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spookysmujer · 3 years

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Nights Like This, O. Diaz

summary: Oscar and Y/N decide to download tinder and find themselves matching with each other.

warnings: cute s h e t 🥺

word count: 2.4k

a/n: I try to make simple request but then I gotta go get all into it. I hope this lives up to your expectations! Please consider following my blog if you aren’t already! Heart/comment/reblog my content if you enjoy it also turn on the notifications for when I post new content, lots of love ❣️ Request are open!

requested by @hinagiku0

(Gif belongs to @shittystockholmstyles ✨)

It was all one big joke. He didn’t need something like a dating app to meet girls. He is Oscar “Spooky” Diaz, he has no trouble in the ladies department. But out of the blue, on a lazy Sunday, he thought he’d download the overhyped Tinder app.

What harm can it do?

He scoffed at some of the girls that popped up. Most of them, he already had hooked up with, some for a single night and others on multiple nights. He got bored of seeing the girls that he already did. Oscar decided to extend the range further out from Freeridge.

Sunday’s called for deep cleaning with you. It was the, technical, beginning of a new week and nothing says welcome new week like a clean slate. All the stress and baggage from the previous long forgotten.

The music is bumping from the living room as you are scrubbing the counter top. You like the routine you have, you have a well paying job, a nice apartment in a busy city right outside of LA and have felt the greatest you ever have. But you can’t deny that you’ve sat on your couch many nights with one too many empty wine bottles nearby, far too often.

As your mother would say, you can be alone but not lonely. Learn how to separate the two.

And for the most part you could do that. You would keep to yourself but keep busy enough that it wouldn’t linger in your mind that you’re in your mid-20’s, a successful person but no one to share it with. You could, right?

Hell yes, you can! That’s why you are currently setting up a Tinder profile nearing the witching hour? You’ve hesitated with the whole thing, what pictures to add, what to say in your bio, and why do they have oddly specific interests to choose from? Online dating is certainly more complicated than you previously thought. And problematic, you’ll soon learn.

Oscar kept finding himself uninterested when he matched with a few women. He would sigh, getting the You’ve Matched! notification. One might not understand why he wasn’t finding any pleasure in it, especially when he would get messages from those he would match with and how they wanted to do things with him and to him.

There was a split second pause when he came across your profile.

He stares at your picture and scrolls through the 3 that you choose to upload. Hm, he wondered. Even though each of them showed you in a different mood, there’s a twinkle in your eye in all of them. The corner of Oscar’s lips lifted a little. This was an app for quick relief. Why does he begin to think of more mundane things when looking at your pictures? Left swipe.

Los Angeles is a big city. Beyond your mind’s capacity to comprehend how many fine bachelors and bachelorettes Tinder is holding. The thought of finding a meaningful connection on an app like Tinder makes you snort. Everyone knows that this is a main source of booty calls. YG’s Toot it and Boot it should be its theme song.

After some time it became boring.

Though consciously aware of Tinder’s purpose, you still sigh at every profile you come across when the bio carries the vibes of one night stands. To be alone and not lonely. You kept on chanting as you began to swipe more right then left.

It must have been quite the workout seeing as you woke a few hours later, the sun beginning to peak over the horizon, with your phone face down on your chest. You rub the sleep from your eyes, plug in your nearly dead phone and carry on with your morning routine, “Alexa, play Fuckin’ Perfect by P!nk.”

All while you contemplated which candle to light and whether you were going to put on athletic wear to actually work out or to just wear. Oscar goes on about his day, chilling around his house with Santos.

“You know your sister is on Tinder. Mira mira, she says she lookin’ for someone to blow her mind and her back.” Oscar snorts after taking a drag of his cigarette, the surrounding Santos laugh along while Joker doesn’t find it amusing at all.

He shrugs off Oscar’s comment and then raises an eyebrow, “What’s Spooky doing on tinder anyways, huh?” This draws the fellas attention to Oscar who looks at them and scoffs, throwing down the half-smoked stick and smashing with the tip of his shoe.

“Wading the waters, foo.” Once they see his grin then they know it’s safe to laugh it out. They never know with Spooky sometimes, they can laugh and the next thing is a death glare from the Santo leader.

Oscar pulls out his phone and opens the app again, mindlessly swiping right through the profiles. Sad Eyes notices how he isn’t even really looking through them before dismissing them. But he knew why, he knows his compa is tired of the meaningless connection even though Oscar would never actually say it outloud.

When the afternoon hit, you stopped the audible book you had playing and headed to the kitchen to whip up a quick sandwich. As you are enjoying it, you mindlessly open the Tinder app, almost forgetting about it entirely, and begin skimming through the profiles.

Handsome, sexy, boring, yikes, nope.. well, wait a minute.

Your thumb hovers over a profile that caught your eye. You look at the first picture and think, damn, he sure is something to look at. Though facial tattoos weren’t something you were into much, it suited him. He even has better eyelashes than you, even with your eyelash extensions.

“Spooky. The hell kind of name is that?” You whisper to yourself. You scroll through his pictures and feel the heat rising in your cheeks. He really is kind of cute, not kind of, he is very cute.

You look through his information and bio. He is freeridge and seems to run with the Santos, street gang. Oh boy, your mother would wring your neck. But yet, it doesn’t stop you from swiping left.

At the same time, you and Oscar both get the notifications that you’ve got a match. You gasp a little as you see that Oscar is the one you matched with. As if it was cursed text, you fling your phone onto the couch. This wasn’t your first match, so what got you all teenage girl starstruck?

The grin on Oscar's face catches Jokers. The Santo leans over and sees how his compa lingers over your profile, scrolling through your pictures and staring at each one intently.

“Nah, you see this why I don’t fuck with all the online shit. Bitches love to catfish. Talkin’ bout, she look like Cardi B online but rata in real life. Naw fuck that!” Joker exclains, pushing Oscar’s shoulder.

Oso deadpans, holding back a grin, “Wait, there is difference between a rata and Cardi B?” Everyone bursts out into laughter as another Santo threatens them for making fun of his future wife.

But between the laughter and continued talk of catfishing, Oscar thinks how he has been there too. And it wasn’t that he met a girl one night, all fine looking and the next morning she doesn’t look the same. That isn’t his definition of catfishing. He meant full blown wasn’t even the same person in the picture, now that is catfish.

“Com’m Spooky, look. Homegirl got filters on every one of her pictures. These days pictures alter the shape of your face and shit. And lightening the skin tones and all that messed up shit. I can literally make a viejita and fine ass hyna on my phone. Nah, fuck that online bullshit.” As if this becomes one of those TED talks, they go on and on.

Surprisingly, the guys don’t solely blame the ladies but the creators of such filters and apps for creating such a stigma around being beautiful with certain features and skin tones. What the fuck was on the joint that was passed around?

With all and any courage Oscar had left, he sends you a quick message.

Wassup.

Your phone chimes with a different sound indicating that it wasn’t another match but a private message. When you turn it over and see it’s a message from Spooky, you shriek again and drop your phone back face down.

What was in that candle you burned earlier? It was a new one that you got from those all natural, organic stores. People who shop there religiously almost always claim to be woke so there has to be some kind of herb in there that causes spikes of…. shyness?

The nervousness is still on high drive when you pick up the phone and open the message. Your fingers ghosting over the keyboard as you try to figure out what to say back, like it’s hard to reply back to wassup.

When you still don’t write anything back, another message comes through.

Free this Saturday?

“Com’n and say something! Most guys don’t keep interest in girls who leave them on read, say something back!” You scold yourself. You looked crazy, yelling at your phone as if it were the problem here.

With a deep breath and squared shoulders, you calm your mind and respond back. You don’t give him the overly excited response nor do you give a dry one either. You’re chill and show that you are interested and indeed free on Saturday.

In a blink of an eye, it’s now Saturday and you’re in the bathroom at this nice little restaurant. You and Oscar had exchanged numbers and actually talked quite a lot on the phone. He seemed so laid back and chill, nothing how his external shell presented. Hard and cold.

It was a quick check in the mirror that everything still looked good. It’s going to be one magical night. But when you emerge from the bathroom and head back to Oscar, he shows signs of agitation. “Everything okay?”

“Pinche cabrón said that there isn’t a reservation. I know I made one and even double checked yesterday.” He exhales a deep breath through his nostrils. Oscar is staring down the hostess, who looks intimated.

But you are stuck on the fact that he double checked. That this happening is the biggest inconvenience because that means that he really wanted tonight to happen. You smile while looking at him, feeling your cheeks warm. Softly, you nudge him to get his attention.

Oscar has his eye brows pinched together when he looks your way, he relaxes his face when he sees your soft eyes. There goes that twinkle in them.

“I had planned to make dumplings for dinner last night but ended up ordering take out. You like to cook, right? I can teach you how to make them. Everything from the homemade wrappers to each ingredient to make an impeccable filing. Whaddaya say?” You ask him and bite your bottom lip, gently.

Without so much as another look into the bustling restaurant, Oscar takes your hand and leads you back to his car. You had to admit that his car is almost better looking than him, almost. He drives you back to your place and you tell him all about how you craft your pork and veggie dumplings, as he tells you the significant difference between chives, scallions and green onions.

He is impressed with the size of your apartment, complimenting your cleanliness and sense of interior design. You quirk an eyebrow at him as he shrugs mentioning he had a lot of magazines to read during his time at Corcoran.

The two of you dive into the art of crafting the perfect dumpling. You instruct him with how to, when to and why to. Well, it started that way. Halfway along the way, it became Oscar telling you what spices should go in there, as a suggestion of course.

“Sesame oil will bring out the richness in the soy sauce. Trust me.”

By the end of the hour long process of prep, cook and serve, your simple dipping sauce of soy sauce and rice vinegar ended up getting a makeover with the addition of sugar, sesame oil, Japanese assorted chili pepper flakes and grated ginger-garlic. Scallions as garnish and it’s more than you ever imagined it could be.

“Now, open.” You do as told and let him feed you. When you bite down, your knees go weak. Your eyes beam and he laughs, crossing his arms to wait for a thank you, you were so right!

You take a second to process the flavors after finishing your bite, “That oyster sauce really does make all the difference. How do you know so much about Asian cuisine?” You ask him.

“I like to educate myself. All cultures are unique and I like to teach myself about it, try it out sometimes. So you like it?” Oscar leans against the counter as you do. You step a bit closer and lick your lips.

He watches you as you smile to yourself and nod, finally looking back at him.

You look into his eyes at first but they lead you astray to look at his lips. Wow, his lips are really nice. He takes notice and steps closer, feeling his heart hammer. Were you making the first move?

When you stand on the tip of your toes to close in space between you two, he lets his hands rest on your hips. You move yours to rest on his chest, “Can you teach me more?” You ask in a whisper.

Lub, dub, lub, dub, lub, dub goes his heart.

“What do you want to know?” He swallows thickly.

You move your hands to his neck, “Mexican cuisine.”

He is less then an inch to pressing his lips to yours when you step back. He looks confused as you give him something of a sinister smile, “What your favorite dish?”

Oscar laughs and rubs the nape of his neck, he drops his head forward and smiles. Little traviesa. You rest your elbows on the counter and let your chin rest in your hands. He takes the dish rag and flings it to you, “Nah, I don’t think you're ready for that just yet.”

“Oh c'mon! I am so ready.” The two of you are laughing as you plate more dumplings and sit to enjoy them on your kitchen island. You moan in satisfaction as the flavors erupt in your mouth.

“Second date. We’ll grill at my place and I’ll teach you anything you want to know over some coronas.” He brushes his thumb below your eye, never imagining he’d have a night like this.

taglist: @clemmingstylins0n @fairygardenss @princesstiffxoxo @firebenderwolf @mbaku-babygirl @roury66 @lillict @tinylumpiaa @prettymya3 @starrynite7114 @aneitii @b3mybunnybaby @kkim120 @ladylj @vayagrxce @irenne-stans @boujee-bitches @blessedboo @lidumiw @onmyspookyy @morenokatt @diamond-3 @doyunhokpop @conejamala10 @cococruzgirl @dracosafety @lovesanimals @pissrots @yourwonkywriter @tatiananicolediaz @soltaasbruxas @multi-fandoms-stuff @devilslilbabysblog (please let me know if you want to be added or removed!)

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spanishskulduggery · 2 years

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I love love love your blog so much - thanks to your recent post I have just asked my Spanish Teacher to talk through these Se constructions - we talked for almost the full hour on them, and how Spanish moves the "blame" from an action with them, she referred to them as voz media, and I was able to find a lot of material then on them. If that's useful for your followers.

Yes! voz media "medium voice" is the linguistic term (at least in Spanish) for certain verbs that take the reflexive endings and it's often used as a bridge between "passive" and "active" voice... hence, "medium" though I think there's some overlap between pasiva refleja "reflexive passive" and it can also blend into impersonal constructions with se

se just has a lot of 3rd person impersonal/abstract constructions

In general, passive voice is done in the context of "something is done by someone" but voz media omits the subject, just that "something is done"

These all fall under the very broad umbrella term of "pronomials"... which is something that uses reflexive pronouns

It's a bit of a mess, since a true reflexive means that "the subject and object are the same" like me lavo "I wash myself"

With voz media and other pronomial expressions you'll get these weird constructions that don't necessarily make sense to English speakers where doors will "open up" instead of "being opened", or a ship will hundirse/caerse as if it "sinks itself"

It blurs the line between active and passive voice, so it's voz media

And it's REALLY common for avoiding blame or responsibility, not always purposeful like someone trying to get away with something (but definitely that too)... like "things break down" or "the bus leaves people (on its own)" or "things run out" or "go out" as if by themselves

I've read some interesting theories on that, ranging from it coming from a very religious country where God wills things to happen, that there were other superstitious forces at work like fairies and witches etc, or people living in a very patriarchal and/or colonial society where the majority of people didn't have a choice in certain matters so things were just sort of thrust upon them rather than people doing things themselves

Couldn't speak on if it's true or not, or if it exists outside of Spanish in the Romance Languages, but voz media and the pronomial expressions are very important and rarely taught

#asks #linguistics #langblr #la gramatica

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smellslikemultifandomimagines · 4 years

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Can you do a full length smut with Jason where the girl is like a green witch/ has powers like poison ivy (maybe a little sex pollen 🥵🥵). Lots of hair pulling and biting. Thanks babe 😘✌️

pairing: Jason Todd x fem!reader

warnings: filthy smut lol → consensual sex (just letting y’all know for the purpose of the sex spell mentioned), unprotected sex, oral (male and female), fingering, hair pulling, biting, rough smut. Not proof read but watch me edit this on a random 3am Monday night or some shit lmao.

word count: 2.3k

a/n: ahh so sorry this took so long for me to post!

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:• ☾ ☼ ☽ •:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

Smut night is closed for this week, these are just the ones I’ve managed to do! ✨ requests are still welcome🥰

requests for smut night are open💦!

smut night request guidelines are here✨!

smut night masterlist

You didn’t mean to cast a sex spell. You’d cross your heart and take an oath of truth to that. You were simply trying out spells when Jason barges into your room, causing you to say the wrong word and cast a sex spell for the both of you. At first Jason didn’t really know what was happening. He simply went back to his room and had a strong urge to get off, as did you.

You and him had a strange relationship. Though it wasn’t a strong one, you both definitely had some underlying sexual tensions. And unfortunately for you, and maybe him too, this spell was made to act upon those tensions.

The ache between you thighs was getting stronger, leaving you no choice but to try and relieve yourself. But nothing worked. You rode your pillow. Nothing. Fingered yourself. Nothing. You even tried the vibrator you had hidden in the back of your closet. Nope, not even that worked. The spell required the people it was casted upon to have sex.

After about an hour, a knock is heard at your door. Your thighs and hands ached from how hard you’ve been trying to get off, causing them to both shake when you pull on a pair of shorts to be at least have decent. Jason. Of course.

“Hey, uh, can we talk?”

You step aside and let Jason in. He’s wearing nothing but his sweatpants and an obvious boner can be seen.

“If it’s about that spell, I’m so sorry, I-” his lips connect with yours, instantly shutting you up. This - this is what you needed. He backs you against the door, arms coming up to the door to trap you between it and his body.

“hope this is okay. I couldn’t help but listen to you moaning before,” he murmurs against your lips. You pull back and unclasp your bra, causing it to fall on the ground.

“god, it’s more than okay,” you mumble back, trailing kisses up his neck. He groans and parts your thighs with his knee. You can’t help but grind against his knee, both of you sighing in some sort of relief. You push Jason back and lead him to the bed, where he pushes you down and sits in between your legs. Bringing a leg up to his shoulders, he kisses all the way to your inner thighs. Jason teases the fabric of your panties before twisting them around his fingers and yanks them down. He lets out a groan at the sight of your wet pussy; something he had an embarrassing amount of dreams about. Leaning up on your elbows, you work to pull his sweatpants down.

“I got it,” he chuckles and swiftly shuffles out of them, along with his boxers. “Are you sure this is okay, I mean-”

“Jason,” you giggle, cupping his cheek. “It’s okay. Besides, the spell’s not gonna wear off any time soon.”

Jason’s fingers run up and down your naked body; wanting to feel every inch of your soft skin, every goosebump that appeared under his touch, and to feel the way your nipples perks up as he runs his thumb over them gently. He leans down, lapping on your nipples with his tongue, causing a whine to erupt from your body. It felt like setting fire to a gasoline trail; though it didn’t hurt, the teasing and gentlest of his touch was making your body ache and burn for him. He shifts over to your other breast, moving his hand up to your throat and applying just the right amount of pressure.

“Jason, please touch me. It hurts,” the whine, bucking your hips up towards his. He chuckles and grinds his length along your folds. His cock twitched, causing him to groan out in slight pain. Jason’s hand reaches in between your bodies and rubs circles on your clit in a way that makes you moan. Your hand tangle in his hair, pulling harshly as he gently slaps your pussy.

“Jason,” you whine, dragging out his name. Without warning, he thrusts his fingers into your pussy. His movements are slow at first, but with each thrust, he gradually picks up the speed. Your hips rock to match the rhythm of his fingers, you moans loud as you beg for more.

You flip him over and crawl up his body. He smirks as he figures out what you’re about to do. He hands wrap around your thighs, pulling you down onto his mouth before he begins to absolutely devour you. His tongue lapping over your folds feverishly as you moan softly. You lean back and place your hands just beside his torso on the bed to balance yourself.

“J...” you breathe out, grinding your clit against his tongue rapidly. Your moans grow louder and you hands clasp over your mouth, not wanting to be too loud as Rachel and Gar’s rooms are just across the hall. Jason looks up at the gorgeous sight above him, and moves your hand away to replace it with his fingers. You suck on them to muffle your moans as he begins sucking harshly on your clit. You wanted nothing more than to scream out from how good it felt. Your teeth clamp down gently on his fingers as his tongue flicks against your clit. You always imagined how his tongue would feel against you, but you never in your wildest dreams imagine it would feel this good. Maybe some of it was due to the sex spell, but you highly doubted it.

“Jason, fuck, I’m so close,” you whine, going back to suck on his fingers. He slaps your ass, causing you to yelp. He alternates between sucking and flicking his tongue on your clit, becoming accustomed to know that that’s what you like most just solely based off how you moan and react to it.

“fuck, yes, oh,” you moan, getting closer and closer to your high. Your thighs tighten around his head, but he's quick to spread them open open again. His tongue circles your clit rapid, causing you to completely lose it. Your moans grow louder once again, sweat forming on your forehead, and pussy throbbing against his mouth.

“Jason... Jason, oh,” you moan, cumming on his tongue. The grip on his arm is tight as you feel the waves of pleasure course through your body. He rides out your high, gently circling your clit with his fingers from his free hand.

But this wasn’t enough for you. You needed more. You needed him.

You shuffle down his body and pin his arms on either side of his head before capturing his lips with yours. He lets out a groan at the feeling of your hand resting him. You move in between his legs and wrap you and around his throbbing and angry cock, watching with a smirk as he throws his head back and moans in pleasure.

“[y/n],” he groans, wanting you to move faster. Your tongue licks up his shaft before swirling around his cock. In that moment, he swears he’s never felt his good before. Maybe it’s the sex spell. Maybe it’s you.

You take him in your mouth, watching through your lashes as he tilts his head back further into the pillows. His eyes roll back, hands tangling in your hair as he gently pushes you further down onto him. With one hand, you hold his hips to balance yourself while the other hand works at the base of his cock; twisting and pumping up and down.

“holy...shh-shit.” he breathes out, careful not to buck his hips too hard in your mouth. You moan around him, feeling the ache between your thighs beginning to grow more intense at the sound of his graceful moans. Neither of you cared who heard you at this point; the only thing you both cared about was having each other and fucking each other into oblivion.

“fuck, oh my god. Princess, you’re gonna make me cum,” he whines. You had always imagine how he’d be under your control; how he’d whine and be completely at your mercy, what he’d say as he’s coming in your mouth. You weren’t sure whether you should thank him for accidentally walking into your room and making you mess up the spell, or whether you should thank fate. Either way, you’re finally able to live out your wonders about him.

“fuck, fuck, mm,” he moans as the hot liquid spills onto your tongue, his hands gripping your hair so tight, it causes you to moan around him. Using your hair, he pulls you off him. You swallow what you could, and wipe the corners of mouth with the pad of your thumb.

But this wasn’t enough for him. Jason needed more. Jason needed you.

Just as you did, Jason sits up and plants a passionate kiss on your swollen lips. He flips you over and grinds his already-hardening cock over your folds, earning moans from the both of you.

“J, please don’t tease me,” you beg. Jason positions himself so he’s sitting between your thighs. He pushes your legs apart and strokes your folds with his thumb before pushing in.

You both moan. Eyes roll to the back of your head as he bottoms out. He stays there for a moment, letting your body adjust to his size. Your arms reach up behind you and grab at the pillow to ground yourself while he begins to thrust into you. His pace builds with each thrust, and it wasn’t long until he builds a steady pace. Jason moves his hands to cup your breasts, squeezing them gently before moving his other hand to your throat. Your moans are restricted through his tight grip.

Jason roughly throws your ankles over his shoulders, driving his cock deeper into you. He leans down and kisses you to suppress the moans expelling from the both of you. His cock feels so good inside you, it made you just want to scream his name.

You sit up and push him down on the mattress carefully before straddling his hips. Jason whines and sits up on his elbows, your breast perfectly in his face. He takes one of your nipples in your mouth and bites down softly, groaning against it as you moan loudly, bouncing harder on his cock. Your fingers pull at his hair, earning yet another groan from him.

“oh my god,” you whimper. Jason takes advantage of your state of ecstasy, and flips you over.

“get on all fours,” he pants, smirking as you comply. His hand slaps your ass hard as he thrusts back into you. His hips slam against yours as the bed began squeaking, unable to handle the madness that’s going on between you and Jason.

“fuck, baby,” you whine, squeezing your eyes tightly as he begins pounding into you roughly. “fuck, just like that, oh my god.”

“I don’t know if I’m gonna last much longer,” Jason moans, thrusts staggering as he nears himself to the edge. His fingers circle your clit, causing you to let out a whine. Your pussy throbs around his cock, so close to the brink of orgasm.

“Jason,” you drag out his name.

“I know baby, just let it go,” his tender in his groans makes your heart flutter. Before either of you know it, both of you are cumming. Jason pulls on your hair as he spills into you; the harshness of his grip causing your scalp to hurt in a painful, yet, pleasurable way. Groans, moans and profanities bounce off the walls, both of you unable to control yourselves.

Jason collapses next to you, helping you lie on your back as your ass was still sore from his spanking. His eyes bore into yours, teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

“what?” you chuckle, feeling slightly self-conscious. You've never really had a guy stare at you the way Jason was right at this moment. His pupils still dilated with lust, though a hint of love could be seen. He shifts so he’s on his side - head rested on his hand which is propped up by his elbow.

“Nothing, I just never thought this was how we’d end up having sex,” he chuckles, almost embarrassed. A giggles expels from your lips in response. Cupping his cheek with one of you hands, you pull him in for a sweet kiss. Your thigh hooks around his waist as his soft fingertips trail down your body in a much more tender way than before.

He pulls away from the kiss as his fingers makes their way to your core, almost like he was asking if it was okay to touch you. Lifting your hips to his hand, you let out a moan when his fingers circle your clit delicately, stopping immediately when you let out a wince.

“I’m okay,” you smile at him. “just a little sensitive.”

Jason continues to circle your clit gently, while your hand pumps up and down his cock. the kiss grows into a passionate make-out session; lips colliding together as your tongues danced together, suppressing both of your moans. Jason bites down on your lip, causing you to moan into his mouth. By now, the spell had long passed. Now, it was just you and Jason.

His lips travel down to your neck, sucking pleasurably on the spots that makes you gasp. Your free hand tangles in his hair; a habit which you’ve only now just realised you’ve developed. Jason detaches his lips from your neck before biting down on the already-purple mark.

“Jason,” you gasp, grinding your core against his fingers. Your hand pumps faster on his cock; both of your breathing becomes faster.

“I'm gonna cum,” you whisper. Jason captures your lips with his, both of you cumming and moaning into each other’s mouths.

You both stay in each other’s arms. Jason’s fingers brushes through your hair as you feel you eyes begin to fall heavy.

#Jason Todd #jason todd smut #jason todd imagine #jason todd titans #titans #titans smut #smut night

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symphonyofthewrite · 4 years

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If These Walls Could Talk

Freaking GORGEOUS cover art by Junki Sakuraba on Instagram and Deviantart!! Definitely go check him out!! His art is incredible, and from what I can tell he’s really nice dude. He absolutely went above and beyond with this prompt. 10/10 would commission again. (And probably will once I save up enough money XD)

The wonderful art later in the chaper is by niuan_ on instagram!!

It wasn’t made/commissioned for this fic--(though I’ve since commissioned her to make cover art for me, so stay tuned for those!)--but when I saw it I couldn’t believe it!! That’s one of my favorite images in this chapter, and I couldn’t believe another artist made a piece for the same idea independently!!

I'll put the links to their profiles either in the replies or a reblog (since tumblr is dumb about links)!!

Also, FYI, I'll be using this post as my "reblog post" meaning I'll reblog this post with the later chapters of this fic, so they're all in one place. So if you want to read more of this fic, check the reblogs on this post, chances are more chapters will be there!!

Comments and reblogs are MORE than appreciated!! If you have a spare minute you will really make my week, and motivate me to keep writing!!

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix

Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too.

The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Chapter Summary:

“My mother’s name was Lisa, and she was mortal…She actually showed up at his front door. She found the castle and banged the door with the pommel of her knife…She was remarkable. She beat on the door until my father let her in, and then demanded he teach her how to be a doctor.”

Chapter 1: "Lisa”

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

The castle doesn’t like children.

Well, maybe that’s too strong to say. It simply isn’t the place for them. Its existence is a signpost: leave me alone. It is not used to having company—much less a family—inside it, nor is it ready to welcome for a crying, puking, giggling thing into the world. It does not intend to be a cozy place to coddle him into adulthood.

The castle itself pierces the sky, its turrets and towers the dripping stain of the sun’s blood across the moon.

The bare walls hold no colorful tapestries for a child to enjoy, no paintings of its many inhabitants to tell of—for there was only ever one (and maybe that ought not change. It is safe to say the castle doesn’t like change). The royal red and gold carpets are more suited to kings; not designed for spit-up, mud, and scuffing. ‘Don’t play with that’ would be a motto around here; so many contraptions either easy to break, or which could break the child. The fireplaces, while almost always lit, only ever coughed warmth onto the floor before them—they provided no snug space to curl up on a winter’s day. Even the mirrors here are empty, holding nothing but a reflection of the bare walls they sit upon.

There are certain people who were seemingly born as they are; they never owned toys, never crawled on the floor, never walked with clumsy steps—their footfalls were always this calculated count—never burped on their mother’s nice shirts, and surely never had anything so dull as a childhood. They were always just…here, on the world. There was no innocence, and no losing it. So it was with Dracula.

The very thought of Dracula ever owning toys, even in some nice cottage far away from here, with a doting mother and an absent father, with a funny last name like Cronqvist, defied sense to the castle. So no, no toys here, nor any simple charts for learning; the books divulged their secrets to more mature minds. Just blood and books, gold and gears, forgotten magic means, mirrors that reflect nothing, and a pile of prayers to a good God they used to justify their ungood, and ungodly deeds.

All these things—or their absence—do not make for the picture of a baby-proof home.

The castle has grown accustomed to being cold and dark, and listening to one master alone. It’s not a quaint place lovers look on and think we’ll raise our kids here someday.

Its master isn’t the ideal father either—after all, the castle only reflected its king. Its master knows only of blood and nails, fangs and wails, words too big for a child’s mouth, and worlds too dark for a child’s heart.

Can he be soft? Can he be gentle? Can he keep those claws, which have ripped out better men’s hearts, from piercing a child’s—his child’s…how could one who killed so many have a child?—skin? He knows many spells, but is there one that can turn those screams into laughter?

He has been soft before. Once. And that is with this woman.

Many women have walked the castle’s halls: shivering, shrieking damsels at his feet; cold and calculating queens; fragile bodies on the floor, that he broke with the same regard a child does a vase that matters to someone else.

Those ordinary people who do come often have pitchforks in their mouths, and fiery words in their closed fists. Curses stacked on the end of stakes, banging like the castle is the church bell signifying their own funerals.

It is for this reason that the castle does not like outsiders, does not open its doors easily. But it cannot deny anyone entry. Unlike the humans’ doors, which find his master guilty until proven innocent.

They always came at night. At night, when the loudest sound is your own breathing. At night, when their fires echoed loudest, and their shouts burned brightest.

They came when the flowers were closed, when only the most eerie and vicious of animals played with the skins of their prey, and the moon waxed the world in cold, drunk shine. The sun could not watch them, could not show their blood-struck hands in their full glory.

She came at sunset. When the sun still glazed her deeds in sanguine auburn, but was just deciding to turn its gaze and let the kids have their fun. Not quite day, when the sun would kill things like Dracula, but not quite night, when the hours are named after witches, and lust is strongest—be it for the body, or the blood within it. Somewhere in between death and life, violence and peace.

This woman came with a knife in her hand, yes. But a knife, at least, was not a sword. It was not a pitchfork, a spear, a whip, or a stake; all weapons that signify, if the fight wasn’t there, you were bringing it with you. Not a war-starved weapon, pointing with mal-in—and -con—tent towards the castle doors and all the things inside it. Not a thirsty thing. Something that by default faced the other direction. Something that can start a fight if it wants to, but doesn’t crave it.

The golden woman came at sunset, with a knife in her hand, and looked upon this thing, this castle that others called ‘ugly’, and ‘monstrous,’ and ‘grotesque,’ looked upon it with awe, and gasped in wonder.

She knocked. She didn’t bang her fists upon the stone, didn’t ram pitchforks and assorted insults against the innocent doors, like how-dare-they protect their master.

She knocked, and the doors opened before she could raise her fist a second time. Maybe, just this once, not because they didn’t have any other choice.

The doors—foreboding, menacing, and all the other spooky -ings one can think of—opened to a world strewn in light; the demon’s castle looked brighter, more beautiful, more alive, than half the churches she’d been to.

Her footsteps were gentle against the castle’s floors. Not a slow, forced gentleness, but also not a piercing, purposeful march. There was no apprehension to her footsteps; her feet carried her as if anxious to take her to as many rooms as they could.

At first her steps were the only sound, enough to fool some into thinking they’re alone.

And it became clear both that she was not alone, and not a fool.

But when she saw the demon, she put the knife away, and used her words.

She used her words to repeat those she herself had heard: stories. But not the kind that make monstrous men run at the doors with naughts and crosses, the kind pious people buried along with all evidence that the world wasn’t made of black and white.

Not all the stories told that this place was cold and dark and full of death.

Amongst all the stories about death, there were others that said Vlad Tepes brought this castle to life with science, forbidden knowledge, and a little bit of lightning. Stories that say there is life here.

And, in exchange for proof that these life-stories true, Dracula asked for a trade, a trade that would prove the other stories true too. He gave up the killing a while ago—(the castle has been in one place a very long time)—but he was still not used to giving for free, and definitely not used to getting for free. Vampires trade in blood and names, not diamonds and declarations. Vampires trade in things they can swallow. This castle, too, had been a gaping hole set to swallow the world and everything that entered. Never once had it given.

And she dared to say, that this place, its master, should learn to give, when the humans have done nothing but take from them—or try their best to. He ought to be the one to invite her in, to ask what she would like, to dispense pleasant words and kind actions, when the humans forgot they invented hospitality, and showed no invitation for him to even enter their homes.

But she didn’t come with a mouth full of garlic, and hands full of superstition. Her feet did not drill holes in the floor with their sharp toll, they wandered the scenic route.

She was used to being cheated. Dracula and his castle were too. But that was not why she was there. She was not there for cheap tricks, or death. She wanted something real. A little bit of the life the castle has to offer.

Her defiance wasn’t that of a terrified citizen, or angry queen, either; rather the calm resolve of someone who is asking for something they know in their heart is good, and knows they will get it. The kind of person who believes there is good in everyone, and that this good will ultimately always win, and who won’t leave until they convince this good to show its face.

The castle has watched countless men and women cower at the foot of count Dracula. Some, do have a measure of god-sanctioned defiance; they come with whips and scourges to defeat him. The castle and the king are bound together in their resolve against them.

Except one. Except this woman. One human whom both master and castle found themselves reluctant to deny, cast away, or kill, maybe even…taken with.

She may be human, but she was not like the rest; she did not light the night on fire with her thirst for blood.

So maybe, just maybe, they could let one ray of sunlight slip through the cracks.

She was also not devoid of life, and maybe that was the key.

‘Devoid of life’ was an accurate portrayal of the castle. Bats flying out of blackness is a good description of a cave, and caves don’t usually come with the brochure ‘teeming with life’, or ‘great place to take your kids!’. The castle had a soul-sucking quality to it; those who entered often found themselves leaving less alive than they arrived. It took after its vampire master. Those who didn’t actually lose their lives within its walls, often remarked upon leaving that the flowers bloomed brighter, the birds sang louder, the grass was greener, and that they missed the sunlight.

Sunlight. Such a base thing; vampires don’t need the light or warmth to be happy.

Sunlight. Such a base way to die; wanting to get out of the cold and the dark.

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

Castlevania was alive once. Once Dracula set the pumps, and its heart began to beat. He turned the gears, and its lungs inhaled. He forged the lightning, and it began to think. Once the books, full of unknown knowledge, jumped off the shelves to get the vampire king’s attention. He filled the bottles and beakers, and they bubbled, as if laughing at a joke only they shared.

They were both alive, once.

That waned, with time. The gears got arthritis, the books caught pneumonia, the experiments atrophied. The castle ached before she came.

And Dracula, alone in the halls, picking up books and putting them down again without so much as a polite glance through them, because he read them all before. Dracula looking into fractured mirrors that could take him anywhere, but deciding there wasn’t anywhere he wanted to go. Dracula, looking into old mirrors that don’t reflect him—like there was never anything to reflect, nothing alive here to begin with, and there isn’t a master for this castle after all. Nothing but a grave. Dracula sitting alone in his study, staring into the fire. No one to talk to. No sound but flipping pages and crackling fires—nothing alive. Alive but dead. This castle. Its master. Undead is the proper term.

The other women who came through here reflected the castle, or else the castle took the life out of them the moment they entered. Queens with malice-stained past, and cracked, icy future in their eyes. Just as cold as the walls. Subjects, humans throwing gruesome insults, silky flattery, or fluttering pleas at his feet. Just as empty as the mirrors.

Only one refused the castle’s bite. Only one walked in looking for life, rather than death. Looking for a thing no one thought existed here. Already presumed dead. Put six feet beneath the ground. But maybe it was here all along; maybe the light hid in the castle’s corners while the dark came out to play, and she just had to coax it out of its hiding places. Maybe the bell was ringing all this time, she was the only one who came close enough to hear it; the only one who came to put flowers on the grave.

Maybe when she felt the machinery pumping she knew the rhythm was a heartbeat. Maybe when she heard the gears clanking she knew it was the sound of inhaling and exhaling. Maybe when she saw the lightning, she wondered what it was thinking. Maybe she looked at these books, these instruments, and saw what the vampire king saw once; something alive. They weren’t dead yet—un- or otherwise. Just sick, and in need of proper treatment. She was a doctor after all. Maybe her first subject was the very books she learned from.

Lisa, who looked at this blotch on the sky, with Death in its towers, and darkness splattered on its walls, and thought that’s where I’ll learn to heal people. Lisa, who gaped in amazement at the beast of a building. Lisa, who didn’t shudder upon entering. Lisa, who didn’t scream when its master touched her, but turned to him with calm resolve, and told him she’d teach him to be more human. Lisa, who’s life eclipsed the undeath in this place.

And there was a trade that occurred that day. For Dracula’s immortal knowledge, Lisa would teach him how to live a mortal life. To travel the world as a man, to walks as a man, to eat and drink, laugh and cry, as a man. Immortality for mortality. They gave each other the world, as so many lovers promise to do. Vlad would make her immortal, and Lisa would make him mortal, with no exchange blood.

(Except to create a thing with both their blood running through it.)

So maybe, after all this talk of life, it is fitting that she wants to create life inside this castle.

Fitting, maybe. Fitting for her. But the castle is not mortal yet, and wishes it could protest that it isn’t the right size, refuse to try on the idea.

Dracula is apprehensive as well, for the castle and he are used to each other, they take after each other, because the cold, and the dark, and the death, and the alone does something to you after a while; you start talking to the walls. After the cold queens and quaking colleens leave, or leave their bloodstains the floor. After the beasts and their silver-stained bullets turn back into righteous men in the sun. After he simply outlives everyone else. When all the living things hate, fear, or else betray you, when all the living things can die, and you, who are undead, cannot, it’s the lifeless things that stand firm by your side. When the day ends and the shadows come out to play, when you’re the only one left, in the end you still have the walls. And then…the walls are all you have. And if you talk to them long enough you make a sort of pact, spoken or silent, with those speechless stones: ‘you’re the only one I can trust.’

Dracula speaks to them one day, says he wonders if he can do this, be a father at all, not to mention a good one. The castle cannot reply. But something deep inside the walls wonders if it might be nice to hear Dracula laugh. It might be nice to put on some different clothes. It might be nice for someone new to listen to from time to time. It might be nice to live again.

The castle is concerned. Used to doing things one way, being one way, and only hearing one voice. But that doesn’t mean it is unwilling, that it intends to kill the child.

It never kills anything—Dracula does that. It cannot do anything on its own, and that includes change.

The castle doesn’t like change.

…But that doesn’t mean it won’t.

And if its going to change, its master must change first. They must change together.

Vampires do not have reflections. But Dracula has a castle, and that castle will be damned if it isn’t his mirror.

Reflections are simple to change; put on some makeup, some war paint, a new change of clothes, get a piercing somewhere. Simple, yes, but not easy, to change completely, because that doesn’t mean anything’s changed inside.

The castle did not come equipped for child-rearing; there are no rooms full of toys and cradles and school supplies.

So if this is to be, they must build their son’s world themselves.

Together they set aside a room for the child’s arrival. Just one, single room. And the castle too knows, from the start, this room will be different from all the rest. They will put paintings on the walls, and banners in the halls; things to interest him, to tell him of his parents, at least, even if there are few other relatives to spend Christmas with. The carpets will be darker, instead of the stringent red, and they will make their words smaller, the books easier to understand. The rest of the castle is warm in color, but cool in atmosphere. This room will be cool in color, but warm in atmosphere. The fire will always be set in its place, and they will try their best to make sure the warmth reaches him; if the fire fails, they will knit blankets; if the blankets fail they will make him tea, or warm milk with honey; and when everything else fails they will hold him. If there are tears here, scornful stares will not greet them, instead, kisses and lullabies will be behind door number three. If this room lives, it will be because of something much softer than pounding metal and lighting.

If a child is to live here, they must change that reflection. Everything Dracula’s castle appears to be, this room will be the reverse. Separate. Something… other than the castle.

This room will bottle all the laughter had in this castle. This room will be made of and for living, not the death the rest of the place is steeped in. So much so that this room will not stand for bloodshed.

Lisa brings in supplies from her town; color and cloth, boards and brushes, needle, and thread, and paper; all the things one needs to build a universe.

It is Dracula who takes the paint, who changes the color to something other than the blacks and reds of the rest of the Vampire’s world, cementing on the walls themselves You will not be dark here, my castle. You will be kind to him, Castlevania. The castle doesn’t know its master to work with his hands like a human, but Vlad is not the same within this room either—this room is part of the trade. He doesn’t use magic, or science, as if he is telling himself with every hammer that they are going to change together, the way one does when talking to the mirror.

Lisa sits in a chair and stiches together cloth and fur to make little creatures, toys for the boy to play with. Soft things, not sharp. They are reflections too, littler, simpler ones, of the creatures howling and prowling outside the castle’s walls, or scurrying within them.

But it is the ceiling that is the crowning jewel of the room. Something they paint together—splashing it onto each other’s clothes and noses.

His parents love the stars. They often walk outside the castle walls, fingers knit into each other’s, to gaze at them. They are scholars at soul, and have charted the constellations. They want their child to be able to do the same, to watch the stars, even if he’s not outside. At the end of every day they want him to be sung to sleep by the symphony of the night.

For them, maybe, but to the castle, one of the most interesting things about this room, is the mirror. This is strange, as, while there are other mirrors in this house, they are nothing more than a silver decoration; they have no purpose here, unless they float in shards and possibility. This is an ordinary mirror. It does hold something now, however, and that’s Lisa—only giving more credence to the idea that she is the only living thing in this castle. The castle wonders if they think it will reflect the child, as if they are hoping he will take after his mother and the room.

The mirror, and the windows. In the rest of the castle, the windows are always closed, curtained, or too small to let any real light in. But here they are big, and inviting to all the wiles of the day. Dracula protested—fearing he would burn. Lisa insisted—hoping he would shine.

The mirror, the room, are empty now. The windows closed. The books and charts dormant as the rest. It is not dead, but it’s not alive either. Not even undead. Just a question. An almost.

The room lays on Frankenstein’s table; just one lightning strike—(or one child’s laugh)—away from breathing.

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captainimprobable · 3 years

Text

Part 3 of that thing I’ve been posting. This is a first draft, once it’s edited I’ll put it on Ao3. There will be five parts! Part1 Part 2 ~~

Amity has a plan.

She knows her girlfriend likes meaningful gestures, especially when it’s about something important. So as she signs her name at the bottom of the pink paper, she wills herself not to be nervous. She’s doing everything right, she knows, and besides, it’s Luz. Luz is understanding and generous. She’ll love this.

(Amity hopes.)

Walking to school the next day is torture, and she’s brought back to a similar morning a few months ago, when she was clutching paper from the same notebook she used today. She didn’t go through with it then, but everything is different now. Luz will say yes.

So why can’t she stop shaking?

She walks into the building and immediately spots Luz. Her stomach flips itself over, as usual, and she nervously walks over to her girlfriend.

“Amity! I missed you!” Luz sees her and runs over, catching her up in a hug. Amity tries not to swoon.

“Luz, I saw you yesterday,” Amity says, smiling as she’s picked up and swayed a little.

Luz pouts as she puts Amity down. “Yeah, but that was a long time ago,” she mumbles. She looks down at the ground, and her eyebrows scrunch together.

“Oh wait,” she says, stooping down and picking something up. “You dropped this.”

It’s the pink paper. Amity wants to die. “WAIT,” she says loudly, startling a couple of other kids down the hall, “DON’T LOOK AT THAT.”

She grabs the paper and then stops. Wait. Things are different now.

“Actually,” she says, with as much composure as she can muster after an outburst like that, “this is for you.”

She holds out the pink paper. And Luz. Takes it.

If Luz recognizes the type of paper the note is written on, she doesn’t mention it. Amity is shaking as Luz opens the note, inspecting every single change in Luz’s face, anticipating a possible rejection.

But instead, Luz’s face morphs into a huge smile, and she turns the paper over so Amity can see the words she’s written.

“Luz, will you go on a date with me?”

There’s color high in Luz’s cheeks as she asks “Really?”

“Of course really,” Amity scoffs, her entire body relaxing at Luz’s reaction.

“Ohmygosh of course I will!!!!! Where are we going? What are we doing? Can we-”

Amity holds up a hand to stop Luz’s train of thought. “I have it all planned out,” she says proudly. “All you have to do is show up.”

Luz smiles, the crinkles at the corners of her eyes getting deeper as she does. “Of course you do,” she says. “I’ll be there!”

Amity had thought she was nervous yesterday, but that’s nothing compared to today.

Edric and Emira are trying to help calm her down, but they’re somehow making it worse. “I’m sure she’s gonna have a great time,” Ed says sincerely, nodding to himself. “Unless….she doesn’t,” he adds.

Emira hits her twin on the arm. “Ed, not helping,” she scolds, and puts her hands on Amity’s shoulders. “First dates are scary, but this is Luz. You could take her to the dump and she’d thank you.”

“I’m terrified,” Amity confesses to her sister.

“Don’t be!”

“Thanks, Em, suddenly I’m totally fine.”

“Glad I could help,” Emira winks. “Now go get your girl.”

It’s time for her date with Luz. Well, actually, it’s an hour before her date with Luz, but she’s leaving now anyway because she likes to be punctual.

As it turns out, she doesn’t have a lot of time to be nervous, because when she opens the door to leave Blight Manor, Luz is standing there with flowers.

“Hi,” Luz says excitedly, laughing a little at the look on Amity’s face. “These are for you. I got you purple ones because they match your hair!”

“You’re early,” is all Amity manages to say. She takes the flowers from Luz and their fingers touch. Normally, this wouldn’t be such a big deal anymore, but knowing they’re about to go on an actual date makes everything feel a little different. Amity tries not to jump.

“Yeah,” Luz says, hands behind her back. “But I know you, and I knew you’d be early, so here I am!”

Suddenly Amity feels like crying. Being known isn’t something she ever thought she would get to experience. Being known this well was never even a thought. She is so, so lucky.

She blinks the tears away and manages to direct a smile at her girlfriend. “Thanks,” she says. “I love them.”

Luz beams. Amity still marvels over the way Luz’s expressions are so open and extreme. She’s smiling with her entire body, somehow, exuding so much happiness just because Amity liked the flowers.

“So you have an idea?” Luz asks.

“Oh, yeah!” Amity says. “I have the perfect plan.”

Amity watches Luz’s face stealthily out of the corner of her eye the entire way through Bonesborough. They’re holding hands, and it feels like magic, but Amity is so nervous that Luz won’t enjoy what she’s planned that she can barely appreciate it. Luz looks unbothered, though, swinging their hands between them happily as she chatters on about something King did earlier in the day. Normally, Amity would be paying rapt attention, but today she’s a little too wound up.

“Okay, here we are” Amity says nervously, watching Luz’s face carefully for any sign of rejection.

Luz looks up and gasps. “A bookstore?????? I didn’t even know there was a bookstore here!”

“Yeah,” Amity says shyly. “I just thought...well, the first thing we really bonded over was Azura, so I figured maybe we could wander and…” She trails off.

Luz is jumping up and down on the balls of her feet. “Yes! I’ve always wanted to go on a bookstore date! I wonder what kind of weirdness a Boiling Isles bookstore has! Unless it’s just, like, a normal bookstore. Which would be disappointing but still cool!” She grins and pulls on Amity’s hand. “Cmon, let’s go!”

It’s going well, she thinks. Luz looks like she’s having fun as she pulls book after book off the shelf, commenting on them each before putting them back.

“I’ve been wondering about the Azura books,” Luz says at one point. “Like, how come we get them in the human realm and the Boiling Isles? How is that possible?” Luz scratches her head. “Maybe the author is from here and somehow managed to get their books to my realm? Maybe they’ve got a really good publicist? Or maybe they’re human and their books accidentally made it here somehow, like, maybe Eda brought one back one day and someone bought it and-” Luz stops. “Oh my gosh, Amity, do you think Eda is responsible for the circulation of the Azura books on the Boiling Isles???”

Amity considers that.

“You know, I haven’t really met any other people who like these books,” she says. “I always wondered why they weren’t more popular.” Her eyes widen, realization dawning. “What if I’m the only one? What if Eda sold them to the bookstore and I bought them and-”

“Woah,” Luz says. “That is some crazy coincidence.”

“Well,” Amity says bravely. “Guess it just means we were always meant to be.”

She gets a bright red Luz as a reward for her nerve, and she smirks. It’s fun to make Luz nervous. Knowing she has that effect on her makes her so happy.

Luz doesn’t say anything, just reaches out a hand for Amity’s. Amity gets it. Sometimes holding Luz’s hand is the only thing that makes sense.

“Oh no way,” comes a voice from behind them. Amity’s heart sinks. Oh no, not now, why now, why here, why-

They turn around and Boscha comes into view, scrutinizing their linked hands. “You’re actually dating the human. Wow. I thought that was a rumor, like, one so ridiculous it couldn’t even be true.” She smirks. “And yet here you are.”

Amity can feel Luz stiffen next to her, and she’s suddenly filled with rage. Luz escaped her world to avoid being made fun of, she shouldn’t have to deal with that here, too.

Amity raises her chin and looks Boscha in the eye. “Aw, what’s wrong, Boscha, jealous that nobody wants to hang out with you?” She looks around pointedly. “Looks like you’re alone, huh? Has everyone finally realized what a monster you are?”

Boscha’s face turns a shade of pink darker than her hair. “I’m not alone,” she spits. “I came here by myself on purpose. It’s exhausting, having followers all the time.”

“Sure,” Amity says, turning to leave. “Come on Luz, let’s-”

“Can’t believe she went and got a girlfriend from another species,” Amity hears Boscha mutter under her breath. And then, a little louder, clearly intending to be heard- “Guess shopping at the bottom of the barrel is easier than finding someone normal.”

Amity stops. She’s gripping Luz’s hand so hard it’s probably starting to hurt a little, but she can’t help it. Luz seems to sense the storm coming, and she scrambles to stop it. “Amity, it’s okay, let’s just go-”

But Amity is done. Done with Boscha and her stupid games, done with everyone making fun of Luz for things she can’t control, done with her girlfriend being treated lesser than because she wasn’t born a witch.

She releases Luz’s hand, whirls around, and says, quiet as the dead, “Say that again.”

Boscha seems to realize she went a little too far this time, but she’s not one to back down. “What are you gonna do, Amity? Hex me? You don’t have the-”

Before she can finish her sentence, Amity’s fingers are twirling in circles and Boscha is on the ground, angry hives crawling up and down her body.

A security guard comes over, looking bored. He gives Boscha a glance, unimpressed. “Miss,” he says to Amity. “I’m gonna have to ask you to go.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Amity says. “We were just leaving.”

Amity thinks her hands might be clenched permanently, now. The anger (coiling, rampant, hot to the touch) she’s feeling isn’t new, but it’s somehow louder now, a line of static in her ears so loud that she doesn’t hear Luz calling her name until the third time.

“Amity!”

Amity blinks herself out of her stupor and remembers, suddenly: she’s supposed to be on a date. A date with her cute girlfriend. A date that she messed up by getting them kicked out of a store.

She knew she’d mess this up somehow.

“Amity, are you okay?”

Luz is looking at her with concern in her eyes, and Amity doesn’t deserve it. She doesn’t deserve any of this. She’s ruined everything.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, not looking Luz in the eye. She’d understand if Luz dumped her over this.

“For what?” Luz asks sincerely, and Amity looks up in confusion. “Um, for ruining our date?”

Luz raises her eyebrows. “How exactly did you ruin it?”

“I hexed Bosca, I got us kicked out of the bookstore, I-”

“What I’m hearing,” Luz says, taking Amity’s hand again, “Is that you got angry on my behalf and defended me from a bully”

“But I got us kicked out of the store!” Amity insists. She feels like she owes it to Luz to admit what a screw up she is, but Luz isn’t having it.

“No, Boscha got us kicked out of the store. Besides, it’s no big deal, we were basically done anyway.”

This isn’t right. She knows she should be happy that Luz isn’t blaming her, but something inside her insists that Luz needs to know, that Luz needs to understand that Amity messed up and will probably mess up again, that she had everything planned out perfectly and it went nothing like it was supposed to and Luz should probably break up with her and-

“Break up with you?????” Luz sounds scandalized, and Amity realizes: she said everything out loud.

“You think I would break up with you over this?”

“I..I don’t know,” Amity says, closing her eyes as though that will make her disappear. “Maybe.”

“Amity, I-I don’t like you because you’re perfect. You’re only human- I mean, you’re a person, and people make mistakes, and that’s okay! I make mistakes all the time! Just today I missed a step and fell down the stairs. It happens!”

She takes Amity’s other hand and looks her in the eyes. “You’re perfect to me. But not because you never mess up. Because you’re kind, and funny, and beautiful, and you do things like hex bullies because they make fun of me. I don’t need the perfect date, Amity. I just need you.”

Amity is speechless. Nobody has ever said anything like that to her. She remembers what she told Hunter in that cave all those months ago: I grew up thinking everything was an opportunity to justify existing. But there are people out there who won’t make you feel worthless. You just have to let yourself meet them.

It’s time she took her own advice.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, smiling shyly. “You’re the best girlfriend a girl could ask for.”

“No, you are!” Luz says earnestly, and Amity realizes that, if she had the courage, she could kiss Luz right then and there.

She doesn’t, of course, but now that it’s in her head, she’s not going to forget about it anytime soon.

#the owl house #lumity #firsts and seconds #writins

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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years

Text

once upon a flight

Draco X Reader (post war)

Summary: The Wizarding World earnestly searched for the newly discovered Heir of Gryffindor. After many failed attempts at the claim, McGonagall almost gives up hope, but sends off one final letter. Draco looking for a reason to clear his name has an ulterior motive to find you... that is until he meets you.

A/n: So, as promised, an Anastasia AU that is frankly one of my favorite things in a while. For all intents and purposes Snape isn’t dead because this is my blog and my word is law. Also, this is about 10k words... so you’re welcome.

Long ago, Hogwarts was founded by four great wizards: Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff. The Slytherin heir was found centuries later in one Tom Riddle who became the greatest Dark Wizard of all time, only to be defeated by the great Harry Potter. Yet, the story of the heirs does not end there. The unfortunate demise of Helena Ravenclaw ended the lineage of the Ravenclaw house for she had no children. The Hufflepuff heir, Cedric Diggory was killed in the war by Voldemort. Only one heir remains, and their whereabouts are unknown to all, but sought after by most. Minerva McGonagall is keen on the discovery of this witch or wizard, the last true heir of Hogwarts, and perhaps the most powerful of them all. Only in the hands of the true heir, will Godric’s mighty sword come alive with magic once more.

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

“It’s a girl, raised muggle, in America,” Snape threw down the Daily Prophet. “This could be your chance,”

“My chance to what?” Draco huffed, running a hand through his hair before examining the paper. “Like a Slytherins could ever find this Gryffindor heir, let alone in muggle America,”

“But if you do,” Snape hinted, a smile curling on his lips. “It might clear your names,”

“Would you give that a rest?” Draco muttered, throwing the newspaper down of a very scared looking American girl. “Even if I do find this girl, why in the world would she trust me?”

“Because, she might have questions, and who is going to be there with the answers for her?” Snape raised an eyebrow.

Draco pondered the idea, then glanced at your photo in the paper in front of him. And he thought there perhaps might be a chance.

____________________________

“London?” I eyed the passport dubiously. “What long lost aunt wants me in London? And why did she show up now?” My fingers ran over the long letter explaining everything and nothing.

“Do you want to go or not?” Mrs. Greenwood asked. “Because I’ve got a lot of girl like you who’d kill for a chance at a family again.” Her snappy condescending voice wouldn’t be missed.

“Alright, alright. I’m going.”

I zipped my bag closed, folding the letter, and placing it in my bag with the plane ticket and passport. It was a long drive to the airport that was filled with people who all went about their business. I had never felt more lost. I read the letter again as I waited for my plane to arrive. Something proved magical about the parchment and inked letters. A style never used in a modern day. It gave me hope. Or an unsettling sense of dread.

“Excuse me,” His voice was polite and broke through the music of my headphones. It was his accent that caught me off guard. He was a brit.

“Yes?” I asked, taking out an earbud.

“You wouldn’t happen to know a Ms. McGonagall, would you? I’m supposed to be aiding her niece back to London,” I eyed him skeptically.

“Is that so?” I raised an eyebrow. “Alright pretty boy, tell me, what absolute stranger is going to trust a random brit who comes up to her claiming to know the name of someone that he could easily have read off the girl’s letter?” He seemed amused at my skepticism.

“I suppose you’re right,” The stranger didn’t seem cornered, however. His caviler didn’t waver. “What if I told this stranger that hypothetically I knew that her aunt wasn’t really her aunt but someone looking for her to be claimed as the heir to a school of magic?”

“Well, hypothetically, I’d probably laugh and call security,” I eyed the cop, whose gaze caught mine before flashing to the beautiful stranger before me.

“And if I proved to her that magic was real? Would this stranger believe me?” Danger lurked in his eyes.

I snorted. “If you can prove that magic is real, I’ll follow you anywhere buddy,”

“Careful there stranger, you’re promising something you might not want to,” He warned.

“I think I know what I can handle pretty boy,”

Without another word, he took my hand, clasping it in his. Glancing around he slowly raised his hand away from my palm, where a flower began to bud and bloom from nothing, sparking in the fluorescent lighting. I wasn’t impressed.

“Nice trick, but I’m not convinced.”

The stranger laughed. “I should have known it would take more to convince you,” He ran a hand through his silvery blond hair, looking around, before his gaze settled back on me. “What if I told you that you could do magic?”

“I’d say you’re crazy and were back to calling security,” I went to walk away, I had enough time before my flight that a quick walk wouldn’t be the end of the world.

“But you must have felt it,” His hand reached for mine. “When you were younger, and things happened around you that you couldn’t explain. A sense that you didn’t belong. That you were different. That you could see and feel and do things that others couldn’t.” His words were earnest and urgent. I paused.

“And if I did?” I didn’t face him.

“That you hear stories of magic and fairytales, and you thought maybe you belonged in them because there was no one quite like you,” My eyes met his, baffled, curious. “And you felt it just now, not on the surface of your skin, but in your hand, in your blood, a feeling in your heart that felt right. That felt powerful,”

“Okay, pretty boy, you seem to know a lot about who you think I am, so what’s your deal?’ I folded my arms, still not completely convinced but more than curious.

“I told you, I’m here to help you get to London in one piece and how to be an heir of magic.” The light in his eyes glinted as if he had won.

“Alright, let’s say hypothetically I believe you, then what?”

“I’d buy you a cup of coffee and we’d try this again?” He raised an eyebrow, nodding to a chain Starbucks that was near dead in the early hours of the morning.

I stared at the chai tea latte that was warming my hands. He didn’t say a word. Draco. The beautiful stranger who promised answers. Who looked a bit too good to be true.

“From here, I get a letter for an aunt I didn’t know that I had, and a plane ticket to London. Then I met you, claiming that you know her and that you’re here to help me. Then you tell me that my aunt really isn’t my aunt, and that magic is real and I’m the heir to some sort of magic school in London? This is a really good way to get kidnapped and never heard from again,” My skepticism grew. He could see that.

“You’re not wrong,” He leaned onto the table, closer to me. “And you wouldn’t believe me unless you knew that magic was real.”

“Every lonely girl dreams of fairytales and magic,” I countered. “Is it so far-fetched to really believe it?”

“Believing sure,” He gave an easy smile. “But you can do magic and you know it,”

“How do you know what I know?” I snapped back.

“I know you’re in denial,” He chuckled. “And easy, you’re doing it now, but no one could tell you that you were because it’s subtle and hard to pick up on,”

“In what way?” I demanded.

“Defense spell,” His smirk started the urge in me to deck him. He was so self-assured, and it drove me insane. What was worse, was that he might be right about everything.

“Sure, why not,” My tone fell flat. “Okay pretty boy, how exactly am I using a defense spell?” I leaned back in my chair, unamused.

“No one in this airport gave you any trouble. A strange man comes up to you and you show signs of distress, and yet no one helps you. You’re hiding yourself from their point of view. It’s very self-assured of you to think you can handle yourself,” His explanation made to much sense... again.

“I’m the self-assured one?” I muttered. “And sorry to burst your bubble English, but this is America and we all pretty much keep our heads down.”

“And yet the second you decided to trust me, the security guard walked the other way—away from his post I might add,” His confident smile didn’t leave.

“He... what?” Now I backtracked.

“You like to be left alone, I can admire that, but you have so much potential and you could do so much more,”

“And if I don’t want to?” I offered a bit hopeless.

“Sure, go be a faceless nobody in the sea of Americans, work a nine to five, and never see adventure or magic again in your life,” He leaned back in his chair, casual. As if what he offered was the option a rational person would choose.

“And I should trust you? To take me to London and bring me to this magic school to be an heir or whatever it is you Brits do?”

“You seem quite offset that I’m not American,” His amused smile returned.

“Force of habit,” I shrugged, giving a carefree smile that caused indignation to flicker into his eyes.

“Well, you have approximately thirty seconds to decide if you trust me before you’re called to board,” His devious smirk had me reeling to look at the gate and the flight attendant who was ruffling through papers and getting ready to signal boarding groups.

“God, I hate you,” I muttered, resigned. “Fine. Whatever. Life of adventure and magic, sure.”

We boarded and Draco took the seat akin to mine in first class without the bat an of eyelash. My anxiety began to flare again thinking of how easy it was for him to find a place next to me on a full flight to London in the early hours of the morning.

Then there was the matter of flying altogether. I had never been on a plane ride before. And I was about to be on a nine-hour flight with a supposed magician and a promise of adventure. What had I gotten myself into?

“I can hear you worrying.” Draco muttered as the plane left the runway and began to ascend.

“I’ve never flown in a plane before in my life. All things considered, I think I’m allowed to worry,” I snapped.

Draco reached into his bag and held out a small vial filled with an amber liquid.

“Here, take this,” He offered it to me.

“Oh, you’ve got to be joking,” I snorted. “There is no way in hell that I’m taking that.”

“Y/n, please,” It was the first time that he had ever used my name. A name I hadn’t told him. A name he knew. A name that got my attention and reminded me of the situation that I was in.

“What is it?” I took the vail from his nimble fingers.

“Anxiety potion,” He explained calmly. “It will calm your stress levels and allow you to think clearly,”

“Magic?” I eyed him dubiously.

“A form of it. Your people call it chemistry, but we have access to more ingredients than the causal muggle,”

“Muggle?” I raised an eyebrow, still examining the contents of the small vial.

“People who can’t do magic nor live with other wizards,”

“Wizards,” I mused softly to myself.

The pilot informed the cabin that we had reached cruising altitude and my anxiety came back, overshadowing the tales of wizards and magic and the perfect stranger beside me. Draco could sense that. He let out an aggravated huff and rolled his eyes.

“Use your senses Y/n, you don’t know how to control it yet, but you have magic in your blood. It’s kept you alive and ahead this long. What are they telling you? Not your fears and anxiety, but your heart and head.” His voice was low and urgent, and I had to concentrate to catch all of his words.

“This isn’t another one of your—”

“Y/n,” He pressed, not having it with my second thoughts and doubts. “Concentrate.”

Deciding to trust him, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. The air around me was artificial and frigid. It made my senses stand keen on edge. It was unnatural to me. I could feel the people as they settled down for the long flight. The pilot shifting and the attendants flitting about. They were all overly ordinary. Like most people I had been surrounded with my entire life.

Then there was Draco beside me. I could feel his warmth, his presence... his aura. Unlike anything I had encountered before. A halo of power and... magic that embraced and clung to the edges of him. It matched the silvery blue of his eyes trailing off into green. I could trust him. But there was a darkness underneath that I couldn’t trust. The one that I feared.

Then the vial clasped between my fingers. It held no ill will toward me as I thought of it. It promised to help in words that didn’t belong to Draco beside me. Something all of it’s own. All of my own.

Another deep breath out.

“Okay,”

“What did you gather?” He didn’t taunt me, but rather it was genuine curiosity that colored his tone.

“You’re... different. From the rest of the people on this plane. You... there’s like... an aura? A feeling but with color? I don’t know...” My eyebrows furrowed. “It told me I can trust you... but there’s something darker underneath... and I’m not sure... I’m not sure I trust that darkness.”

He stared at me, baffled. Not that I had said what I said, but instead what I had said.

“The... the darkness.” He muttered. “I thought...”

“That you could hide it?” I raised an eyebrow, only half teasing. We all had darkness. I wouldn’t hold his against him.

“That there would be more... the things I’ve done,” He was a burning man before me. I looked down to the vial in my hands. I toyed with it.

“Here’s to new beginnings?” I offered a bit hopeless, breaking the wax seal and downing the contents like a parched man in a desert who comes upon an oasis.

And I understood what he meant. A pack of stress and the ability to think clearly. All of the fogginess that the anxiety induced was gone. I looked at the world around me with new eyes.

“Woah,” I whispered, looking at Draco clearly for the first time.

A smile played at his lips.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?”

I nodded and looked out at the grey and blue beneath the plane. Closing the shade, I turned to Draco as much as the first-class seat would allow.

“So magic?”

“Where do you want me to start?” He was expecting my question.

“The beginning is a good place,”

“We’d be here forever,” Draco chuckled. “I’ll start at the beginning of what would be your story though”

I marveled at his words. Two worlds divided but always existing beside each other. Sometimes they would intertwine sometimes they would be forgotten. He spoke of being raised in such a negative perspective of muggles and the life I led, putting me on edge until he gave a placid smile and an apology. His tale turned darker with the war that was fought and a hope that was lost and found again.

“Potter,” Draco’s tone snarled around the name.

“Harry Potter,” I mused. “So why can’t he be the heir of this Gryffindor whoever?”

“Like that would help his ego any,” Draco muttered flatly. “And he can’t because he’s a half blood. The heirs are pure blood wizards, not a drop of Muggle blood in them,”

“Okay...” my brows knit together. “But how does that explain me? They told me my mother was... and my father walked out on her. She died giving birth to me,”

“Back in the early days of the first war, I can only assume your parents were against the Dark Lord which gave them their death sentence. Especially if he knew you were the heir of Gryffindor,”

“But I’m not dead,” I pointed out.

“Seems that way,” Draco gave me an amused smirk. “They must not have known you existed. And seeing as you were raised in America, I came see why they—no one knew. Not until recently anyway.”

“But how did they find me? How did you find me? How did this letter even find me?”

“Would you accept magic as an answer to those three questions?” Draco tried.

“Sure, but I’m still creeped out,” I folded my arms. “Heir to a school of Magic...” I pondered the words aloud for the first time. “What does that even mean? What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Whatever you want,” Draco shrugged.

Our conversation pulled after that into almost nothing. I closed my eyes once more and began to feel the world around me through my newfound sixth sense. It became overwhelming after a few moments but when homing in on Draco’s presence quelled some of that overstimulation. His aura was calming, as if it were a foreign lullaby to my heart. A lullaby that lulled me to sleep before long.

But a darkness lingered still in my dreams. It was alien. Not what I had seen in Draco and not what I knew was within me. Something else. An evil presence that yearned to be free. To take control. To have power. It wanted me. It was suffocating. It dragged me down. Down. Down. Draco felt further away. The plane, it’s passengers, nothing but specks. The darkness dragged me forward. Red eyes stared me down and a smile full of knifes taunted me.

I struggled back, away from the evilness, trying to break free of the darkness but I was trapped. By back was against a wall. There was no escape.

A flicker of silver caught my attention. Bright and beautiful. A ray of hope. My eyes dared to leave the shadow figure to follow that ray. When I saw it again it because more clear. The wisps of a dragon made of pure light. It did not come for me, rather it showed me the way out.

There was a way out.

I gasped, my eyes fluttering open to see the glow of fluorescent lighting and worried grey eyes.

“What—that—who—” I sputtered, my heart racing.

“Are you okay?” His genuine concern called to me. I nodded, tears stinging my eyes.

“What was that Draco?”

“I don’t know,” From his tone I knew that he did not like not knowing. “But you’re safe now,” The comfort of his arms around me made me believe his words more than I thought I would. “We’ll land in a couple hours, just try to relax,” His tone was soft, something new.

The grey dim of London didn’t impress me. I squinted up at the misting rain. Draco took my hand and led me through the maze of the airport, gathering our bags and ushering me toward an empty alley way.

“Draco,” I warned, not enjoying the situation.

“Just hold tight to me and don’t touch the edges,” He instructed. “Don’t let go of your bag either,”

“What? Why?” I broke away from him, to his annoyance.

“Can’t you just do what you’re told? No questions asked?” He seemed to be asking the sky more than he was asking me. I gave him a flat look. “It’s magic. It’s called apperating. It’s going to feel weird, but you should be fine.” He offered his hand to me again.

“Should be?”

“We don’t have time for this Y/n,” He stressed.

“Like hell we do,” I snapped.

“Fine, if you’re not fine then you have total permission to hit me, that make you feel better?” He demanded, insisting that I take his hand.

“No,” I mumbled, placing my hand in his.

That feeling of power was back when he took out a wand—his wand—and twirling it, before I could make fun of him, we were whisked away, and I had to remember to hold on. The distorted reality around me was so enticing to touch, as if it were an impressionist painting that replaced with the dingy grey around me. Then it stopped.

“Where are we?” The scenery changed, still a duller grey, but now in front of a large mansion that I had only seen in movies.

“Malfoy Manor,” Draco said curtly. “Come along,”

Taking a second to recover from the beauty that was all around me, I grabbed my bag and followed him inside where I gasped again. The house looked like something of those fairytales I had always dreamed about.

“Are you coming?” Draco asked promptly.

“I... do you live here!?” I scrambled after him up the stairs with my bag.

“Yes,” He didn’t understand my amazement. “Are you alright?”

“I’ve never been something this... beautiful before,” I turned back to look over the banister at the grand foyer. “You just... live here?”

“Yes,” Now there was a smile playing at his lips. “Come on, we’ve still got much to do,”

“There’s more!?” I followed him up the stairs.

“You haven’t used magic in your entire life, and you think I’m gonna let you waltz in there scared and unprepared?” Draco snorted opening up a random door. “This will be your room. We have a couple days—it won’t be enough time but perhaps I can make you somewhat believable...”

“No one said anything about having to prove I was the heir!” I argued, again taken back by the lavish room but ultimately was overridden by my anger and fear. “Show up, sure! Maybe take a DNA test! But act like some wizard protégée!?”

“Witch,” He mended softly. “And we’ve got this under control,”

“We?” I did not have this under control.

“Snape and I. He will be helping me help you. There’s a lot you need to learn. But for now, rest. Dinner is in an hour,” Closing the door he left me to my thoughts.

Sitting on the bed I looked around the room. Anxiety began to creep in my chest again, but not for the reason it had... this morning. Could it still be the same day? Could I have only met Draco a dozen or so hours ago? My thoughts were reeling.

“A witch, an heir,” I scoffed. “Magic,” it was more of a whisper.

I lifted my hand and remembering the power and golden feeling that had come when Draco created a flower in my palm, I surged for the magic within me. To my surprise, golden flames licked at my fingertips, shimmering in the evening light. A giddy laugh left my lips as I intensified the flame to consume my entire hand.

“He said you were a quick learner,” A stern and nasally voice drew me from my stupor.

My hand dropped and my flame fizzled out as I stood.

“I—uh,”

“I am Severus Snape. I am here to help you. It is in your best interest to do exactly as I say without any questions. Understood?”

“Uh... okay?”

“Dinner will be downstairs soon. Draco would like you to join us. There are clothes in the wardrobe. Change into something more suitable and come down.” His instructions left no room for argument, but my stubbornness flared, yet he left before I could snark a reply.

Mourning my sweater jeans and converse I headed to the elaborate wardrobe and opened the great oak doors to reveal an array of gowns, cloaks, and dresses. Together they were worth more than any amount of money I had come into contact with. And of much higher taste than I’d dare to ever wear.

Riffling through them there was a semi bearable dress that looked as if it were from the 1950s and held a navy-blue color. It would have to do, and it could have been worse. I eyed a heavy shimmering gown with pearls and lace, shuddering at the thought.

———————————————

Draco’s day could have been a lot worse than it ended up being. After finally giving in at Snape’s insistence that he fly back to England and not apparate he thought his day was a lost cause. But then he met you and Merlin were you a handful.

He could easily see the magic you were doing and the power you were giving off. It took a lot of his willpower to not submit and leave you alone, as your defense ordered. But as soon as your eyes met his and a smile played at your lips, he didn’t have to fight any longer. You allowed him to stay close to you, assured that he meant you no harm. No one had trusted him like that in years.

For the heir of Hogwarts, you were quite remarkable. An easy sorting into Gryffindor with or without the hat. He had to play his cards right however, to maneuver you into a world of magic from the mundane of America. But he accomplished the feat, easier than he would have thought done. Perhaps you were more than ready to leave your Muggle world and join his magic one. And not like he could blame you. If he never had to ride in a plane again, he’d do anything.

But just as he thought you were safe, your eyes closed in a peaceful slumber, something dark came back to hurt you. Red eyes that he knew well. How... how he didn’t know. But he could feel the cold evil presence seep into your skin and consume your aura. It terrified him. Draco knew you were defenseless. No amount of unintentional magic could keep the Dark Lord at bay, dead or alive.

So, he did something he never had before in a desperate attempt to protect you and him from that evil. He called his Patronus, touching his wand to your temple, willing it to go and pull you out.

Your eyes flashing open, fear written on your usual confident features, your hands digging into his arms, Draco’s heart churned in his chest. You looked to him for safety. Him—who you’d met barely five hours prior when you were sure he was there to kidnap you. And now you held to him like a prayer. He didn’t expect that. There was nothing else he could do but hold you close and assure you that it was going to be okay.

If you two could ever get off this godforsaken plane.

With touchdown, Draco wasted no time in dragging you by the hand through the throng of the Muggle airport before he lost his temper. In a secluded alley he was finally ready to apparate home. Of course, you had thoughts of your own and he really wasn’t about to fight with you on this. He just wanted to go home. So, he gave in. Just this once.

And Merlin he was thankful that he did. He had never been so happy to see the Manor. You had never seen a Manor before. He almost laughed at the childlike wonder on your face. But instead, he was enamored by it, the same way you were enamored by a house that had lost its shine to him over the years. Draco longed to see the mansion through your eyes even for a moment.

“Your mother wrote,” Snape offered a letter. “She’ll be here within a day,” Draco sighed and skimmed the letter. “Do you still think this is a good idea?” “It’s the best one we’ve got,”

Before Draco could argue, the clearing of your throat softly drew his attention. You had changed into one of his mother’s old dresses that he hadn’t seen in years and you looked quite sheepish about it. Draco stood, out of respect or perhaps startlement. Snape gave him a look which he promptly ignored, going over to you.

“I... I hope it’s alright,” You fiddled with the skirt. “He... he said I could—that I should...”

“You look wonderful,” Draco encouraged softly. “Come, dinner is ready.”

He took your hand and led you through the large house, tuning out Snape’s instruction to you about how to hold yourself as you walked. Draco smiled at the annoyance in your eyes.

Dinner was... more or less a disaster. Your stubbornness met Snape’s instruction, getting you both nowhere.

“If you want to become the Heir of Hogwarts you will listen to me,” Snape almost snarled.

“I don’t want to become the heir!” You stood abruptly, throwing your cloth napkin onto the table. “I just want to know who I am!” Storming out of the dining room, Draco watched you, before sharing a look with Snape.

“She’s hopeless,” Snape muttered.

“You’re dealing with an American Gryffindor; did you think she was just going to sit still and look pretty?” Draco chuckled, standing.

It took him a while to find you. Draco could only fathom that you had gotten lost in the house yourself and winded up on a balcony somewhere on the third floor. You had a blanket draped around your shoulders as you stared up at the stars. The night had cleared, giving clarity to its pathfinders.

“I know what you’re going to say,” You spoke softly, sensing him nearby. “I... I can’t do this Draco. I’m not some lady, some long lost princess in some sort of fairytale. Magic or not...” You took a sharp breath in. “Fairytales are just stories. I’m still a girl with no parents, no family, no past... and no future.”

Draco studied you, wondering how you had changed so much from the confident self-assured girl he’d met this morning. He also had little clue what to say to cheer you up. So, he did what normally comforted him, he spoke fondly of his mother.

“My mother wore that dress,” He began softly, leaning against the door frame. “When I was young, before Hogwarts. Father would always be away on business. She’d take me to the garden, and we’d have a picnic. I remember her in that dress on those warm summer days,” Draco let his eyes slipped closed, lost in the memory. “She used to tell me that I’d never be alone. That as long as I could do magic, I’d always have a place to belong. That there would always be someone out there like me.” He paused. “Hogwarts was my home for quite some time. Slytherins were my family.”

“Who am I to come and claim it as mine then?” The words barely left your lips.

“You’ve been alone and away from your family for so long now. Don’t you think you deserve to go home? To a place that you belong?” You turned to face him, hope flickering in your eyes.

“But I—” You ran a hand through your hair nervously. “I’m never going to be good enough. Dinner was a disaster and I’m never going to please someone like Snape, let alone any other wizard!”

Draco couldn’t do anything but laugh. “No one can please Snape, darling. Don’t take that personally.” He sobered a bit. “You’ve never going to please everyone. Believe me I know. But... it’s more about becoming someone you’re proud of,”

“I don’t know who that is,” You turned back to the stars.

“If you run away, you’ll never know,” Draco mused, standing next to you, leaning on the railing. “But... if you truly can’t stand it in the next three days... I’ll take you back myself,”

You looked over to him, a swirl of emotions unidentifiable on your face. Before he could start to decipher even one of them, your gaze turned downward. He let out a soft sigh.

“If it’s any consolation,” Draco began. “I believe in you. I think you belong,” He turned to leave.

“Draco, wait,” You called out, “Thank you... I know... I know I’m a handful,”

A smile played at his lips. “That’s one way to describe you,”

You rolled your eyes, but you still didn’t smile and that worried him more than he cared to admit.

“I’ll take you back to your room,” He offered.

“I’m quite capable—” You cut yourself off and sighed. “Thanks, again,”

Staring at your closed door, Draco found himself wanting you back before him, so that he could continue to talk to you. He enjoyed it more than he thought. You didn’t fawn over him, nor did you fear him. Instead, you treated him as an equal. As a person.

“Oh, she looks like a kicked puppy!” His mother fawned the next morning. “Draco Lucius Malfoy I’ve taught you better!”

“It wasn’t me!” Draco argued back. “It was Snape!”

“Don’t you talk back to me young man!” She scolded. “Poor thing,” She turned to you, tucking a strand of hair out of your face. “There, there, I apologize for my son’s behavior,”

There was a look of bewilderment on your face at your gaze met his. He didn’t know what to do but shrug and shake his head.

“It... it really was Snape, Mrs. Malfoy,” you stammered out. “Draco’s been...” He met your eyes again and the words you were about to say died on your lips. Not this his mother noticed.

“Oh, don’t you worry about him!” She consoled, standing. “Severus Snape what have I told you about manners!” His mother shouted. Draco was grateful he was no longer the one being shouted at as his mother left to go and reprimand Snape some more.

“Your mother is...” you started a smile finding your lips. It was the first time you smiled since dinner last night.

“I should have warned you a bit more, that was my mistake,”

“No, she’s lovely,” You insisted.

“You don’t have to lie on my behalf,” Draco mused, earning a laugh from you.

“She really is wonderful,” Your laugh faded to a smile.

“You say that now, but if you thought Snape was a lot,” Draco laughed at the dread in your eyes.

His mother insisted they go to Paris to shop for you. A way to take your mind off yesterday, as well as find you the basics of wizardry. Which started with a wand.

“This is stupid,” You muttered as the shop keeper flitted about the hundreds of wand boxes, tittering in French to his mother.

“You need a wand,” Draco whispered back. “Every wand is unique, so there’s one for you,”

It took a few tries, and a few shattered light fixtures—and repairing spells—before you had a loyal wand in hand. Draco made sure that you could use the wand comfortably and surprised him by calling a lighting charm without the incantation... or him telling you to. He caught his mother’s eye who was clearly impressed with you. A new set of robes, what seemed like a new wardrobe entirely and a few books later, you seemed satisfied.

“I really can’t ask anything more of you,” You argued. “This is all more than enough,”

“Nonsense, darling,” His mother laughed. “Think nothing of it. Every great witch needs the tools to help her be successful,”

You blushed, looking down. “I mean it,” You tried again. “Even a trip to Paris would have been more than enough,”

“You’ve never been to Paris!?” His mother was aghast. You had really done it now. “Draco! Why didn’t you tell me the poor girl has never been to our city?” She turned to you. “You really must forgive his rudeness, I blame his father,”

“He—I—” You stammered.

“But I won’t have you here and not show you the wonders of the greatest city in the world. Come! Come!” She ushered you off and Draco had no choice but to trail behind and make sure you didn’t get into too much trouble.

After what seemed like days—though it was only hours filled with shows, attractions, museums, antique shops and more—his mother finally found a resting place, and by the look on your face and your slumped shoulders, you needed it. It was a rooftop restaurant that overlooked the city scape of Paris, off to the Eiffel Tower that lit up the night sky. You had that look of wonder and enchantment in your eyes again as you took in the city scape. Again. Draco wished he could see it through your eyes... for the first time all over again.

“She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she?” His mother whispered in his ear, far from your earshot. “I’m surprised at you Draco. I’ve never seen you this way around another girl before,”

“She not just another girl mother,” Draco retorted, trying not to blush. “She’s the heir of Hogwarts. The Gryffindor crown princess.” He sighed softly. “She doesn’t have time for...”

“A handsome young man who’s been on his own for too long?” His mother mused.

“A Slytherin,” He finished. “A Death Eater,”

“You’re no more a Death Eater than she is a muggle,” Narcissa said sternly. “I see the way she looks at you Draco,”

“Enough, mother,” Draco shook his head, pursing his lips. “Enough,”

“Fine, fine,” His mother scoffed. “Y/n, darling!” She called.

This dinner was a bit more successful. You were animated with conversation and excitement from the day. There was a way that you spoke about his city that had his heart. Dinner lulled to wine and dessert as couples began to take the dance floor, gliding along to the live band.

“Do you dance darling?” His mother asked, noticing your interested.

“Uh, no, not really,” You stammered, looking sheepish as you blushed.

“Oh, that won’t do! Draco, go on, teach her!” Narcissa gave him a pointed look.

“No really it’s okay!” You refuted before he could.

“Nonsense, every girl must know how to dance, magic or no,” You could both sense that she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

So, he ended up with you in his arms on the dance floor as he tried to lead you through a simple waltz.

“You have to trust me,” He instructed, as your eyes met his. “I’m not going to let you fall,” His tone softened.

Your eyes didn’t leave his as you began to find your rhythm in the dance, letting him lead you through it all. Soon you were laughing with joy as he twirled you around the dance floor. He heart skipped a beat or two. The music ended before he wanted it to and a round of applause went up.

And Draco had to let you go.

______________________________

I laid in bed that night, staring at the stars I had created with a simple spell. With the use of my wand, magic was... easy. If I thought and felt what I wanted, it occurred. Though it seemed like a natural process to me, Draco, and Narcissa—and even Snape—were impressed.

Staring regardless, I replayed the night over and over. Dancing with Draco... in Paris... on a rooftop like some sort of stupid fairytale. Whose ending didn’t belong to me. It was the one question I didn’t ask through Narcissa’s lessons. What happened to Draco and I after I had claimed my ‘throne’?

It left me sleepless.

“I can’t do this,” I whispered to him the next day, in front of the grand gates of Hogwarts.

My anxiety was through the roof. Clad in new formal robes, and hair and makeup perfected courtesy of Narcissa, all I had to do was walk in.

“We can still turn back,” Draco gave.

“I can’t do that either,” I muttered, causing him to laugh.

“I believe in you, Y/n,” His earnest words caught my attention and out gazes lingered a bit too long, leaving us both blushing.

“Just... don’t leave me,”

“I remember you telling me that if I could prove magic to you, you’d follow me anywhere. I don’t think I have to worry about you ever leaving me,” He joked softly as we walked into the castle grounds.

“I suppose not,” I smiled at the ground.

“Y/n,” Draco paused, the mood shifting to something more serious and downcast. “You’re... you’re gonna hear somethings about me and... they’re not going to be good,” I pondered his words for a moment.

“You flew halfway around the world to find me, and you helped me get back on my feet, that’s good enough for me,” I smiled softly.

Draco pursed his lips and took a deep breath, still looking despondent about the situation.

“Draco,” I called softly. His grey eyes met mine. “I’d never have followed you onto that plane if I didn’t trust you,”

Deciding that he didn’t have an argument to that that he deemed should be voiced, he led me deeper into the grand castle and it took everything in me not to stop and stare at just about everything.

“You went to school here?” I squeaked. A smile parted his lips.

“Yes... you should have too,” He seemed to realize the injustice.

“We can’t change that now,” I comforted.

Magnificent doors parted the two of us from the entire school and quite a few wizard officials according to Draco. I stared at the intricate detailed work of the doors. If I wasn’t so nervous, I could have spent the entire day staring at these doors alone.

But there was something to be done.

The doors opened and the entire hall fell into a pin drop silence. I grabbed Draco’s hand without thinking for the comfort and support. He squeezed mine reassuringly as we began out steps forward to the front, where older, authoritative looking wizards stood.

“Death Eater,” A student hissed.

“Traitor,”

“Scum,”

“You don’t belong here,”

“Slytherin,”

My eyes glanced up to Draco, who had a mask of no emotion, but I could see the stress in the clenching of his jaw and tightening of his eyes. It was subtle but it was still there. This time I gave his hand a squeeze of reassurance and glared down the crowd, who immediately went quiet. There was not a menacing whisper to be heard.

At the front of the Great Hall there were three wizards who stood out among the rest. They were younger, but still assured of themselves as they stepped forward towards us. A boy with fiery red hair holding hands with a girl who had a glare that I was proud of and beside them a boy with a mess of black hair and piercing green eyes.

“Potter,” Draco’s eyes narrowed as he stood a bit taller.

“Malfoy,” There was the same distain in the supposed savior of the wizarding world’s tone.

I snorted, drawing both of their attention.

“What are you? Five?” I crossed my arms. “Y/n, nice to meet you,” I held my hand out for Harry to shake.

“I still can’t leave you two alone for five minutes,” A new voice sighed, stepping forward. “I hope they haven’t caused you too much trouble, child. I’m Professor McGonagall, headmaster of Hogwarts,”

“Y/n,” I gave again. “Supposed heiress to Gryffindor,”

“Yes,” She smiled. “I can see it in your eyes,”

Harry scoffed, sulking mildly. I looked over to him, then to Draco, confused and amused.

“I must apologize for the deceit in my letter.” McGonagall continued paying no mind to the interaction between Harry and me. “I feared that it was the only way to get you to come,” Her kind blue eyes held mine.

“I understand,” My smile was light. “In fact, if it wasn’t for Draco, I’m not sure I would have found my way here,”

“He used you!” Harry argued. “He wanted to clear his name so of course he helped you! You think he’d be a decent person if there wasn’t something in it for him!”

“That’s enough of that Mr. Potter!” McGonagall scolded. “Mr. Malfoy aided the heir of your house here from America unprovoked and I will not have you accuse him of such things,”

“If she trusted Malfoy there’s no way that she could ever be a Gryffindor. She doesn’t belong here,” Harry’s words were as cold as ice.

The malice and hatred in his voice and eyes was a fatal blow to my heart and confidence. Harry was right. I didn’t belong here. I looked around to the lavish hall and all of the students and wizard officials who had years of training and practice and grew up knowing who they were... this wasn’t where I belonged.

“How dare you,” Draco snarled, taking a step forward to shield me from Harry’s further words, but they had already hit their mark.

Their bickering silenced, but the tensions were high. Not that I noticed, I was too wrapped up in my negative thoughts.

“Come child,” McGonagall beckoned.

“Give me a minute,” I requested softly.

“We really need—”

“I said in a minute!” My raised voice shocked Draco and McGonagall. There was almost fear in their eyes. Harry still held the same hatred for me in his stare, now smug as if I proved his point.

It was enough to cause me to run.

Never being in a castle before in my life let alone a magic one, I was lost before I took my third turn. Tears streaming down my face, I never felt more alone. I found myself in a small courtyard with a lone old oak tree.

As I did when I was younger, I began to climb high into the branches, looking for an escape from the world below me. But there weren’t branches high enough this time. Resting on a high branch I leaned against the trunk, I let myself cry. The passage of time was hard to tell as the sun sank and the stars came out to play. It might have been an hour or two. I didn’t know and I was too miserable to care.

I didn’t belong here, and I wasn’t wanted here. Moments before I was only thinking that I didn’t care what they thought about Draco. I never imagined that there would be doubt and uncertainty about me.

I heard footsteps coming into the courtyard.

“Go away Draco,” I warned, pausing when I saw that it wasn’t Draco, but instead McGonagall. “I’m sorry, I thought—”

“I know who you thought I was,” She peered up at me through the branches. “Merlin’s sake what are you doing in a tree?” I heard the sternness in her voice, but I couldn’t help but here the amusement underneath.

“Hiding,” I offered sheepishly.

“Well come down from there,” She ordered.

I made my way down with ease. Dropping to the ground from a higher branch than I could have, I knew that I startled the headmaster. I gave a polite hesitant smile.

“What do they teach you in America,” McGonagall pursed her lips, an undeniable hint of mischief in her eye.

“I’m... really sorry professor,” I sighed. “I know I’m not what anyone thought. And I know I don’t belong here. I’m sorry I ever...”

“Never mind all that,” She cut me off. “Who are you, child?”

“I... I was hoping that you could tell me,” I glanced down, fidgeting, and straightening my robe.

“My dear, I’m old, and I’m tired of being conned and tricked.” She began.

“I don’t want to trick anyone,” I said earnestly.

“And I’m sure owning this castle means nothing to you either?” A silence passed between us.

“I just want to know who I am,” I finally spoke. “Whether or not I belong to a family, if I’m someone like you,” I sat on the stone bench that was to the side. “Draco said that Hogwarts was like home to him... a family,” Tears stung my eyes. “I never had a home, a family...”

McGonagall sat beside me, placing her hand over mine.

“Heir or not, you will always have a home here at Hogwarts. It is a safe haven to all witches and wizards who wish to remain,” She assured me. “And I am the one that must apologize. Mr. Potter is very hotheaded, a negative attribute to Gryffindors I’m afraid,” A smile played at her lips. “But... if Draco followed you to America and brought you here, I have no doubt that you are the heir.” I smiled down at my hands. “I see the way he looks at you,”

“I’ve never met anyone like him before,” I confessed.

“Then you are very special,” She stood. “Now come, you have a title to claim and a sword that belongs to you,”

“I get a sword?” My excitement grew as I followed her. McGonagall merely laughed and led me back through the castle.

Draco, who was anxiously pacing outside of the Great Hall, caught sight of us. He rushed over to me, looking me over before pulling me into a hug, before remembering himself.

“I’m so sorry,” He insisted. “This is my fault. Harry and I never got along, and as soon as I walked in there with you, I pinned you as a rival to him,” He cupped my face softly. “I’m so sorry,” He repeated.

Nodding, I gave him a smile.

“You destiny awaits inside my dear,” McGonagall motioned toward the entrance to the hall.

The second time I walked down the aisle of students, I no longer had the confidence I had before. Except, Draco’s hand in mine gave me the courage to keep going. Except this time, Harry’s malice was not the force holding me back.

As Draco and I were halfway across the room, a great darkness flooded the hall. Disquieted whispers of fear were exchanged among the students and official wizards.

“No other heir will take the throne,” A cruel voice hissed, that I had only heard once before, in a dream. I grabbed Draco’s hand. “No heir but Slytherin,”

I looked to Draco, trying to find what to do next in his eyes. He was just as uncertain as I was. Then something sparked in his eyes.

“The sword Y/n!” Draco urged. “Take the sword and claim your throne!”

“But how is that—”

“Just go!” He ordered drawing his wand and leaving little room for argument.

The darkness hung heavier in the room. Shedding my stuffy robes, I was free to run in nothing more than jeans and a sweater to the podium where the sword lay.

“Don’t touch that sword!” The voice hissed. “Or your lover here dies!”

I turned to see Draco almost entirely consumed by a thick black smoke, struggling for air.

“Don’t hurt him!” I screeched, pausing on my ascent toward the sword.

Hundreds of wizards and witches watched us with bated breath, warned by McGonagall to stay back. I could see the fear and fury in their gazes.

“Don’t hurt him,” I begged, taking a step away from the podium.

“Y/n, don’t—don’t worry about me,” Draco gasped out.

“You’ll die,” I argued weakly. “You can’t leave me! You promised!”

“I know,” He choked out. “Just trust me. It’s magic,” The sparkle of mischief in his eyes gave me the courage I needed to ignore the threatening evil voice and walked up to the sword for the third time since I arrived.

“No past... no parents...no home...” I muttered, looking at the sword. “But you won’t take my future!”

I gripped the sword handle and held it high above my head, watching as the Great Hall was bathed in golden light. Every person in the room stared at me, before bowing. I didn’t care. My eyes held onto one person.

The dark cloud has nowhere to run, it was vaporized. Draco fell to the ground gasping for air. I dropped the sword to the ground, hearing it clatter somewhere behind me as I rushed to Draco’s side.

“My god, Draco!” I worried over him, holding him close. “Don’t you ever do that again!” He coughed out a laugh and his arms weakly embraced me.

“Y/n, sweetheart, I don’t think now is the right time. You can yell at me later,” He nodded to the faces in awe that stared at me.

I scrambled to my feet, helping Draco up.

“All hail the Gryffindor Heiress and the Slytherin Prince!” McGonagall proclaimed with a clear voice. A loud cheer went up in the Hall that had me blushing and nearly clinging to Draco.

McGonagall came over to me, offering me the sword that laid in her outstretched hands. “I do believe this belongs to you,” She smiled.

I took the sword, and though the light wasn’t as great as it had been moments before, there was a golden shine to the silver metal. I held it up, examining it. A word burned into the metal, in a golden script.

Virtus

I smiled at the word. Glancing up at Draco, and the adoration in his grey eyes, the sword was soon forgotten from my attention.

“Hi,” I whispered.

“Hello,” He smiled.

“So... I’m the Heir,” I offered, nervous for a new reason.

“I see that,”

“Draco?”

“Yes?”

“I... I, uh,”

“I know.” Draco smiled, “I fancy you too,”

I laughed despite myself at his British vernacular. Of which I had to quickly explain because of the hurt look on his face. Rolling his eyes, he pulled me close, causing me to look up at him. I met curious warm grey eyes that held the secrets of a world. I smiled.

Draco leaned down and pressed his lips to mine, cradling my face with the utmost care as he kissed me. Another cheer went up causing me to laugh and forcing me away from his kiss.

“I love you,” He mended, whispering for just us to hear.

“I love you too,”

Then he pressed his lips to mine once more not caring if the world was burning or celebrating around us.

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akumaalert · 3 years

Text

First Section of Chp. 25 - "Heavy Metal Lover"

Hey, all. Writing on "Divergence" and "Heavy Metal Lover" is already going well. Able to provide the first section of chapter 25 of "Heavy Metal Lover" here for you all. Will likely match my accidental posting schedule of Monday/Tuesday next week.

Previous chapters/full story (rated Explicit): https://archiveofourown.org/works/31672202/chapters/78384827

Title: The Book, the Bombshell, and the Boiling Point

CW: Sleep deprivation, implied but not graphic sexual content, breeding kink, brief mention of needles/injectables (not used)

The wobble of his feet made his eyes stutter open before closing again.

His creations - Haulers and Eins - groaned around him.

"Bett..."

"Ja...ja...bett..."

"Mutter? Mutter...bett...papa..."

Hand coming up almost out of instinct, Heisenberg swayed and buckled with sleep dragging his eyelids down like weights. When his hand met with his face, he concentrated as much energy as he could in shocking himself.

With his body and his powers, it simply stood as a more effective version of a slap.

"Fuck. Don't do that. Gotta fix the line...salvaged what I could...now...now the production...fuck...production line..."

"Mutter?" groaned an Eins.

"Shut the fuck up," grumbled Heisenberg.

Dropping that hand with every intention of getting back to work, Heisenberg frowned at himself when he realized the shock had roused his cock.

Don't do that...don't think about...haven't...since that morning...

One of the most wonderful and most wounding mornings of his entire existence. The morning Lucky had unlocked a world of secrets for him. The morning he slammed that world shut - locked her out - and focused every moment and amount of energy into the two things that filled purpose into his chest.

The factory.

The woman of the factory.

"You're so...I need to tell you...I need to tell you how beautiful your eyes are and I need you to hear me...hear that I'm not...I don't know what you thought...but you've got the most magnetic eyes and-"

Genuine. She sounded so genuine in that moment.

Clenching and blinking his eyes, he burrowed a hand onto his face in another failed attempt to wake - to stay.

"Good...good...just like that...look so handsome when you come. So, so handsome, Heis."

Heisenberg hadn't even seen her face when she reached her peak. Would never know how that lovely face loosened and lost itself to pleasure.

But that? He could endure.

He could endure it because he knew that knowing - knowing the rawest of her beauty - was far crueler than never knowing at all.

The knowing...the expression of his desire for her body...that was easy enough to quench. His hand would be a poor substitution, but a substitution nonetheless.

It was the kiss...the lips so tender against his own...the intent so masked yet so filled with affection.

That...that he could not endure not knowing.

So he did not dwell there. Did not allow himself to linger on the most precious of that morning's many firsts. He focused, instead, on their bodies intertwined. To him, he could imagine. Could imagine her so well. It was the exact same reason Heisenberg could swallow his want and his wishes for more. More of her, more of that morning together.

The village remained a lonely place for decades on end. He had seen - firsthand - the couples sneaking behind the church and into the woods to fulfill carnal desires. At the time, the displays were vulgar. Pointless people in pointless pursuit of a pointless and pitiful passion. A distraction from the veil that was Miranda's manipulation of a happy, wholesome home.

But now? Now those same images - vague and short and snipped through trees or fences - served as his only guideline for what could have been.

Thoughts of his body leaned over hers in a merging of flesh contrasted so wildly from Heisenberg's mutation - almost cruelly so in every way possible. Not only due to pleasure instead of pain, but of him sharing that pleasure with Lucky, of highs so divine as to drown in them.

The horror - the fear and the shudder of his heart - remained the same in both situations. Both because of their proclivity for pain.

Yet only one kept worming into his brain.

Lucky beneath him wearing only that wanting look in her eyes.

Eager thrusts. Skin on skin. That softness...that impossible softness that no science could explain.

The bed...the sheets that only existed custom made for the Dimitrescu castle. The glints of gold and silver and gems...the reminder of his thievery. Every invitation to the castle taken. Every slip of his fingers over any and everything most valuable to pilfer and sell.

Everything. Everything and anything.

If he still had one to give, Heisenberg would sell his soul to meet that mountain of debt to set her free.

"Please...please...Karl...want...need you...need something to remember you by..."

The twisted desire. The most damnable thing his mind had ever lingered upon. The worst of his many sins.

"You gonna take me, Lucky?" he panted. "Gonna get full on my brat? Have two stowaways for that fat fuck to carry? Huh?"

"Uh-huh..."

"Look at me...don't you hide those beautiful eyes from me...I need to hear...need to know for sure...you want a child. I know you do. So have mine."

She moaned. "Yes."

"Yes? Don't fuck with me, baby..."

"Yes, Karl. Yes. Want your baby. Please. Fill me up."

And he would...again, and again, and again.

He would never see her belly grow. Never hold her hand and steady her in the hour she needed him most. Never hold a creation - their creation - in his arms.

Never have the chance to screw up the kid like he had been screwed up.

What fault could there be? What harm? In giving Lucky - determined and persistent and kind Lucky - what she so dearly wanted without allowing that witch to harm her or harm the child of their...his love?

Nothing prevented it...logic itself made it sounder than sound could be.

Lucky would be the most amazing of mothers. Just like his own or how he liked to remember her, at least. Compassionate and kind yet never backing down. Willing to bend but not willing to be broken.

And if he worked hard...if he worked nonstop...if he worked and grinded to the bone and the metal within that bone...he could be free.

Freedom...freedom and something he had never considered before in all his years of wanting it.

A place to go with that freedom.

A family to welcome him home.

Another shock to his face had him practically roaring a scream to wake.

The Soldats around him lingered and lurked. Like scared children.

"BETT! PAPA...BETT!"

"MUTTER! MUTTER? PAPA..."

"SHUT UP!"

The rage ripping through his throat twisted with the electric overload of his body meant that everything around him - the Soldats and the lumbering lines of the factory for miles on end - came to a complete and utter standstill.

A ring in his ears and the sound of his own panicked breaths were the only noises in the world.

In this part of the factory - on ground zero of the explosion - he had yet to have a chance to replace the floor.

So he fell to his knees into a rush of dirt and dust before his hands followed suit and he laid awkwardly on the ground and his belly.

As long as his powers would hold, he could get some sleep before the Soldats woke again.

Five minutes?

Ten?

Whatever it would be, it would need to be enough.

Lucky would be waking soon and with her the need to administer more injectables. Injectables that were multiplying the eggs inside of her body in preparation for Miranda's disgusting display of what Heisenberg wanted despite the impossibility and the imposition on Lucky's own desires.

A child.

Their child.

A Heisenberg beside himself not only alive, but thriving.

Don't...don't do that...to her...she doesn't want that...doesn't want me...

The last of his blinks kicked grit into his eyes that he had little will to fight with slumber dragging every ounce of his strength away.

But that's okay...can just remember her...remember that morning...I'll see you soon, Mein Schätzchen...

#heavy metal lover #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x you #x reader

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onyxolay · 3 years

Text

Archie sat on his bed doing pretty much nothing, He had gotten board after reading for a good 2 Hours. While reading He read a line in his book, It was One character asking another why there team oh hero’s existed And why they had Banded together in the first place, This Prompted Archie to go Over To Lucas’s Room and ask him the same Question.

“Why do the outcasts Exist, And why Was this group created?”

The Winged wolf Sat on his bed, A little surprised, But, he new Archie was gonna ask eventually.

“Do ya really wanna know what happened lit-Len….?”

“Yes please, I’d love to k ow why we’re here today!”

“If ya say so…”

Lucas Picked up Archie And put him on lap while also Getting a book out of a Pocket dimension of his that just so happened to be opened. The wolf said to the smaller one:

“It started along time ago in my childhood…I was just a normal Human back then, Just like Alex and The villagers. If you can count them as humans…. But anyways, I was bullied Severely as a kid… For my weight, My voice Never being Exsactly male or female, Everything, Home wasn’t much better… A big harasser of mine was Steve. His Little brother Herobrine though, I believe Took pity on me one day when he saw Steve tear up my Old teddy bear on purpose and helped me, And from there we were Freinds. We grew pretty close and started A little freind group Witch was actually the first ever Cast of the Outcasts! But then… The incident Happened… Herobrine Got his powers for the first time and went on a rampage, The wither was summoned and so many things and people were destroyed… After Everything died down I found myself spending my days Roaming the Once Very active City’s and Neighborhoods, Just to see what Was left Of the Area. I never admitted this to anyone but… I soon came to Like and sorta love the Freedom and Loneliness of the abandoned City’s. Granted, There were all practically Ghost towns by then, But I still loved the feeling of being alone and Having the freedom to do as you please. My Plan was To rebuild the city’s and make them livable again, But that was post poned When Herobrine had went missing, Me, Alex, And others spent A Very long time looking for him. But to no Avail… He was soon found by Steve who..didn’t take his presence so Generously… Meanwhile I had still been looking For Herobrine, But Steve found me first… He said that He could lead me to him, And so foolishly I followed him… Little did I know what would happen to me… I was experimented on And tested on and soon I Became this… There were still many other things I went through… You know the stories Already… But case in point Archie…”

The wolf sighed as the Smaller illager on his lapped watched him Speak, He was sad to say the least, He felt awful Actually. Lucas Spoke Again,

“The Outcasts Exist because people were out there suffering… Being tormented, Used, Or we’re in worse situations… I had been through plenty of things myself And I new Very well that my Presence wasn’t welcome in A lot places, I soon noticed that a lot of others weren’t to. I met people like Chase, Lukai And Izzy. Whom in turn Repaid me for giving them Home and a safe space by helping me Officially form the outcasts. A group that’s meant to help people Heal or be safe from the Torcher that lies beyond In the world. The members Of the outcasts today joined because when it came to safety, Or in chases case family, They had no where to go, They were the socials rejects, The outcasts… So now you know… What time is it?”

Lucas looked at the clock, “10:30pm, You Need to go to bed K Archie?”

“Alright dad…Gn!”

“Gn Lit-Len….”

#minecraft #good stuff #minecraft au #archie #au #minecraft dungeons #rise of the arch illager #minecraft illager #arch illager #rotai archie #illager #lucasolay #outcasts #family #abandoned

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hockeywhy · 4 years

Text

rock on; t. jost

WARNINGS: none WORD COUNT: 2.2k A/N: I wrote this back when Josty blessed all the goths with his black lipstick and choker and space buns last Halloween, so I thought well, why not re-post it and here it is.

“Babe?”

“Mhm…”

You watch in amusement as Tyson hovers around your makeup table, occasionally picking at an item now and then to inspect it before setting it back in its place. Although he tries to make himself appear as nonchalant as he can, you know there is something on his mind that made him circle around the area for the past half hour or so. You didn’t think much of it initially until he started uncapping some lipsticks, twirling them up for inspection, eyebrows furrowing in concentration before setting them down again. If you didn’t know him for as long as you did, you’d pass off his behaviour as an act of boredom, but you can swear you know him even better than you know yourself at times. There is purpose to his movement, and you’re set on finding out what’s been nagging at him.

“See anything you like?” you ask cautiously, though there’s a hint of amusement in your voice.

“What? No, I was just…” He lifts his shoulders in a shrug, placing a pencil back in its place and for a brief moment, he catches your eyes in the mirror. It isn’t until you arch a brow in silent question that Tyson turns to face you properly. “So, you know how we have that little get together for Halloween tonight?” he questions, and you prompt him to carry on with a quick nod of your head. “Well, since you and Olivia are going to wear matching costumes, Dante and I thought of doing the same thing.”

“Let me guess. You two are finally agreeing with our Flintstones costumes, and will dress as Fred and Barney?”

Tyson chuckles and he shakes his head, almost regretfully. “Not quite. But, uh, do you happen to have a really dark shade of lipstick? Like a dark purple or…black, even?”

You sit up slowly then crawl over to sit closer to the foot of the bed. “I think I do. I’m pretty sure I do. Why do you ask?”

“Well, remember when we watched that Scooby Doo movie and you said you really liked those Hex Girls?”

You’re just a split second away from confirming you remember that because it only happened the previous night. You and Tyson knew you’d be hanging out with a few friends on Halloween night, so you booked off the Eve of it solely for yourselves. The movies were rolling one after the other throughout most of the day and the two of you went from watching genuinely scary films to children’s stuff like Hocus Pocus or Paranorman, though you found that both of you were especially keen on Scooby Doo and the Witch’s Ghost. Whether it had to do with it being such a childhood classic or the familiarity of the characters, you and Tyson made sure you had enough snacks to last you the full run of the movie without either of you having to get up for refills. By the end of it, you were both trying to one-up each other for the best impersonation of the Hex Girls though you barely managed to make it halfway through before giving in to fits of laughter.

The coin dropped then.

“No way…” you exclaimed quietly while Tyson confirmed your guess with a quick nod and a big grin, clearly proud of the decision he and Dante came to at some point and could now finally put it to practice.

“Uh-huh. Well, we’re not dressing up as the Hex Girls but they’re definitely the inspiration, so… Think you can help?”

The sheer excitement of the thought made you squeal and jump up off the bed properly, clapping your hands together, mind already racing through the endless possibilities. Sure, you should probably make a start on putting together your own look for the approaching evening, but this was so much more exciting. Betty Rubble could wait. Tyson in a goth-rock look, however? You had to help him make a start on it – right now.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this sooner! I could’ve—oh gosh, we could’ve put together so many things!” you exclaimed while circling around him to browse quickly through a few items across the vanity, setting aside some tools in a pile you mentally labelled as the for-consideration pile.

“I trust you with this,” he assured, turning to sit properly in the seat while watching you go through what to him, seemed like endless options. “So, we’re thinking the full works, you know? All black outfits, maybe even makeup to go with it… What do you think?”

“I think this will be the best Halloween,” you confirm to him and press a quick kiss to his mouth for extra measure. Once you straighten up though, something keeps you hovering just behind Tyson to consider him with a slight tilt of your head and a narrowing of your eyes. Almost subconsciously, you bring a hand up to his hair, running your fingers through the curls and the gesture makes him tilt his head back in silent encouragement to keep doing that. “How about space buns?” you ask quietly, almost to yourself and briefly test out the idea by gathering some of his hair to part it. It’s long enough now, and so easy to work with that it’d be too much of a shame to pass on the opportunity. “Please say yes.”

Tyson laughs quietly, reaching back for one of your hands and giving it a light tug so that you can let him guide it to his mouth. He presses a kiss to the heel of your palm and then the inside of your wrist.

“Go for it.”

The fun begins then and though the idea is very much Tyson and Dante’s, the entire process becomes your own.

You dig out an old black denim jacket you almost forgot about and when you both come to the conclusion that it’s probably a little too tight for Tyson around the arms and therefore not quite as rock-and-roll, you take a pair of scissors to it despite his endless string of assurance that surely there’s something else he could use.

“Babe, it has little gems around it. You can’t say no to the early 2000s type gems on clothing,” you tell him in a deadpan voice and that seems to do it just right.

The dressing up part is the easiest and perhaps the most straightforward, but when you finally sit him down at the vanity again so that you can make a start, Tyson makes you line up everything you’ll use so he can take a picture and send it to Dante. Just to make sure that they’ll be as closely matched as possible.

Tyson follows your guidance to a T: he looks up when you line his bottom lash line and looks down when you make a start on his eyelids; he parts his lips a little just before you make a start on lining them (not before exclaiming how good this entire look is coming along and pressing another kiss on his mouth which he returns just before you take a pencil to it) and bites down on a small folded tissue when you tell him.

All the while, you prevent him from trying to glimpse himself in the mirror but after he gets past the first two complaints (“babe, come on I just want to look really quick” and “is it because I don’t fit this at all and you’re trying to soften the blow?”), Tyson simply settles quietly, legs spread just enough to let you stand closer while parting his hair. Occasionally, he’d loosely wrap his arms around your waist or casually caress your sides with his palms but other than that, the entire situation is reminiscent of days from childhood when you and your girlfriends would take turns helping each other with dress-up and sitting as still as possible out of sheer fear the slightest inclination of your body would ruin everything.

It isn’t until you finish doing one of the space buns that you lean back a little to look at him properly, and you can’t help the small giggle that escapes your mouth.

“I think this is it, baby,” you tell him. “This is the costume for you.”

A slight furrow forms on his face and his smile is almost cautious. “I can’t tell if you mean it’s horrifically good or horrifically horrific. Not that I don’t trust your skills!” he corrects quickly, before you even have the chance to consider that in the first place. “I don’t think I’d trust anyone with a pencil anywhere near my eye except you, but I’m pretty sure between the two of us, you’d rock the eyeliner, dark lipstick and space buns better than anyone can.”

You arch an eyebrow but waste no more time getting started on the second bun. “What, you’re telling me you never let Kacey lure you into playing dress up as kids?” There’s a moment of hesitation, so you know you got him. Besides, you’ve seen the photos. Those were some of the first Kacey showed you as soon as Tyson introduced you to his family. “Thought so. Now let me just get this one done and you’ll see you might just give Dusk a run for her money.”

Try as you might though, and you couldn’t tame one of his curls from falling over his forehead and though you had an apparent endless supply of pins, you decided to give them a pass. There is something so incredibly endearing about that one loose strand that refused to be tamed and besides, you figured Instagram would thank you for it if any photos were to go up on the internet. For extra safety, you twirl it around your finger then set it loose before bringing your palms up to hover in front of his eyes.

“Alright, now turn around slowly and I dare you to tell me this isn’t an entire look.”

He does as told and once he’s facing the mirror, you make an entire show out of removing your hands, complete with a ta-dah!

At once, his mouth falls open and slowly, he turns his head one way then the other before tilting it down just enough to catch a full glimpse of the buns sitting atop his head.

“Oh my god…” he mutters, and you can tell his voice is caught somewhere between regret and amusement, so you wrap your arms around his shoulders, bringing your head down to rest on his shoulder after pecking his cheek quickly.

“If Dante came up with this idea, I’m buying him the most lavish box of chocolates. If you came up with this idea, it’ll take a lot to beat it, I promise that,” you assure him and Tyson bursts into embarrassed laughter.

“I look like I’m about to record the remix to an Alice Cooper song.”

“I wanna kiss you but I want it too much. I wanna taste you but your lips are venomous poison,” you quote in a soft sing-song voice and just as you’re about to pull away from him just to add that extra dramatic flair, Tyson catches your wrist and reels you back in towards him gently, meeting you halfway as he stands up.

“Keep going,” he murmurs against your mouth.

You chuckle softly, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Don’t spoil your lipstick so soon, baby. You didn’t even get to show it off to everyone else, so let’s save it for later, okay?”

It isn’t until you emerge from your bedroom almost an hour later after completing your own dress up that you notice Tyson had one extra surprise up his sleeve. He turns towards the sound of your footsteps and gleaming around his neck is a spiked leather choker that makes your jaw fall open. He stretches his arms out and does a slow spin, and when he faces you again, he tips his head back just a little as if to give you a better view.

“Yes? No?” he questions, and you detect a trace of hesitance in his voice.

“Yes,” you confirm, almost breathlessly as you close the gap between the two of you and despite your earlier warning, kiss him even if some of the black lipstick might transfer onto your own hot pink one. It’s no bother, anyway. You have your tube and Tyson’s packed in your clutch.

Just as you’re about to make a move towards the door, however, Tyson stops you and encourages you to do a full spin.

“Wow,” he exclaims, following that up with a low whistle. “It’s really not too late at all for me to get into that Barney costume.”

“Absolutely not,” you state firmly and to make your point even clearer, you quickly push him out of the door. “Betty Rubble and Wilma Flintstone are going to just have a girls’ Halloween get-together and we’ll see our husbands when we get back home. Meanwhile, you and Dante can put on a show worthy of a 2000s middle school goth-rock party. Hey, do you know the lyrics to My Chemical Romance’s I’m Not Okay?”

“I’m not singing My Chemical Romance,” Tyson says quickly, almost stumbling his words in doing so as if saying it any slower would mean he’d have to do it right there and then.

“Oh, you are so singing My Chemical Romance,” you say softly, voice taking on that sing-song tone again and burst into laughter as Tyson groans, gently bumping his head against the steering wheel.

#tyson jost #tyson jost imagine #tyson jost fic #nhl imagine #nhl fanfic #nhl fic #*#remember when tyson just decided to win halloween????? remember that????#i just thought of it randomly today and i was like holy shit #he makes me miss doing my own hair up in space buns so i think i will tomorrow lol

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luthienne · 4 years

Note

Hi dear, do you have any good words on emotional courage?

hi my love, you can check out this post and this post; here are a few more:

“I know a lot about pain… and I know it is bad for people, eats away the spirit, but how about courage, what is it for if not to use when needed?”

Martha Gellhorn, Selected Letters

“This is in the end the only kind of courage that is required of us: the courage to face the strangest, most unusual, most inexplicable experiences that can meet us.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

“You don’t realize it, perhaps, but you are turning these delusions and illusions of the past into criminal things. Relinquish everything. Stay in bed until you feel so shock full of energy, hope, courage that you bounce out of abed. You can only aid the world–if you still believe the world needs our individual aid–by retaining your faith in life. Your body may be weak, but I know you still have wings.”

Henry Miller, A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin and Henry Miller

“I… want to inherit the witch in my women ancestors—the willfulness, the passion, ay, the passion where all good art comes from as women, the perseverance, the survivor skills, the courage, the strength of las mujeres bravas, peleoneras, necias, berrrinchudas. I want to be una brava, una peleonera, necia, nerrinchuda. I want to be bad if bad means I must go against society—el Papá, el Pápa, the boyfriend, lover, husband, girlfriend, comadres—and listen to my own heart, that incredible witch’s broom that will take me where I need to go.”

Sandra Cisneros, A House of My Own

“I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It’s when you know you’re licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.”

Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

“Many people seem to think it foolish, even superstitious, to believe that the world could still change for the better. And it is true that in winter it is sometimes so bitingly cold that one is tempted to say, ‘What do I care if there is a summer; its warmth is no help to me now.’ Yes, evil often seems to surpass good. But then, in spite of us, and without our permission, there comes at last an end to the bitter frosts. One morning the wind turns, and there is a thaw. And so I must still have hope.”

Vincent van Gogh, The Letters of Vincent van Gogh

“In the winter I am writing about, there was much darkness. Darkness of nature, darkness of event, darkness of the spirit. The sprawling darkness of not knowing. We speak of the light of reason. I would speak here of the darkness of the world, and the light of———. But I don’t know what to call it. Maybe hope. Maybe faith, but not a shaped faith—only, say, a gesture, or a continuum of gestures. But probably it is closer to hope, that is more active, and far messier than faith must be. Faith, as I imagine it, is tensile, and cool, and has no need of words. Hope, I know is a fighter and a screamer.”

Mary Oliver, Winter Hours: Prose, Poems, and Prose Poems

“There is always some miracle left; and though miracles do not happen, they might happen. Who knows? Perhaps our intelligence, our instinct, our senses, in spite of their daylight clearness, are leading us astray. Perhaps the one thing needful is just that unreasoning courage which follows hope’s will-o’-the-wisp as it burns…”

Jens Peter Jacobsen, Niels Lyhne

“But if the deepest loss, […] / can be, not just survived, but made into the matter / of hope, made into song, not into a hatchet / to cut off the offending parts, made into poems / then blessed be the end of things, the loss of whatever / secures us blindly and mutely to our lives.”

Julia Alvarez, The Other Side/El Otro Lado

“I run / stumbling, expectant. / Impatience is hopelessly / desperate. Hope / takes time.”

Marie Ponsot, Springing: New and Selected Poems

“How lightly we learn to hold hope, / as if it were an animal that could turn around / and bite your hand. And still we carry it / the way a mother would, carefully, / from one day to the next.”

Danusha Laméris, The Moons of August

“Do not get lost in a sea of despair. Be hopeful, be optimistic. Our struggle is not the struggle of a day, a week, a month, or a year, it is the struggle of a lifetime. Never, ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble.”

Representative John Lewis

“Where does such a force come from? What does it mean? A voice very faint, and inside me, offers a possibility: how shall there be redemption and resurrection unless there has been a great sorrow? And isn’t struggle and rising the real work of our lives?”

Mary Oliver, Winter Hours: Prose, Poems, and Prose Poems

“Don’t forget that apparent impossibility of something is the first sign of its naturalness—in a different world, obviously.

Marina Tsvetaeva, from a letter to Anatoly Steiger

“Grieve. Have / hope.”

Jorie Graham, Swarm

John Berryman, “The Heart is Strange”

“Skin had hope, that what’s skin does. / Heals over the scarred place, makes a road.”

Naomi Shihab Nye, “Two Countries”

“I am quite troubled in the depths of my soul. But that will pass,”

George Sand, in a letter to Gustave Flaubert

“Let’s dance a little before we go home to hell.”

Muriel Rukeyser, A Muriel Rukeyser Reader

Hélène Cixous, Hyperdream (tr. Beverly Bie Brahic)

“That most moments were substantially the same did not detract at all from the possibility that the next moment might be utterly different.”

Marilynne Robinson, Housekeeping

Ada Limón, “Dead Stars”

“Listen, everyone has a chance. Is it spring, is it morning? Are there trees near you, and does your own soul need comforting? Quick, then — open the door and fly on your heavy feet…”

Mary Oliver, New and Selected Poems

“Get to the bottom of this intensity and have faith in what is most horrible, instead of fighting it off—it reveals itself for those who can trust it, in spite of its overwhelming and dire appearance, as a kind of initiation. By way of loss, by way of such vast and immeasurable experiences of loss, we are quite powerfully introduced to the whole.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter to Countess Alexandrine Schwerin, June 16, 1922

“…only one thing is urgently needed: to attach oneself with unconditional purpose somewhere to nature, to what is strong, striving and bright, and to move forward without guile, even if that means in the least important, daily matters. Each time we tackle something with joy, each time we open our eyes toward a yet untouched distance we transform not only this and the next moment, but we also rearrange and gradually assimilate the past inside of us.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter to Adelheid von der Marwitz, September 11, 1919

“Continue to believe that with your feeling and with your work you take part in what is the greatest. The more strongly you cultivate this belief inside of you, the more it will give rise to reality and world.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter to Elisabeth Freiin Schenk zu Schweinsberg, September 23, 1908

“…I have known with certainty that the worst things, and even despair, are only a kind of abundance and an onslaught of existence that one decision of the heart could turn into its opposite. Where things become truly difficult and unbearable, we find ourselves in a place already very close to its transformation.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter to Anita Forrer, February 14, 1920

“…he says, it will be all right.

“It is not the saying of an oracle or a prophet. They are words you might speak to a child ... and somehow I am comforted. He does not mean that it does not hurt. He does not mean that we are not frightened. Only that: we are here. This is what it means to swim in the tide, to walk the earth and feel it touch your feet. This is what it means to be alive.”

Madeline Miller, Circe

“Right then she knows herself even less than she knows the sea. Her courage comes from not knowing herself, but going ahead nevertheless. Not knowing yourself is inevitable, and not knowing yourself demands courage.

Clarice Lispector, Complete Stories; “The Waters of the World”

“Recovery (which includes return and renewal of health) is a re-gaining—regaining of a clear view. I do not say “seeing things as they are” and involve myself with the philosophers, though I might venture to say “seeing things as we are (or were) meant to see them”—as things apart from ourselves. We need, in any case, to clean our windows; so that the things seen clearly may be freed from the drab blur of triteness or familiarity—from possessiveness. Of all faces those of our familiares are the ones both most difficult to play fantastic tricks with, and most difficult really to see with fresh attention, perceiving their likeness and unlikeness: that they are faces, and yet unique faces.”

J.R.R. Tolkien, from his essay On Fairy-Stories

Camille Norton, Corruption: Poems

“Keep busy with survival. Imitate the trees. Learn to lose in order to recover, and remember that nothing stays the same for long, not even pain, psychic pain. Sit it out. Let it all pass. Let it go.”

May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

“I have the fervour of myself for a presence / and my own spirit for light; / and my spirit with its loss / knows this; though small against the black, / small against the formless rocks, / hell must break before I am lost;”

H.D. from Collected Poems; “Eurydice”

Denise Levertov, “Epilogue”

“The days go numb, the wind / sucks the world from your senses like withered leaves. // Through the empty branches the sky remains. / It is what you have. / Be earth now, and evensong. / Be the ground lying under that sky. / Be modest now, like a thing / ripened until it is real…”

Rainer Maria Rilke, from Rilke’s Book of Hours (tr. Anita Barrows, Joanna Macy)

“I know your sorrow and I know that for the likes of us there is not ease for the heart to be had from words of reason and that in the very assurance of sorrow’s fading there is more sorrow. So I offer you only my deeply affectionate and compassionate thoughts and wish for you only that the strange thing may never fail you, whatever it is, that gives us the strength to live on and on with our wounds.”

Samuel Beckett’s words of consolation to his friend, Alan Schneider

“What matters is not to allow my whole life to be dominated by what is going on inside me. That has to be kept subordinate one way or another. What I mean is: one must not let oneself be completely disabled by just one thing, however bad; don’t let it impede the great stream of life that flows through you. I have the feeling of something secret deep inside me that no one knows about.”

Etty Hillesum, from a diary entry featured in An Interrupted Life

“You have been told that, even like a chain, you are as weak as your weakest link. / This is but half the truth. You are also as strong as your strongest link. / To measure you by your smallest deed is to reckon the power of the ocean by the frailty of its foam. / To judge you by your failures is to cast blame upon the seasons for their inconstancy.”

Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

“Try to keep what is beautiful to you and what you can use for today and now — You must not let things you cannot help destroy you —”

Georgia O’Keeffe, from Georgia O’Keeffe: Art and Letters

“What we love, shapely and pure, / is not to be held, / but to be believed in.”

Mary Oliver, from Evidence; “Swans”

“In time of the crises of the spirit, we are aware of all our need, our need for each other and our need for ourselves. We call up, with all the strength of summoning we have, our fullness. And then we turn; for it is a turning that we have prepared; and act. The time of turning may be very long. It may hardly exist.”

Muriel Rukeyser, from A Muriel Rukeyser Reader, “The Life of Poetry”

“To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness. What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places—and there are so many—where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction. And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory.”

Howard Zinn, A Power Governments Cannot Suppress

“But don’t lose heart, dear ones—don’t lose heart. Don’t let it make you bitter. Try to understand. Try to understand. The world’s already bitter enough, we got to try to be better than the world.”

James Baldwin, from Another Country

“You do not have to be good. / You do not have to walk on your knees / for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. / You only have to let the soft animal of your body / love what it loves. / Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. / Meanwhile, the world goes on.”

Mary Oliver, “Wild Geese”

#ask #anon #quote compilation #emotional courage #words #lit #poetry #long post #of hope to bite on like a bullet #yeah ok i have no chill #also no explanation for how my brain works and ties all of these together #compilation

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