#when you looked at me did you see me with all my divinity and wrath

[wolfythewitch]

God there's something about the idea that Hector was wearing Achilles's old armor when he faced him to die. when Achilles saw Hector he saw a mirror of himself, and he knew exactly where to aim

[bunnibitez]

Messy Hands - Part Two

Mafia!Miguel x Shy!Reader AFAB

Summary: Miguel just can’t get you off his mind. As a result, he’s always there when you need him most, whether you like it or not.

Word count: 4.6k+

CW: 18+ so MDNI, NSFW, mentions of blood, acts of violence, SA(NOT MIGUEL), stalking, jealousy, possessive behaviors, toxic relationship, mentions of death, slow burn, no use of Y/N

A/N: IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG FOR ME TO GET OUT BUT I PROMISE ITS GOOD!!! THANK YOU TO MY BETA READER @jshookthighs I FUCKIN LOVE YOU

Part One here

Time never stops.

It marches on, dragging the corpse of yesterday behind it. Time never ceases and neither does the on going battle behind closed eyes and clenched fists. No matter how many deep breaths are sucked in between gritted teeth, no matter how much he prayed, begged, kicked or screamed, time marched on. Taking it’s toll on the world and his soul as it did. With time came its companion, decay. A devious creature that preyed on the innocent and beautiful, corrupting it with it’s touch. That’s how Miguel began to see it all. It was a matter of time until his brain too rotted away until his skull was nothing more than an empty cavity to host his rage rather than his conscience. Every day he could feel the threads of his sanity being pulled taut, and every day he doubted how much longer he could go without being the cause of a fucking masacre.

Wrath.

Rage.

Justice.

So much “justice” due. That’s how he saw it. So many people had done wrong by him; tore him apart, brick by brick. Hurt the people he loved most just to get to him. Until one fateful night, he was left with nothing but a beating heart pumping weakly in a dirty alley, left to die. His chest still tightens at the memory of her. Stolen innocence snuffed out too soon. And yet the ones to blame were left unharmed, hidden behind the ivory walls of their mansions, never truly getting their hands dirty.

Cowards.

If only he had the chance, he’d slaughter them. Watch the life drain from their pathetic bodies as they’d squirm and writhe in pain. Begging for a bullet. But Miguel would take his time with them though, he was patient and knew better than to grant them a sliver of mercy. It was the only lesson his father ever taught him.

But that all would come in due time. Miguel was patient, capable of biding his time until his prey found themselves tangled in his web and unable to escape. But until then much like time, Miguel marched on; dragging a little corpse behind him.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Weeks had since passed at this point, breezing through late spring and bleeding into early summer. The days after the mysterious brute entered Bellagino’s were tense, leaving Mr. Caparelli flighty and panicked. The stout little man could often be found pacing in the kitchen, muttering to himself with a distraught look painted on his face. You didn’t dare ask why he seemed so frightened since his ‘friend’ came to visit, mostly because you yourself seemed a little terrified of him as well. In lieu of your best efforts and his divine features, the man was cold and seemed pestered by your presence at your last encounter. Despite this though, you seem to find yourself staring at him more and more. Since the meeting with Bellaginos’ owner, Miguel had begun to visit the quaint little restaurant every other week or so.

Miguel couldn’t find the motive behind his actions truly. He raked his brain for an answer, disturbing the cobwebs in his head to try and understand why he had to mindlessly sit here and watch. Sit and watch this run down old restaurant like a dog. Sit and feel his shoulders slump as the soft hum began to tune out the buzzing in his mind. He’d come in and plop down at the same little table in the center of the room and the owner would bring him the same ice water with lemon.

For the first two weeks, he had attempted to convince himself it was purely to ensure that Caparelli wouldn’t run out on him. Sure, getting to watch the pretty little thing behind the register try not to stare was fun, but these were just business trips. What did it matter that he started coming in twice a week? What did it matter that he’d feel a twist of disappointment when he’d walk through the creaky little door and not see you in your usual spot because it was your day off? It was just business.

That is until finally he had no choice but to confront the truth. It came at him, sitting in his lap, oozing through his gut and making his stomach tie in knots. It made him nervous and queasy, forced to hide it all behind a stonewall mask. It felt foreign, his thoughts jumbled as he began to lose focus on it all.

‘There’s no way. It’s just work.. It’s just..’

It was a warm night in July and an unusually busy Friday evening at Bellagino’s, due in part to the ongoing festival at the Brooklyn Bridge Park. Fairy lights twinkled overhead in the outdoor dining area, each seat filled with couples and gaggles of laughing friends. Miguel almost didn’t recognize the place with it so full of life. The building had an unfamiliar glow to it that simply complimented it, turning it into the homely feel of a little Italian cottage. Turning his attention to the windows as he approached, he saw you, floating around tables with a smile on your face. His lips parted slightly as he watched you, glowing like an angel in the warm lights.

In your element, twirling to avoid guests with ease, plating food and drinks without spilling a drop. You moved with grace and poise, completely unbothered and confident. It was a complete parallel to how you acted when Miguel was there.

That’s when he felt it. A tugging at his chest and the tightening of his lungs as he held his breath. He could feel his heart thrumming as he stood there, starstruck. For the first time, it wasn’t just a subtle hum, it was a goddamn symphony. A cacophony of harmonious melodies blended together to form the tune playing behind his eyes as he gawked in awe. He couldn’t think straight, his own thoughts being muffled out and pulled to the back of his mind. Sweaty palms clenched into tight fists as he closed his eyes and tried to shake out the cotton filling his head.

‘Think O’Hara… Breathe dammit…’ he reminded himself.

A large hand brushed back loose curls as he inhaled slowly through his nose. He knew he couldn’t stand there staring at you all night like some love stricken fool. He forced himself to move, to draw closer to the siren that called his name without even knowing he was there. His knees buckled, faltering for only a moment as he approached the door. Pushing through, his nerves got the better of him for just a split second and his instincts slipped as his eyes merely tracked you throughout the bustling restaurant. Forgetting to duck his head like he usually did, the top of Miguel’s forehead smacked into the doorframe with a soft thud.

He winced, inhaling sharply as he stumbled inside for a moment. He grit his teeth, more so from annoyance rather than pain. He shut his eyes, hoping to drown out the throbbing at the front of his skull if he rubbed it hard enough. He was grateful that almost everyone else seemed too enveloped in their own mindless conversations to even notice he’d arrived.

Almost everyone.

Approaching Miguel, you looked up at him. His hulking frame would’ve been intimidating had it not been that he slouched a little as he held his head. For the first time since you met him, it made your eyebrows draw upward in concern.

“Sir, are you okay..?”

It took Miguel a moment to open his eyes, his scarlet irises glancing down at you. Slowly he took in the shape of you, nodding his head sheepishly as he swallowed. His hand fell away from his head as he tried to regain his composure. This had been the first time since your initial meeting that you’d spoken to him. Once again, that honey voice triggered the euphoric hum in the back of his mind. Once his gaze met your eyes, he felt his heart skip a beat. They were dazzling and full of genuine concern for him. The kind of eyes that men write poems and hymns about. Sweet irises that he could swim in, but he feared that if he dove in, he’d never come up for air. He’d never seen eyes like yours before. So awestruck that the only response he could give you was a low hum.

You looked down, feeling your bravery caught in your chest. Your eyes darted down to your feet and you cleared your throat, trying to remember the usual script you ran through when a customer arrived.

“R-Right, well… Table for one..?” You asked sheepishly, reaching for a menu. For a moment, Miguel feels his heart stutter. All the confidence you just had somehow managed to seep away in his presence. The way you kept your gaze glue to the floor made him frown, biting the inside of his cheek gently. He could feel the tension rising, an awkward wall you were starting to build. For half a second, Miguel felt a twinge of panic wash over him. He looked at you, searching your body for an out, a way to make things better, to make you less afraid. He swallowed thickly, scrambling his brain to try and think of something to say to lighten the mood or even make you laugh.

“Does it look like I’ve got anyone with me?”

‘Fuck.’

It comes out flat and sarcastic, not charming or teasing as he meant for it to. He internally cringes at himself as he sees the way you retract from him.

“Oh… yeah… Sorry, sir.” You mumble out and begin to guide him to his usual spot. The broken tone of your voice feels like a punch to the gut. A twist of his innards that has him wishing he could turn back time. He’s never been this awkward or nervous before. Usually his callous behavior is intentional and pointed, but now he feels it just makes him look like an ass.

“I’ll be right back to take your order…” Soft spoken and sweet, you place the menu down and walk away. Once seated, he pinches the bridge of his nose in self frustration, squeezing his eyes shut as he lets out an annoyed sigh. He’s never been like this before, never been this much of a mess because of a woman. Usually his suave and charming nature takes over and he’s able to seduce anyone he damn well pleases, but for some unknown reason; you broke him. He groans quietly and shakes his head slowly, feeling the butterflies now pooling in his stomach.

‘Aye carajo, get a hold of yourself..’

It feels like his brain is on fire, criticizing every way the interaction went wrong. He feels his gut twist, pinching his nose with enough force that it starts to hurt and his knuckles turn white. The throbbing only continued as his frustration grew. His face practically morphs into a snarl as he sits and waits. Opening his eyes, he glares down at the menu before him, a pleather bound book with the edges peeling away. He tries to refocus his attention on literally anything else than his blundering attempt at conversation.

Miguel is left grumbling to himself when you return to his side. Silently you place a glass of ice water with a lemon wedge bobbing about the glass beside him. Fear beats quickly along side your heart as you wordlessly reach out your other hand, gently clutching a crude ice pack. It was nothing extraordinary, a little sandwich baggie filled with ice chips and wrapped loosely in paper towel. It’s placed on the table beside the water with care. Miguel eyes it for a moment. He feels his stomach twist again but this time its a different feeling. It flutters and it’s soft with smoother edges than before. His cheeks just hardly flush a softly pink as his features remain contorted into a grimace. Without turning his head more than two inches, he looks at you from the corner of his eye. Your eyes are once again glued to your feet, trembling hands reaching to the pen and notepad tucked int your apron. With your head down and your nose nearly buried to the paper of the little booklet, Miguel can’t see the heat that’s spread across your face.

“A-Are you ready to order..?” You squeak out in a voice hardly above a whisper.

Miguel swallows, clearing his throat as he lifts his head. The pink on his cheeks is beginning to darken as your gaze peers over your little notepad and into his crimson eyes. His face melts from frustration, his brows furrowing just a little as he stares back, trying to remember his words.

“No.. I.. Just the water is fine.” He manages to force out. His hands are absently pulling at the cheap white fabric tablecloth as he looks at you. He swears that if he could freeze time at this moment, he would. The way your gaze softens as you look at him, has him biting his tongue just hardly. The butterflies are flapping wildly about in his stomach. Miguel’s canines dig into the tender flesh as he tries to ground himself, distract himself from how pretty those lashes would flutter as he forced you to look up at him from your knees. Would you let him hold your face still while he pounds into you- he wonders.

Your eyes flit back down to your book and you nod your head.

“Y-Yes sir. If you need anything, j-just call for me.” You hold the little name badge pinned to your chest for him as if he hadn’t eyed it the first twelve times he came in to watch you work. With that, you turn on your heel and leave him. Scurrying to another table while Miguel is left merely watching.

The subtle throbbing beats against his head like a drum before he glances down at the icepack you brought over. It feels so tiny in his hand. He lets out a little groan as he presses the baggie to his forehead, relishing in the relief it just barely provides. He can’t help the smile halfheartedly pulling at the corners of his mouth as he sits there.

‘She really didn’t have to do that…’

But he hardly has a chance to bask in his appreciation when he hears it, just barely audible amongst the chatter.

“Aww c’mon sweet’art. I bet I could show ya a real good time.” The man drawls out, clearly drunk from the second pitcher of sangria he and his buddies were splitting. He’s got a toothy and sloshed grin spread across his face as his hand glides up the back of your thigh. You look mortified, eyes silently screaming for help.

Miguel feels his lip twitch as he rises up from his seat.

“S-Sir please stop..” You squeak out, too quiet for the pickled bastard to hear or care. His hand is pulling back, gearing up for a smack, when suddenly a wide tan palm wraps itself around his wrist. It’s grip is tight and overwhelming when Miguel yanks, nearly dragging the drunk out to the ground in the process.

“No la toques, pendejo.” Miguels spits with venom as he twists the man’s arm. The usual hum that played in your presence was washed out by his rage. No one should be allowed to touch you, especially not some wasted shithead. Gritting his teeth, Miguel has to remind himself that he’s in public. Eyes fly to watch the scene unfold. He grumbles lowly as the man cries out in pain before Miguel practically tosses him back into his seat. He scrambles, nearly falling out of his chair to get back from you and Miguel.

With parted lips, a little gasp escapes you. Miguel feels his conscience flooding in as he looks back at you. Wordlessly, he jerks his head towards the door and starts heading for the exit. His eyes are cold, commanding almost. He grumbles something out loud to Caparelli about leaving in Spanish as his grasp nearly tears the creaky little door off it’s hinges. His eyes trace over you once more before he turns his back on you and lets out a gruff, “C’mon.”

Sticking close behind, you slip out the door as he holds it open.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

The night air is warm, the remnants of the summer heatwave still staining Nueva York. It’s mostly quiet aside from the drone of car engines as they pass by. You’re silently keeping pace with Miguel, feeling your chest rattle from the whole interaction. Frightened, confused, and over in a flash. It makes you ball your hands into tight little fists, frustration quietly bubbling up in your chest. In that moment, you froze, retracting into your shell in the hopes that you could avoid confrontation all together. You’re biting back tears as they prick at the corners of your eyes. Your mind is brewing with what ifs and how badly it could’ve gone when suddenly, his voice pulls you from your thoughts. It’s low and sultry with the fleeting taste of a Spanish accent. You couldn’t really hear the words coming out of his mouth, too busy being lulled by the sound of him. You jerk your attention to him, eyeing his lips for a moment before forcing your gaze to meet his.

“Hm?” Is all you can manage.

“I said, do you live around here?” His voice cuts through, fully grounding you and bringing you back to the present.

“O-Oh.. yea. About five blocks thata way.” You tip your head to the left. “I can just walk.”

Miguel nods his head before starting to lead the way down 48th street. You open your mouth to protest his accompaniment but let the words die in your throat. Walking side by side with your head down, you could only let your thoughts wash over you again.

Miguel lumbered on the side of the concrete closest to the street, grumbling as he kept his eyes forward. Loathing boiled inside his stomach, frothing from his mouth in a string of Spanish curses and death threats.

“If I ever see that fucker again, I swear… Llevaré su piel como un abrigo.” He growled to himself, plotting and mentally preparing for the literal hell that he was going to drag that stranger through. His fists were clenched tightly at his side, burning white until he heard a soft sniffle. Pulling himself away from his thoughts, he turned his head to face you.

Your eyes were still glued to the sidewalk beneath you, tears rolling down ruddy cheeks despite how hard you tried to keep them from spilling. The quiet sounds you made were a result of the runny nose that accompanied your tears. It all just felt so overwhelming, so scary. In a moment of quiet and scarce vulnerability, you tried to be brave. But it was so so hard.

Miguel felt his heart sink in his chest. Thoughts of annihilation and revenge washed away. Softened eyes stared down at you silently as he tried to form the right words to say to you to make the pain and fear melt away. But he couldn’t. Miguel was all too aware of the fact that he lacked the necessary eloquence. It pained him to see you trying to bottle it all up. His teeth sunk into his cheek as he scrambled internally. Finally, he loosened his tightly balled fist, letting it hang limp.

Rough, large knuckles brushed up against the back of your dainty hand. The gentle ghost of a caress, hardly grazing your flesh, almost like he was afraid you’d shatter. Warmth radiated off his hand as once again, it swept across your skin, featherlight. Your head lifted, attempting to gaze up at Miguel, but by this time, he’d turned his head away from you in a shallow attempt to hide his growing blush. Whether it had been due to your tear-blurred eyes or your own volition, you stepped hardly an inch closer to the giant, a faint smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

The rest of the trek back to your shabby apartment was quiet, muted were the sounds of Miguel’s grumbling. They were drowned out by the sounds of your indistinct humming. It was nearly impossible to hear, but it was the only thing Miguel could focus on as the two of you passed through your neighborhood. Entering a large, ten-story building, Miguel was only able to remember where he was in the flickering yellow lights of the hall to your apartment door.

Standing before your apartment, he swallowed thickly. Palms sweaty and the hair on the back of his neck standing on edge as you turned your back on him to unlock the door. You looked so small, so delicate, and so fucking pretty. He felt his heart race in his chest, nearly forgetting all together the events of nearly twenty minutes ago. Right now he just wanted to come inside with you and hold you in his arms. He wanted your body pressed against his chest, lulling him to sleep in the comfort of your bed. He wondered if those sheets smelled as sweet as you did, felt as soft to the touch. He tried to wondered if he’d prefer to rest his head amongst your pillows or your thighs, but he already knew the answer.

‘Please… please let me come in cariño… let me make you feel better… let me take care of you, just for tonight…’ he prayed to himself as he watched you open the door with caution.

Doe eyes stared up at him as his lips parted to speak. Just your gaze forced him mute. Rubbing the tears from your cheeks and smiling up at him with warmth and fondness, he thought he was going to fall to his knees right then and there.

“Thank you.. I-I really appreciate everything, sir.” You said gently, hardly above a whisper. It made Miguel savor your voice. The way it made his brain tingle and swim felt better than any liquor he’s ever had. He wanted to hear more of you, but more than anything he wanted to hear you say his name.

“It was no trouble at all. But please chula, from now on just call me Miguel…” He tried to offer the same warm smile you did but could hardly manage anything more than a sweet little smirk. Despite his expression though, you could see the light in his eyes. It was dull and flickering, but it was there, growing. You nodded your head and gave an airy half chuckle.

“Heh okay… Well then, good night… Miguel.” You spoke in the sweetest tone you could manage. Miguel felt a shiver travel down his spine. His cheeks flushed lightly and he swore he could feel his heart pounding behind his eyes. The way his name fell from your tongue made him weak and practically feral. For a moment he considered sweeping you off your feet and fucking you into the couch just so he could hear you say his name like that again. But instead he stood there, attempting to bite back his animalistic urges with his canines as you began to slip into your apartment. The door gently closed as he watched, standing there and thinking about all the ways he’d make you scream his name.

He tries to shake the thought loose but can’t. He can’t stop thinking about how sweet and obedient you’d be. How much you make his heart flutter and how crazy it drives him. Miguel feels a stirring in his chest, a queasiness that makes him feel sick for a moment as reality strolls back in. The fires of rage being stoked once more in your absence as he remembers what brought him to your apartment in the first place.

He can practically already taste blood on his tongue when he recalls the drunk from the restaurant. How terrified he made you, how something worse could’ve happened had Miguel not’ve been there. Through the haze of his anger he makes a decision, you’ll never be without protection again. He’ll always make sure you’re safe, constantly under the watchful eye of the family. Fuck if he could, he’d guard you himself, day and night.

No matter what or how, he’d keep you safe from the scum that roamed this city. He wouldn’t let the only pure thing in his life be tainted or taken away. Not again. God forbid anything did happen to you, Miguel would have to burn the whole city to the ground.

From that day forth, whenever he couldn’t watch over you himself Miguel would have one of his Spider’s watching over you. Jess or Ben would be the one’s usually sitting in an unmarked vehicle outside of Bellagino’s, stalking in the shadows to make sure you got home safe, reporting back to Miguel as he worked.

For a short while it satisfied him. That is until one night Jess reported she saw you opening the door for some friends, ushering them inside with glee as they carried bottles of wine and board games. Jess tried to explain it was fine, beyond normal even. But Miguel didn’t care. In fact he’d stopped listening to her the moment she said there was a man amongst the group of 4 that were permitted entry. Who the fuck was he? Why did he get to be so close to you? Jealousy washed over him, filling him to the brim.

‘It’s just for her protection…’ that’s what he told himself. Over and over again. Even when he had Peter install the little devices inside your house, while you were off at work. Miguel felt a tinge of guilt, sitting and watching you work with a smile on your face from his table. Meanwhile hidden surveillance cameras were being put in your bedroom, your kitchen, your bathroom, and your living room. It ate at him a little that he worried so much. But how could he not? He couldn’t let anything bad happen to you. This was for your safety, he knew better than to let you out of his sight. The last time he wasn’t watching carefully enough, it cost him… her.

No. He wouldn’t bury another person he cared about. Not when he had the power to do something about it this time. Not when you just started to warm up to him. You finally started to look him in the eye when he sat down at his usual spot. You finally started to smile at him and bless him with that angelic laugh. You started to loosen up and even stop and chat for a few minutes. Once on your break, you just sat and talked to him for the whole thirty minutes, telling him about your day and terrible jokes you thought he might like. All just to see him smile and laugh back at you. He couldn’t just let you slip away. Not when he knew what he’d do if he lost you.

As little as you knew it, you were holding his shattering mind together, keeping him from falling apart. If only you understood how much he needed you.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Time never stops. It marches on, dragging the corpse of yesterday behind it. Time never ceases and neither does the on going beating of hearts and whispers of hope that pray for a better tomorrow. With time came its companion, decay. A mysterious creature that made room in the world for new hope and potential. Miguel didn’t always enjoy time’s passage, nor did he adore it’s companion decay. But with the two, a third party marched, carrying a flag of promise and beauty. With time and decay, tread growth. A glorious and shining ray for tomorrow, growth lit a path for time, giving way for hope.

Everyday that he saw your glowing face, he could feel his heart beating and mending, little by little.

But Miguel was patient, slowly learning to accept time and the company it kept. He knew to bide his time and earn your trust. He knew that with time, you’d be his.

Taglist

@whisperwispxx @eatally @moonvoidpng @unicornbabygremlin @chshiresins @iloveyouall234-blog @amber-content

[petals2fish]

Toe Rag (Affectionately)

Read on A03

"Did you see Lily delivering a swift kick to Arnold Palmer’s balls in divination this morning?" Sirius inquired, dropping onto the bench beside James in the grand hall during lunch. "Fucking metal."

Peter and Remus glanced up from their seats across the table, mouths full, sporting amusing grins. Remus hastily swallowed, wiping his mouth with his sleeve as he enthusiastically nodded.

"I'm surprised she hasn't landed herself in detention by now," Remus remarked. "Palmer was on the ground, in tears."

"Any idea what Palmer said to provoke her?" Sirius questioned, loading his plate with meat pies.

"It doesn't matter what he said to her," James replied, rolling his eyes. "He probably had it coming."

"You'd defend her even if she kicked you in the balls," Peter chuckled, prompting Sirius and Remus to conceal their knowing grins behind their food.

"I'm a strong supporter of women's rights," James hastily defended himself, "including Lily's right to beat the shit out of anyone who irritates her."

Remus's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Then how do you manage to escape Lily’s wrath? You irritate her everyday."

James feigned disgust. "Moony, how dare you. I am her favorite person."

Sirius stared at James as though he had sprouted two heads. "She called you a ‘toe rag’ yesterday at dinner."

"Yeah, but lovingly," James retorted.

"I've never heard anyone called a 'toe rag' lovingly," Remus raised an eyebrow at James.

"Hey, guys," Lily interjected herself between Sirius and James, planting a kiss on James' cheek. James raised himself a bit higher in his chair, sporting a proud smirk in response.

Lily rolled her eyes at his reaction and remarked, "Eat your food, toe rag." Despite her words, a smile betrayed the affection in the term, causing the other boys to reconsider their earlier remarks.

"Do you have detention tonight?" James inquired of Lily.

"No," Lily replied as she buttered a scone, "Palmer was convinced to accept his punishment without snitching on me to the Professor."

"What did he say?" Peter asked, his curiosity evident.

Lily’s green eyes glowed with exasperation as she explained, “he said the tea leaves told him that I should show him my tits.”

All four boys erupted in outrage, drawing confused looks from those around them. Lily shushed them all, laughing at their indignant reactions. James couldn't fathom why she remained so composed; he was ready to seek out Palmer and transform him into a slug.

Lily likely noticed the fiery determination in his eyes, prompting her to toss her scone at his forehead, causing it to bounce off and land back on the table. "James," she warned, "sit down before I make you."

Grumbling, James reluctantly took his seat, exchanging a meaningful glance with Sirius, signaling that their business with Palmer was far from over. Sirius nodded in agreement, his eyes reflecting anger.

"Anyways, I'm pretty sure I made his chances of procreating 90% less likely than before," Lily declared, picking up the scone that had fallen onto James' plate.

"I hope you uninvited him to your birthday party tonight," James said, slinging an arm around Lily's shoulders and glaring towards the Ravenclaw table in search of Palmer's brown, buzzed hair.

Lily shrugged in his embrace. "I doubt it. He learned to value his life this afternoon, and he knows you and Sirius will be there."

"I don't see why James and I being there has anything to do with it," Sirius remarked, his tone deceptively calm.

"Please," Lily snorted, "don't act like the two of you aren't already telepathically planning your revenge on my behalf."

"Sirius and I don't communicate telepathically," James insisted, "and even if we did, we're well aware that you can handle yourself."

"Keep lying, Prongs," Lily patted his chest with the back of her hand, her tone lighthearted but her eyes full of knowing suspicion, "I've known you long enough to recognize when you're contemplating making someone barf slugs all night."

James chuckled, a warmth spreading through his chest at her remark. Her ability to read him like an open book was both a source of amusement and admiration. She had recently acquired the skill of distinguishing between the Marauders using their nicknames, and the fact that she used his without hesitation was a small delight that never failed to make his heart race. His hand slid down her back lovingly, tracing her sides until he was holding her at the dip in her hip, reveling in the comfort of her presence.

As they sat there, the great hall buzzing with the energy of fellow students eating their lunch, James found himself contemplating the idea of persuading her to spend the remainder of the evening curled up by the crackling fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. The dancing flames and the cozy ambiance seemed like the perfect setting for some quiet moments together, away from the boring classes they were subject to that Tuesday.

"I was actually considering turning him into a slug," James admitted with a mischievous glint in his eyes, savoring the way she blushed when his thumb brushed enticingly across her upper thigh. "But your idea is much better."

Lily turned her head to face him, her green eyes locking onto his with a mixture of amusement and something deeper. Her pupils were slightly wider than usual, perhaps a result of the intimacy of the moment or the thrill of his touch. She whispered, her voice a soft murmur that only heightened the intimacy of their conversation, "It's my birthday, and I don't want you in detention for it."

The air between them crackled with unspoken understanding, and James couldn't help but smile. He was more than willing to comply with her birthday wish, even if it meant putting aside his plans for revenge with Sirius.

He leaned closer, teasing, "Why? Do you have plans for us tonight, Evans?"

She licked her lips, replying carefully, "Well, Mary's making cake."

"I can think of something sweeter." James whispered, winking. 

Remus, with a half groan of annoyance, extended his arm across the worn wooden table, brandishing a succulent drumstick like a playful weapon. He thrust the piece of chicken into James' unsuspecting mouth, prompting an immediate protest from the latter. Startled, James leaned back, his eyes widening as he hastily spit out the uninvited mouthful onto his plate. 

In an attempt to regain composure, Lily took a deep breath, filling her lungs with air, and shifted her attention to her lunch, feigning an intense interest in her food choice to divert any lingering feelings someplace else. James’ hand dug tighter into her side, refusing to let her get too far in response to Remus’ action.

“Can I flirt with my girlfriend in peace, please?” James asked with a snap. 

Dryly, Remus remarked, "You two disgust me sometimes."

[im-a-wonderling]

Seven Years of Bad Luck ~ George Weasley

Summary: The golden trio needs Y/N’s help, but George hates his wife being in danger

Warnings: none that I can think of? Let me know if there should be!

Word count: 6.3k

Y’all I’m so proud of the way this turned out, so I hope you like it!

“Absolutely not!” George Weasley leapt to his feet from his charcoal gray couch, glaring at Harry Potter with a fiery look in his eyes that rivaled the brilliant shade of his hair.

“Why not?” Harry argued, also getting to his feet. “This is life and death!”

“We wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t,” Ron cut in, and Hermione nodded. 

George scowled, far from convinced. “Look, Harry, I get that this is important “chosen one” business, and I am happy to see the three of you are still alive, but you’re not dragging Y/N into your top-secret mission. She’s a person, not a tool.”

“I know that,” Harry replied defensively. 

“And yet,” George said hotly, his hand gestures getting more and more animated, “you’re here in my living room at three o’clock in the morning to ask Y/N to use her powers when you know how that affects her!” He rubbed his forehead. “How did you guys even find this house? It’s been charmed to high heaven!”

Ron and Harry looked at Hermione, who shrugged. “You’re trying so hard to keep You-Know-Who out, it doesn’t seem to matter who else slips in.”

George rolled his eyes. Sometimes the young witch was too bright for her own good. “Well, if you found your way in, it means you can find your way out again.”

“But we have to talk to Y/N!” Harry protested. 

George folded his arms stubbornly. “You’re not going to.”

“Surely there’s no harm in at least asking for her help,” Ron said, and George immediately rounded on him.

“You know as well as I do that she can never say no to anyone, even if it kills her.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Hermione replied in her know-it-all voice. “No one’s ever died while attempting catoptromancy.”

George glared at the bushy-haired witch, who shrank into his brother’s side, looking terrified. “Maybe they haven’t died, but they have lost their minds. When Y/N and I first moved here, I had to remove every mirror in this house before she’d even step foot inside.”

“Please?” Harry begged. “It’s very important.” From behind Harry, Ron nodded gravely.

George’s nostrils flared, giving the impression he was a wild bull about to charge. “Do you mind telling me exactly what is so important that you’re willing to force my wife into insanity?”

Harry glanced uneasily at his best friends, and George didn’t like their solemn expressions. 

“We…erm…” Ron trailed off, his courage buckling under the wrath burning in his brother’s face. “We can’t tell you,” he muttered, his face flushing a bright red. 

George’s eyes flashed like lightning, and the trio knew the storm was right on top of them, for his thunderous words followed immediately after. “Get out of my house!” he roared. 

In the silence that followed his order, all four of them heard the same sound: feet on the stairs. 

“George?” 

Harry, Hermione, and Ron had never seen George’s temper deflate so quickly as he strode to the staircase, just in time to meet Y/N at the bottom. 

They all knew she’d just woken up, for she smothered a yawn, and there was a light, floral robe wrapped around her. “What’s going on?” Y/N asked, rubbing at her sleepy eyes.

George gently rested his hands on her shoulder, turning her around. “Nothing, honey, just go back upstairs, okay? I’ll be up there soon.”

But before Y/N had even climbed one stair, Harry piped up. “Y/N, we need your help.” Y/N immediately faced the trio, and George shot a glower so powerful in Harry’s direction, it nearly made him lose his nerve. 

“Don’t listen to them,” George said, starting to push his wife up the stairs. “Just go back to bed, okay?”

George’s wife ducked around him, walking towards Harry. “You need my help with what?” 

“Don’t you dare–” George started to say. 

“We need your divination skills,” Ron explained, shooting his brother an apologetic look. Judging by George’s barely concealed rage, Ron wasn’t forgiven. There was no indication Y/N seemed scared by their request. Her eyes just darted between the three friends, waiting for elaboration. 

Harry glanced at his friends before facing Y/N. “The mission that Dumbledore gave us…to complete it, there’s an object we have to find.” Behind Harry, Ron scratched his neck, clearly feeling awkward. 

“What’s the object?” Y/N asked. “Why do you need it?”

“We can’t tell you why,” Harry replied. He expected George to blow up immediately, but George stayed silent, watching his wife. The whole room went quiet as Y/N seemed to digest Harry’s answer. Admittedly, Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn’t know Y/N that well, for she’d been in a different house and a different year than them, but she didn’t seem scared. Perhaps George had only been exaggerating Y/N’s fear of her own capability. 

“I told them to get lost,” George finally said, coming to stand beside his wife. “They don’t know how–”

Y/N lightly jabbed her husband in the side with her elbow. “Of course I will help.”

Harry sagged with relief. “Thank you so much, Y/N, you have no idea–”

“Y/N,” George interrupted, his tone warning.

His wife looked over at him. “They need help. I can’t turn them away.”

George lifted a hand to cup her face. “I can.” His voice wasn’t loud or hostile like it’d been when he’d been talking to Harry. It was tender, enough that Harry, Ron, and Hermione all averted their eyes, feeling like they were intruding. “I love you,” George continued, “but your powers are dangerous, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Y/N covered his hand with hers. “Thanks to Galloglass, I’ve been doing so much better. Remember the last time I used his psychomanteum? It wasn’t nearly as bad as it used to be.”

“You passed out, and you were weak for months!” George protested.

“And I got back up on my feet, thanks to you. So if you help me, we can do it again.”

George stuck out his chin. “It’s not safe.”

“If they don’t succeed in their mission, You-Know-Who will kill us all.” She looked at the trio. “Right?”

“Yes,” Hermione said firmly. 

“See?” Y/N addressed George again. “This is the right thing to do.”

“The only way we even have a chance of getting any useful information is if we use the psychomanteum again, and that place is crawling with Death Eaters looking for muggleborns.”

“So we’ll be careful and quick,” Y/N said soothingly. “We’ll be in and out, and You-Know-Who will never know we were even there.”

George’s eyebrows lowered at the mention of the Death Eaters’ leader. “But if the Death Eaters catch you while you’re using your catoptromancy, who knows what You-Know-Who would do? He’d turn you into a weapon, and I can guarantee that he will not care about your sanity!”

“If You-Know-Who succeeds, it’s only a matter of time before they find me anyways.”

“It’s not safe,” George said stubbornly. “Galloglass said if you strain yourself too much, you could fracture your mind.”

“So then you can be the one to pull me back if I start to go too far. You can be my voice of reason.” She grabbed his hand, a wry smile on her face. “It’s high time you took a turn being the voice of reason in this relationship anyways.”

George stayed silent, causing everyone in the room to anxiously hold their breath, including Y/N. Then, George exhaled harshly. “If I were to agree to this, you’d listen to me, right? If I told you that you were straining yourself too hard or that it’d become too dangerous, you’d take my words into consideration?”

Y/N nodded.

“Okay,” George said reluctantly. “But I’m there every step of the way.”

Y/N smiled up at him. “I would want nothing less.”

“Alright.” George stepped away from his wife, still clutching her hand as he faced Harry again. “You three ready for a field trip?”

-

None of the young witches and wizards had ever been to Diagon Alley before the sun rose, and it wasn’t an experience any of them wanted to have again. Most of the shops were closed down—due to the fear that was sweeping through the magical community like a plague—but even the ones that were still open didn’t look a fraction as jolly as Diagon Alley used to be.

You-Know-Who’s authoritative grip on the magical community was nearly complete. 

Y/N and George skittered down the cobblestone road, looking over their shoulders often, as if they’d forgotten Harry, Ron, and Hermione were following under the invisibility cloak and were expecting to see them. George kept surveying their surroundings, his hand tightly gripping the wand in his pocket, ready to spring into action if danger dared to show its face. 

Thankfully, there were very few other witches and wizards loitering on the street, and they all seemed to have secrets of their own.

The group had almost reached their destination when George slowed. Y/N slowed with him, much to the confusion of the trio underneath the cloak…until they realized what shop they’d stopped in front of.

Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

The previously colorful and welcoming shop was completely closed down, with wooden boards nailed over the doors and windows. 

George felt his wife squeeze his hand. 

“You and Fred will open it back up,” she said softly. 

“Yeah,” George said, but he didn’t look hopeful or even convinced. He felt an invisible hand squeeze his shoulder, and despite the fact that George didn’t know whose hand it was, he felt comforted enough to keep walking. 

Y/N led the group to a shop three doors down from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, a shop that the trio could’ve sworn they’d never seen before.

Janus Galloglass, the words on the sign read. Scrying mirrors, enchanted mirrors, and haunted mirrors sold here!

Y/N rested a hand on the doorknob, and there was an audible click as the door unlocked. “I’m here so often, the door’s enchanted to let me in,” she murmured. “Now whatever you do,” she warned as she pushed the door open, “don’t look at your reflections. My knowledge is rusty when it comes to mirror magic, and I’d rather not have to fight any of the spirits or spells in these mirrors.”

With those chilling words, everyone followed her inside, dutifully keeping their eyes down, even if the shop was so dark, they most likely wouldn’t have been able to see anything anyways. 

As soon as the door behind them was closed, Harry threw the cloak off, revealing himself, Ron, and Hermione. 

“Lumos,” Y/N muttered, the tip of her redwood wand igniting to show the way forward through the cramped shop. 

If any member of the group had looked up from the worn wooden planks of the floor, they would’ve seen the largest mirror any of them had ever seen just beside the door. The whole Order of the Phoenix could’ve fit in front of that mirror with room to spare. They also would’ve seen the shelves in the middle of the shop holding every kind of mirror imaginable. Some were handheld, some propped up on their own, some were exceptionally plain, some had detailed frames that looked ancient and expensive.

But all had danger lurking inside.

“I hate this place,” George muttered as Y/N led the group through the shop.

Y/N had to agree. Even if she had grown less afraid around mirrors, she still couldn’t squash the unease that dogged her every step. 

“Why are we here?” Harry asked, as they weaved their way around the shelves.

“Oh, why are we in this creepy shop at four in the morning instead of sound asleep in our safe beds?” George asked. “Because someone decided–” 

Y/N elbowed her husband again. “There’s a psychomanteum in the basement that Galloclass lets me use.” 

Ron glanced over at Hermione. “What is a ‘psychomanteum’?”

“It’s a dark room catoptromancers go to use their powers,” Hermione explained. “The room is set up to help keep the catoptromancer safe while they attempt to see the future, including an enchanted mirror.”

“Mirrors,” Y/N corrected as she started leading them down a staircase. The trio exchanged looks, but George followed her with no hesitation. 

A stark contrast to the room above, the psychomanteum was bare. The black walls seemed to move slightly, as if they were incapable of being solid, and every now and then, there seemed to be something moving just on the other side of the watery barriers.

“Is this room safe?” Ron asked, eyeing the walls. 

George’s grim expression was answer enough. 

“Catoptromancy always has risks,” Y/N explained. “But here is a safer place to do it than anywhere else.” 

That wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement, and now the trio understood why Y/N didn’t have a psychomanteum in her own home.

Harry opened his mouth, intending to ask where the mirrors were when he saw, at the end of the room, three plain, full-length mirrors stood side-by-side. The one in the center stood parallel to the wall behind it, while the others were at an angle, like the covers of an open book.

“It’s okay to look at these reflections,” Y/N explained as she lit a few candles the others hadn’t noticed, “but stay back. The catoptromancy won’t work if the magical radius is interrupted.” 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione shrank back, hovering uncertainly at the foot of the stairs. George, however, stood in the middle of the room, closely monitoring his wife’s every move as she approached the mirrors, pulling on her fingers as if she were counting them. 

They all could tell she was nervous now. 

She stopped just in front of the center mirror, and, thanks to the angle of the side mirrors, she had many reflections, all chewing anxiously on their lips. “We’ll need silencing charms in this room if we don’t want Death Eater company.”

“I got it,” Hermione said, quickly pulling out her wand.

“What else can we do?” George asked as Hermione started muttering spells at the bottom of the stairs. 

Y/N squared her shoulders. “Someone should be ready to cast the Shield Charm, because sometimes things can come out.” 

“Come out?” Ron squeaked, and his brother shot him a look. Ron cleared his throat. “I mean, I’ll do that.”

Harry stepped forward. “What can I do?”

“When we’re ready, you’ll need to describe what it is that you want to know.” Harry nodded tersely. Y/N nodded back. “George?” she asked, her voice shaking a little. 

“I’m here,” he said immediately, taking a step forward, despite her warning. “How can I help?”

Her eyes found his in the reflection. “You’re in charge. You’re the one to talk me down when I’m in my stupor.” Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn’t know what that could possibly mean, but George nodded grimly. 

The trio waited with bated breath, eager for Y/N to begin. 

But she just stood there, fidgeting. 

“Hey,” George said, a playful smirk on his face. “If you faced down Snape during your N.E.W.T.s  and walked away with an ‘Outstanding’ in potions, you can do this in your sleep.”

Y/N snorted, and George seemed to relax slightly at the sound. “You’re right.” She rubbed her hands together, like she was trying to generate warmth. “Okay.” After shaking out her arms, Y/N shut her eyes, breathing in and out. 

When nothing seemed to happen, Harry looked at Ron—who shrugged—and then Hermione—who just held up her hands in an I-don’t-even-know gesture. She’d always hated divination anyways.

As Harry debated asking George what came next, the sound of Y/N’s breath started to carry, creating a cascade of echoes through the chamber. The whoosh of her lungs became so loud, Harry felt as though he were actually inside of her body, hearing the air go in and out. 

Then, with each breath, the room seemingly dropped a few degrees, and the very building shuddered around them. Harry glanced at his friends, seeing his worry matched in their expressions. Then he looked at George and saw twice as much concern in his face. 

When Y/N opened her eyes again, Hermione let out a little gasp, for Y/N’s eyes were completely clouded over, looking quite like the crystal balls with milky white smoke inside. 

George nudged Harry, who cleared his throat. “Right, Y/N, we need to find a cup.” Y/N didn’t blink or move, and George gestured for Harry to keep going. “It used to belong to Helga Hufflepuff, and it’s the artifact for the Hufflepuff house.”

Y/N’s eyes stayed fixed on some distant point of interest, but her breathing quickened. 

“Something’s happening,” Ron whispered, and he was right. 

The three mirrors no longer reflected the room’s occupants. Instead, a milky white ink matching the clouds in Y/N’s eyes started to swirl in the mirrors.

George grabbed Harry’s shoulder. “Harry, keep going, keep describing the cup.”

“It’s a golden goblet with two handles, and it has the badger on the side.” As the words left Harry’s mouth, the cup appeared in the center mirror, directly in front of Y/N. “That’s it!” Harry cried. “Where is it?”

The cup grew smaller and smaller.

“Why’s it getting farther away?” Hermione asked, sounding petrified. 

“Just give her a second.” George licked his lips. “She just needs time.”

George was right, for as the cup got further away, the background started to form, spanning across all three mirrors. The cup rested on a shelf in a dark room, surrounded by other precious objects of gold and silver. 

“There’s other things there,” said Harry, stating the obvious. “But where’s there?”

The picture continued to grow smaller, as if someone was holding a camera and stepping away. The more the location came into view, the more precious pieces appeared. Beside a neat stack of gold bars lay piles of galleons, sickles and knuts, and there were many antiques that no one had names for. 

“It’s a whole room of treasure,” Hermione breathed, and her reverence was justified. One-sixteenth of this collection would be enough to set anyone up for life. 

“Maybe it’s a hoard?” Ron suggested, shifting his weight. 

Y/N’s shoulders started rising and falling as her breathing grew more ragged. George turned to Harry. “We’ll need to stop soon, she’s reaching the end of her rope.”

“But we’re so close!” Harry objected. “We have to keep going!”

George’s head turned back towards the mirrors. The image continued to zoom out, but it was slowing down as Y/N’s breathing grew more labored. 

“She can’t take much more!” George snapped. 

“We need to see more,” Harry demanded. George stepped towards Harry, looking ready to hit him, when Ron slid in between them, holding them both at bay. 

“Guys, look!” Hermione shouted, and everyone looked at the mirror just as the view came through the doorway, and the door shut, as if by some invisible force. 

Harry recognized it immediately. “It’s a vault!” he said excitedly, turning to his friends. “The cup is in a vault in Gringotts!” He watched the mirrors eagerly. That eagerness started to fade, however, when Harry saw his own form materialize in the center mirror, covered in dirt and looking ragged. 

“Harry, it’s time to stop,” George said, but Harry didn’t seem to hear him. 

“Y/N, we need to see the number of the vault, show us the numbers!”

“Stop it,” George hissed, grabbing Harry’s shoulder. 

But one by one, the numbers on the vault started to sharpen and come into focus.

“Seven!” Ron said. “Two!” 

Suddenly, the zooming out sped up, the perspective tilting. 

“Did anyone see what the last number was?” Harry cried, but George was far beyond the point of caring. 

“Y/N, stop!” George cried, and Y/N stumbled, as if some unseen force had pushed her. George tried to run towards her, but an invisible barrier stopped him. “Y/N!” George shouted, pounding on the barrier. “Y/N!” 

“What’s happening?” Ron asked, looking horrified. 

“Her catoptromancy’s in control now!” George shouted. “It’s keeping me away so the job can be finished!”

The picture in the mirror continued to spiral, quicker and quicker, somewhat reminiscent of a muggle rollercoaster. 

“Y/N, breathe, it’s okay, remember you’re in control!” George yelled. 

The image started to settle a bit, but not on a sight any of them wanted to see. 

“It’s a dragon!” Harry exclaimed.

In a large underground chamber stood a large, white dragon. Chains wrapped around its neck, and streaks of blood ran down the scales directly underneath the restraints. As if the dragon had heard Harry, it turned towards the mirror and opened its mouth, the temperature in the room spiking.

“Ron!” George bellowed, just before flames started to spew from the dragon’s mouth. 

“Aguamenti!” A burst of water flew from the tip of Ron’s wand. The invisible barrier seemed to be gone as the water drenched everything. 

A great amount of steam burst through the room, and the trio instinctually covered their faces.

George, however, ran forwards, straight toward his wife, who was already crumpling. He slid, just barely catching Y/N before she collided with the ground. “Y/N?” he asked, shaking her slightly, but her cloudy eyes were unblinking. 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at the mirrors. The dragon had gone, and the surface of the mirrors had returned to their previous smoky appearance, but a few shades darker. 

“Y/N!” George shouted, gently laying her down on the floor, crouching over her. “Y/N, it’s George, are you okay?” 

YN didn’t stir.

“You did so well, “ George said, his voice cracking as he lifted his hand to gently shut her eyes. “You got exactly what they needed, but it’s time to wake up now.”

Covering her mouth with her hand, Hermione reached out for Ron, who wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder. 

George tapped the side of her face. “Honey, it’s time to wake up, okay?”

All Harry could do was stare as Y/N’s husband stroked her hair. “She’s not breathing,” Harry said dumbly. “Why isn’t she breathing?”

George kept talking, as if he hadn’t heard him. “We’ll go home, and I’ll make you blueberry pancakes, how does that sound? All you have to do is open your eyes, come on baby, open those beautiful eyes for me.”

Y/N’s eyes snapped open, but there was no sign of her irises or pupils. Her eyes were completely clouded over, but unlike before, these clouds were growing darker and darker. “No, no, honey, you need to come back.” George’s voice steadily rose in volume as his wife remained unresponsive. “You don’t get to leave me this way!”

Hermione pressed her face into Ron’s chest, her shoulders shaking. Tears streaked down Ron’s face as he watched his brother try to revive his wife. 

“Wake up!” George’s voice was shrill. “This is not the end, you hear me? Wake up!”

Harry stepped forward, putting his hand on George’s shoulder, but George twisted away from him. He lifted his wife’s head, resting it in his lap. “C’mon, Y/N, show me those beautiful eyes.” A tear splashed onto Y/N’s cheek, and George swiped at his eyes. “I love you so much, Y/N, I do, so you can’t do this, you hear me?”

There was no acknowledgement, and the only movement in the entire room was from the jet black clouds in the mirror.

George’s head jerked up with a savage urgency, and the trio shrank away from him, but he wasn’t looking at them. “The mirrors,” he said to himself, like he was in a trance. Then, all at once, George surged to his feet, running towards the dark smoke.

“What are you–” Ron started to ask.

George’s fist collided with the mirror on the right, and the resulting harsh shattering sound made the trio wince and cover their ears. The fracture ran the length of the mirror, the cracks radiating out like a spider web. As George pulled his fist back to smash the next mirror, his raw knuckles caught the light. 

He didn’t seem to care about that, already ramming his hand into the center mirror. This time, a pained groan escaped from George’s lips as his skin split open, but he turned to the final mirror, determination in his drawn face as he delivered the last blow.

Smash!

As the ruptures appeared in the third mirror, a sharp inhale sounded from behind George. George spun around, fist still where he’d punched the mirror, just in time to see Y/N’s eyes flutter open, her irises back to their normal color.

Harry and Hermione sighed with relief, and Ron let out a: “Oh, thank Merlin.”

George merely fell to his knees and pulled Y/N’s head into his lap again. “What happened?” she rasped as she blinked up at her husband. “Where am I?”

“You’re okay,” George told her wetly, wiping his own tears off her face. “You used your catoptromancy to help my brother, but you’re good now.”

“Did it work?” Y/N mumbled, her eyelids sagging. 

George lifted his head to look at the trio. “Did you get what you needed?” 

Harry nodded, as if he didn’t trust his voice. 

George looked back to his wife. “Yes, it worked, you did such a good job, I’m so proud of you.”

“You’re proud?” she managed to say.

Her husband choked back a sob. “So, so proud.”

Y/N’s eyes fell closed, but a soft smile appeared on her face.

“George,” Ron said quietly, and George reluctantly looked up at his brother. “Look.”

George followed Ron’s gaze to the shattered mirrors.

They were once again reflecting like normal mirrors, but from every crack oozed a strange black liquid. It dripped down, streaking the broken mirrors and mixing with George’s blood. The group had never seen anything like it.

“Talk about seven years of bad luck,” George said with a shaky grin, but no one laughed.

-

When the group returned to George and Y/N’s house, George gently laid his wife on the couch. “You relax here, and I’ll go make some breakfast, okay?”

Y/N hummed, her eyes shutting as soon as her head fell on the pillow.

George watched her, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. 

He remembered the day they’d gotten this couch. They’d decided on the style, but they couldn’t decide on the color. George hadn’t wanted anything too light, because then it would get dirty too easily. On the flip side, Y/N hadn’t wanted anything too dark. We have too much gloominess in our lives already, she’d told him, before caving and letting him get the dark gray couch. 

Looking at her pallid face now, he knew she was right. 

Hermione and Harry stayed beside the couch, uneasily watching Y/N, but Ron followed George to the kitchen. Once George was out of sight of the living room, he gripped the counter, letting his head hang as he released a slow, tense breath.

“Are you okay?” Ron asked, quietly enough that his friends wouldn’t hear.

“What do you think?” George replied. 

Ron wisely kept his mouth shut, merely watching his brother struggle to collect his composure. 

“I wish I could say I’ll never let her do that again,” George said finally, “but I know that if you three showed up tomorrow asking for help, she’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“I’m sorry,” was Ron’s reply, but it sounded as if he had no idea what he was apologizing for. 

George let out a sound halfway between amusement and disbelief. “If this was anybody’s fault, you’d bet I’d be hexing some eyebrows a neon pink right now.”

Ron shook his head, but couldn’t help his laugh. “George, I’m serious.”

His older brother looked at him. “You’re right. If I did that, Y/N would just shave off mine while I slept as payback.”

Ron knew George was trying to deflect using his most powerful weapon: his humor. Ron wanted to keep pressing his brother for some authenticity, but unfortunately, he knew if he were in this situation, he’d be handling it with far less grace than his older brother. 

With great effort, George started getting out the materials for pancakes. “Are the three of you staying for breakfast?”

“No,” Hermione said from behind Ron, who turned to see her standing beside Harry in the entryway of the kitchen. “We should probably go.”

George nodded as he poured a cup of flour into the bowl. “You have a cup to find.”

Nobody said anything. George measured three teaspoons of baking powder and dropped them into the bowl. 

“George,” Harry said, “if I’d known–”

“Shhhh.” The redhead didn’t look up from his mixing bowl, but his voice was reassuring. “You couldn’t have known, and Y/N wouldn’t want you beating yourself up over it.”

“But she could’ve died,” Harry burst out. “If you hadn’t been there or-or if I’d pushed any harder, who knows what could’ve happened?!”

George dusted his hands on his pants as he walked over to Harry. Harry tensed, as if he were preparing to take a punch, but George just wrapped his arms around him. Judging by the shocked look on Harry’s face, a hug was the last thing he expected. It took a moment before Harry hugged him back. 

George pulled away, earnesty all over his face. “She made the decision. Even if–” George’s voice faltered. “Even if it had ended in the worst possible way, she still would’ve gladly done it to help you.”

Harry looked down at the floor, guilt written all over his face. 

“Listen to me. She was right. If I were in her shoes and you told me I could’ve done something to help take down You-Know-Who, I would’ve done whatever I could to help you guys.” Hermione and Ron rested their hands on Harry’s back as George smiled at him. “You’re our best hope, Harry. Whatever we can do to keep the hope alive, we will.”

Harry nodded solemnly. “Will you…will you tell her ‘thank you’ when she wakes up? She was a huge help.” Ron and Hermione nodded vehemently. 

George grinned. “I’m not sure she’ll believe it, but I most certainly will tell her.” His expression turned stern. “I will also tell her that you won’t be asking her to use her catoptromancy again any time soon.”

Harry winced and nodded. George walked them to the front door. He gave Hermione a side-hug and shook Harry’s hand. Then, he turned to his little brother with a smile. 

Ron gave his brother a bear hug. “Stay alive, okay?”

“Same goes for you,” George replied. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

A mischievous smile appeared on Ron’s face. “So I have free reign to dye some eyebrows neon pink?”

George snorted. “Okay, fine, don’t do anything Percy wouldn’t do.” Ron smiled at his brother. “I’ll tell Mum and Dad I saw you and that you’re okay.”

Ron’s smile turned wistful, but Hermione took his hand, which seemed to steady him. The three of them walked down the path of the house, reaching the end of the lawn and waving before Disapparating. 

George stood watching the place they’d been. He knew his mother would shout at him and quite possibly box his ears for seeing Ron and letting Ron go. But George also knew that whatever they were doing would be crucial before the end. Still, his heart was heavy as he looked to the sky, the rising sun turning the clouds vibrant oranges and pinks. 

Slowly, he shut the door and returned to making pancakes.

George could’ve waved the wand safely stowed in his pocket and had the pancakes making themselves, but he wanted to linger in the kitchen.

For every bit he loved Y/N, it was hard to see his strong, self-sufficient wife so pale, so weak. George’d never been good at watching his loved ones be in pain, especially when there was nothing to be done about it except watch.

Pancakes were easy, and he knew that once he was done, he’d be drowning in his own helplessness again.

But when the fresh blueberry pancakes lay steaming on a plate, he knew it was time to go check on Y/N.

Her eyes were already open when he tentatively returned to the living room, and his stomach sank when he saw how still she lay. “Hey,” he said gently, kneeling beside the couch. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” she said, in a voice far too frail for that statement to be true. 

“Let’s get some food in you, yeah?” Y/N nodded, and she tried to sit up. “Don’t you dare get up,” George barked. “I’ll bring it to you.” Y/N didn’t protest, and George brought her a plate drowning in syrup, just the way she liked her pancakes.

“Just one?” Y/N said with a frown, causing George to chuckle.

“If or when you finish it, I’ll bring you another.” He placed the fork in her hand, closing her fingers around it.

Y/N clumsily cut a piece of the pancake, the fork shaking as she raised the bite of breakfast to her mouth. Once her lips closed around the bite of food, her hand fell to her side, still clutching the fork. 

Wordlessly, George took the fork from her hand and cut the next bite. He fed her, slowly, allowing her all the time she needed to chew and swallow. Somehow, chewing and swallowing had never seemed so difficult—or so precious—before. 

“I must say,” George said with a smile, “I’m suddenly in love with the sounds of your chewing.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the soft smile on her face made him feel like he’d won a great big prize. The more she ate, he noticed with great satisfaction, the more the color returned to her face. When the plate was empty, Y/N sat back in her place against the arm of the couch, looking much better, much more alert. 

“Are you hungry for more?” George asked. Y/N shook her head. “Are you sleepy?” She shook her head again. The restlessness reared its ugly head. “Are there some socks you need ironed or perhaps some carpet that needs dusting?”

She laughed quietly, looking the very picture of contentment. “No, but you can hold me.”

George didn’t hesitate. He set the plate down on their coffee table and carefully laid in between the back of the couch and Y/N, wrapping his arms around her. She nestled into his arms and rested her head on his chest, a soft smile on her face. 

For a while, they were both silent. George watched the sunlight from the nearby window creep across the carpet. It should’ve been relaxing, just the two of them sitting here, awake, but not speaking. 

Unfortunately, George’s thoughts kept returning to the ordeal his wife had just endured. 

The woman in his arms, the love of his life, had almost died today. He’d almost lost this beautiful creature to the fearsome power lurking within that powerful mind of hers. Despite the fact that he did everything he could, it almost hadn’t been enough to bring her back.

The thought made him shudder and pull her closer to him.

“I’m not looking forward to reimbursing Galloglass for those mirrors,” he commented. 

Instead of laughing, Y/N twisted to face him, her hand catching his and bringing it up to her eyes to inspect the fresh damage to his knuckles. “Does this hurt?” she asked him, her voice small.

“Only about as much as a bite from a garden gnome,” George lied, because, really, they didn’t hurt, not at any level of pain worth mentioning.

Y/N began running a finger down his cheek, tracing the path of his earlier tears. “Are you okay?”

George felt trapped, trying to find some way around the question. “I should be asking you that,” he said. 

“You already have, so now it’s my turn.” 

Darn his wife for knowing him so well. 

She rested a hand on his jaw, soothingly running her thumb across his cheek. “Are you okay?” she repeated.

With a shuddering breath, George buried his face into her neck. “No,” he replied, his voice muffled. 

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked, one of her arms winding around his waist. 

“Can you just give me a second?” Y/N’s eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. “I just need us to stay like this,” George clarified, his grip on her tightening. “Just for a little while.”

Y/N lifted a hand, starting to run her hands through his hair. “Okay.” She kissed his cheek. “Okay, we’ll just stay like this.”

Neither of them said anything for a while, and slowly, George felt the knots in his stomach loosen. Nothing healed him so well as proximity to his wife. 

But he felt himself getting antsy, his brain begging for some humor to relieve the emotional charge in the room. “I’m getting rid of this couch,” he finally said. “You’re right, it’s too depressing.” He didn’t need to tell her that it wasn’t due to the color, but due to this whole night. 

He waited for an I-told-you-so, but when Y/N didn’t answer, he looked down to see her eyes shut and her breathing even. 

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to her forehead, breathing in the smell of her hair. “You get to pick the next couch,” he promised her. “Stick with me, and I’ll get you all the couches in the world.”

-

If you enjoyed this, please reblog and read my other George Weasley fanfic called Is It Still Punishment if It Was Worth It?

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle​ @valiantlytransparentwhispers​

[yostresswritinggirl]

You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to; I just thought of this as a cute idea. So, you know know each character has a set of, “About *insert character*” voice lines? What if Scara had a “About puppet reader” voiceline and vice versa? What would they be?

Finally got to answering this!

This is such a cute idea and I may have gone overboard on this! However, I didn't do one for Reader's voicelines, that's something unique to everyone and I want the reader themselves to have their own voice so as compensation - enjoy!

(This ask is related to a published story called Kintsugi, spoilers ahead if you haven't read it yet)

For all versions

About Puppet Reader:

You and your savior complex. Haven't you peered into my memories already? You've gotten all the information you need, I'm not speaking matters about them to you of all people, you've gotten the upper hand for far too long...

When It Rains: (friendship level 4)

Is it raining on your side too...

About Puppet Reader: Kintsugi

It is not my place to answer that, but if your annoying curiousity ends up hurting them - well, you'd be facing the wrath of my newfound power and a different kind of bloodlust. Hehehe, that face... I'm glad you know I'm not fooling around.

For the Canon Ending

About Dottore: Betrayal

I was too foolish, blinded by my own ambition and too careless to see the strings he's been pulling all this time. What else is there to say? The moment I see him, I'll tear him apart for even touching what's mine.

About Regrets: (friendship level 6)

*whispering* No, they're not weak, they'll survive. Even as innocent as they are, they're not naive but - Traveler, if you were in their place, would you... would you be able to forgive me?

Tsk, nevermind. Forget this ever happened.

For the good ending (calling it the Omamori Ending/AU)

Chat: Joining the Party

Alright, I'm here, let's get going. Slow down? Hah, maybe for you, but I've no time for chitchat. The sooner we're done here, the sooner I'm back home.

About Puppet Reader:

That look on your face - what? Can't believe someone like them is associated with me? If I had to pick one person to spend eternity with, I'll gladly destroy the rest of the world so it would be just us. Aren't I romantic? ... Why are you looking at me like that?

About Wanderer: Omamori Charm

It's just a protection charm. (Y/N) had picked up the hobby of making crafts recently, and this is just one of their many talents. You want one for yourself? Psh, please, you'd be a waste of their time - so don't ask them for one.

About Puppet Reader: Kindness

Such pure heart for a puppet wronged by this cruel world... A kindness like that is proof that they are of divine origins, something humans like you could never achieve. And that's exactly why no one else is worthy to stand by them but me.

About Wanderer: Wedding Ring (unlocked after wedding sq)

I'm glad your eyesight is still intact. If you're aware of my predicament now, why are you still separating me from my spouse for your nonsensical tasks?

When the Wind is Blowing (friendship level 4)

Little bird*... You better not be lost on your way home again *sigh*

Hope you liked it as much as I did writing it! Super fun oh it reminds me so much of Universe Reversal voiceline prompts hehe there would be more but this would just end up being a whole ass document if ever

*refers to Kouta, name of the bird they adopted to send letters

[aihaitahm]

jingyuan with hyrid cat gn! reader

cw reader has trust issues and overthinks.

idk why this didnt appear in the hashtag earlier for no goddamn reason </3 algorithm sucks :(

part 1

“i… like you… a lot!”

“hmm? sorry i didnt get that. could you repeat yourself once more?” the snoozing general teased, as he stares at you, eyes filled with mischief yet with affection. enjoying the small distance between you both, brushing his gloved hand on your cheek. curious enough to touch your ears but of course he didnt have the permission. yet.

“well listen carefully yea? i said i… i like you a lot and i hate how… my tail swings when i get excited to report to you or when my ears perk whenever you call out my name or whenever i see you in a poster or hear someone mention your name. no matter how much i avoid you, you somehow always catch me and i dont know if you… feel the same if you’re just teasing me or if you actually like me.”

jing yuan’s eyes soften. he wasnt sure what made him like you but for sure, he knew you are different, you are you and thats how he started liking you. he starts looking into your widen eyes and just lovingly stares at you. eyes are windows to the soul after all. he loves how you do things, how dedicated you are to everyone around you. he loves your style, how you present yourself, how hardworking you are for xianzhou luofu and especially to master diviner fu xuan.

“(name) i like you because i actually really like you. the moment i saw you, i instantly was intrigued, of course may be it was because you were a hybrid cat and i happen to be a cat person but it is more than that dear. the more we interacted, the more i became continuously surprise on how much i can keep liking you deeper. eventually i started admiring you for… you. these feelings that i hold are only for you, that is if you accept them. have i mentioned that the heaven’s really blessed me to see someone as ethereal as you breathe the same air as me?”

your eyes soften as his confession, quite flustered. ears now relaxed, and tail swinging. you held onto his neck, tiptoeing because this man is literally a giant. no matter how tall you were, he could still tower you.

“i…. accept.” you muttered quietly, fiddling on his collar.

jing yuan smiled. he was about to let go until he was grabbed by the face. he certainly was not expecting you cupping his face and kissing him in the lips. he gladly reciprocated and indulged your beautiful taste.

—

headcanons ! :3

after you both madeout confessed, you both sat quietly, enjoying each others company. tingyun heard the whole thing and was so happy for the both of you.

you would still call him general and keep things professional during the day. even though he insists on you calling him that, you were scared what people would think when you both are dating.

jing yuan reassures you that things will be okay and that he honestly does not care about what others think about. he wants to be seen with you, and he wants them to know that you are his. at the end of the day, you both do your jobs diligently and fairly even though you both are in a relationship.

when the master diviner fu xuan heard about your relationship, she was happy for you though she gave jing yuan a huge talk.

“i swear… jing yuan if you do something to my beloved assistant you will feel my wrath. you better treat them well! they deserve the world. they are dear to me like family. also by the way, you cant always have them assist you during work.”

“you better not steal my assistant and let them help you with all your neglected work. do your own work and dont sleep. not only did you steal my title as general, you are not about to steal my number one assistant.”

notices you get nervous a lot so he settles with light headpats, and hand holding. he will wait for you to initiate and he will ask you what you are okay/not okay with. just to make sure he doesnt make you uncomfortable.

as you slowly got closer, you started being clingy with him and being super gentle with him. he was glad he got that side of you. you would get greedy and ask for his attention. would swing your tail and poke him with it when you want attention. you love headpats and absolutely melt when he pets you. you both can get sassy at each other and would often tease each other. playful remarks until you get flustered and hide your face behind your hands as the general chuckles.

jing yuan knows you are a worried lover and would encourage you to communicate your feelings properly so that he can reassure his darling. if any miscommunication or arguments occur, you both make sure to talk it out. if your jealous because of one his fans talked to him, he would quickly reassure you and say he has his eyes on you only.

loves when mimi and you get along. his favorite cat and their cat parent favorite cats!getting along together makes him feel soft in the inside.

loves to tease you sometimes by playing with your cat ears or tail. when you get slightly annoyed, he just kisses you on the lips and muffles a ‘sorry’ knowing damn well he isnt.

you have met yanqing before and you helped him in one of your commissions. he admired how you fought and would want you to teach him some of your techniques. jing yuan felt himself melt whenever he sees how you gently talk and coach the boy.

overall the general is so happy and thankful to have you. you both are very happy with each other and xianzhou luofu noticed the new cheerful glow on the general’s energy and face, ever since you both got together.

[thisisallthehattersfault]

Does that mean Nika kills Arlong? Or just damages him enough to put him in his place?

Divinity shines through Luffy’s skin. It turns his body gold, casting long shadows on the floor. Arlong’s face goes still with shock, and then, slowly, with fear. It’s almost gratifying to see that, even after all this time, people still recognize the face of God.

When Joyboy next speaks it is not through the mouth he has borrowed from Luffy, but from his own throat, echoing and trembling through the broken room they’re in.

“You are ashes now, but there was fire in you once. You chose to let that fire turn to despair, and in your despair you lashed out. You have caused grave harm to the undeserving, Arlong. But this is not all you are. It is not all you can be. You know you are more than this.”

Arlong trembles in every limb. He drags himself backwards, away from Joyboy on his shaking arms. “You’re not him,” he says, and he is begging. “You’re not him!”

“I am.”

“No! Fuck you, you’re not him!”

“Look at me, Arlong. Look at the face of your God.”

“No!”

“It's not too late to fix this. You can be forgiven.”

“I can’t forgive you!” The words are a scream that might have been a sob if Arlong were clinging less tightly to his rage. “How — how dare you. You’re not him! Fuck you, where were you? Where have you been? Where the fuck have you been?! Do you know what they’ve been doing to us?!”

Guilt, that old, worn coat, settles heavy on Joyboy’s shoulders. He says “I’m here now,” because that will have to be enough. “The dawn will rise, and you should be there to see it.” Arlong has backed himself against the wall by now, slumped with nowhere else to go. Joyboy has followed him, and now stands at Arlong’s feet. He lowers himself to one knee, and reaches out his hand. Says “You know you can build something better than this. It’s why you’re so damn frustrated, you know what you’re capable of. You turned that frustration on the wrong target but it’s not too late to change your aim.”

Slowly, Arlong drags his gaze away from Joyboy’s (Luffy’s) face to instead glare at his outstretched hand. He stares like he’s never seen fingers before. “You want me to repent?”

Joyboy says “Take my hand.”

“You — you — do you expect me to kneel? Should I pray to you?”

“No. Just take my hand.”

“I won’t!”

“Do not let your pride keep you from the one thing you truly want. Take my hand.”

“Stop it!”

“Take my hand!”

“Never!” Arlong, weakened and beaten as he is, lunges with his teeth bared.

Joyboy swallows disappointment, and accepts his answer.

—————

“Why did you ask him?” Luffy mutters petulantly. “You knew he was gonna say no.” He nudges Arlong’s corpse with his foot and ignores the sharp disapproval Joyboy sends him, because of course he does. Brat.

Joyboy thinks of justice, and rage, and wasted potential. “Sometimes,” he says, “It is the asking that matters, more than the answer.”

Luffy scowls darkly and kicks the corpse again. Kick, kick, kick. Joyboy longs for his own limbs, if only to scruff the misbehaving pup. (His sons—) “He hurt Nami. She was crying. I wouldn't forgive him even if he said he was sorry.”

Luffy’s anger is not yet the wrath of a God, but the seeds of it are there. Someday soon those seeds will grow into a rage that bleaches the sky and calls forth a red and bloody dawn. For now he is a child, disrespecting an enemy’s corpse. (Joyboy longs for his own limbs, if only to embrace the boy.)

“The forgiveness doesn’t really matter either, in the end.”

Kick, kick. Luffy glares sullenly at Arlong's body as though there are answers to be found in his ruined flesh. "That's stupid," he says.

"Yes," Joyboy agrees, softly. "It is."

[tieflingtareon]

Resistance Is Futile | Wyll x M!Durge Oneshot

“This is wrong.” Wyll knows it deep within his bones, and it does not need to be said, yet it does all at once. It was wrong, to curl up in the arms of Bhaal’s Chosen. The one who damned the Sword Coast he had sworn to protect.

“Shh…Rest. Your mind is far too active for the hour it is.” All Wyll could see when he closed his eyes was blood and gore, caked upon hands that once held his own so gently in a dance. Even now, they cradle him like he was something precious, and not just another body he could ravage with his blade. It churned his stomach, and he was forced to pull away, sitting up with a shake of his head, falling forward into his hands and digging the heel into his eye like he might be able to squash the memory, the knowledge that he was no longer the man he knew.

“You accepted him. After all that talk of resisting, of being better, you faltered when it matter most.” Wyll grimaced. “I can’t say I haven’t done the same…but this is- this is madness, my love. Pure madness. You have become your Fathers slayer - do you intend to damn the city like you once planned? My home?”

“Never.” He sat up beside him and gently took his hands in his, warm and large, forehead gently knocking against one horn. “This city is our home. I will help you return it to glory, Wyll. I will.”

Wyll closed his eyes, unable to bare the gentle affection, knowing what cruelties laid beneath. What urges would manifest and bite him in time. There had been rebels once. Bhaalspawns who ignored Bhaal’s call. He still believed that perhaps he could still be the man he travelled with. The man he’d fallen for. If he could keep resisting, Bhaal’s Chosen or not…maybe not all was for naught. Maybe he could still have his love.

It was a damningly hopeful thought. One that may very well be the end of him one day. Yet he still held faith in the stories of romance, forbidden or wrought with pain. He wanted this to work. He…he couldn’t afford for this not to.

“Damn it all!” Wyll pulled away abruptly and stood, pacing a few steps before crossing his arms, unable to look at him. He could only stare at the stone beneath his feet, trying not to let his grief overwhelm him. It wasn’t grief for the now, but for the future. The grief he knew he would feel much more potently once all his fears were proven right and his hand was forced to choose between his love and his city. Both held his heart in a vice. Their importance to him was indistinguishable, woven too tightly into the valves of his beating heart. To choose one over the other was to kill a part of himself he wasn’t sure he’d ever get back.

“…I can’t understand why. Why you would return to him. We were so close-“

“You would do anything for your father. To regain his love. Do not hate me for choosing mine.” His love narrowed his eyes at him. “Especially when faced with his wrath. You saw what he did to Orin.”

“We could have found a way. We could have freed you. We’re strongest together - you know this. I wouldn’t have let him hurt you.”

“You are but a mortal man, Wyll. You are not a god, even if you are…more divine of heart than any god I could conjure to mind.” He sighed softly and stood, reaching for the other with gentle hands, coaxing the devil-changed man to face him. The look in Wyll’s eye was more heartbreaking than any tragedy he could write upon the earth with his blade.

He looked so conflicted, yet hopeful. Yearning for the gentle touch to his face, leaning into his hand even as his face screwed up like he was in pain.

“Damn it…I hate this. I want to hate you. This would easier if you were just…another enemy. Another devil I was pointed towards, another foe that needed to be slayed - you’ve put me in a position where I feel like the ground beneath me is breaking. Cracking.” His voice cracked upon the very word. “So rarely do I falter…”

“I’m sorry. I’m still myself, even…even if Father has claimed me. Please try to understand.”

“I can’t. I can’t understand choosing the god of murder over freedom.”

“You chose your fathers city over freedom. It’s not much different. You damned yourself so he could come back to a city unscathed, to his people unharmed. I damned myself so I could live to fix what I broke.”

“And what will happen, when you do unravel all the plans Bhaal gave you? You think he will be happy?”

“I think the city will be safe. I think you will be safe - and that’s enough for me. Whatever the punishment Bhaal bestows upon me once the brain is dead…That will be dealt with when it comes.”

“Gods above…” Wyll shook his head softly, gaze full of sorrow. “I thought I understood my father when he sent me away. Casting out his only son, the one who brought a devil to his door…But if his heart that night hurt half as much as mine does right now - he’s either a heartless man, or far stronger than I ever will be. I cannot banish you from my side, from my arms…from my heart.”

Wyll lowered his head in shame, his eye shining with tears before he closed them and rested his head upon his lovers chest.

“Gods, forgive me…”

Warm arms encircled him and Wyll relaxed despite his mind screaming that that was the wrong choice. After several years upon Mizora’s leash, it was hard to tell anymore where the line in the sand must be drawn, he supposed.

One day, he would be forced to choose. His love or his city. When that day came, he only prayed he was killed first so he would not have to make that choice, or see the ruins which his hearts choice would havoc upon his home.

[treemaidengeek]

Have a teaser for my @lbfad-minibang piece...

"Did you see the Moon Supreme's wrist and neck?" Ronghao murmured to Lord Yunzhong, after the fires were extinguished. "There were marks there, and I suspect many more hidden by his robes." He paused, thoughtful. "They looked exactly like the marks your whip burned into Xiao Lanhua's skin."

🌸🌸🌸

Qingcang tasted blood.

His eyelids were crusted with cement. His limbs pulsed with banked fire. And his mouth was full of copper.

"Wooden Head, please, come back–"

That voice…

Did he even occupy a body anymore? He let his head tip to one side, experimenting. The flare of dizziness confirmed that yes, he did.

Open your eyes, he told himself. You are the powerful Moon Supreme and you will open your eyes right now because you need to see her.

When his mutinous muscles finally responded, he could only squint against the brilliance of twilight.

His precious Xiao Lanhua was right there holding him, brow drawn, skin pale from strain. The corners of his lips rose. He was - he was smiling. On his own. What a miracle this little flower was.

Her fingers lifted to brush his cheek. The smell of blood jolted through him. He grabbed her hand and stared at the slash across her wrist.

"It's fine," she reassured, trying to pull away. "You had to drink a little so I could revive you, that's all. I'm fine."

"It's not fine," he growled. "Don't wound yourself. Not for me, not for anyone."

Her gaze fell. "You were dying. My blood healed you."

He… hadn't known she could do that. As if he hadn't already received ample proof of her divine nature. But…

"Why?" he asked.

Her shoulders rose and fell. "I don't know. I always could."

"Not that. I mean–" He grimaced and shifted against the rough stone at his back. "Why did you save me? Why not go back to Shuiyuntian with your Lord Changheng?"

Her lips parted soundlessly, peach blossom eyes softening. Her slender wrist wilted in his grasp.

Suddenly it didn't matter. Despite everything, she had turned away from the perfect opportunity to return to her former home, pardoned and beloved.

She had chosen him instead.

He drew her into his arms. She'd chosen him. Something fluttered in his stomach. His ribs felt too tight for his pounding heart.

His lips met hers for the simple joy of touching her.

He felt the lightning charge on the nape of his neck a bare instant before the veils of aurora parted around the wrath of heaven.

It was only Lord Yunzhong, this time. But Lord Yunzhong was enough.

Qingcang tried to swing Xiao Lanhua around behind him. For a dizzy heartbeat he was weightless. Then rough gravel dug into his cheek. The river roared in his ears.

"You ungrateful wretch," an imperious voice snapped. "Step aside, or I'll finish what your master started and uproot you completely."

"No." His foolish little orchid's voice was devastatingly firm.

The air crackled. She cried out. His arm burned with her pain.

"Last chance," Lord Yunzhong warned. "I am willing to overlook this for my brother's sake. But his infatuation will only protect you so far."

Qingcang reached deep into himself, to his core carved empty and filled with azure flame. There was so much there now, so many feelings jumbling together. There was hardly space or fuel for his hellfire anymore. With a roar of effort he filled his palm and flung the fire forward.

Lord Yunzhong hissed. Good. Good that he could still count on this when it mattered most.

Lightning stilettoed across his shoulders and chest. He and Xiao Lanhua screamed together – who had Lord Yunzhong actually attacked? –

Voices clamored from the treeline. Shangque and Jieli. Yunzhong laughed. Qingcang felt abruptly queasy.

The laugh dissolved into curses as Shangque assumed his true form. Qingcang couldn't really see – his eyes had glued themselves shut again, somehow – but the reptile smell and rush of air displaced by a suddenly massive body were impossible to miss.

His lieutenant's roar shook the ground beneath him.

Another burst of lightning. Xiao Lanhua crying in protest. The subtler rush of air filling a space no longer occupied.

He needed to stay awake, to figure out what was happening and help his precious orchid. She had sounded indignant and frightened. But now Jieli was yelling something after Shangque, and two sets of hands were touching him but neither of them was Xiao Lanhua, and he was too fucking tired to fight anymore…

[lynnarang]

First Time

CW// Smut

Shortly after the angel and demon had started dating, the latter received a strange warning from their mother:

The elder succubus warned that the sex between the two of them could be extremely painful if they didn't use protection.

It was a bizarre thing for the demon to hear, as if their promiscuous mother had suddenly started treating them like a virgin girl on her wedding night, and the advice largely went unheeded.

Besides, things were going so slow, the demon suspected their angel was 'saving herself'

This all changed one night a few weeks later, when the angel finally built up the courage to turn their cuddle session into something more.

Cuddling became kissing, kissing became awkwardly fondling, awkwardly fondling became hurriedly stripping, and suddenly they were in bed.

The half-succubus had plenty of experience but the angel had none, so they resisted the urge to tease her when their horny little maiden went straight for the missionary position and fumbled her cock around their thighs for a full minute looking for their entrance.

Whatever smug look the demon had on their face was wiped clean the moment the angel finally managed to push herself inside of them, replaced with a shocked yelp.

Their girlfriend's cock was impossibly warm, like a piece of hot metal resting against her insides, searing.

Yet despite their initial shock, it wasn't a wholly unpleasant feeling, just overwhelming to the senses. Seeing her girlfriend in pain, the angel had tried to jerk herself back out, but the demon placed a hand on her arm to halt her.

"I-It's okay, just.. go slow."

It had taken them over a month to get this far, there's no way the demon was letting their first attempt at sex end like this. They just had to endure whatever divine wrath was being delivered unto them, whimpering like a virgin with their claws tearing holes into their sheets.

The light within them was dizzying, piercing, enveloping. The angel hilted, her halo shining brighter than the demon had ever seen, and for a brief moment they understood that divine spark as neither consuming nor demanding, but wholly beguiling.

Each thrust washed the demon's thoughts clean, each brought a fresh set of pleading moans and welcome pain.

For all her fumbling and lack of experience, the angel followed her lover's instructions and never went faster than they could handle, and even got them to climax first.

But nothing could have prepared the demon for the holy seed that was about to be planted inside of them. Whereas the sex itself had been scalding ascent into religious fervor, the angel's cum cooled them right back down and sobered their thoughts.

They became aware of every heaving breath filling the air, every drop of sweat sandwiched between their bodies, and the blinding impulses that had nearly fucked her into submission lingering behind.

It was as if she'd finally torn herself from the light to see where it shone.

The angel, unaware of the strange bliss the demon she was still half-buried in was experiencing, spoke anxiously.

"So umm.. was it good? I.. I know it was my first time and all.. and that you probably had a bunch of partners who were better than m-"

The demon shushed her.

"Babe, I think I just saw god. You did great."

'And if you had any idea how I felt right now I don't think I'd ever be able to top you again'

They couldn't bring themself to say the last part aloud, succubus pride damaged by being thoroughly fucked by vanilla sex of all things.

"I did? You're not just saying that to make me feel good?"

"Yes, you did good dear, now-"

"Great, um, because I kind of wanna go for another round~"

For the first time in their life, the half-succubus cursed a refractory period for being too short.

[barbiewritesstuff]

Hnnnnnnggggg lizzzzzard brainnn okoksoimtryingtocontainthotsandnotgetblocked

But can you imagine the reaction cyclone would have to this:

“YOU SENT ME PICTURES OF YOU NAKED WHILE I WAS IN A WORK MEETING!”

Like... the man is wound too tight. He'd have a coronary. The vein in his forehead is throbbing and Warlocks like maverick you lil shit what did you do this time and then the jaw ticks and maverick is like o shit take cover he gonna blow and then he does that angry slow blink at his phone and the dagger team already prepping graves like here shovel yourself in this ain't gonna be pretty and the fist clenches and Hondo be like nope nope I'm so not payed enough for this and then and THEN sis breezes past all casual like oh I'm so sorry for interrupting Admiral I was told you asked to see me and everybody scrambles to the door cause yay meeting adjourned wrath avoided fuc- run bitches run run and then..

And then ... ohhhhh idk... WHAT HAPPENS THEN?!

Why does smut always come to me at the worst moments? I was about to climb into my car and do my morning prayers when this came through and omg I just could not concentrate!!! I feel like I might get a divine restraining order through the post soon because of the thoughts I was having!!!

Okay so, I can imagine you’re not like together but you’ve done this enough times that you know what Beau likes (Sloppy blowjobs, loves when you ride him, and goes fucking mental when you call him Admiral) so when you take the picture of you, sprawled out on your bed, wearing your khakis, legs wide open and a hand rubbing your clit you know he’s going to go feral. But you don’t send it immediately, because you’re a brat, and you bide your time. 

Now I know you said you’d walk in afterwards but can you imagine being in the meeting? Just subtly sending the picture while he’s harping on about something or other. He’s standing there looking fine and you can’t stop staring at his ass, so you pull out your phone and send the picture with a corny-ass message like, “Don’t know if my uniform is up to code Admiral…” You watch it buzz on his desk, and you know he’s seen your contact pop up in the notifications (you’re saved under ‘Brat’ because that’s what you are) but he doesn’t check what you’ve sent because he’s fairly certain it’s just you asking to meet that night. 

SO, when he sits himself down on his chair and checks the phone, he damn near has a heart attack. He is fucking pissed, not only because he is in a work meeting, but because he is in a work meeting with you, and he’s fairly certain that Hondo can see exactly what he is looking at over his shoulder while he does his part of the meeting. 

EVERYONE can see an immediate change in the Admiral, Maverick is going over everything he’s done this week just to check whether he’s going to get screamed at, Warlock is shooting daggers at Maverick, the entire team (you pretend because you’re a little shit) is mentally sending their family goodbye letters and exchanging worried glances. Hondo, poor, sweet, sweet angel Hondo, who has just accidentally had a very good look at what the Admiral received via text is honestly reconsidering his career because Admiral Simpson is a possessive man. If he finds out Hondo knows, he will kill him. I mean Beau is already possessive over his fucking mug, so how bad is it going to be when he discovers that Bernie saw the damn picture.

Surprisingly the meeting continues without too much commotion but afterwards? The Admiral very kindly asks if you could please stay behind, he has something to discuss with you regarding some recent issues with your plane. You can all immediately hear the absolute rage dripping from his voice, so the team all hurry out of the room. 

Now, I think he’d force you on your knees, unzip his pants and make you suck him off until there’s tears running down your cheeks. I mean you give him the best performance of your life, especially since he tells you he’s not going to touch you for a week as punishment. So you do your best to change his mind. Your lips are wrapped around the head of his cock, gently lapping his precum away while your hand pumps his length, but when he grabs a fistful of your hair and starts facefucking you, you’re more than happy to let him until he shoots his load against the back of your throat. 

Now, Beau isn’t always mean to you, especially when it’s just the two of you. He brushes the hair that has fallen out of your bun away from your face, tells you you’re “Such a pretty girl, so good for me,” while he pants and MAYBE, sometimes, after sex he’ll kiss you in a way that tells you he might love you, or this, at least. 

[flamencodiva]

Underworld's Princess 7

Description: While the Greek God’s and Goddesses hold divine power, there is also a responsibility that comes with that very power. What happens when Illiara, or Y/N as she likes to call herself, decides that those very responsibilities aren’t worth the power? Prepare for the wild adventure of Y/N finding who she truly is, fighting against her blood and her love, as she attempts to break free from the cursed bonds placed upon her and to finally live free.  

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!GreekGoddess!Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: Language, Blood, Violence, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn

Word Count:4877

Beta: @watermelonlipstick (thank you so much for beating this hun! you have no idea how much I appreciate you!)

Also going to thank @writercole and @jensengirl83 you ladies are my ride or die and I love you both soooooo much!

Book Cover on Main Masterlist by: @talesmaniac89 and Dividers by @firefly-graphics Aesthetic Created by: Me 

Underworld’s Princess Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Sam and Dean had driven to Parthenon only to find that the professor had left to lecture at the local college. Professor Nedra Athena Athanasiou (a-tha-nah-see-ou) was beginning to pick up steam on the Ancient Greek Gods when the Winchesters slipped in, having been directed to the class by a sleepy-looking coed. . 

“We start to see that civilization and different societies now segregate based on the gods they worship,” Professor Athanasiou lectured. 

“Like Sparta worshiping Ares and Athens Athena?” A student called out, raising their hand somewhat pointlessly at the same time they spoke. 

“Exactly right,” the professor acknowledged. “But many other gods had their worshipers, and that included Hades. Most notably, when one invokes the name of a God, you garner their attention. So, when invoking Hades, simply call upon the overseer of justice in the afterlife. He determined the worth of your soul.” 

“But didn’t he kidnap Persephone?” The girl who’d asked seemed genuinely disturbed, taking notes furiously with eyebrows twisted in concentration. 

“Ah,” professor Athanasiou chuckled, “The famed story of Hades and Persephone. There are many versions of the story. But I have discovered an ancient tablet in the very sacred area of the Archeon river in Ephyra. Rumors circulate that the river is the gateway to the Underworld. While Hades did not have a large following of worshipers, he had a small cult, the Oracles of the Dead. These were simple seers who could predict the death of someone. They would commune with Thanatos and then see the judgment of the soul Hades had placed on them.” 

“Doesn’t that mean that they were risking Hades' wrath? I mean, to worship the dead or underworld was a bad omen, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes, that is the assumption,” professor Athanasiou agreed with her student. “And yet, Lord Hades is said to be compassionate when it comes to grief. The Necromanteion of Acheron was a place for mourners to commune with their lost loved ones. It is for those who respected Hades and his rule over the souls of our world. Considering that most stories are about Zeus and his exploits.” She paused for dramatic effect. “We all can see how just because he oversees the souls and determines their worth, Hades was a pussy cat in comparison.” 

Much of the class chuckled. 

To his surprise, Dean found himself interested in the volley between them.. A small part of him wondered about the god and his wife. 

“If Hades didn’t kidnap Persephone,” he called out, “then what’s the skinny there?”  

“Dean, what are you–” Sam began, quickly cut off by the professor. 

“That is the conversation we were supposed to have,” she chuckled. “But Hades stumbled upon the young goddess when she approached his gate. She had demanded entrance to see how things worked. That, and she was curious about the lord of the Underworld.” The class laughed again when she put bogeyman-like emphasis on ‘underworld’, and Sam thought it sounded genuine. She was good–not every professor could keep college kids on the edge of their seats about old stories like this. 

Dean leaned his elbows on his thighs, resting his head in his hands as he listened. Sam wasn’t sure what angle his brother was going for, but whatever kept Dean invested in research was fine by him. 

“Hades knew that Demeter would not want her daughter consorting with the dead and other creatures of the Underworld, so he demanded she leave,” professor Athanasiou continued. “Hades had Cerberus guard the gates and deny entry to the young Persephone. But the young Goddess was determined to explore the Underworld and learn about its ruler. You see,” she paused and looked at her students. “It’s hotly debated whether Hades was a true Olympian.”

“Wouldn’t calling him an Olympian mean he had a throne on Olympus?” A student asked from the back of the room. 

“And therein lies the debate,” the professor announced, “For one to be considered an Olympian, one must have a throne on Olympus. But Hades is a part of the Olympic Gods as he is the third brother to Zeus, and he helped both to defeat the Titans and imprison them. This is the paradox we find ourselves in.” 

“Persephone brought three gifts for Cerberus. Each head wanted something different,” she progressed. “The first head to her left loved balls. The middle head was fond of bones to chew on, and the third head loved to eat fresh meat.” 

Professor Athanasiou used her body to act out the actions she narrated. Dean couldn’t help but smirk at the professor's teaching method, but perked up when she continued the story. 

“Once Persephone was sure she gained Cerberus’ trust,” she narrated, “the young Goddess made her way towards the river where the ferryman Charon awaited. As we all know, Charon is the ferryman who takes souls to Lord Hades to be assessed and placed in Tartarus, where one is tortured for all eternity. Or the Elysian fields where you live your days in peace.” 

Dean raised his hand, “So this is the Greeks’ version of the uh, pearly gates and the deep fryer?” He glanced around when the students near him snickered at the rough gestures above and below he’d made, the apparent annoyance on his face only decipherable to Sam as covering up a touch of self-consciousness.

“One can make that assessment, yes.” The professor offered him a smirk. “I’m sorry, you seem rather new to my class and –” 

“I do apologize, Ma’am,” Dean offered. “I’m looking to transfer and I was told this class was taught by a goddess, who is passionate about Greek History and Mythology. I have to say they were right. .” 

“Hmmm,” the professor blushed and winked at him. “I hope my lecture so far has wine and dined you today. Thought you might want to tone the flirting down a bit. ” 

“Yes, Ma’am,” Dean chuckled. 

“Now,” professor Athanasiou continued, “Persephone would sneak into the Underworld and shadow Lord Hades for days. She watched as he passed judgment on the souls that entered the Underworld. She could see that his eyes were filled with sadness and loneliness. Something that had the young goddess’s heart ache. She didn’t like seeing the Lord of the Underworld in pain, much less that he was technically her Uncle. Then again, these are the Gods we are discussing, but that is a discussion for another day. Anyway, seeing Hades look sad and lonely propelled the young Goddess to reveal herself.” 

Professor Athanasiou paced in front of her desk as she continued. Persephone had begun to annoy Hades with trivial questions such as his favorite hobby and what he thought of the stars. Dean couldn’t help but wonder why the Goddess of Agriculture wanted to be with a God who handled dead souls day in and day out. 

Dean continued to listen intently as the professor reached the climax. 

“For all the time that Persephone had gone to visit Hades,” she stated, “Her mother, Demeter, had begun to notice. Demeter was very protective of her daughter and was horrified that her precious Louloúdi—flower for those of you who have not taken Greek yet.” 

She chuckled along with other students in the class. 

“So, she was horrified to see her daughter communicating and intimately touching the Lord of the Underworld. Now mind you, intimately to Demeter was Persephone linking arms with Hades as he led her deeper into his realm.” 

Professor Athanasiou paused and took a deep breath. Her eyes roamed over all the students in attendance before falling on Dean’s intense stare.  

“This is where the myth coincides with what was written on the tablet I found,” she held Dean’s gaze as she moved on. “Demeter went to Zeus and accused Hades of kidnapping her daughter and imprisoning her in the Underworld. Of Course, Persephone being Zeus’s daughter, he was outraged at the thought. But then again, he felt sorrow for his brother, who spent much of his time in solitude. So, Zeus called upon Hades and Persephone and demanded to know what was happening. Well, to make this incredibly long story short,” she paused as her students laughed. 

Sam couldn’t help but notice the slightly sad look on the professor’s face. 

“Zeus knew that Persephone was curious but had forbidden her from seeing Hades. However, Persephone ignored Zeus’s warnings and snuck her way into the Underworld and to the Elysian fields. There she took a pomegranate from the tree of knowledge and took a bite. She had six seeds in her mouth and was about to take another when Hades stopped Persephone.”

The professor nodded and walked across the front of the lecture hall. She paused and took a deep breath before turning back to her students. 

“Hades gazed at her with fire in her eyes before she pulled him in for a fierce kiss that melted the cold heart of the Lord of the Underworld.” She took a deep breath before continuing, “it was at this moment that the woven tapestry of the Fates had begun to glow. This was meant to happen.” 

Dean huffed and let out a snort. He remembered dealing with one of the Fates and wasn’t interested in a round two. 

“You see, fate has a funny way of working. And the three Fates, Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, forsaw  the one thing Zeus could not. Hades and Persephone would have a powerful child who would not bend to Zeus’s will. For you see, the Gods all had to follow Zeus’s will, and even though Hades could technically usurp his brother, he chose not to. Hades is very content with his life in the Underworld, and with Persephone by his side, he saw no need to be amongst the Gods of Olympus. But his youngest daughter was rumored to be the one who will never bend to the word of Zeus, for she would hold a power to rival his own. And should Zeus continue to fight Fate,” the professor chuckled, “the young Goddess would be his downfall.”   

 Dean rolled his eyes. This was getting him and Sam no closer to finding this Illiara. He was about to get up when the professor cleared her throat. 

“This is what Fate had in store. I just happened to find a piece of the tapestry found to prove my claim that the stories of Hades and Persephone are all about suppressing what one does not understand.”

Dean felt his breath hitch as a pair of violet eyes stared back at him. The professor's picture showed a woman with shades of violet and dark purple in her hair standing atop a hill overlooking the world. She looked ethereal to Dean, and something about her pulled at his heart, even if it was just a picture. But something else caught Dean’s eye: a figure in the background, bright green eyes looking at the goddess as her hair flowed in the wind. Something flashed in Dean’s mind.   

‘Find her and guide her. But your task is not easy, vessel of the archangels. You will be tested and pushed to your limits as you rise, Hero of the Underworld.’ 

Dean shook his head at the sensation and groaned. Whatever that was, he had no time to dwell on it. He had to find this Illiara and send her packing back to where she belonged, the Underworld.

“You okay?” Sam asked, concern flashing on his face. 

“Fine,” Dean mumbled as he turned his attention back to the professor. 

“It seems our time is up,” she said as students grumbled. “I know, I know.” she held her hands up in surrender. “But I do have one assignment for you. Visit the replica of the Parthenon in Nashville,” she announced, her eyes holding on to Dean’s gaze. “You won’t regret it, plus it's extra credit, as long as I get a report on anything interesting you find.” 

The Winchesters waited patiently for the rest of the students to filter out of the lecture hall, digesting the story. But on top of the words, Dean’s mind was on the picture of the famed Illiara. He walked over to the projection and tilted his head. Something about the eyes called to him, the deep violet seeming to come alive as he continued to stare. The hair seemed to move with unseeable wind ;the white, lavender and purple mix appeared to sway, hypnotizing Dean. 

“Dean.” 

Sam’s voice and snapping fingers broke Dean out of his trance. 

“Huh?” he called out, returning his focus to the present. 

The professor and Sam seemed to be looking at Dean curiously. 

“I was just telling your brother here that if you want to know more about Persephone and Hades, there is a book I have published. Though it hasn’t been released yet, I do have an advanced copy I could give you.” 

Sam thanked the professor as he took the hefty manuscript in his hands. At that moment, Dean received an important call from their friend James. James had met Dean on a vampire hunt before having to save his mom and Jack from Apocalypse world. James said that a hunter nearby needed their help with several monsters they had never seen before. Dean shot Sam a look, signaling to the younger one that it was time to go to work. Once they were gone, professor Athanasiou let out a small chuckle before a bright light engulfed her.  

There stood the Goddess Athena, smiling as she gazed at the door the Winchester Brothers had exited from. 

“The cogs of Fate are in motion,” she sighed as her owl flew into the lecture hall and perched on her shoulder. “Bubo, you might need to keep an eye on them. Be my eyes and ears and guide them in the right direction,” she told the owl, letting her index finger caress him gently. 

The owl simply hooted before disappearing. 

“Now,” she said to herself, “time to make sure that Illiara follows the right path as well. I have my work cut out for me.” 

Y/N sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose. None of the books had any information she was looking for. It would be hard to help if there wasn’t enough information. From what she gathered, as far as witness accounts go, was that These weren’t your typical monsters. These were Cynolycus disguised as humans. Outside of the human form that imitated their original bodies, they would have the body of a stag, the neck of a lion, cloven hooves, and a bony ridged mouth. Their teeth were still ridge-like, but they had sharp cloven hands and wild hair that resembled a lion. What was worse than the way they’d once been able to parrot human voices was the way they were now able to act as humans might, mirroring their behavior to hide in plain sight.  

“What are these things?” a hunter shouted as he crumpled to the dirt. “Nothing seems to be able to penetrate them. We tried everything, from silver to iron buck shots.” 

“Fire,” Y/N called. “Burn the son of bitches down. These are Greek monsters we’re dealing with. The Cynolycus.” 

“Are you sure?” another hunter asked. “Not sure how much more I’ve got in the tank.” She noticed a rivulet of blood trickling down from his ear, knowing the damage she couldn’t see was far worse.

“You’re forgetting my family is from Greece,” she huffed. “ So either trust me and live or don’t and die. Your choice,” she spat as she looked around for her flamethrower. “All else fails, and we run out of firepower. Decapitation wouldn’t hurt either.” 

Raising her weapon, Y/N raised it high giving the monster's head a clean slice. She smiled  as the hunters who did listen rallied around her, slicing and burning the monster began. A few started to run away and It wasn’t long before she found herself alone with one of them, her resolve to control Illiara faltering. 

‘Let me out,’ Illiara hissed. ‘Let me deal with these monsters that continue to chase us.’ 

“No, you know that I can’t. We are trying to separate from one another, and you use your powers–” 

‘I don’t care,’ Illiara growled as she pushed forward. 

Y/N could feel her grip on her goddess half slipping. But it didn’t distract her from the task at hand. She noted one of the Cynolycus trying to sneak off into the forests and away from the hunters. 

“I don’t think so,” she huffed, pushing Illiara down as best she could before giving chase. 

As Y/N ran towards the escaping monster, she could feel Illiara push through. Her hair began to change to a light lavender–almost white–her eyes glowed a dark violet, and her skin prickled with power.  

“Daughter of Hades and Persephone, you honor me with your presence,” the Cynolycus chuckled. “It is an honor to die by your hand and alert lord Zeus of your location.” 

Illiara smirked at him evilly. “By all means, go ahead. I’m not afraid of him.” 

The creature's face fell slightly before he regained his composure and charged. Illiara took a deep breath and dodged the attack, rolling away. Holding out her hand, she directed her power toward summoning a black-bladed sword. Energy radiating from the Goddess pulsated all around them as they battled, creating a tornado-like swirl in the air. Illiara’s blade clashed with the monster’s claws, causing sparks to fly. Bolts of electricity circulated the goddess, firing in all directions rather than the focused control she once had. 

“So the legends are true,” the Cynolycus growled, “you have the power to rival Zeus. How is that possible?” 

“Who cares?” Illiara spat. “Are you going to talk philosophy, or are you going to fight? All I wanted was to be left alone. To live my own life. I wanted to be done with the Gods,” she cried. 

With a loud yell, she swung her blade haphazardly. Each blow sliced tiny, ineffectual rips in the monster’s skin. 

“You swing with anger,” it chuckled. “You won’t win unless you truly mean to destroy me.” 

‘Illiara, let me have control,’ Y/N demanded as she pushed through. 

Illiara shook Y/N back and let out a feral scream, plunging the sword into the belly of the beast and letting a grin slip through the blood-slick on her face. 

“Send my regards to my father, and tell him to send Zeus this message.” 

Illiara held her sword high, swinging it down and decapitating the beast. Her chest heaved with every breath, but nothing could calm her anger. Illiara could feel it. Y/N was calm and gentle but fierce and strategic. But Illiara herself could sense she was angry and unhinged. Her rage could not be satisfied, and it was all-consuming. 

Y/N pushed herself to the surface, forcing Illiara back into her cage. 

“We gotta go,” Y/N hissed. “Who knows what can of worms you’ve just opened.” 

“I knew it,” a voice called from behind her. 

Y/N closed her eyes and tried to calm her erratically beating heart. She let out her breath, she slowly turned around, holding her hands up. 

“Herman,” she said, offering him a smile. “I know what you think you saw, but–” 

“But nothing,” he interrupted. “I knew there was something off about you. No one just ‘pops’ into hunting out of nowhere, and no one can pin down where you’re from. Convenient, don’t you think?” 

There was something about the way Herman’s eyes drilled into her that had the hairs on the back of Y/N’s neck standing and Illiara’s senses on high alert. 

“Who are you?” she asked, her black-bladed sword reappearing in her hand. With the barrier weakened, Illiara easily regained control, her eyes glowing and her hair transforming.

  “My dear Illiara,” Herman chuckled. “It has been a long time since I have encountered you. I believe the last time I saw you was before you ran from Deimos and your engagement ceremony.” 

“Hermes,” the goddess hissed. “What message does he have for me now?” 

“The time for your silly game of cat and mouse is ending,” Hermes recited. “It is time you come back and fulfill your duty under my rule as leader of the Gods. That is the message from Zeus.” 

Illiara and Y/N both laughed at the message. Their split souls resonated as one, gazing into the eyes of the messenger God. 

“You can give him this message,” they said. “We will never bow down to his command. If he wants us to return, he must retrieve us himself.” 

Sam and Dean arrived at the forest location that they received from Herman. It took them a while to navigate through the trees, but the sound of conversations and cheers, their weapons reflexively at the ready. But from what they could see walking up, the hunters there had already handled the situation. 

“Where’s Herman?” Dean asked someone nearby who appeared to be post-fight stretching a crick out of his neck. 

“He went after the Ice Queen, who chased after the last freak that escaped. I tell you, that girl is a godsend.” He turned into his stretch, revealing a handful of others in the distance setting fire to what looked familiarly to the boys like a pile of corpses. 

“Which direction?” Dean growled. 

The guy pointed them toward the edge of the forest and walked toward the pyre favoring his left leg. Wordlessly, the brothers turned into the woods. After a while, Dean stopped and placed a finger to his lips. Sam followed his brother’s instructions and stilled his breathing to listen.  

“I think I hear something,” Dean whispered, pointing to a clearing in the forest's center. 

“Let’s check it out,” Sam said, following Dean. 

“You know,” Hermes chuckled. “You should know not to shoot the messenger.” 

“I don’t care,” the goddess said. 

Raising her sword over her head, she was ready to strike when Hermes shimmered into his disguise. Starting back at her was the hunter Herman, a fearful look in his eyes. 

“No, please,” he cried as it echoed around them. 

A smirk appeared on his face as he winked at the goddess. 

“I wonder what would happen if lover boy caught you like this,” he whispered for only the goddess to hear. “I mean, after all, we are nothing but monsters to them, right?” 

Illiara turned to see Sam and Dean, guns drawn at the edge of the clearing. 

“Shit,” she whispered. 

“Herman,” Dean called. “We’ll get you out.” 

“Whoever you are,” Sam said, “let him go. He’s done nothing to you.” 

Illiara took in a deep breath while Y/N stayed in the back of her mind. If Y/N took control from Illiara  now, then the brothers would know enough to pursue her. But if Illiara killed Hermes in his disguise, they would be on the run not just from the Gods but from Sam and Dean. She was stuck.

“Stay out of this, Winchesters,” she growled. “This has nothing to do with you. Herman here isn’t who you think he is.” 

“No way you can prove it,” Herman whispered before turning to the brothers. “This is Illiara. You gotta shoot her. She’s unhinged and will plunge the world into darkness if we don’t stop her.” 

Sam and Dean’s eyes flickered between Illiara and Herman. She looked exactly like the painting that professor Anathasiou had shown them in so many ways; her violet eyes glowing with power and her wild hair flowing, but there was also something familiar about her. The longer Dean’s eyes laid on her, the harder the feeling was to shake. 

“Dean,” Herman called, breaking the hunter out of his thoughts. “You know what you have to do, son. You know what she is. She’s a monster, Dean. I know deep down you can see that she needs to die.” 

Dean’s nostrils flared. In the moment he took to process, the Winchesters missed Herman/Hermes plunging a poisoned dagger into the Goddess’ side. As they leapt to action, Illiara screamed, pain and rage mixing as she stabbed her sword into Herman/Hermes’s abdomen. It wouldn’t kill him, but the Winchesters couldn’t know, their eyes watching a fellow hunter fall as Illiara watched her chance at the messenger of the Gods slipping.

“You bitch,” Dean growled as he opened fire on Illiara. 

Illiara raised her hands, stopping the bullets before her and letting them fall to the ground. 

“You know nothing of what you are dealing with, mortal,” she huffed before moving at lightning speed before him. 

Her nose practically touched his as she backed him up against the trunk of the nearest tree. Her violet eyes bored deep into Dean’s green ones and tilted her head from side to side, studying him. Her heart pounded in her chest as her soul vibrated with familiarity for the hunter. 

She hummed softly before chuckling, “I don’t see what the big deal is with you.” Forcefully, she took hold of his jaw and turned his head from side to side. “What does she see in you? All I see is a tortured soul begging like a dog for another to belong to. You’re practically screaming for a soulmate, but too drowned in self-pity to find one.” 

“And all I see is a monstrous bitch who killed my friend,” Dean spat. 

Illiara smiled at his insult before wincing in pain. The poison from the dagger Hermes plunged into her was slowly entering her system, seeping deeper into her with every bite of Y/N’s heart. Illiara knew she was running out of time to do something about it, sensing it was filled with a pure darkness that only the Goddess Hecate could create. 

“Well, this bitch,” she sneered, “has got to go. Hopefully, the next time we meet,” she paused and hissed in pain, “will be a bit more eventful. After all, you crossed into the world of the Gods, and now you’ll find yourself entrapped in the web they love to weave.” 

“Next time we meet,” Dean gave her a cocky smile, “I’m going to have the juice to gank you. You and your whole roster.”    

“Is that so?” Illiara laughed. “Then I guess I should take something from you before you end my miserable existence.” 

Dean’s grin deepened. “Yeah? And what’s that? My soul’s been run through a few times already, have at it.” 

“No,” Illiara whispered. “Something a bit more,” she paused and clicked her tongue against her teeth, “intimate.” 

Before Dean could respond, he felt her lips on his in a searing kiss. Unable to pull back for the tight grip on his chin, Dean felt her hand rake through his hair, the nails grazing his skin. She used the moment of shock leaving Dean to deepen the kiss, leaning her whole body against his and slipping her tongue past his lips with a jolt of electricity that felt like it shot down his spine. It was–wrong, clearly, but something about it felt familiar in a way Dean couldn’t identify, and then it was over as soon as it had started as he came to his senses and found the strength to push her away. 

Illiara’s cackle echoed around them as Dean clenched his jaw. His chest heaved with anger, glaring at the goddess before him. 

“What? Too much tongue?” she taunted. 

Sam found himself able to move. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but had no doubts the sensation of chains around him must have been Illiara’s doing. In the heightened focus of the moment, it didn’t escape him that Herman seemed to smirk as he lay still.  

Shaking the impossibility out of his head, Sam grabbed his brother as the goddess disappeared. 

“You okay?” he asked Dean. 

Dean ran the back of his hand across his lips and spit at the ground. “Peachy.” 

“Come on,” Sam sighed. “Let’s get back to the bunker, and you can give me the dirty details.” 

Dean nodded as he glared at the spot the Goddess had been. His lips still tingled. It was hard enough being violated like that, but to not know why was already eating at him. Willing the possibility of any lasting damage away, he followed his brother back into the trees. 

Y/N pushed past the pain and placed Illiara back into the crystal cage in her mind. 

'I told you, ' Illiara said, the darkness from the poison already darkening the Goddess. 'One wrong point of view, one misdirection, and he thinks we are evil.'

“We did what was necessary but I can’t have you coming out again,” Y/N said, hissing as the wound healed. 

Her eyes trailed along the mirror until they reached the wound inflicted by Hermes. To Y/N, it became a jagged scar. Illiara‌ could see it for what it was; a dark line with black veins spiraling outward. 

‘Hecate knows her curses,’ she said, chuckling at their predicament. ‘But strangely enough, I feel absolutely fine.’ 

Y/N nodded absently as she drove towards a motel. There was no doubt in her mind that her outburst of power alerted Zeus to her location, and she didn’t have a lot of time to make a quick getaway. 

Tag list is OPEN! Please remember to like, leave a comment and/or reblog! your support feeds my soul!

Dean (Female Pairing Only) 

@440mxs-wife

@virgosapphire79

@deans-spinster-witchs-favorites

@sandlee44

@waynes-multiverse

@cookiechipdough

@magssteenkamp

@akshi8278

Dean Everything 

@sexyvixen7

@kickingitwithkirk 

@deandreamernp

@holylulusworld

@roseblue373

@stoneyggirl2

@hobby27

@stixnstripesworld

Underworld's Princess

@globetrotter28

[dominantslasherking]

Arthur Harrow with Dominant Male S/o

My Stories are meant for the much more mature audience, 18+.

Backstory: Falling and beginning to worship a god, that is Khonshu's close friend...wasn't a part of his plan. And somehow being able to kidnap the god in his human form, make it so much easier for Arthur.

Sitting and observing on a random roof as Khonshu and you watched his avatar fight a jackal. "I quite like Steven, he's adorable." You uttered out to your dear friend, he rolled his non-existent eyes before speaking, "He is such a fool." Khonshu huffed out.

"Tell me why are you in your human form again?" Khonshu asked his large body turning to you. "Well, how can I join in on the fun, if your avatar can't even see me! Or any other villainous people, am I suppose to just...watch!" You expressed out flailing your well-toned arms.

Khonshu leaned closer to observe your human form, "Just get yourself an avatar." He bluntly and boldly told you, "Haven't found anyone that piped my interest..other than your avatar(s), who are already taken!" Khonshu buffed out in slight pride

Both the divine beings snap back to Marc who was currently in control, and talking well, more like snarling at the man who wanted the beetle which led to Ammit tomb.

"What are you exactly going to do, seduce them, you lust god." Khonshu seethed out in a slightly teasing manner.

"I'm not only the god of lust...I'm also the God of wrath and pride." You grinned out your eyes flashing, red and then into a shade of gold before residing back to their normal color, [Eye color].

"You forgot a few others..." He muttered as you slowly nodded, "Yes, yes, but I'm not really trying to...what do the humans call it...--flex? Yes...I'm not trying to ...flex, that I'm practically seven deadly sins but a god.." Sighing out, as Khonshu.

You peered closer at the two men fighting, "What's happening.." You muttered noticing the Ammit worshiper summoning more Jackals than Mark can handle, overall there were about 6 of them.

Khonshu shook with rage, not expecting the vile human to do that, "He's trying to get rid of my avatar(s)!" Khonshu raged out, the wind picking up and whipping around furiously.

"Say..please." You laughed out, noticing Khonshu realize that you could interfere since you were in your human form.

Stretching your muscles as you heard Khonshu mutter a small plead, which of course you knew is the best you could get out of him, "Alright, but don't expect me to be quick, the other gods and goddesses decided to restrict almost all of my powers in my human form." You tsked out annoyed.

It nearly took almost all of them to do this act, considering you were very powerful, however, some did refuse vividly enjoying the show you brought to them when they watched over the human realm.

Standing up abruptly, you then suddenly launched yourself off the building, rapidly making your way over two figures and of course to the jackals.

Activating your power of Envy, you looked at Khonshu's avatar, as Marc and Steven wondered what in the world you were doing staring at them for so long.

Everyone was in awe, as they watched you suddenly summon Khonshu's avatar suit, not knowing it was one of your abilities provided by the sin envy, which made you able to steal another power, or maybe barrow considering, they could still use their own but in a rather weaker state.

Not bothering to introduce yourself, you started to attack a Jackal, jumping onto it, and summoning a crescent moon sword

"Hey, Mate...why is this guy kinda cooler than you?" Steven spoke up to Marc with a laugh, as Marc completely ignored him.

Arthur watched in awe at your skill, of killing the Jackal but noticed your movements being to droop.

"Ah, shit.." You muttered under your breath, the restrictions of your god powers in your mortal form were taking a toll, and you only used an Envy ability so far. Suddenly you threw your crescent moon sword to Marc, hoping he would be able to make much more use out of it since his strength was already returning at your weakened state.

After dealing with one Jackal, you moved on to another one that you, heavily injured but got extremely annoyed at how exhausted your power was becoming, from the restriction placed on your mortal form. Not even knowing they were restricted to such an extent that you had about 5 minutes using them until you wore out.

Marc was quite skillfully dealing with the Jackals because of the handy crescent moon sword, and Steven gave some rather surprisingly useful tips on how to wield it.

You wobbled off the Jackal after it dissipated, clenching your fists you enterally cursed at the other gods, not noticing that your body began to fall, right into the arms of the Ammit worshiper, who caught you and stared at you intensely.

Arthurs's gaze was fixated on the newcomer, knowing he can't let this person get in the way of his mission, it would be quite bothersome after all, considering he didn't even know what other powers or even if he had such powers he held.

He did feel something strange around you, The other cult members of Ammit came near, finally caught up to Arthur, as he spoke to them, "Take him...Be cautious..." Arthur signaled them to go, as he trailed along, leaving Marc to deal with the Jackals he summoned.

<><><><><><<<<>>>>><<<>>>><<>>>><<<>>><<>>><<>>>><<>>>>><>>

Groggily opening your eyes, you seemed to be in a beautiful large space room, however, your arms were dangled up, being chained, you realized your body contorted in somewhat of a larger form not fully at your godly state but somewhat there.

"I'm sorry, for the hostile way of containing you, it must be done, I really didn't expect a god to be in my hands.." Arthur gently spoke, his frame coming into your view.

Once he came closer a sigh escaped his mouth, as he gently touched the chains around your wrists, "Ammit, provided me with these, after I did a bit of praying...Some of the other Ammit followers...have filled me in about you." He continued on.

"Luckily, the chains did suddenly contort along with your body, making it able to hold you..." Arthurs's hand gently made its way to your face, as he made sure you were awake.

Arthur, however, didn't expect the rush of pleasure to invade his body, it was like a wave passing right through him.

He stopped caressing your face, stepping back a bit, the glass in his shoes clattering slightly.

"It seems you would do a lot for, Ammit right...Even though you aren't even her avatar yet..." Jealously was clearly laced in your voice, why or how was Ammit able to gain such an astonishing follower? It made your envy flair with jealousy, however at the same time, your lust flared, just how angry would Ammit be if you took her best follower and soon-to-be avatar?!

Arthur stared at you for a while as you looked at him, "Ammit...worshiper, do you wanna know a dirty secret?" You lulled out, as he stared at you in slight amusement.

"Do you want to know why Ammit practically wants to rid me from existence, it's because she says that she is able to judge people's morality, and even gods..." You uttered out, Arthur wondered where you were going to take this conversation.

"Yet, she can't even judge me correctly, a god who holds the power of the seven deadly sins.." Your voice was simply calm as you let out a weakened voice.

Suddenly you broke the chains shackling your wrists as you towered over the awe-struck Ammit worshipper.

Your voice suddenly was booming as you smiled at Arthur, "But my dear human, I can promise you something, If you become my avatar I can grant your wish, you wish to live in paradise, which I can provide!~" Of course, your paradise might differ from his, but he couldn't help but stare at you, deep down wanting to believe those words.

However he couldn't trust it...because he was betrayed and lied to by a god, whom was close to you....and yet---

<<>>><<<>>><<>><<>>><<>><>>><<>>><<>>><>>>><<>>><<>>>><>

Arthurs's head was gripped, as his entire mouth was salivating on your cock his eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head, as you relentlessly mouth fucked him.

Your quite literally godly, large cock, was stretching his throat nearly imaginable, Arthur could swear that if he died, he would want to with your hot, warm cum running down his throat, and filling it to abrim along with his mouth being stuffed.

Arthur wanted to suffocate himself on your cum if possible, but he did want to live and enjoy more of it, more, more, and more.

To keep his hands busy he placed them on your musclely thighs, as you were mercilessly fucking and tearing at his wet, warm enclosed throat. Arthurs's harsh gags could be heard throughout the large Villa.

Letting out a groan was pleasing to Arthur's ears, as was your husky lust-filled voice, "Alright, my sweet--Mm~ Avatar, Are you readyy-~~ For me to.." You paused pounding at his throat for a moment before finishing, "For...my divine, cum?" You hummed out with another groan, as Arthur tried to eagerly nod his head, but ended up bobbing down your cock in his throat.

Gripping Arthur's hair you kept him at a steady pace until you felt your cock throb, you suddenly slammed your cock in his throat, before doing it once more with much more force and roughness.

Cum started to explode into Arthur's throat and up to his mouth, as he kept his eyes staring into your own lust-driven ones.

The thrusts inside Arthur's mouth were now sloppy and calm, until you finally rested inside his mouth for a bit, watching as he swallowed every bit of your cum, and tried to lap up the excess cum around your cock with his tongue.

Arthurs's new-found paradise was one he wanted to keep, and his mind was no longer driven on Ammit, but the god, [Name]

[middleearthpixie]

After the Fire ~ Chapter Fourteen

Fandom: The Hobbit - Post BOTFA AU Where Everybody Lives

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a grievously wounded Thorin is brought back to the kingdom of Erebor, which is still mostly in ruins. Although he’s survived the wounds he received at the end of Azog’s blade, his recovery is far from complete. Grief, regret, anger, all are making his journey that much more difficult and the physical recovery isn’t quite the most difficult challenge he faces.

Jasna Stoneham is no stranger to loss, as she is a survivor of Smaug’s wrath upon Esgaroth. When she is asked to help the dwarves healers of Erebor, her instinct is to say no, but she needs the job, and so agrees to it. However, no one told her that of all the patients, she would be responsible for the king himself, Thorin Oakenshield. 

Unfortunately, the road to recovery isn’t necessary a smooth one, but if there’s one thing Thorin will learn, it’s that Jasna is just as stubborn as he is and for every step back he takes, she is there to push him three steps forward. And Jasna will soon find out that there is a gentle, softer side to the dwarf king, one that very few people have ever seen and one he fights to keep hidden from her as well. But like his recovery, that is also easier said than done. 

Jasna returns from Dale to find Thorin’s bed in the infirmary stripped and later, Thorin can’t stop thinking about kissing Jasna. 

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Jasna Stoneham

Characters: Jasna, Thorin, Dís 

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,733

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knitastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @quiall321 

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here. 

Jasna was halfway to Erebor when she realized that she knew the she-elf’s name was Tauriel, but nothing more. She’d forgotten to ask about her well-being. It didn't sound as if she’d died at Ravenhill or anywhere near Erebor, but she couldn’t be absolutely certain. And although she thought Bard might have mentioned it if Tauriel had died, again, she couldn't be absolutely certain. 

And that meant going back to Dale so she could be absolutely certain.

She stopped, her shoulders slumping as she looked first ahead at Erebor, and then, a low sigh bubbled to her lips as she turned and stared at Dale in the distance. The last thing she wanted to do was trudge all the way back to Dale, bother Bard once more, and then trudge all the way back to Erebor.

But, on the other hand, she promised Kíli she would learn the she-elf’s fate if at all possible.

The winds picked up and by the time she was on the doorstep of the Provincial House once more, her nose was numb and her teeth chattered with cold. The temperature had dropped enough that she wouldn’t have been surprised to see her fist shatter when she rapped on the door.

Sigrid opened the door, greeting her with a grin and a cheerful, “Didn’t you just leave here?”

“I know, I know. I f-f-forgot to ask your f-f-father something.”

“Well, don’t just stand out there in the cold. Come in.” Sigrid stepped aside. “Da! Miss Stoneham is back!”

“Jasna?” Bard called from somewhere within the depths of the Provincial House. “Is something the matter?”

“Aside from my forgetting the reason why I was h-h-here to b-b-begin with?”

“Come in. Tilda, set a place for Miss Stoneham.”

“Oh, no, I c-c-couldn’t.”

“Don’t be silly.” Bard came out of the kitchen, striding down the short hallway toward her. “It’s freezing cold out,” he reached out to brush snow from her shoulder, “it’s snowing again, and you will join us because there is plenty.”

She smiled. Something did smell absolutely divine and she really didn't want to just dart back out into the cold. “As l-l-long as I’m not im-im-imposing.”

“You never are.” He moved to whisk her cloak from her shoulders. “Sigrid, pour Miss Stoneham some wine.”

“Of course.” 

As Sigrid returned to the kitchen, Bard said, “So, what brings you back?”

“I forgot to ask you if you kn-knew Tauriel’s fate.”

“Her fate?”

“Yes. Kíli was asking about her. Did she survive the Battle of the Five Armies? Do you know? He was very concerned she might not have.”

“Assure him that she did, in fact, survive. She and Legolas returned to Mirkwood with Thranduíl, as far as I know.”

“Good. That should put Kíli’s mind at ease.” She frowned. “At least, I think it will. Did they re-re-return together or together?”

“You mean as a couple?” He waited for her to nod, then shrugged. “That, I do not know.”

“I can’t imagine it would make Kíli happy to learn she is with another. So perhaps I’ll leave that part out.”

“Perhaps.” He smiled, easing an arm about her shoulders. “But, come and have something hot to eat and then I’ll see you back to Erebor.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. I am p-p-p-p—I can walk.”

“I won’t hear of it, Miss Stoneham. It’s late, it’s dark, and the weather is terrible. I’ll see you home after supper.”

Thorin’s bed was empty. Stripped of its linens. Waiting patiently for its next occupant.

Jasna could only stare at it, her throat tight, her face hot. Fíli and Kíli remained, and he must’ve seen her expression, for Kíli said, “He left not more than an hour ago.”

“That’s wonderful.” She forced a smile to her lips as she turned to the youngest Durin. “I didn't know Óin felt him ready, but I’m glad he did.” 

She shrugged out of her coat, draping it over her arm as she leaned over to press her free palm to his forehead. “How d-d-do you feel?”

“I’ve had better days, I’ll not lie.” He offered up a tired smile, his face still pale, the dark smudges still visibly under his eyes. “But, I awoke this morning, and I saw it was snowing out, and my uncle is alive, my brother is alive, our mother is here, so it’s not an altogether terrible day, either.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” she told him. “You’re n-n-not running a fever, either. And that’s a v-v-v-very good thing.”

“Tell him I’m not going to die, would you please?” Fíli’s voice rose, thick with sleep, from his bed. “And tell ‘Amad as well. She seems convinced otherwise.”

“Your Highness,” she turned to Kíli, “your brother is not going to die. I promise you this.”

Kíli pulled his brows low. “Your Highness? Oh, no… that won’t do. Kíli is fine.”

“I think Thorin makes her address us, and him, this way,” Fíli said.

“He probably does,” Kíli nodded, “what with that big swelled head he’s got now.”

“Oh, stop it, b-b-b-both of you, you kn-kn-know he does n-n-n-no such thing.” She shook her head, moving away from both of them,  trying to hold her smile at bay. She could just imagine what Thorin would say to this entire conversation regarding how she addressed any of them. “I’m glad to see you both up, but now I have to ready for r-r-rounds. So if you w-w-will excuse me.”

As she crossed back to her room, her smile faded and her heart grew heavy. Of course, she wanted Thorin to leave the infirmary. She wanted everyone who was in there to be able to leave of their own power. She just wasn't quite ready for it to be so soon. Her odds of seeing him now were slim to none, as she had the feeling he didn't often venture into Óin’s domain, and she certainly couldn't go in search of him. It would raise too many suspicions and be pointless besides. She’d heard Bard. Dwarves stayed with dwarves. Thorin’s kissing her last eve was an aberration, one that he most likely would not be repeating any time soon.

Still, as she hung up her coat, only one question lingered in her mind;

Who would comfort him when his next nightmare tormented him?

The last time Thorin has been in his chambers was the morning of the battle. He hadn’t been in his right frame of mind at that time, either, driven half-mad by his need to keep the entirety of Erebor’s treasure hoard to himself. 

Someone must have brought his things back when he’d been brought to the infirmary, for the Orcrist had been with him at Ravenhill. It was the sword he’d used to end Azog’s pathetic life, minutes before his own threatened to end. 

Without thinking, he slid a hand beneath his tunic, over the fresh, raised scars left by the Defiler’s double-bladed arm. They were still too sensitive to be touched, but he ignored the slight sting as he brushed them with his fingertips. He’d found the Orcrist in a cave in the Trollshaws. Upon arriving in Rivendell shortly afterwards, Elrond himself had admired the sword and pressed it into Thorin’s hands. He promptly lost it in the forest of Mirkwood, when he and the Company were rounded up and taken into custody of the Woodland elves and Thranduíl’s son Legolas confiscated it, along with just about everything else the dwarves carried on their persons. 

It was also Legolas who returned the sword to him at Ravenhill when the the elf fired it up and sank it into an orc’s chest. Thorin had the presence of mind to grab the handle as the orc toppled over the side. And with it, he went to confront Azog for the last time.

He moved to the corner where the silver sword stood propped against the dark gray stone wall. It gleamed in the low light, but remained silver. The blade would glow blue in the presence of an orc or goblin and had he’d remembered that, Azog would not have had the opportunity to run him through. 

But Thorin had forgotten that nugget and it nearly cost him his life.

He had no idea how he’d survived on that floe. The last thing he remembered was the light going out in Azog’s pale, flat eyes. Thorin stumbled back, away from the enormous, pale, scarred body, and turned without thinking to walk to the edge of the ice. Fire filled his belly. Blood soaked into his rough-hewn henley. His gut roiled. His knees gave. He hit the ice, and remembered only Bilbo Baggins’ kind face, his assurance that the eagles were coming and that—

Thorin shivered. He didn't remember anything after that until he opened his eyes and found himself not in the Halls of Mandos, at his father’s and grandfather’s sides, but in the cold, bleak infirmary in Erebor. 

“Thorin?”

He started at the voice, although it was very familiar, and when he turned, it was to see the Hobbit standing in the open doorway of his apartments. Thorin left the Orcrist where it stood, and walked through to the sitting room. “Master Baggins, I wondered if you were still about. I asked Miss Stoneham, but she didn't know.”

“They would give me no news of your condition.” Bilbo Baggins gestured toward him. “May I?”

“Of course.” Thorin swept a hand in the direction of the small sofa. “Sit. I’m afraid I’ve nothing to offer you, but you’re welcome to come in just the same.”

“Thank you.” The halfling came into the flat almost nervously, hands clasped at his waist. “How are you feeling?”

“More like myself. And I mean the self I was in Bag-End, not the self I was here the last time we spoke.”

“When you ordered me tossed from the ramparts, you mean.”

Hot shame stung his insides as he nodded. “Yes, Master Baggins, that’s what I mean.”

“We put that behind us.”

“And yet, you bring it up.”

Bilbo’s dark eyes widened and his expression bordered on hurt. “You’re right. And I apologize.” He took a deep breath. “I’m glad to see you up on your feet again.”

“I am glad to be able to be on them.” Thorin sighed softly, looking down at the hobbit. “I wanted to apologize, for my words to you that day. I understand why you did what you did, that you thought you were acting in my best interest.”

“I was acting in your best interest, Thorin. You were… not yourself.”

“No. I wasn’t. But, I was also not your problem. And not your charge.”

“You were my friend.”

“And now?”

The hobbit looked up, his eyes wide. “And now what? Do you not recall what we spoke of at Ravenhill?”

“I’m afraid I do not, no. I remember the shrillness of the eagles. The roar of my blood in my skull, and then it all goes black until I heard Jasna’s voice.”

“Jasna?” Bilbo shook his head. “Who is Jasna?”

“Miss Stoneham. A healer. She cared for me, is caring for Fíli and Kíli, and hers was the first voice I heard when I began to come round.”

“Is she Óin’s wife?”

“No. She’s of Man, actually. Óin petitioned Bard to help him and she is who he sent.” Thorin sank onto the arm of the sofa to ease the slight ache in his belly. “She was a medical student in Esgaroth.”

“A girl?”

“A woman, but yes. She’s quite skilled, for being only a student.” He almost sighed as the memory of her lips against his flashed through him. He didn't know what possessed him to kiss her last night, but now he couldn't stop thinking about it. Even now, his entire body seemed to grow warmer at just the thought of her in his arms again.

Perhaps it was but his imagination, but he’d swear Bilbo’s spine stiffened. If he didn't know any better, he’d think the halfling was jealous. Which was stupid, really. Why would he be?

But then, Bilbo drew in a deep breath. “Thorin, there is something I wanted to speak with—”

“Ah, there you are!” 

Thorin looked up at his sister in the doorway. “My apartments are very popular this evening. What is it, Dís?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Bilbo’s shoulders slump, but then Dís said, “I needed to speak with you, Thorin.” She looked over at the hobbit. “In private, if you’d not mind.”

“Master Baggins, will you be staying with us much longer?” Thorin asked.

“I—I don’t know. Perhaps.”

“I will catch up with you in the morning then, if you’d not mind.”

The hobbit sighed, but nodded. “Of course. Sleep well.”

Dís offered up a slight smile as the hobbit brushed by her and disappeared down the corridor, then she closed the door. “So, that’s the hobbit? Your burglar?”

“He is more than he appears,” Thorin replied with a smile. “Trust me.”

“Well, I will have to take your word for it.” She came around to sink onto the sofa. “Have you been up to see Miss Stoneham?”

“Dís, not now, if you’d not mind.”

“What? She was probably surprised when she returned from Dale and found your bed empty.”

He sat alongside his sister, his hands clasped between his thighs. “She had to know this day would come. I’m moving slowly, but am no longer in need of round the clock care, either.”

“And will you be kissing her again?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Thorin, you can deny it all you wish, I know what I saw. And what I saw was you kissing her and her kissing you back. Quite thoroughly, if my eyes were to be believed.”

Heat swept through him. “It was a momentary lapse of judgment.”

“Was it though?”  She held his stare easily. “You looked very content to be where you were, you know. At least, you did from where I sat.”

“Dís, I—”

“Do you like her?”

“What does that matter? Why do you even c—”

“Do you?”

He sighed, carefully leaning back, and closed his eyes. “I do like her, yes.”

“So, why are you here and not out there, wooing her?”

He just stared. “Wooing her?”

“Yes! Take her for a walk in the moonlight, in the snow. It’s beautiful out in the courtyard when you can’t see how overgrown it is. Kiss her. Laugh with her. Bring her back here and do whatever you wish with her as long as you are both happy.”

“We both know I can’t do that, Dís.”

“Of course you can. You’ve not promised anything to anyone and even if you had, things change. You’ve changed. And perhaps your priorities have now as well.”

“Dís—”

“You left Ered Luin almost two years ago, Thorin. And much has happened in those two years.”

He sighed softly. “Dís, I… It’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because it isn’t and it is none of your concern, either.”

“I want to see you happy, Thorin. And it’s been a long time since you have been. And I like Miss Stoneham. I should like to see her happy as well.”

“That is neither here nor there. I have a kingdom and bridges that both need to be rebuilt and I’ve no time for much else.”

“You can make the time.”

“Dís.”

“I’m just saying you can. And Miss Stoneham seems to know how to handle you.”

“Handle me?” He opened his eyes and lifted his head to stare at her. 

“Yes,” she bobbed her head, the beads in her beard braids clacking emphatically, “handle you. You need someone as strong willed as you, who understands you. Miss Stoneham seems to fit that description.”

“Dís.”

“I’m just saying, is all.” Her skirts rustled as she stood. “And I think you will regret it if you don’t.”

He didn't say anything, but let his head fall back against the sofa back once more. He loved his sister dearly, but there were those times…

Still, he wasn’t certain she was entirely wrong, either.

[siderealscribblings]

Mending Warped Designs Chapter 25

JACKPOT

"Hang on!" A black blur collided with her, knocking her out of The Empress' path and onto a neighboring roof. "Okay…not a bad start, but-"

"If you say hit it really hard one more time, I'm going to hit you really hard," Ladybug muttered, brushing herself off as Chat Noir tugged her to her feet.

"Well if that's what it takes for you to get in touch with your destructive side, it will have been worth it," Chat Noir said, grabbing Ladybug's hand and laying it on the concrete. "Here."

"Wait, what are you-" Chat Noir laid his hand on top of hers, fingers crackling with black electricity.

"Shh; just feel this," Chat Noir said, closing his eyes as the Cataclysm ran through Ladybug's fingers. A strange euphoric terror shook her as she felt raw Destructive power course through her veins and leap out her fingertips to pulverize the stone at her feet. Even as he withdrew his hands, she could still feel little electric currents dancing between her fingertips.

" That's what it feels like," Chat Noir said. "Somewhere inside you there is something that should feel just like it. You just need to root around and call on it the same way you call on your Ladybug powers."

"Are you sure?" Ladybug said, staring at her fingers. "What if-"

" Marinette," Chat Noir said, grabbing her by the shoulders with a gentle squeeze. "We do not have time for 'what if' right now. Don't think about it; don't question it. Just feel it."

It was hard for Ladybug to feel anything except the weight of his gaze and his hands on her shoulders. No one had ever expected more of her or had more faith in her ability to rise to those expectations. Even when she didn't believe it herself; it was as though he saw something scrawled on her forehead and could only try and make her see it.

"Feel it…" Ladybug said, staring at her fist. "It's not going to be the same, is it?"

"No…it's going to be yours ," Chat Noir said. "It's not anger; it's wrath . It's not aggression; it's fury . It's not mundane; it's divine . Gods gain power through belief and you need to be your own most devoted believer."

Is inflating my ego really all I need to do?

"It's not ego, it's...ah, how did Master He put it?" Chat Noir poked her in the center of the chest. "It's who you are; it's a feature of your biology just like your heartbeat. Birds fly, grass grows, and Ladybug is a force of Destruction…does that make sense?"

"No…but maybe looking for a rational explanation is completely irrational at this point," Ladybug said, closing her fist. "You need me to hit it…I'll hit it. As hard as I can...until it falls over."

Good girl. The wave of admiration that came bundled with those two words made Ladybug's cheeks darken in spite of herself until she realized that neither Ladybird nor Cat Noir were anywhere to be seen. "Where are the kids?"

The building rattled as The Empress raced past, chasing Ladybird and Cat Noir as they ran for their lives.

"...Adrien, did you make the children run interference?"

"They volunteered- "

" Adrien !"

Read More...

[starlightcleric]

Next Steps

Started off as a prompt fill idea that veered off course, so I’m claiming it for @owlcatober 2022 Day 31: Searching.

Fandom: Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous

Relationships: Commander/Woljif

Other: sexual themes

What exactly do you do after you’ve already accomplished the impossible?

Also on AO3

-

The first thing I did upon getting back to Drezen after closing the Worldwound was get rip roaring drunk. Not that I usually need an excuse. I am part of Cayden Cailean’s clergy, after all. This just seemed like a particularly good one.

Enough other people agreed with this being a good idea that we had quite the party going on. Fye was certainly making good money tonight. Which would hopefully counteract the mess we were making.

My memories are a bit hazy, but I found myself dancing on top of the table with Thaberdine, having a grand old time until I slipped on a spoon and took a tumble.

“Gotcha–ahck.” Woljif tried to catch me, but being taller and heavier than he is, my momentum just sent both of us crashing to the ground to the laughter of everyone around us.

“Why, hello there,” I said, twisting a finger through a lock of his hair.

Woljif coughed from under me. “Not to be a buzzkill, but I think you’ve prooobably had enough.”

“I’ve only had…” I tried to count, but numbers were hard. “Lots.” I pushed myself up. “Okay, maybe, yeah.”

The crowd, done with us, had turned their attention to a drinking competition between Seelah and Nenio (for science). Considering I thought Seelah might be immune to hangovers and Nenio could forget being drunk, I was not laying any money anywhere near that.

Woljif wrapped an arm around my waist under my wings and guided me towards the door.

“Wait,” I tried to turn back. “I need to pay my tab.”

“It’s fine, Poetry.”

“Did you cover it?”

“Uh…” he scratched the back of his head.

“Woljif.” I stopped walking. “Look, I’ve stolen a lot of things in my life–we stole some WMDs from the merfolk once–but I never, ever steal from barkeeps. I think I’d lose my spell slots.”

“Fine, fine.” He tossed a pouch of coins over to Fye on the counter, who caught it with a nod. “Now can we get you to bed?” He steered me out the door.

“Hmmm,” I leaned over to nibble on his ear. “So that’s your motive, is it?” 

Someone wolf whistled. Even this late, there were still people out on the street. Evidently the party in Drezen was more widespread than just the tavern.

Woljif laughed nervously. “I think you’re a bit far gone for that, chief. How about some nice sleep?”

I blinked at him, tripping on my own feet. This did not compute in my fuzzy brain. Usually, when I was drunk was when people did want to have sex with me. And there was a whisper in the back of my brain that said I could walk back into that tavern and find someone to share my bed for the night, the fun way.

But that would hurt Woljif. And should I throw away my chance with the boy that would still be there in the morning for some temporary pleasure? And when did I get sentimental?

“Being responsible sucks,” I muttered. “And here I was wondering how I had suddenly become the responsible one,” said Woljif. “When did I sign up for that?”

“When you took up with the divine agent of chaos,” I kissed his cheek, sending both of us stumbling. “If I can’t have sex, I at least demand cuddles.”

He squeezed my waist. “Can do.”

-

I woke up with the worst headache. I mean, every headache feels like the worst headache, but this was pretty bad. Swearing under my breath with spots in front of my eyes, I sat up, extracting myself from the limbs of a sleeping Woljif. Lesser restoration was enough of a relief that I was able to see straight again.

The room was basically the same as when I left it for Threshold. Clothes on the floor, papers on the desk, the closet slightly ajar–

I had to get out of this room and away from that stupid closet. After pulling myself out of bed and quietly putting on some comfy clothes–I think that shirt might have once belonged to Pierre, that’s awkward. Well, he’s not going to want it back now with the giant hole in the back for my wings–I tiptoed out into the hallway and softly closed the door behind me, trying not to wake Woljif. I leaned against the wall with a sigh of relief. After not going through with the Council’s stupid plan with the cauldron, I really didn’t want to talk to them again. Ever.

I winced with the pangs of my headache still threatening to press back against my skull. Fresh air. Fresh air would help. I made my way down the hallway, through the command room to the balcony. The sun was just starting to rise.

That Council. All my other councils. Sweet barely brew, Galfrey was going to want a detailed report.

Too much. Too, too much.

The deed was done, my part was spent, my soul was saved (again). It was time to get out of here.

I looked out over Drezen. I had accomplished a lot in this town. There was a lot I would miss, the people the most, but I could already feel myself begin to vibrate with the thrill of a new journey.

“There you are, chief,” followed by a large yawn. I turned my head to see Woljif’s mop of curls in the doorway. “Didn’t you party a little hard to get up this gods damned early?” He approached to lean against the balcony edge next to me. He was still shirtless and my eyes wandered down his chest, then farther down–

“It’s time to leave,” I said, pulling my thoughts back up the loop. “How does Vudra sound? That’s where I was headed before I wound up, well, here. I only made it as far as Jalmeray. Or Qadira? Or maybe all the way to the Dragon Empires?”

“Wha…?” Woljif stared at me, dumbstruck.

“I just can’t do this anymore,” I said. “I’ve been here too long. This is the longest I’ve stayed anywhere in my adult life. Because I’ve had to. But we won. Galfrey can clean up the mess; it’s her country.”

“If, if that’s what you want.” His voice cracked and he turned his face away from me, folding in on himself. “I’ve still got my thiefling contacts, I can start again there. Or maybe Daeran’ll give me a place to stay–”

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait,” I interrupted him. “Are you not coming with me?”

“Oh, uh.” Woljif relaxed, turning back to me now. “I, well, I’ve never left Mendev before. The Abyss aside. Hell, I’d barely left Kenabres before… all of this happened.” He awkwardly ran a hand through his messy curls. “But, yeah. I love you, Poetry. I don’t want to lose this. I’ll come along if you’ll have me.” He gave me the biggest puppy dog eyes.

My chest tightened and I had to look down. I still hadn’t said it back yet. It was a permanency I hadn’t been able to face. Previously, whenever things had gotten too serious, too comfy, I ran. And it would be so easy to leave Woljif behind. To not face whatever this was. To just pack a small bag and skedaddle in the early morning light.

But if that’s really what I wanted, I would’ve been gone already.

“Yeah,” I smiled over at him, hoping I hadn’t paused for too long. “Of course. How’d you like to meet my dad?”