into debt,

But Mercury would push on hard and never seemed to fret.

“Mercury, when are you going to stop?” Dandran asks, leaning over the railing of the store's porch.

“Stop what?” Mercury asks, sipping ale.

“All of it. Theft, taking part in heists, killing people. You need to stop,” Dandran says.

“Why should I?” Mercury takes another sip.

“Because you’ll end up dead, Merc.”

“I’m gonna end up dead soon anyway. Not much time left, right? Tick tock, Dandran.”

“Listen here, you son of a bitch,” Dandran walks over to Mercury. “You’re like a damn son to me. I taught you all you need to know about this damn city, raised you from when you were a weed. I don’t want all that work dying.”

Mercury looks at him, taken back. He had never come at them this aggressive before.

“You should take what life you have left and use it for good. Not wasting your days away,” Dandran begins breathing deeply, trying to calm down.

“Dandran… That ain’t me. You know it ain’t me.”

“Mercury, from this day onward, I am no longer repairing that arm of yours. You work out a way to do it yourself or find another artificer willing to tinker with it. If you’re going to get yourself killed, go get yourself killed. I can’t stop it anymore!” Dandran storms into the store, slamming the door behind him.

Really fucked it up, haven’t ya, Merc… Mercury walks down the stairs into the empty street, continuing to drink their ale. Time to buy some equipment, I guess… I could use a drink.

Mercury watches the street, quieter than usual, out the front of the Cogs and Queens tavern. As they take a sip of whisky from a small glass, they cough. The liquid turns a vibrant red as strands of blood weave through the liquor. Fuck. They tip out the whisky into the street.

A black cat runs through the street with a rat in its jaws. Its eyes glow like a candle in the void.

Mercury sighs, squeezing the glass with their right hand.

Davil walks out of the tavern, spotting Mercury. “Hey, you okay? Wondering where you went.”

“Just a mid-life crisis, I’m afraid,” Mercury says.

“Anything, in particular, going on? Or…”

“You know that man who took my arm? Yeah, well… I tried to take him on.”

“How did it go?”

“Terrible. Got shot in the stomach, killed some men… I did break the join at his elbow, though. So, for what it’s worth, he, too, also has one working arm.”

“That it?”

“I fell about thirty feet or something, destroyed an expensive prototype weapon, crashed a rich girl's room, bled on her floor, slept in her bed- not with her, just…”

They both watch the silent street for many moments, the sound of steam engines and elemental machinery whirring in the distance.

“I don’t know how you do it, Mercury.”

“Do what?”

“Keep fighting. Your life is so complicated. Do you ever think about just settling somewhere with what you got, earning honest money? I mean lords, I’m a prostitute, and that’s a stable enough income here.”

Mercury turns completely facing Davil, gesturing with open palms.“Well, in my years, you come to learn that the world hates you, no matter what you do. You can make friends, maybe even love someone, but in the end, the elite just fuck ya over and take it all away through exploitation.”

Davil squints at Mercury. “You look young. Didn’t realize you were so old.”

“That change your opinion on me?” Mercury teases.

“Not if I get another taste of cupcake.”

“Is that so?” Mercury smirks. “Cupcake?”

“I mean, well, if you get pink icing, you know, you’re pink,” he leans against the outer wall of the tavern.

“I’m sorry, it seems I am all out of coin,” Mercury says.

“If I’m the one asking you to sleep with me, shouldn’t I be the one paying you?” he chuckles.

Mercury moves closer, their tail flicking behind. “A bottle of the cheapest wine you can find, pay for the room, and you have a deal.”

“Oh, do I now?” Davil says.

Mercury moves their tail across Davil’s crotch as they walk by, pushing open the tavern door.

Davil follows behind, ruffling through his pouch for some coin.

Time passes as Davil and Mercury listen to the rain drop into the lower city through gaps above, the cold air wisping through the cracked window they watch out of. Mercury rests their head against Davil’s chest as they sit between his legs. They hold the wine bottle upward to Davil.

Davil takes the wine and sips from it.

“You know, I could live in this moment forever,” Mercury says. “Never have to gun sling again.”

“I’m not gonna comment on that. It’s all your choice,” Davil says, passing the wine back to Mercury.

“Sometimes I think about leaving…” Mercury takes a sip.

“Leaving? To do what?” Davil says as he strokes Mercury’s jaw.

“When it’s over, and Coltan is dead, I might leave to the outskirts. Maybe find a small town to settle down in, become a farm ranger.”

“You, Mercury, ‘The Pink Fiend,’ horny Mercury. You. You are gonna go out and become a simple farm ranger?” Davil takes the wine, taking a larger sip.

“What? Just because I like sex, it doesn’t mean I can’t work a farm.”

“I just can’t imagine an outlaw like you doing such a thing.”

“The only reason I am even considered an outlaw is because the Sharn guard, who are corrupt, deem me so. The Sharn guard is nothing more than a gang of thugs working for rich thugs.”

“Have you ever killed an innocent? I’m not going to judge you.”

“No, never. No member of the Sharn guard is innocent. So don’t even start that.”

“What about tavern patrons I watched you get into fights with?”

“They were outlaws themselves! Worse than me too!”

“True…”

“Look, if fighting the guard makes me evil, so be it. I embrace it.”

“You’re not bad, Mercury… Just a different approach might be better.”

Mercury shrugs, gulping down the last of the wine. “I don’t know. People see a price on my head and want to cash me in. I’m lucky I got you,” they say as they wiggle deeper into Davil’s arms.

“I think I’m the lucky one,” Davil says, keeping Mercury close.

To be continued.

#dnd fanfic #eberron #tiefling #dnd #dnd oc #d&d #d&d fanfic #dungeons and dragons #fantasy writing

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