#'was he bleeding just then when he passed?' 'library is a wild place' 'looked like fang marks??' 'i don't know what books he is reading' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wardenannie · 3 years ago

Text

Just friends

In the beginning they aren’t friends at all. Not even remotely.

Hange is too excitable for Levi, and Levin too severe for Hange. Though the scientist attempts to feign cordiality between the two of them, Levi does nothing to conceal his disdain. It is only after Erwin calls them into his office and speaks to them sternly that they finally come to a silent agreement with one another.

Just friends begins with a sort of truce. An understanding between them that perhaps they aren't so different, or they are, but they can learn to overcome those differences for the sake of synergy in the field.

That is what Erwin wants, after all.

They still poke fun, but it's more lighthearted than it was before. More playful. There is a gentleness to it, a light. It brings some levity to those brutal, bloody days that linger in the backs of their minds. They actually begin to take some small comfort in each other’s presence, though neither of them are willing to admit it allowed, and most certainly not to each other.

When just friends becomes staying up and drinking tea and whisky into the budding hours of dawn, neither of them can say. But more than once they are the only two left standing among a field of drunken allies.

They look at one another, and even Levi, dead sober, sipping his tea, cannot help but smirk.

When Hange passes out in his lap he reluctantly allows the contact, that is until they drool on him, at which point he surreptitiously slips a pillow beneath their cheek.

He pretends not to watch them sleep, only for a moment.

He doesn’t find their peaceful expression enchanting. He doesn’t secretly find them handsome with their russet hair covering their eyes, mingling with their lashes. He pushes it out of their face anyways.

They’re just friends.

Just friends becomes casual touches. Passing smiles (or affectionate scowls in Levi’s case). It becomes easy nights spent in silent company. Nights spent in Hange’s lab, or lounging in the library. It becomes silent understanding, a fleeting consciousness of what the other is about to say or do.

Just friends becomes a sort of casual, platonic intimacy that has their comrades whispering and casting them knowing glances. But they simply ignore it. They are just friends after all.

When just friends begins to entail tending one another's wounds is about two years after their first meeting. Hange limps to his quarters, calf a bloody tattered mess from a nasty three-meter bite.

"I can't go to the infirmary," they explain. “If Erwin finds out about this he’ll bench me.”

He scolds them as he treats the wound with iodine and wraps it in clean gauze.

“You need to be more careful, four-eyes. It could have taken your leg clean off,” he tries to disguise the way his hands shake as he cleans each of the shallow gouges which hug Hange’s calf in a gory half moon.

They hiss and wince as dirt and debris are washed away, leaving only ragged flesh which will surely scar.

Levi pretends that their obvious discomfort doesn’t perturb him, but it does. Another new development. He cares for them, loathe as he is to admit it.

Just friends becomes sharing a bed with surprising swiftness after that.

It is after a particularly gory expedition beyond Wall Maria. Many of their comrades fall, never to rise again. The blood runs in rivers over the fallow earth, bones crunch between massive, inhuman teeth. And the screams. The screams bite into both of them; leaching into their very cores and clinging there like poison; breeding doubt, fear.

The knock comes on Levi’s door well past midnight. That he is still awake is a coincidence he cares not to consider too closely.

He knows its Hange without asking. Who else would be so bold as to disturb Captain Ackerman’s beauty sleep?

“Come in?” He’s reading a book by candlelight and doesn’t so much as glance up as Hange Zoe enters the room, shutting the door carefully behind themself.

“Levi...”

He glances over the top of his book; stare cool but not unkind, “Why are you bothering me so late at night, shitty-glasses? You should be asleep.”

Hange lingers at the threshold, clad in loose sleep clothing. Levi pretends he can’t see their nipples poking through the gauzy fabric of their shirt, “I could say the same about you.”

A long, pained silence passes between the two of them. A quiet sort of understanding.

Slowly, Levi lowers his book into his lap. Then he peels back the covers, scooting over and making room for Hange beside him.

“Bad dreams?” He asks, already knowing the answer he will receive.

Hange crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed, they rest their elbows on their knees, steepling their fingers in front of their face, “Yeah. You?”

Levi swallows thickly and nods.

“Can I...” Hange turns their face away, glancing out the window in a paltry attempt to disguise their flush, “Can I stay here tonight?”

Levi doesn’t so much as hesitate, “Yes.”

Tentatively, Hange lowers themself into the mattress, stealing away one of Levi’s pillows. They don’t touch. They don’t speak a word once Hange has settled in beside Levi. The captain simply reaches over his comrade and snuffs out the candle, cloaking them in darkness.

And so just friends becomes best friends in a night.

The territory of best friends is accompanied by a new found respect for one another. A respect that runs deeper than that which had already existed between them. Occasionally Levi will glance up at Hange to find that their eyes are already on him. Usually they are smiling. But on rare occasions their expression is more contemplative; thoughtful and distant.

Levi tries not to think about it too deeply. What it could mean. What they could be thinking while they stare at him with such intensity.

Then the meaning of just friends who happen to be best friends shifts again during a hard fought battle beyond the suffocating succor of the Walls.

Levi jerks awake, head throbbing, mouth dry and tasting of blood. The world around him is blurry at first, and he struggles to recall where he is until it slowly comes into focus.

There are arms around him, supporting his aching head and clutching at his hand. A voice calls out to him, low and panicked.

“Levi? Oh thank fuck, Levi,” it’s Hange. Levi can’t quite remember where he is, but he could place Hange’s voice anywhere. Slowly, they come into focus over him. Their head is ringed with sunlight that shines from behind them, creating the illusion of a halo around them as they look down on him.

It strikes him how perfect they are. Gorgeous. Handsome. Hawkish nose and wide, bright eyes, olive skin and russet hair. Imperfectly perfect.

Their wine-colored eyes shine with worry. They touch his face, tenderly, “Can you speak?”

“Yeah,” Levi rasps, and it finally comes back to him. A titan had emerged as if from nowhere and swept him out of the sky, knocking him head first into the cold, hard ground. Hange saved his life, felling the thing at the last moment before it took the Captain into its jaws.

For a moment it is enough to stun him. But isn’t that what best friends do for one another?

It is that night in Levi’s tent that they go from being just friends who are also best friends, to best friends who kiss in the dark.

Hange refuses to be parted from him. Insisting that he needs supervision due to his possible concussion. Levi doesn’t argue as they help him to his sleeping bag. Outside the stars hold their silent, glittering vigil, and the moon hangs low and radiant in the sky, bleeding through the canvas of the tent just enough to allow for some visibility.

“Try to stay awake,” Hange says softly, sitting beside him. They touch his forehead, pushing his hair away from his eyes. Their touch lingers, and Levi cannot help but notice the way their eyes seem to glimmer in the dark.

When they lean forward and press their lips to his it is chaste, delicate and fleeting. But when they try to pull away he cups the back of their neck and tugs them back to him, sitting up slightly so he can kiss them from an improved angle.

“Just friends,” he rasps between hurried kisses. Hange occupies all of his senses, from their earthy scent to the sharp taste of them on his tongue. He loves it. He would gladly drown himself in Hange Zoe.

Hange nods, curling into his side, kissing him again, “Just friends blowing off steam.”

Just friends, best friends, best friends who kiss in the dark; they carry on that way for months. Stealing kisses in those quiet moments between meetings and missions.

It isn’t long before hands begin to roam. Curious fingers searching over one another’s bodies as they chase each other’s tongues over eager, sliding lips. But they hold back. They resist that primordial drive for sex with everything they have. Because how can they be just friends if they’re having sex? How could they cross that line without jeopardizing everything they have built with one another?

But the others know. Mike, Nanaba, Moblit, even Erwin... they all know. The teasing glances have turned to those of legitimate concern, the passing comments have turned into genuine appeals for common sense. And so they are met with the second reason to remain just friends, best friends, friends who kiss in the dark; the life of a soldier is not one which can accommodate love. Real unconditional love. Duty will always take precedent.

Then comes the night where kissing in the dark is not longer enough.

It was never really enough, but things finally reach a boiling point.

Hange is in their lab, working well past midnight when Levi stumbles in. He is clad in nothing but a pair of loose fitting sleep pants, slate eyes wild. He is flushed, covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

A nightmare. He’s had a nightmare. Hange bleeding in his arms. Dying. Not from a wound inflicted by a titan but from a series of bullet holes bored into their middle. Weeping blood, crimson welling over his fingers despite the pressure he applied.

The image clings to the backs of his eyes, boring its way into his soul, his heart, his mind and consciousness. Hange; killed by another human, not a titan, but a man. Suddenly nowhere feels safe or sacred. He wants to take Hange into his arms and flee. Flee until the world cannot catch them.

Kisses in the dark could never fix this. It feels like nothing could fix this.

“Levi?” Hange turns away from their work, a collection of bubbling beakers resting on the wooden countertop. Their expression is one of concern as he crosses the room and pulls them roughly into his arms.

“I can’t fucking do this anymore,” He snarls, and then he kisses them roughly, pushing the small of their back into the hard edge of the counter. The beakers rattle and several spill over with the force of his body against theirs.

Hange moans into his mouth, melting into him, arms winding around the back of his neck as he helps them up and onto the counter. They shift backward, experiment forgotten, and suddenly they are anything but just friends.

Levi buries himself in Hange with little foreplay or preamble, but they are already wet and pliant, ready for him.

The sex is fast and desperate. Hange buries their face against Levi’s neck, feeling the erratic pace of his pulse as he delves into them.

“I love you,” they whimper. Because they do. With everything they have they love their Captain. Levi Ackerman. Humanity’s strongest. Theirs.

Levi fucks them harder for it. Because it can’t be. They’re just friends. Best friends. Friends who kiss in the dark and make frantic love at the thought of losing one another. Just friends.

Just friends.

Levi comes inside of Hange with a broken sob. Their fingers are in his hair, lips on his as they follow him over the edge. They’re crying, too. Tears mingle between their mouths as they work one another up again.

They dress, but only long enough to reach Levi’s quarters, at which point they peel away their clothing and fall into bed together. All of it is wordless, silent knowing passes between them. Each anticipates the other’s movements and react with according passion.

They make love again. Slower, softer. Hange’s soft cries fill up the room, punctuated by Levi’s muffled grunts as he buries his own noises in their damp skin.

“This is perfect,” Hange whispers, nails raking down Levi’s switching back. And then they say it again, “I love you.”

Wetness floods between them as Hange comes first. Levi rocks them through it, body wracked with pleasure, mind wracked with confusion, fear of what will happen come sunrise, when this new, precious thing between them has been exposed to the light of day.

But is it really so new? Has he not always loved Hange Zoe? Have they not occupied his every waking thought for years as he refused to acknowledge his own attractions?

He looks down as he fucks into them, finds their wine-colored gaze is locked on his face. They reach up and cup his cheek, soft moans slipping past their lips as his hips stutter and he finishes inside of them for the second time that night.

“Hange,” The way he speaks their name is ragged, like a desperate prayer on his lips. He kisses them. He never wants to stop kissing them.

“I love you,” Hange breathes between kisses. They roll onto their sides, their faces illuminated by a shaft of silvery moonlight through the window. “You don’t have to say it back but I can’t be just friends anymore, Levi. It’s driving me crazy.”

They kiss him, “Seeing you.”

Again, “Touching you.”

A third time, slower, wet, lingering, “But not being with you.”

Levi’s hands are on their hips, caressing up their sides. He feels the goosebumps he leaves in his wake, and knows he shares a similar physiological reaction to Hange’s own touch.

But they’re just friends. Just friends, best friends, friends who kiss in the dark, friends who make desperate love and whisper heartfelt confessions under cover of night. Just friends.

Hange touches his cheek, “Say something, please, Levi.”

His lips part, but he struggles to find the words to express his emotions. Nothing makes sense in that moment. The world has tilted on its axis, everything is changed, and yet nothing is.

“We were never just friends, shitty-glasses,” he says, finally. His eyes are glassy, gaze turned up to peer out the window at the night sky. The stars show their brilliant faces, glittering, and Levi wonders if perhaps their fate is written somewhere in that serene darkness.

“We’ll keep it a secret for as long as we can,” Hange reassures him, settling there head against his chest, where they can hear his heart beating steady and strong. They run their fingers over his sternum, between his pecs and down the expanse of his abdomen, toying with the trail of downy hairs beneath his navel.

“They already know,” Levi sighed, and he presses his mouth to the crown of Hange’s head. His eyes flutter shut, savoring the earthy sent of his lover. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

You’re all that matters, he tacitly implies.

“They know that we were never just friends.” He pulls the sheets over their sweat damp bodies. Cum stains the fitted sheet.

“They don’t approve,” Hange says softly, half asleep, lulled by Levi’s steady breaths.

“I don’t give a shit what they think. We deserve this.” Happiness. Even if it was fleeting. Even if one of them died come dawn, it would have all been worth it; to have been loved, to have known love.

They drift to sleep in each other’s arms.

Just friends, who became best friends, which in turn because friends who kiss in the dark, then lovers. Two people in love.

But they are soldiers, and they both know that whatever time they might have is borrowed. So they treasure it as best they can.

#Levihan #my writing #crossposted on Ao3

141 notes · View notes

cosmiclatte28 · 3 years ago

Text

Walk You Home (Jeno x reader) angst

A/n : hey. Yeah sorry for the long disappearance. Here is a story that even happened in my dream.

For you @yutahoes for the request on June lmao took me a month, but I hope this is okay

Pairing : Jeno x you + Jaemin

wc : 2415!!

Trigger warning : dead character, supernatural incidents, the ghost is lurking, language

i hope this is good enough

@yutahoes @neopalette @supermwritersnet @multifandomnet

He still remembers the accident in the back of his mind. It haunts Jeno every night how he sees his best friend laying on the emergency bed with a bleeding head and a pair of eyes that lose focus as the paramedics run through the corridors. Jeno still remembers running with them, pushing the dying man with a pretty smile to the operation room. Jeno can still feel Jaemin’s almost gone breath as he tried to send his last will to Jeno. Jeno never forgets the last will Jaemin said before the angelic guy closes his eyes forever.

They were only 21, enjoying their life to the best. Nights spent partying at clubs and fraternities, lunch spent with cute girls and the basketball teams, afternoon spent together as they always did since they were young. Jeno and Jaemin, the duo you always wish to be, an inseparable best friend, the two handsome princes. Everything seems perfect, until the night Jaemin got hit by a drunk driver and Jeno had to watch his one and only best friend let his hand go.

“Jeno?” a soft voice disturbs his daydream and the boy quickly shakes his head.

“Yes love?” He puts on his eye smile when he sees you, his girlfriend for ten months sitting beside him in the library.

“What were you thinking?” you whisper while looking at him to find answers. He is so hard to read and you’re still trying to be able to read him.

Jeno only picks your hand on the table and plants a quick light kiss “Nothing, just what flower to bring tomorrow.”

You sympathetically rub his back and squeeze his hand “Jaemin loves cherry blossoms of course we will bring that.”

Jeno just nods “Won’t he be bored?”

You rub his hair “He loves cherry blossoms, he won’t be bored of it.” you say and turn to face your book to start reading.

Jeno just keeps staring at his hand that you just held, there’s a silver band encircling his finger and when he glances at you, he sees the same ring but in a smaller size on your hand.

It’s Jaemin’s second death commemoration, Jeno misses him dearly but every night Jeno is haunted by the same nightmare.

He plays with the ring in his finger and chooses to distract himself with his phone once his corner of his eyes caught a glimpse of his best friend. Cross out the ghost of Jaemin.

It’s been two years and Jeno can still occasionally “see” Jaemin. No one sees him, his friends just say that Jeno grew up too attached and that he misses Jaemin that’s why his mind kept on seeing things. But Jeno is sure, the Jaemin he sees is the real spirit of Jaemin. He’s always seen looking over you and Jeno and his smile is still as pretty as it can be.

-----

Jeno enters his apartment, after Jaemin is gone, he chose to move into a studio so he won’t keep getting reminded of the past. But as the young boy closes his door and strips himself to take a shower, his reflection in the mirror made him stop. There he can see Jaemin sitting on the top of his book shelf, but when he looks back he’s not there.

On the mirror, he can see his friend still happily swinging his feet.

“What do you want Jaem?” he snickers at himself for talking to a spirit in his room.

Jeno of course knows there won’t be any answers, but he knows the look in Jaemin’s eyes and he knows his friend wants to say something.

“I will come to your grave tomorrow. I didn’t forget.” he crosses his arms over his chest.

Jaemin smiles but shakes his head

“You keep on showing up Jaem and it’s tiring for me. It’s painful to see you but you’re not here with me.” his frustration that he keeps in his heart starts to boil.

Jaemin remains calm and Jeno laughs at his own reflection “Look at me. I am out of my mind, talking to a mirror. Well, I’ll shower and please if you want to say something show it or say it. I’ll shower. DON’T FOLLOW ME.” he still playfully jokes around about this and Jeno takes off his accessories and then closes his bathroom door.

Jaemin jumps down the shelves and walks around the room, well he is still here despite two years of leaving this world because he had one thing left to do.

Jaemin reaches out for the picture frame of Jeno and him how Jeno’s smile was so genuine back then but now it looks fake and forced.

He doesn’t want his best friend to be sad, and Jaemin has to fix that.

Jaemin sits down and flashes back on three months ago when he was sitting on top of your cupboard. He always does this and he’s grateful you cannot see him or he’ll be called a peeping tom. He overheard you calling your best friend and asking about your relationship with Jeno.

For Jaemin this sounds weird, he sees how happy you are with Jeno but why are you talking like this to your friend.

The conversation he overheard was clear and fresh in his memory.

“I don’t know about Jeno, but he seems to be tired of me.” you spoke to your best friend, Renjun on the call.

“What do you mean? He’s happy when you said yes eight months ago.”

“Yes but eight months he always treated me like I am that special, isn’t that weird?”

“Are you high? All girls want to be treated like a princess. Jeno is doing that to you but you don’t want that?”

You sigh “No, it just seems fishy Renjun-ah. Men usually will show their true self after some months together, we never fight. He always lets me win. Not that I don’t like it, its just like he is just doing a duty. I don’t feel any surprise, everything seems perfect and planned.”

Jaemin scrunches his eyebrows and almost falls from the cupboard when you suddenly look in his direction.

The guy finally left after hearing the rest of the call and since he’s been coming over to see you for almost one year and a half, he always listened to whatever you were sharing that Jeno never knew.

What Jaemin finds fascinating is that Jeno never knows that you felt something weird about the relationship.

-----

Jaemin glances over to the countertop near Jeno’s bed and notices the silver ring with your initials in it. He reaches over but passes through it. He sighs and keeps his hands to himself “(y/n)” he whispers to himself as he looks at the ring with big eyes.

The bathroom door opens and Jeno comes out of the steam with wet hair and red eyes.

Jaemin quickly disappears, had Jeno been crying?

Jeno grabs his phone that lights up with a reminder. “Text (y/n) good night,” the reminder says and he obediently unlocks his phone to type in his message.

Jaemin never notices this because well he never pays attention to his phone. But if he knows this, he’ll be furious.

----

The two of you park the car near the picturesque scenery where Jaemin’s resting place is located. Well, if Jeno is his long life best friend, you are Jaemin’s high school friend.

Both of you take turns, you go first to the grave, plucking out some wild grass while trying to tell Jaemin that Jeno is doing well and that you miss him. You don’t spend too much time as you know Jeno will have more to say.

“Wait in the car okay, lock the door.” Jeno kisses the top of your head as he brings the cherry blossom to his best friend.

“It’s been two years,” Jeno started “And eleven months with (y/n). I am so sorry that I have to tell you this Jaem, but.” Jeno pauses. He looks around trying to find Jaemin.

“But I cannot do this any longer. It’ll only hurt her more. I am sorry Jaem.” Jeno gives a stroke on the stone and leaves not long after.

Both of you drive in silence, it’s uncommon since you try to respect Jeno’s emotions for you know it must be hard for him.

“Where do you want to go?” he asks before making an exit on the highway.

You look at him “I have to get something for mom, but it’s going to be a hassle to bring a car and find parking space there.”

Jeno didn’t give you a chance to speak anything else when he just cuts you with “Oh we can park my car and I’ll walk with you there.”

You want to deny him and say no thank you, but dating Jeno for 11 months, you know it’s hard to make the man change his mind.

“Okay, thank you. I was about to ask Renjun to accompany me but if you’re not busy then yes please come with me.” you calmly thank him and Jeno just nods his head.

You observe his face from the side, isn’t he jealous? Shouldn’t he be jealous? How come his face doesn’t show any change of emotion?

You bite your lips and tune the radio louder as both of you enter Jeno's living space.

He parked his car, goes up to take his bus card and soon after returned by your side with two caps.

“It’s sunny, you would want to wear this.” he puts it over your head and you just smile. Maybe he really is attentive and full of care

The market district was full of stands and you were looking through some types of textile. Your mother is a designer and she makes custom made dress, it’s your job to find the textile she wanted.

Jeno just stays beside you. Admiring how professional you look. If Jaemin is here, he knows that man could help you pick. After all, Jaemin is more suitable to be your boyfriend than Jeno is. He shakes his head to clear his mind. Lately he’s been thinking of crazy stuffs

“We’re done.” you say after pocketing the card your mom gave and you hold his hand. Jeno was surprised “Oh where’s the stuffs let me bring it” his other hand reaches over you to usually take over the stuffs you have but he found nothing.

You giggle “They will send it home Jeno, it’s too heavy if we have to carry it home. Now come on, let me treat you to coffee. You seem out of your mind.” you say goodbye to the vendor and drag your man to a coffee shop nearby.

“Here’s your americano.” you hand him the coffee and he questions you “Oh we’re not sitting down?”

You shake your head “You look tired Jen, let’s go home okay.” you rub his hair and take his hand into your palm.

Jeno can see Jaemin on the corner of the shop smiling at him, but his smile was different. Jaemin looked sad.

“It’s our bus come Jen.” you wonder why he’s always day dreaming lately but you won’t force him to answer you.

The bus ride was quick. Both of you are living close to each other, so usually you will separate at the bus stop or he’ll walk you home.

The walk was filled with light talks like him asking what you will do after this and you just ask him about his cats.

“We’re here.” he softly lets go off your hand that he’s been holding.

You smile “Thank you, goodbye, get home safe.”

He nods “I’m gonna watch you go inside, so hurry and go in.”

He waits as you turn your back to enter the apartment.

You wave back at him and he blows a flying kiss to you.

“See you tomorrow.” you yell before disappearing and Jeno smiled.

Jeno turns around and questions if he misses you already.

“Goodnight, good bye, see you tomorrow” he chants to himself, repeating what just happened.

In a few hours, it’ll be the long-awaited weekend

I’ll pick you up so sleep in

And let’s meet at that place at 2pm,

Jeno whispers to himself “to break up.”

He feels a lump on his heart been taken away and he can walk home with a lighter steps. On his way to his apartment, he enjoys the breeze and thinks that it’s time to end the lie.

Once he steps into his apartment, he sees Jaemin once again greeting him, this time with a small smile.

Jeno raises his brow, he doesn’t know what that smile means.

“I am breaking up with her. I am sorry.” Jeno speaks up

Jaemin nods

“You loved her, and we once made a promise that we will fulfil each other’s last wishes.” Jeno took off his cap

Jaemin just keeps staring at him, wanting him to continue

“And I did your last wish.” he tosses the cap to the bed “You want to date (y/n), but you didn’t get the chance. I did all of the things you wanted to do with her as a boyfriend.”

Jaemin still smiles but pitifully

“I brought her to your favorite place, accompanies her when she studies, text her good night and good morning daily, I followed her shopping, I walk her home and I tried loving her like how you would, but Jaemin it’s not fair if she knows this and my feelings are tired of pretending.”

Jaemin nods slowly and Jeno feels bad

“But sorry Jaem, she can’t keep living in a lie.” Jeno takes off the ring and puts it down

“Sooner or later, she will know that the J here stands for Jaemin and not Jeno. and that will happen tomorrow.”

Jeno sits down and buries his face in his hands. He pulls at his hairs, feeling confused, happy and sad at the same time.

He feels a warm touch on his shoulder and when he looks up behind his watery eyes, he sees Jaemin sends him the best smile he ever sees and he looks peaceful. Slowly as Jeno tries to hold his friend for the last time, Jaemin fades and disappears completely into thin air.

Life goes on, Jeno stop lying and finally Jaemin can leave in peace and you? You finally know the answer why your guts keep telling you that this looks odd.

end.

#jeno x reader #jeno x y/n #jeno x you #jeno angst #jeno scenario #jeno x jaemin #jeno imagine #nct dream angst #nct angst #lee jeno scenarios #jeno oneshot

93 notes · View notes

embrassemoi · 4 years ago

Text

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 22

Pairings: Sirius B, Remus L, [F]Reader CW: Language, angst, violence, blood A/N: thanks for all the comments/asks xx

Chap 22 Playlist

【 Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 】

Chapter 22: How I'm imaginin' You

━━━━━━━━━༻✩༺━━━━━━━━━

March 15th, 1976

It was just over ten past eleven when they called it a day.

“Night, Reg! I’ll see you later!” Y/N called. Regulus beamed, waving back before scurrying in the direction of the Slytherin common room. For the past week, she had brought him to the small hidden room by the library she found over the winter break. Red and green blankets clashed together on the old couch, pillows and candles, books and even his violin was there. It became their — or mostly his safe place.

She’s kept quiet about their secret meetings, mainly because Regulus seemed so skittish at the mention of other people and simply because he was a Slytherin. It put her into a tricky position considering not many Slytherins were like Regulus — they weren’t nice to those of her blood status. Besides, house rivalry was no joke and honestly, Y/N was confused. What did he mean that he couldn’t be seen with her?

The bitter cold began to subside as April neared. The full moon had risen, nearing its peak as she walked through the empty corridors, way past curfew. Distantly, she could hear footsteps becoming louder but made no move to hide once the student came into view with no prefect or Head Boy or Girl pass. That was until the hunched figure seemed to drift closer, coming into her direct line of view. Once they passed, the student knocked into shoulder roughly, making Y/N stagger back into the rough jagged wall.

Crinkles formed in her skin, frowning. They knocked into her purposely. The first thing she took notice of was their tie, a Slytherin. Of course. But when her eyes continued to drift up, she wasn’t surprised to see who it was: Snape.

“Watch where you’re going,” he says, a nasty leer on his face.

“You better watch yourself. Must be obsessed with me.”

“Is that a threat?” It wasn’t, not really, but Snape’s ego is a fragile, fickle thing.

Snape stands taller, his shoulders squaring to appear intimidating but it does nothing but make Y/N’s lip curl up before suppressing it.

“Seems like it to you.”

Seething, his skin becomes an angry blotchy pink. Greasy hair never mattered to her, some people even rocked it but on Snape — anything on him seemed to irk her. His hair seems to stick to his face and an intrusive thought wiggles in and suddenly, she wants to ring it out — see if enough grease would come out so she could cook with it.

But, she readjusted her vision, observing the tight grip he has on his and that he managed to draw without her noticing. On instinct, Y/N slips her out too, her other hand ready to use wandless magic.

She remembers a long time ago, her mother always told her to never start a fight, but to finish it. She guesses that there wasn’t another other option but to listen.

“You’re foul — wretched trollop —” “What did you just call me?!”

Snape jabs a nasty finger into her shoulder before she slaps it down, hard. “You heard me, trollop. Things were so much better when you weren’t around.” His voice drops low, dripping in venom.

“Could say the same thing. I wonder if Lily knows the way you treat women when she isn’t around.” Y/N dangles the threat above his head for leverage. “I bet she would be in for a real shock if I told her.”

There was an ugly pause.

Snape’s nose flares and she would have backed down but since she hadn’t gotten to defend herself last time around Lily, there was no way she wasn’t going to this time.

Snape steps closer in a challenging manner. Eyes burned strong in detest that she even feels it. His hand trembles, going white from how hard he’s gripping his wand. A wild look crosses; he looks feral — like a rabid dog foaming at the mouth.

A spell is already forming on his tongue before she raises her wand, throwing up a shielding spell she learned. A bright blue sheet, in the shape of an invisible dome explodes from the tip of her wand just as Snape shoots a spell. The curse is powerful, making her knees buckle. It was at that moment she realized that maybe she should’ve just walked away. Y/N was good at defensive charms — great — but not at offence charms and clearly, they were among Snape’s specialties.

As shoots another spell, Y/N focuses and puts all of her concentration into the shielding charm — so strong that it pushes Snape back roughly and an item from his pocket slips out, plummeting to the floor. In strong silver letters that made her skin raise with goosebumps, it read: The Dark Arts. The overpowering sensation of revulsion and outrage fuels her, beginning to shake.

“You’re a fucking freak,” she blurts.

It touched a nerve. “Watch it, you dirty little mudbl —”

Most people (and Y/N would include herself with them) like to think of themselves as rational beings; civil, thoughtful, just, benevolent, humane. However, when things ripped at the seams without a given warning, people — we — are no better than wild animals. Even if you don’t know it, there’s an animal inside all of us, waiting to pounce and protect.

Without a beat, filled with pure adrenaline, hate and shock, the protective spell fell and Y/N stormed up to him, drawing her entire arm back as her fist curled into a ball. In a flurry, she delivered a sharp blow as hard as she could in the nose.

There was a loud cracking sound that ricocheted through the corridor, simultaneously, thick blood gushed out of Snape’s nose like a waterfall. It sprayed all over their robes, the ground and covered her hand.

She winced in pain, flicking her wrist a few times, noting the skin splitting around her knuckles deeply. Her ears rang like a whirling fan, radio static, a hissing radiator as Snape stumbled back, a hand shooting up to stop the bleeding. His eyes were filled with tears.

“Call… me that again…” her breathing was ragging and voice shaky, “And we’ll see what else happens.” Before Snape could retaliate, Y/N spun around and dashed off to the Gryffindor common room.

Her footsteps echoed around as she felt her eyes sting with tears but made sure to squeeze her eyes shut. Out of all people, she wasn’t going to cry because of Snape.

She wasn’t a mu — a mudl — she wasn’t that. She was more than that word.

She needed to tell Lily.

Tears were replaced with anger. There wasn’t a single coherent thought that seemed to force its way out.

Before the Fat Lady had time to ask for the password, Y/N shouted it out, nearly ripping the portrait door off. The force resulted in a large — BANG! — then slammed shut and Y/N distantly heard the portrait yell.

She took a deep breath, bending over while a hand clutched her knee. Distracted, it caused her to miss the familiar boy sitting on the opposite side of the room who stood up.

Her fist began to ache once the shock slowly wore off. A quiet, dejected groan slipped out as she stared at her clothes. She must’ve looked insane.

The sound of the wooden floorboards creaked and Y/N peered up. There, dressed in all black clothing was Sirius, staring at her bewildered. His eyes scanned her entire body, noticing the rusty blood staining her white blouse and hand.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” She gritted out defensively. She wasn’t in the mood to be anywhere near Sirius, let alone hear another insult. Without the ability to think rationally, Y/N wondered if she’d had the restraint to not punch him if he said something idiotic.

Sirius’ brow raised, not expecting that response but didn’t bite back. “I — Merlin — what happened to you? Are you okay?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, attempting to shield herself and moved towards the stairs. “Like you care.”

“I don’t,” he counters quickly. But he sighed, gravitating towards her and lightly grasped her elbow. Y/N turns around harshly, ripping away from him.

“Who do you think you are? Don’t touch me!”

Sirius’ hands raised, signalling submission; similar to a prey to its predator. “I’m not going to hurt you and I’m certainly not going to let you bleed everywhere! Come, sit — I’ll patch you up.”

She eyed him warily, then closed her eyes. Y/N’s chest rose in irregular intervals, weighing out the pros and cons.

She’s heard that he’s gotten into fights and probably wasn’t lying about knowing how to patch up wounds.

He’s an asshole.

He didn’t like her.

She didn’t trust him

Why would he want to help her?

But the stinging sensation flooded in again. Y/N desperately sought to gauge for any underlying motive but Sirius was unreadable. If anything, his grey quartz eyes weren’t as hardened; more blue bleed in, looking brighter — her heart gave a little thump.

With a nod, Sirius gave a weak smile and led her to the couch closest to the fireplace for light. He told her to stay put, took his jacket, threw it on the couch opposite, then ran up to his dorm and grabbed a medical kit along with a bowl and cloth. Rushing back, Sirius set down his supplies and with a flick of his wand, the bowl was instantly filled with water, his hands sparkling clean.

Body angled to face her while sitting, Sirius gently took her hand and submerged the cloth in water, ringing it out, then diligently worked to clean off the blood.

Why didn’t he just use magic? He wouldn’t have to touch her then…

She burned more from his touch than the wounds themselves. When it came to James or Remus, there wasn’t anything that made her skin tingle or spike in sudden shyness when she touched them. But whenever Sirius was just near, she felt her heart speed up, palms start to sweat and brain go completely blank.

They sat in silence. Every now and then, Sirius would glance up. Only when he had a disinfectant, he flicked his hair out of his face, seeming to be in deep thought and spoke;

“What happened?”

Y/N remained quiet, a faraway look now settled in her eyes. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she broke Snape’s nose. She’s seen what broken noses looked like — she grew up colouring nose and sinus anatomical charts in the O.R gallery while she waited for her mom to finish surgery. She was in deep, deep trouble if Snape were to rattle. Detention, house points, expulsion — a possible criminal assault charge.

Shit.

“Hey, Y/N.” He placed a hand on her knee, the cool metal of his rings seeped through her stockings. That caught her attention. That was the first time he’d ever said her first name. His voice was soft — the softest he’d ever spoken to her before. “It’s okay, you don’t need to tell me but I promise I won’t tell a soul. Not even Potter or Evans. It’ll be our little secret.”

She breathed, “I… um —” She stopped and Sirius gave an encouraging squeeze. “Snape, he… he called me a you-know-what and I…” The rest was self-explanatory.

Sirius’s body became stiff. There was a subtle change in his micro-expressions as his jaw tensed, sharpening his features even more. His eyes, which burned with a fiery rage contrasted greatly as he cradled her hand as if she were made out of glass. Sirius huffed, mumbling out ‘thank you for telling me’ and proceeding to clean the wounds. She winced as the cotton pad touched her knuckles, her free hand clutching onto his shirt.

“I know this part’s shit. I’m sorry, sorry…”

She bit down on her bottom lip to prevent pained noises from slipping out. Sirius applied a light magical cream that helps reduce scarring and wrapped gauze around her hand; holding it in place with a magical seal that made it into a light cast. He added a few magical seals along with waterproof charms.

“There.”

She marvelled at his work, he did an amazing job and whatever he did, her pain reduced drastically. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me…” His voice trailed off, a small smile appearing, “Anyone that hates Snviellus is… okay in my books. And what are co-parents for?” He tries to joke. At this, Y/N perks up, a sharp exhale of air forced its way from her lungs; emulating a half-light-hearted scoff.

But soon their smiles disappeared and something strange flashed in Sirius’ eyes. Suddenly, the air around them shifted, becoming tense and enclosed.

Sirius was oddly close to her — since when did they become that close?

Her heart pounded wildly in her ribcage and Y/N wondered if he could hear it over the crackling fire. He’s so close that she could feel his breath fanning her skin. She registered his thumb grazing over the bandage. The warm colour from the fire illuminated his face, different from his usual cool-toned skin. His face looked sharp, more refined than usual. He looked enchanting, so regal and otherworldly without trying to — like a painting.

Sirius opened his mouth to say something but he trails off, leaning closer. His hand trailed up, touching her arm lightly and moved to cup her cheek delicately. The entire time, his eyes trained on her for any glimmer of irritability or discomfort. His thumb began to stroke her skin and she lent into it. It’s large and warm and his touch feels so, so fucking good.

Sirius chooses his next words with caution. “Can I?” He murmurs but the question is clear — louder than any screaming match she had with him. His lips are millimetres away from hers.

In times like these, that Gryffindor bravery was nonexistent.

Y/N’s mind is vacant, internally freaking out but still manages to choke out, “Yes.”

Frozen in place, his eyes flicker from her eyes, then lips, and back to her eyes. He tilts her head back slightly using his hand before it travels to the back of her neck and leans in. But, there’s something in Sirius that hesitates.

The hesitation is too long because a voice could be heard from beyond the portrait and the sound of it swinging open causes them to break apart. She misses the contact already. Sirius stands hastily, wand swishing to clean up the mess around them in a daze. A beautiful blush settles on his face; a hand runs through his hair, rings catching the low light and widens the gap between them. He put his jacket back on.

Y/N’s brain hadn’t caught up yet. Too much happened too quickly.

“Pads? Where have you’ve been? The moo —” the moment he sees her, his voice draws out, “— ooooony! Moony! He’s waiting for us. Whiskers! Ugh — h-hey!”

Peter fucking Pettigrew, in the flesh.

She makes sure to hide her hand and bloodied shirt from him. “Evening, Pete.”

Sirius coughs awkwardly and clears his throat, Peter doesn’t look suspicious. “Yeah, ugh — right. Sorry,” he takes a pause, eyes drifting momentarily to her and back to Peter, “Was busy with our Puffskein. Let’s go.”

“Night, L/N!” Peter acknowledges. He even sends finger guns.

Y/N is left stunned, watching Sirius leave. The door clicks and her body slackens.

In a haze, she padded into her dorm: quiet and dark, everyone fast asleep. She took a very cold shower, changed into her pyjamas, brushed her teeth and threw out her bloodied robes. Then, she pulls back the curtains around her bed. A floating candle burned brightly as Lily was there, writing in her journal.

“What took you so long?!” Lily chirped, sliding over to give her more room to slip in. Letting the drapes fall shut behind, she hummed in response.

“Puffskein. Oats.” She’ll talk to Lily about Snape another day — that is if Dumbledore doesn’t expel her.

Y/N rolled over to her side, facing away from Lily. The cool pillow did nothing to help chill her heated skin. It’s like she can feel the ghost of Sirius’ fingers graze her cheek still.

Lily babbled — something about Dorcas and Mary inviting them to skate one last time before the ice melted. But it all went in one ear and out the other.

God, she thought, mad at the realization. There was no point in denying it anymore; she’d been doing so for months and clearly, it was fruitless. I like Sirius Black. I really, really like Sirius Black.

━━━━━━━━━༻✩༺━━━━━━━━━

She didn’t get a wink of sleep. Her mind reeled the entire night, replacing the scenarios again and again, analyzing everything he said, his actions — that look on his face. All she thought about was Sirius: his eyes, his smile, his hair, his skin, his hands, his fucking lips — Argh! Sirius was the personification of Firewhiskey and all she wanted to do was drink more of him — and they hadn’t even kissed!

Sirius is arrogant, rude, cold, cat-called her — insulted her! A part of her felt disgusted — disgust how her heart raced wherever the mere thought of him appeared in her mind. Disgusted how her heart leaped whenever he was near. Out of all people, why him?!

She fucking hated Peter Pettigrew right now — or loved him, she wasn’t sure. Maybe he saved her from making a terrible mistake.

Okay, okay! First things first, she had to stop thinking about him! She forced herself to think about something else: Charms — Professor Flitwick — Peter’s grandma in her ‘purple knickers’ — Slughorn — Slughorn in his underwear — yes, that certainly stopped any more lewd thoughts. Her mind and body were at war.

“Rise n’shine, darlings!” Marlene sang in a high-pitched Victorian accent as she tripped the blinds back. Y/N peeked out from the small gap in her curtains, watching Marlene tiredly. Everyone groaned, Dorcas even threw a pillow at her. Y/N, unaffected, blinked and perched herself against the headboard, yawning. “Wake up! Wake up! WAKE UP!”

“Marls…” Dorcas groaned. She rubbed her eyes and squinted at the clock that hung above their large window, quickly collapsing into bed and dove under the covers. “It’s six in the morning…”

Marlene hopped over and ripped off Lily’s covers only to realize she was with her. She skipped her way over, ripping the drapes back and jumped into her bed. Toulouse hissed, jumping off before Marlene snuggled up to Lily, proding her cheek.

She gave Y/N a once over, “Morning sugar.”

She continued to poke Lily who forced her eyes open, trying to swat at her. Lily flipped over, moving over to Y/N. Marlene rolled her eyes, but a hurt pang flashed her face before she covered it up. Instead, she bellowed, taking hold of Lily’s shoulders and shook.

“EVANS! EVANS — YOU TOO L/N, WAKE UP NOW!”

“McKinnon! What do you want?!”

She gave a triumphant smirk. “Quidditch! It’s Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff today!”

Marlene was already decked out in her tracksuit, ready to go on a jog around the castle with the rest of the Gryffindor team. Once everyone woke up, they all gave her one of many pep talks and ushered her off.

The morning was slow for everyone but Y/N. Her thoughts drifted away from Sirius, only to think about the next worst thing possible; Snape.

Damn… she had to tell Lily, but how? ‘Hey, Petals! One of your friends — if not your best friend, called me, a Muggleborn — which if you forgot, you are too —the cruellest word there is! And he was caught with a book about The Dark Arts!’

She would tell her, but not today, or at least until after the Quidditch game.

As Y/N got ready for the day, everyone noticed the bandage around her hand (which she lied and made an excuse using Oats), then headed down for breakfast. The Gryffindor team was huddled around Marlene and James. Mary and Alice sat close, giving her a small wave.

Downing coffee after coffee, the caffeine strangely made her sleepier as she listened to James and Marlene’s agonizing rambles. Lazily flicking through sections of the Daily Prophet, she waited for a letter from her mother. None — again. Until a hand came out of nowhere, snatching the paper from her grasp, leaving Y/N to huff out.

She didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. “Mornin’ Professor,” she mumbled, reaching over to grab it from him.

“You look like you’ve been shagging the whomping willow,” Remus jokes, shaking his head with a smile.

At this, Mary leans in and whispers into her ear, “Didn’t we suggest Remus —” “Or Black? Not a tree!” Marlene adds.

She ignored them but felt her stomach drop at the mention of Sirius. Remus wore his gold oversized glasses today. His curls were tousled, eyes slightly bloodshot and he seemed to be sluggish that morning. She scooted over making room as he took a seat next to her. She grinned back, “You look like shit too, Lupin.”

Remus’ smile turned brighter.

James floated two plates to them, filled with their favourite foods while Y/N poured Remus a mug of coffee, dumping an ungodly amount of sugar in, handing it to him. From all the times they brought coffee or tea for each other, whether that be for study groups, lounging in the common room or walking past the kitchens while heading to class, they knew how they liked their beverages by heart.

He flashed a tired smile, humming as he took a sip. Their dating rumours hadn’t calmed down yet, so when a couple of students passed by, looking between them enviously, they both side-eyed each other humorously.

“We’re such catches,” she whispered to him.

“Abso-bloody-lutely — hey!” He randomly cuts in, pointing to her bandaged hand, “We’re matching.”

He raised his hand, showing a couple of his fingers taped together before a long bandage was wrapped around his palm and travelled down his wrist, disappearing beyond his red sweater.

Y/N mused at it before grabbing a quill from Marlene who’d been sketching out the Quidditch pitch and dipped it into an inkpot, handing it to Remus.

His head tilted, “Hmm?”

“Sign mine and I’ll sign yours?”

His long calloused fingers took the quill from her, doodling on the white bandage gently. He drew Dumbledore with pom-poms, cheering for the upcoming Quidditch game, along with a smiley face, his initials and a couple magical creatures. Then passed the quill back, placing his bandage hand on the table and flicked open the Daily Prophet. A few splotches of ink splattered around as she drew The Beatles on broomsticks, all chasing a Golden Snitch. She also drew Remus as David Bowie’s cover as Aladdin Sane, using his scars to make the lightning bolt and quickly signed her name.

Lily and Peter had come in, taking a seat and Y/N had become hyper-aware of Sirius sitting down directly across from her. Both of them stiffened and she continued to avoid his gaze as she drew on Remus.

“We’re going to be fine, it’s only Hufflepuff.”

“Nope, Hufflepuffs know how to get shit done,” Peter says, his mouth stuffed with food. “Never underestimate them — what the fuck?!”

Everyone in the Great Hall collectively held a breath, looking up at the Slytherin table. Lily’s eyes almost bugged out in rage, her ears becoming red as she got up and walked over.

It was Snape, but it wasn’t his nose that caught people’s attention. No — his nose was fine — he must’ve gone to the hospital wing that night.

“What happened to him! Ahah!” Peter cried out, “He looks like my house elf!”

There, Snape stood completely bald with no eyebrows and wearing Gryffindor robes.

Y/N slapped a hand to her mouth, desperately trying to calm her shrieking laughter but couldn’t. She and Remus lent on each other, trying to not tip over the hall bench. Everyone whopped loudly, James even whistled.

But as everyone was occupied with the sight, the person who she expected to be howling in laughter that most definitely should’ve been was Sirius. He simply drank from his goblet, his eyes peered over to her with a knowing look and bowed his head ever so slightly and looked away.

Oh.

Ohhh.

She was left with more unanswered questions than ever.

102 notes · View notes

i-did-not-mean-to · 3 years ago

Text

Next part of the weird Thorin-story that comes to me while I swim

Dear friends…Here I am again with another part of a story I had not planned to write and that has taken on a life of its own…

I love you, don’t hate me…

(Warning: this is less formal and a lot more…ridiculous than the last parts)

(It is “in-universe”, but barely, because I have no idea of the universe per se…)

She took the bowls to the river to rinse them in the cold waters that glittered and glimmered in the dimming light; the way the last sun of the day reflected in the ever-changing blue hues reminded her of the man she was travelling with.

It came as a very small surprise to her that her old nan had been mostly right about the dwarves, and she was more inclined to believe her post-mortem, now that she had seen a dwarf lord, no a future king, with her own eyes.

She harboured not the inkling of a doubt in her mind that he would indeed be king one day; there was something so noble in his demeanour and deportment that she found it easy enough to have faith in him. He was clearly born to lead, just as she had been born to serve.

A pang of pain washed over her heart like the cold water submerged her numb hands; she wished she could tell her grandmother about the magical creature she had come upon in the woods. How nan would have loved to hear about a man whose eyes held all the mystery of endless tunnels and the deep longing of the open sea at the same time; she would have laughed and nodded her fragile, little head, saying that kneeling was easy to those who will stand up for you as a protector rather than as an executioner.

“You shall find your master one day.” Old nan used to exclaim every time her young granddaughter had been particularly wilful or disobedient, running wild in the forest or toying around with the ingredients the old woman had collected during long hours.

She had loved her nan, but she had not believed that anyone would ever manage to curb her spirit and bind it to their will. “There are things between heaven and earth, child, that you cannot even fathom. Creatures of great strength, beings of profound wisdom, and lives full of beauty and suffering; one day, you’ll find your place in the grand design and you shall bow to its magnitude.”

At this moment, her nan’s words revealed their true and full meaning. She had believed that walking to the chapel every day would be her life’s work, but she had been wrong. All her life, she had but been waiting for the quest to begin. A quest for truth and for freedom.

His cloak was still around her shoulders and she regretted having to take it off to slip back into her own, sinfully rumpled, clothes. Checking if he was looking at her, she lifted his garment to her face and inhaled.

It smelled of woodsmoke, pine needles and of something darker that she could not identify, for she had not known any man before. Not like that. She had not smelled their skin and thought about pressing her lips against theirs; she had spent her youth with an old woman and her adulthood alone.

“Woman, there are hills in the distance. Can we reach them before night falls?” He called out to her and she dropped the garment, feeling caught and embarrassed.

“No, but we should reach them soon after. Why?” She responded, returning to where he stood, both feet firmly planted on a rocky outcrop cutting through the grass like a blade.

“We could spend the night in one of the caves in the rocks.” He cocked one eyebrow as if that had been a very obvious thing to consider.

Approaching the point where he stood, already holding on to her cart, she hesitated.

“We cannot.” Her feet stopped moving entirely as they bumped against the edge of the rock.

“I have never gone beyond this point. This is where the wilderness starts.” She whispered, pulling a small, needle-like dagger from her pocket and planting it forcefully in her forearm. While her blood dripped onto the grass, she said a quiet prayer.

“What are you doing?” He asked, interested and slightly alarmed to see her bleed onto the floor.

“My blood is bound to this earth, Master Dwarf, I want the ground to remember me and to bring me home if ever I lose my way.” She sighed before adding with a tremor in her voice: “Many have not come back after stepping past this stone. This is where the world of fire and mystery starts.”

He looked at her with calm interest. “We are getting ever closer to where my kin lives.” He declared, an unspoken question in his eyes. “Aye.” She nodded, forcing herself to smile.

“Are you afeared?” – “Aye.” She repeated, but with a heaving sigh, she lifted her foot onto the ledge. His hand closed around her elbow as he pulled her up and took his cloak from her cold, trembling hands. “You may turn back now; I won’t resent you.”

She laughed in a low, rumbling voice. “I cannot turn back, Master Thorin, I have pledged my service to you. Your story is part of my blood now, inscribed forever in this earth you might never tread upon again. Maybe, it always has. Maybe, old nan knew what would happen long before I was born.”

He had to admire her blind faith. She seemed so brave in her belief that all that happened was meant to be. Closing his hand around the shells buried in his pocket, he decided to believe her.

“Why can we not take refuge in the caves?” He then asked as they made their way through the rougher terrain. Sometimes, he had to steady her as she tottered and stumbled because she could not see the small boulders jutting out of the ground like gravestones; she never complained or pulled away from him and the smile she wore in the semi-penumbra was full of faith and affection.

“You cannot breach the integrity of the rock and delve into it without being given permission. It is rude and bad manners lead to bad accidents.” She shrugged.

“Another teaching of old nan?” He commented without irony or ill-will. “Everything beyond that rock”, she pointed to the ledge they had just passed, “is alive. We are now in the realm of the old souls where the trees have voices and the stones are stubborn. Listen, Master Dwarf.” She murmured and he was surprised, again, at the simplicity with which she accepted these things.

Indeed, he could feel the rock underneath the thin layer of greenery thrum with anticipation; it had been a long time since last someone had come this way.

“The stone bears you no ill will, woman.” He heard himself say in a low, gentle voice. Her tread was so light that it felt like a caress to the neglected ground; or, maybe, it was the inherent reverence she seemed to hold for everything around her that swayed the unmoving to support her insecure, flailing steps as well as they could.

“I give thanks to its gracious acceptance then.” She smiled, kneeling on the ground immediately and pressing both her hands to it in silent prayer.

This, he thought, was why she had survived. She had believed herself out of the reach of what she called “magic wilderness”, but he was almost certain that every element surrounding her had conspired to keep her safe.

“I have a sister.” Why did he tell her those things? “Oh, really? Is she beautiful?” She looked up.

“No, she’s a terrible…yes, she’s…She’s my sister. I guess she’s alright. Others find her beautiful.” He laughed and her smile broadened while the ground hummed in agreement with the joy they were spreading.

“She has those two terrible boys. I wonder…Would you teach them?” He was not usually this open, protecting his family and their secrets with fierce jealousy, but a part of him wanted her warm light of affection and respect to shine on his kin as much as on himself.

“Teach them what? What could a simple maiden like me teach princes?” She scoffed.

Maiden? Had she really told him that? She could have died of embarrassment.

Thankfully, he did not pick up on it, instead pinching the bridge of his impressive nose and groaning: ��Respect…and how to swim.”

“Love shines brighter than respect, Master Thorin, but it doesn’t cancel it out. I’ve respected nan a great deal, but I loved her more. You are their uncle first and their king second, I’m afraid.” She smiled and he was struck by the truth in her words. It had been a silly remark, only half-serious, but her earnest tone chased away all teasing in his voice as he agreed with her.

“Keep that gorgeous head over the waterline and you’ll be fine.” She then picked up on the second part of his sentence seamlessly with a cheeky wink. “That much, I had figured out.”

They neared the looming rock now, pocked with caves and alcoves, and her steps slowed.

“Trust me, we are quite welcome.” He reassured her when he saw her hesitate; her hand slid very willingly into his own as he led her up a narrow ledge, leaving the cart at the foot of the small rise.

“I’ve told you so much about my sorry, lonesome life. Tell me more about yours if you please.” She asked as they entered a spacious cave. “We are on our way to rejoin my kin in Ered Luin.” He started, his face growing hard and unforgiving for a second in the light of the small fire he was coaxing to life. “One day, I shall reclaim Erebor though.”

She gasped. Another childhood story seemed to bleed from her befuddled mind into the real world surrounding her. “The lonely mountain…is real?” She asked, her breath bated.

“Of course it is real. What do you mean? What do you know about it?” He looked up sharply.

She had poured over every map in the small library of her town, she had even asked for express permission to enter the one in the richer, more sophisticated neighbouring town and she had questioned every travelling merchant she had encountered, but nobody had ever seen that fabled mountain. Many had even scoffed and laughed at her, shooing her away like an unruly child with too many questions and not enough common sense.

“Oh no, you were telling me a story, Master Dwarf.” She shook her head, undecided if she should tell him about a family secret; after all, since she had met him, many things she had imagined being mere fiction and a dash of conjecture had turned out to be completely true. Maybe, he would know more about those things and old mysteries would finally be resolved.

“As I said, I shall reclaim Erebor and lead my people home…after the bane is dead.”

“Which bane?” She cradled her head in her hands, elbows resting on her drawn-up knees and listened to him talk. He had a deep and melodic voice, the voice of century-old pride and eternity-spanning strength, and she liked the way it soothed the gnawing fear inside of her guts.

The sound of his voice was a presence in itself, reassuring and as solid as the creature it spilled forth from; it conveyed confidence and inspired trust. It was the voice of a king, booming in alarm and lulling in peaceful narration.

“The dragon, Smaug.” He uttered with disdain and barely held-back anger. “A dragon? Really?” She shook her head, dazed beyond words; dragons were even less likely to exist than dwarves.

“Yes, really. What other creatures do you not believe in?” He seemed partially impatient and partially amused; when his face split into a dazzling grin though, she realised that he was mostly entertained by her apparent na��veté.

“Are there really creatures made of pure light who can talk to trees and float over the ground?”

“His name is Thranduil and he’s a pain in the ass. Excuse the language, he’s a treacherous, disloyal coward, but yes, he is fair. As in…he shines with a cold, hard light. He rides an elk and some say that his soul can travel in the form of a white cow…or deer…or something stupid like that.” Thorin grumbled, heat flushing his face upon thinking of that distasteful creature he was describing. She laughed, she threw her head back and laughed heartily, her laughter echoing deep within the lonely stones encasing them. “Amazing!” She wheezed, clapping her hands and, had he hated Thranduil just a smidgen less, he would have been tempted to take her to the dark woods that cursed king lived in just to see her marvel at him.

That leaf-muncher riding other grass-eating dumb beasts did not deserve her starry-eyed wonder, even though, Thorin didn’t doubt that for one instant, the king of dark trees would have loved that.

She would also enjoy the forest, at least the way it had once been; she would love the different berries and herbs one could find galore in the shade of the trees that did indeed whisper of their dark secrets.

“Oh, I hope you won’t be disheartened by the long walk. There’s so many people I want you to meet: my darned nephews, my fiery sister…Ori, he sure loves a good story. If you start telling him your stories, he’ll follow you around like a puppy.” Thorin rumbled and she was struck by the love in his voice. These people sounded interesting and she couldn’t wait to meet them.

He inspected the fading burns and muttered: “Óin will want the recipe for this salve. If you manage to charm the old boy, and I’m sure you will, he might trade some of his own tinctures and potions with you.”

“Oh, I’d love to share my recipes with him. I’m sure there’s a dire need for it…with furnaces and dragons and such things.” She exclaimed, completely disregarding the gravity of the subject.

“Do you think they’d want to meet me though? I am just a human and far from the best of them.” Suddenly, she was overcome by a sense of dread and insecurity. She had never left her valley and the surrounding area; she would strike them as a silly girl who knew nothing of the world they had been born and raised in.

“You’re charming and you bring skills and knowledge we’d greatly profit from…but yes, we’re a private people and there will be dwarves who will not take to you kindly. I shall do my best to protect you.” He would not lie to her and she was thankful for his candid words.

“I have been poor and outcast all my life, I am not afraid of being shunned. I am used to a life in the shadows surrounding the bright lights.” She gave him a warm smile that was meant to be reassuring; she did not want him to trouble himself on her behalf.

“There will be none of that under my rule.” He sounded definitive, clearly, the last word was spoken on the matter and she dared not contradict him.

“Will you tell me of your prophecy?” His voice was soft now, enchanting, coaxing, seductive.

“Will you tell me of your mountain?” She shot back in the same melting tone.

“Tell me what you know of it first.” He challenged her and she blew up her cheeks in an effort to remember the exact words, handed down from generation to generation in her family. From daughter to daughter, words spoken in kitchens over steaming cups of herbal brew and at bedsides when the fire burned low.

“When my nan’s mother was but a babe in arms, or was it her grandmother, I don’t recall…either way, a traveller came to them.” She rolled her eyes, adding in a narrator-tone “Travellers coming seems to be a theme in our family history”.

“So, a traveller came and told them a great treasure had been received in the Lonely Mountain.”

“The Arkenstone.” Thorin exploded, shocked and outraged, apparently, she had touched upon another one of his well-guarded and jealously kept secrets.

“No, it didn’t sound like it was a stone. It was said that – after desolation and ruin, after being lost and found, upon returning home through the fire to lead his people – he, whoever he is, will be the “spring”.”

She paused, rubbing her index along her lower lip slowly to focus her mind.

“Go on…” He encouraged her. “I do not know if “spring” is meant in the sense of the season of rebirth or of the source of something good…or even as the coil that will catapult the world into the future, but he shall be the “spring”.”

She shrugged. “It’s been, oh so many years, and no doubt, the story has been tweaked beyond recognition or sense, but there it is. We’ve only ever heard of that place once: as the crib of a miracle.”

She shivered in the flickering light of the dying embers and when he took her hand, it was icy cold. “It’s a real place…I was born there, but we had to leave when the dragon came. It has vast halls, once filled with laughter and light, and…a treasure.” He tried to hold up his end of the bargain.

“You said that twice.” She teased. “What?” He frowned.

“You said that you have lived there and then you said there was a treasure. I understood you the first time.” She grinned when a treacherous blush stole into his cheeks. He was a warrior and a leader, he was not used to shameless flattery from females and he did not know how to react.

“I meant an actual treasure. Gold and gems.” He stammered, lost for words.

“I meant an actual treasure too, silver and marble.” She smiled, waving aside his embarrassment.

“Did you believe in that prophecy?” He then asked, to change the subject.

“Oh, Master Dwarf, human lives are short, but we believe in cycles. We are born, we live, we die, but everything and everyone comes back somehow. What has been lost, will be found. What has left, might well return. Nan used to say when one is at a loss, one should go back to where it ended, because chances are, that’s exactly where it will start again.”

Giving his hand a slight squeeze, she whispered: “You will face your dragon again, you will see your home again, you will have the chance to walk the same path backwards and find new solutions to old problems. This is not the end, it is but another beginning.”

She looked like an old, wise woman herself now, despite the youth of her face and the softness of her body, for her eyes seemed timeless. How many cycles had those eyes and the knowledge within them seen?

“Where is old nan now?” He asked. “Buried under the chapel where you found me. Where I found you.” Her smile was unfathomable and deep, as if the world held no secrets for her anymore, and he was in awe of her once again.

“You are cold.” He said in a hushed voice when she shivered again. He remembered how she had plunged into the cold water for his dinner and suspected that she had never really dried.

“I am fine.” She crept a little closer to the dying fire. “I don’t want to leave you here to fetch more wood.” He murmured as if to himself and she was quick to promise that she was completely comfortable the way she was. She had known cold and darkness before and she was not afraid of it.

“Will you teach my nephews to swim then?” He prompted her again, just to see her warm smile. She thought them children, but to her, they would look like full-grown men already.

“I could not bear to see such beautiful hair turned into this.” She pointed at the matted, tangled mass of her own hair hanging in a wild nest from her head.

“Their hair is pitiful either way. You might want to brush, should I give you privacy?” He offered, turning around and handing her a comb.

She wondered where he had taken it from, but she suspected that he brushed his own luscious locks obsessively every time her head was turned away, because there was no way his hair looked like this on its own.

He could hear the comb dragging through her hair and the sweet smell of fresh water filled the air, a note of citrus and wild flowers dancing on the waves the scent conjured up, and he had to grit his teeth to keep himself from turning around.

“You know you can watch me brush my hair? I don’t make a secret out of it.” She laughed after a moment and he did not need more coaxing or inviting than that; he spun around immediately, his eyes riveted on her slow movements.

She felt slightly awkward with him staring at her as if she was about to undress in a slow, salacious way; more than ever, she was convinced that he brushed his hair in secret in a kind of semi-erotic ritual. His hair was of course also something that was quite bewitching.

She didn’t question the fact that she seemingly found everything about him enchanting, literally from the top of his head down to the sturdy boots he was pulling off now.

“Don’t do that, you’ll get cold feet.” She warned, mainly because her own felt frozen stiff by now, but he just gave a rumbling chuckle that seemed to be echoed by the walls.

“I am…not.” He laughed, rubbing his thumb over her cold, frail hand slowly to show her that he was much better than her at keeping his body temperature stable.

“So…have you always been a herb witch?” He asked, not letting go of her hand. For some reason, he just couldn’t bear when she fell into silence. He was so full of questions; old nan had never told her that dwarves were such nosy creatures.

“What? I am not. I am a potter by trade. I started making the vessels for my nan’s tinctures, but when…after the plague, there was no need for vases and plates and so I made money how I could.” I needed to eat, she thought, and my nan’s knowledge of the world around her saved my life.

“A potter?” He sounded taken aback. “Yes, Master Thorin, I make fragile things to be used just like you make durable, strong things to be used. We are what we make, it seems.”

He cocked one eyebrow: “You don’t strike me as particularly fragile.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter anyway, we learn a trade and we work in it, but ultimately, we must come back to our blood and the responsibility we have towards it, don’t we?”

He nodded slowly. One of her hands felt warm now, encased as it was in his huge paw, while the other one was still numb with cold.

For one moment, she debated if this was the moment to be prideful, but then she just extracted her hand from his, shoving it into the gap between her tunic and her skin.

He looked positively hurt by her action.

“I am sorry.” He mumbled. “Why? For what?” She asked as she extended her other hand to him; he just stared at it in confusion. “Could you warm this one up as well, please, Master Dwarf?”

It was mortifying having to ask, but he seemed puzzled. “Oh, I thought I had crossed a line by holding your hand for so long…I…you snatched it away to tuck it away in a safe place…kind of…wiping it…I don’t know.” He confessed.

She didn’t know if she should laugh or frown at that kind of stupidity. “You are very warm.” She simply said, sighing with relief when he took her other hand and rubbed it slowly.

“You are clearly not.” He replied, his strong hands closing around hers up to the wrist. She felt like crawling into him and staying there.

Had nan known about this as well? Had she known that a dwarf lord was like a furnace, radiating light and heat in to the confined space she was huddled up in? The almost dead fire before her seemed a ridiculous, puny thing compared to him.

The hand in her tunic was growing cold again and she proceeded to another sneaky switch, which made him chuckle under his breath. “Scoot in closer?” He offered.

It was inappropriate. He was a king-to-be, he was a creature she had not believed existed in the first place, he was wholly too virile and intimidating, but when he extended his arm she pressed against his ribs with fervent eagerness.

“You’re frozen…and your clothes are wet. How are they wet?” He exclaimed as his arm settled around her shoulders. She had thrown them too carelessly onto the bank and they had soaked up some water, she thought, but she would not tell him about her own stupidity for fear of making him worry more than she was worthy of.

“Enough is enough. I’ll go get some new wood and fetch some dry clothes from the cart. You get out of these rags.” He rumbled, but when he tried to get up, she slung her arm around his waist in a fit of childish petulance.

“I’ll be back soon.” He draped his own cloak around her. “No, you’ll be cold. Take it.” She cried out, extending his garment to him. “Stone and metal hold heat better than mud.” He smiled gently and exited the cavern.

His sudden absence turned the cave into a grave and she scrambled out of her wet clothes with frantic urgency, spreading them on the rocks at the back of the grotto.

“Oh stone, let me hear those heavy footfalls so I know I’m not alone.” She begged, lying down on the floor, his cloak underneath her skin and half-draped across her shivering body.

He found nothing but his own clothes and, in his haste to get back to her, he grabbed a tunic of his and hurried up to the cave again.

She was lying on the floor and for a second, he thought that she might have fainted or worse, but when she sat up, a smile of welcome blossomed on her face that made his heart wince.

His cloak had slipped and he realised that she was back in her chemise, her naked body clearly fathomable under the thin layer of fabric. “I could only find my own tunic, I am, again, so sorry.” He mumbled, walking over to her slowly. She did not flinch or move back; her whole body seemed to lean towards his approaching silhouette instead.

While he threw some twigs onto the fire, begging it to flare into life again for her sake, he couldn’t help observing the way her breasts lifted and sank as she shrugged into his tunic, sighing in an expression of pleasure that was cruelly uncalled-for in her present state of hypothermia.

“Tell me more about your kin, Master Dwarf. Tell me about the people I shall meet so I shall know them when I see them.” She begged, extending her arms to make him sit down by her side.

“Are you still cold?” He asked, alarmed, as he settled next to her. She slipped back under his arm like a child, feeling frail and shivering, but sighing contentedly.

“I shall be warm in a minute. Look at the fire, Master Dwarf, what beautiful things we could fashion if we had the tools and the time.” She murmured, fatigue making her voice grow slow and melting, like honey dripping onto his senses.

He was aware of her slowly heating up flesh and her tiny hand resting innocently on his thigh as she was snuggled against him the way his nephews had when they had been but tiny little things. Only, he had never felt the fire pass from the hearth in front of him into his bloodstream when his nephews had sought solace or protection under his wing. He had not wondered about the way he might feel or smell when they had been this close to his body.

“I think that you’ll like Balin. I really do. He’s kind and smart; he’ll love the stories about your nan. Ah, you’ll get to meet Dwalin as well, he’s…probably my best friend. He’s solid, but he’s…there’s a reason he’s my best friend. We’re…less courteous than we should be.” Thorin started to honour her wish. “You’re lovely, stop it.” She mumbled hazily.

He thought about her words and about the mussel shells he still kept in his pocket. She was right, if he had the tools and the time, he would make something beautiful for her; she deserved something frivolous and gorgeous for all the help and devoted service she had offered him.

His eyes fell on her feet that were extended away from him and he was aghast to see them take a blueish hue. She was not falling asleep; she was succumbing to the surrounding cold still.

“Close in, oh stone, protect her.” He whispered, but the rock around him seemed to mock his words. “Close in, oh son of stone, son of ore, protect her.” Voices thrummed through the unmoving walls, and so he did.

Gathering her up like a bundle of empty clothes, he pulled her into his lap, leaning back against the stone wall and held her there.

Looking down, he saw the naked expanse of her legs which made him feel like an idiot for not having thought of that before. With one hand, he bent her legs at the knee and tucked them safely into the hollow he had created by spreading his own.

She lay flush against him now, he could feel the rise and fall of her chest against his own and, when he pulled his cloak over her gently, his hand brushed the smooth skin of her unclothed thigh.

Just a hand-breadth higher he would have brushed against other parts, secret parts, that were much like his dinner: firmly closed now, but if heated just right, revealing a glittering pearl.

This was a very inopportune thought to have, he berated himself, as his body heated up against his will, making her press against him with ever more fervour.

A maiden, she had used that word, and despite being clearly of age, he wondered if she had meant that in the most allusive and perversely seductive of senses.

When had that plague ravaged her village? When had old nan died? How long had she been alone?

It didn’t matter. She would not consider sacrificing that most precious of prizes to one such as him…She had not denied him anything this far, he remembered, not her time, not her care, not her boundless courage.

Not this though, he curbed his own fanciful imagination, never this. He would not ask anything of her, not before he could show himself worthy of all the things she had given up for his benefit this far.

Her hand snaked up and came to rest just above his heart. “Lovely.” She repeated in a low, mumbling voice.

And, as she was warm and clearly asleep now, he permitted himself the tiny, tortureous indulgence of pressing his lips for one brief moment against her head, resting against his shoulder as if it belonged there. Maybe…it did.

#richard armitage #thorin oakenshield #fanfiction #ao3 #a bit of crack #Thranduil is named #softcore smut #hints #thorin is an idiot #women have feet

10 notes · View notes

the-l-spacer · 4 years ago

Link

Summary: After a battle goes wrong, Madeleine realises that he's not as infallible a knight as he'd hoped.

(He deals with it badly. Espresso helps.)

haha madeleine hurt/comfort time.

Madeleine wasn’t okay.

Madeleine wasn’t okay, and yet, he knew it hardly mattered. Not when the battle had gone this wrong.

Surrounding him were remnants of the fight. Ripped pages of monster books that snapped at their heels now drifted slowly to the ground, the air clouded with dust from collapsed bookshelves, the wisps of the nightmare-ridden librarian’s howling specter dissipating slowly. Behind him, his fallen companions; Custard, Chilli Pepper and Gingerbrave.

The companions that he had failed to protect.

The only other cookie that remained standing was Espresso, though the mage was hardly in any position to help. Bleeding from several places, and swaying on his feet, his eyes unfocused.

First order of business, help the mage off his feet.

Madeleine limped over, gritting his teeth whenever his weight landed on his shattered right ankle. He slung an arm around Espresso. “Alright, I’ll get you somewhere you can rest. Then, I’ll tend to the others.”

Espresso did not respond, only sinking ever-so-slightly against Madeleine. Together, they hobbled over to the nearest bench, where Madeleine set his friend gently down.

“K-knight. You need to rest, too,” Espresso finally rasped. “You’re in no state to move. The others will wake up on their own.”

“There’s no guarantee that they will. The librarian hit them hard.” Madeleine felt panic begin to rise from his chest, his usual eloquence leaving him. “They looked bad. Really bad. I must go to them. I must.”

He got back up roughly, batting away Espresso’s thin, brown hand that reached out to hold him back.

In his head, over and over again, The young cookies are dying. Dead. And it’s all your fault.

“No. No. Nononono.” He reached Custard first, knelt gracelessly on the dank, carpeted floor beside the would-be boy king. With hands that shook from panic and pain, he drew the last of his healing potions from his pouch, and tipped half of it into the boy’s mouth. “T-The Divine, please spare your grace to save this child. If it be your will, if it be your will-”

A sliver of light filtered in through the dust-caked windows, warming his skin. Sleepily, Custard’s eyes opened.

The relief he felt nearly made him double over, but he knew he couldn’t spare a moment to rejoice.

“Heal the others,” he softly said. Standing on knees that trembled, he made his way to Chilli Pepper. When he first met the de-facto caretaker of the young band of cookies, he’d turned his nose up at the common, mercenary thief. Yet, over their journey she had proven to genuinely care for the children she’d unwittingly found under her charge, and Madeleine knew she could be trusted to take care of them now, when they were at their weakest.

His left knee hit the ground at her side, and he gave Chilli Pepper the dregs of the red potion. The thief’s eyes flew open. “Madeleine…? You.. what’s going on…” As memories of the fight returned, she sat bolt upright. “Gingerbrave! Custard! The stupid brats insisted on coming with us to fight, and now-”

“-Custard is awake. Gingerbrave is still out,” he hoarsely interjected. “Go to him.”

Ordinarily, Chilli Pepper would have scoffed at taking orders from a toff. Now, she only nodded, and stumbled to her feet.

Madeleine was left, kneeling gingerly on the floor, lacking the strength to get up, willing himself to stay conscious. As if through water, he could hear the sounds of pounding footsteps. Wizard and Strawberry, who had stayed behind where they had made camp, arrived at the scene.

Distantly, he heard the cookies crowd around Gingerbrave, saw the healing glow as Custard laid his hands over the boy. He prayed to The Divine that it would be enough.

A collective cheer rose from the group, and Madeleine let his head hang in relieved gratitude.

A while later, he became aware of several presences around him. “Mister Madeleine? I’m going to heal you now!” The voice of Custard cut partly through the fog in his mind, and he gave a small nod.

He felt hands — child’s hands, too young and small to have to face the battlefield like this, and yet, unshaken in his determination to do so — rest on his shoulders.

And bit by bit, the pain was lifted. Cuts sealed, bruises faded from purple, to yellow, and then, nothing, the gash around his midsection closed up, his ankle righted itself, and the sudden lightness that he felt left him giddy.

He slumped forward, and found himself caught by a pair of familiar arms. “Don’t pass out on me, Madeleine” He looked up, and there Espresso was, brown eyes filled with concern.

“Espresso…” Madeleine murmured. Then, noticing the others around him, he tried to right himself, despite the churning of his stomach, “Espresso! How kind of you to catch me. I must say, I’m much obliged!”

Upon hearing him speak, the cookies let out a breath of relief. Gingerbrave threw his arms around the paladin, shouting, “I’m so glad you’re okay!”

Before he could respond in kind, Chilli Pepper quickly pried Gingerbrave off. “Hey! The guy needs some space. Let’s go back to camp, yeah?” A responding chorus of cheers rose up from the kids, and they began running back the way they came, the lure of warm food and rest drawing them away from Madeleine and Espresso, still kneeling amongst the carnage.

Madeleine watched as Gingerbrave, who just minutes before had been nothing but a crumpled heap, raced the others, darting between bookshelves, yelling and laughing. He saw Custard bossing the others around playfully, as if the very same did not happen to him.

Espresso’s hand cupped his face, gently turning it back to his. “Madeleine, are you certain that you’re ‘okay’. You seem… unlike yourself.”

Upon hearing the other cookie’s words, the weight of his guilt doubled on his shoulders, and he sagged. “I failed them, Espresso.” He whispered. “I swore I would protect them at all costs, but then…”

The specter of the librarian, dwarfing the bookshelves of the Forgotten Academy’s library. Its ghastly form ranting and raving over distant memories of noisy students,. Flinging wild, relentless projectiles the size and weight of bricks at the party before it.

Custard going down under the barrage. Gingerbrave and Chilli Pepper’s anguished screams as they saw their friend fall, before swiftly meeting the same fate.

His breathing quickened as scenario after scenario flashed before his eyes. If the potion had been too weak, if The Divine hadn't answered, if Custard and Chilli Pepper had been too slow in stabilising Gingerbrave.

Dimly, he could hear Espresso’s voice. “Madeleine? Madeleine! Listen to me, you’re spiralling, you foolish knight!”

His heart racing, he laughed, high and unnatural. “Yes, I’ve been foolish, haven’t I? If I hadn’t been so slow, so weak, so foolish, perhaps none of this would have happened. Perhaps, perhaps if I hadn’t been such a failure of a protector!”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that!” Espresso said, panicking, mentally combing for books he’d read on how to deal with a situation such as this. “Okay. You need to breathe. Can you breathe with me? In for three, then hold it for four counts, then let it out in five? Can I hold you?”

Everything was too much. Too much and Madeleine was shaking and he wanted to scream or cry or both but all he did was give a tight nod.

Arms encircled his shoulders, warm and feeling like home, and he almost threw them off because how could someone like Espresso want someone like him, someone who had failed so badly in his oath, who, through incompetence nearly caused the death of children?

“I- I- Espresso, it's my fault,” he gasped, “my fault.”

Espresso’s voice was soft. “It wasn’t your fault, Madeleine. Now breathe with me. In… and hold… and out.”

Madeleine tried to match the other cookie’s breaths, and after a while, his own breathing slowed.

They stayed there, simply breathing together. Then, Espresso repeated, “It wasn’t your fault. None of us were prepared for this. Even with the extent of my skill, I nearly perished trying to defeat that… that thing. You did the best you could.”

“I promised myself, when I first knew that the cookies I’d be escorting to the Vanilla Kingdom were children, that I’d defend them. I’d take the blows so they didn’t have to.”

“And you have.”

“But it wasn’t enough.” The tears came, pooling in his eyes and streaming down his cheeks. “In the end, it wasn’t enough.”

Wordlessly, Espresso’s arms tightened around him, and Madeleine collapsed against him, face pressed to Espresso’s chest, tears wetting the front of his robe.

Silence, but for Madeleine’s soft sobs. Espresso closed his eyes, and continued, “I’ve never said this before, but I suppose there’s no other time but this. You’re the-” He grimaced slightly against the next words, unused to such openness. “-The strongest, bravest cookie I know. I don’t know no one else so willing to throw themselves in front of others to defend them. Foolhardy as all hell, but brave.”

A choked, disbelieving laugh. “Really.”

“Really,” he affirmed.

“And what of today,” Madeleine said, “If- when the ‘brave’ defender fails to defend.”

"You forgive yourself. You train, become stronger, and do better. You thank the stars that everyone made it out alive. There’s no use dwelling on ‘if’s. I know I'm a damn hypocrite for saying this, but failure doesn't doom you." A sound of incredulity from Madeleine. "It's something I struggle with too, but I do remember Latte telling me something of this sort... Our failures don't define us. We- you are enough, just as you are."

They remained that way, Madeleine clinging to Espresso until his tears slowed. A few minutes passed, perhaps more. Faintly, Madeleine said, “...my leg’s fallen asleep.”

Espresso chuckled. “We should probably get up, then.”

The two cookies helped each other to their feet, and began the slow walk back to camp, in companionable quiet that followed. Espresso chanced a look at Madeleine. The paladin was running a hand through dishevelled hair, cleaning up his appearance so the others wouldn’t worry. His red-rimmed eyes fixed on him. “Thank you,” he murmured, “for calming me down. For… for your words.”

“Don’t think I didn’t mean every one of them.”

Madeleine took Espresso’s hand in his, squeezed briefly, and let go.

“...Besides,” the mage smiled impishly. “What else are boyfriends for?”

He strode ahead, leaving Madeleine trailing behind, gobsmacked, his mouth forming the word ‘boyfriend’ over and over, a stupid grin eventually spreading across the paladin's face.

After all, sometimes what one needed to feel better was warm reassurance, and sometimes, one needed a surprising kick to the system. And like all good coffee, it was Espresso’s pleasure to provide both.

#cookie run #espresseleine #cookie run kingdom #ESPRESSELEINE BRAIN ROT REAL AAAAAAAA #anyways kinda rushed this one out just. take it a;lkdjfklsd

44 notes · View notes

prose-for-hire · 4 years ago

Text

Dancing in the moonlight

Pairing: Spike x reader

Request: Hey! I recently discovered your blog and really enjoy your writing~ I've been having major Spike feels lately so I was wondering if I could request something for him? Maybe the reader is human and not related to the Scooby gang at all and just meets Spike through pure coincidence. She doesn't know about Vampires and anything supernatural and starts dating him but one day gets attacked and badly injured and he gets really protective? Thank you so much!

Warning: violence. Blood mention.

Requested by: Anon

A/N: I know you said human, and the reader is for the majority of the fic. Eventual demon (werewolf) reader.

Ever since you met Spike that evening in the parking lot, you had been near-inseparable. You had been clutching some books and papers in your hands and he had offered to carry them for you. You had almost found yourself blushing – if that was something you did so easily. Everything on your mind completely erased as the incredibly attractive man before you smirked his way over to your car and passed your books back.

He didn’t know why, but he knew he needed to talk to you. Quickly noting he wanted to become close to you. He was drawn to you and he soon realised you had no clue about demons, vampires or even the Hellmouth you were living on. Hell to you was long hours at work and getting cut off on the road while you were driving.

Your friendship grew and blossomed into a relationship, he was extremely protective and you liked this – you just weren’t aware why he was so protective. He had slipped mace into your bag more than once and he had made sure to sign you up for a self-defence class after you couldn’t stop giggling when he tried to instruct you himself.

One day after dark, your car was in the shop and Spike was old fashioned, he hadn’t yet been dragged into present day, despite your claim that you would one day convince him to so he didn’t carry a cell. This meant that you decided to walk home.

You made several mistakes that night.

Mistake number one: Was letting your own cell die and being half-way between Sunnydale and the back-of-beyond little car shop that did good prices and had friendly people working there. You were loyal to places like that but it meant you were caught out walking home. You were trying to find a payphone but it appeared there were now none. Spike would be worrying, he hated when you were out alone after dark. He was so protective and caring, but thankfully not smothering. You still weren’t sure why he cared about the dark so much, but you loved the way he would walk you places.

Mistake number two: was that despite your wanting to return to Spike’s arms soon, you had been dawdling, not picking up the pace, way after midnight, on a full moon. In fact, you had been strolling, enjoying the moonlight and the way the cool breeze caressed your face. You weren’t sure why but you had been transfixed by the moon that night. It was as if it were calling to you, whispering sweet nothings to pull you in. As if you were finally seeing it for the first time.

You all but skipped down the abandoned streets, a pleasantly deserted walk home to you. But, to anyone in the know, it was eerily quiet. The time of deafening quiet that begged for a scream to interrupt the creeping fear it brought. You took a turn straight into a large dog. He was a lot larger than a dog you had encountered before, his teeth were baring and he appeared to be wild. But it was in your nature to befriend animals and so you didn’t think twice about this hideously over-sized dog that sat quietly waiting for you under the full moon.

And that’s how we come to mistake number three: you trying to pet the grey (were)wolf rather than fight it. Your first instinct, rather than a good old roundhouse kick, was to slowly walk up to the wolf and let it smell your hand before you tried to pet it. But instead of soft fur, as you had been expecting to feel, you had the animal’s jaw wrapped around your hand. His canines ripping into your flesh and making you scream out. You were staring in horror as thick blood dripped up your arm and down the wolf’s chin. You started to struggle but his jaw had locked and your eyes were watering. Your voice had now stopped screaming, no noise was coming from your mouth as your eyes stayed connected with the wolf’s. His eyes looked almost… human.

Spike also made a mistake that night, it had been to not swing by your house and check if you wanted to spend the evening together instead. He had had a bad feeling and now it had proved right. It was a mistake he would be mad at himself for, after he directed this anger at the wolf that now had a taste for your blood.

He had been looking for a demon to fight, knowing you were doing something this evening so he took his chance. He hadn’t found a way to explain about demons – it just never felt like the right time. Plus, there was always the potential for you to become frightened and never want to see him again. But apparently now, was the right time. He was going to have to explain it all.

He had run in your direction when he heard a scream, and then he smelt the intoxicating aroma of your blood. It was sticky and sweet, just as he remembered it. He had smelled that the first time he had met you and he’d often fantasised about the way you would taste. You had a papercut that night – you had met after you had been walking home from the library, books in hand and some files. You had wanted to look into the history of ‘Sunnydale’ you had a strange feeling that nothing was what it seemed, but everything checked out and after you had met Spike you had forgotten completely about the strange feeling.

When he rounded the corner, his eyes widened and without missing a beat, he ran at the wolf and tackled it. It’s jaw releasing your hand as he punched it’s torso to disarm it. He kicked it away whilst it snapped its jaw angrily before retreating. Your knees buckled due to the pain and when the wolf scampered away, Spike ran over to you and inspected your injury. He was mad, a perfect bite mark was weeping hot red liquid as your face contorted in pain.

Spike’s jaw tensed, he ripped some material from his t-shirt, creating a tourniquet for your wound that he carefully wrapped around the deep bitemark on your hand. He stroked your head softly, trying to show you it would be okay but you were becoming a little lethargic.

“If that ugly mutt comes back, I’ll bloody rip-” but he wasn’t able to finished the sentence he was muttering through gritted teeth as the wolf rounded the corner again. It could smell your blood still and so it had circled back despite the threat from Spike. You were started to become more than a little woozy from the bite that had now bled through the material. Too much blood for a normal animal bite.

Spike told you to stay there, running at the wolf and throwing some punches as he went. The fight was ferocious and your eyesight was becoming a little fuzzy. You heard him taunting, shouting with a torrent of insults as he took care of the animal that was desperate to take another chunk out of you.

he was fighting in a way that was almost primal, his face appeared to change in and out of human, but that could be your weakening eyesight.

Suddenly the threat stopped. The cacophony of snarling ceasing and all you could hear were Spike’s footsteps towards you as your eyesight tried to focus on what was in front of you. You were bleeding a lot, the bite was a lot deeper than you had thought. In fact, spike was concerned it was something else entirely making you bleed so much.

He scooped you up, explaining his movements clearly as he started to carry you bridal-style. You lean into the comforting touch, his tenderness so different from the way he had been a moment ago. He wanted you to be safe and he wasn’t sure how to explain what had just happened.

“Thank God you were here” You murmured, wrapping an uninjured arm around him from where he was supporting you through the streets, “Never seen such a big husky” You muttered, which made him frown. He would have thought you would say something, question it. That was, without a doubt a werewolf. You usually asked a bunch of questions, but it may be the blood loss talking tonight.

“Nothin’ like a dance in the moonlight, pet” he winked trying to keep things light, but his brow furrowed as you winced and looked at your hand as you clutched your side with the good hand. You weren’t feeling good. Spike hauled you over the threshold and laid you in bed. He patched you up the best he could and held you close in bed. His bravado never slipped, his throwaway comments designed to make you feel better, but he was worried. He had a hunch about what may be coming.

The next night, the last night of the full moon was a time when your mistakes all formed to maintain your destiny. A destiny you had no time to prepare for. Spike stayed over, knowing what may happen. And sure enough, when the moon rose, your change started to happen. He tried to help you through it, but you threw him off you once you had changed into a wolf. He knew it was time to tell you about the demons of Sunnydale, that is if he could protect you and hold Buffy and the others off from slaying you before dawn.

#spike x reader #spike x you #spike imagine #spike btvs #werewolf reader #werewolf x vampire #btvs imagine #btvs x you #btvs x reader #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #oblivious reader #gender neutral #gender neutral reader

195 notes · View notes

moral-turpitudes · 4 years ago

Text

College Headcanons: Modern!Peaky Blinders Edition

Part 1 | Part 2

Grace Burgess:

Major: Criminal Justice Minor: Fashion Merchandising

10/10 would join a sorority. She has the look and loves the parties.

Has beauty and brains, surprisingly.

Works part time as the barista at Starbucks.

Loves sticking her nose in people’s business so her major is pretty fitting.

She loves a challenge so when she gets to know Thomas Shelby, she knows he’s gonna be fun to figure out.

Studies a decent amount but uses her spare time to try to look into the Shelby’s and why they practically run campus. A little birdy told her about them.

Knows Tommy’s coffee order by heart.

Always DTF.

Is suspicious of Tommy’s inability to use technology but goes along with it cuz she wants to get to know him more.

Didn’t think she’d fall for the mysterious man with a smoking problem but here we are.

When introduced to his family, she asked too many questions about their finances and such, making them think she worked for the cops or something.

Polly still didn’t trust her despite it being a while since they first dated.

Her professor likes her, and encourages her to keep investigating as part of her project on corrupt institutions. Only her professor is a little too enthusiastic. She passes the class, but tells Tommy about him being creepy from time to time.

The next day the professor isn’t there. Hmm. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Almost fought a guy who spilt his coffee on her new dress.

Dreams of being well-off and having a fashion line of her own. Envying Ada’s knack for clothing.

Gets drunk with her sorority sisters on the weekends at the bar and does karaoke. It’s not the best, but she gets an A for effort.

About halfway through her junior year she has to leave cuz she’s dramatic and Polly may have blown her cover. So in a rash decision, she leaves Tommy on his own, making him have a fit and almost getting himself suspended but it’s fine. Polly tells him he’ll meet someone else.

Esme Lee

Major: Horticulture

Her friends all have crazy majors but she wanted something simple, so she chose horticulture. It also lets her get out of the dull college life for a while, or so she thought.

Knowing she can get her mind set on her studies, they decided to help her out and invited her to a frat party.

Everyone who was popular was there so she felt a bit out of place, until she met John randomly when she went to grab a drink.

She’s a wild one kind of like John so they mesh well together. They ended up getting drunk and dancing the night away, letting all their college worries leave them.

In her spare time she can be seen roaming campus with John or hanging out with her friends, and occasionally yelling at some people to get away from her plants at the schools gardening area.

She got along with the blinders really well, except she liked to challenge Tommy at times.

She may be small but she’s one hell of a yeller. She intimidated John the first time she yelled at him.

No one messes with her unless they want to be beaten up by her boyfriend.

Polly likes to chat with her about the business sometimes, sparing some of the details, but she knows Esme can be trusted, and besides, Esme can always force it out of John if it’s something too shady.

Apart from her social life, she does quite well for her studies, and runs a small etsy shop where she makes jewelry.

Her favorite part is uploading aesthetic photos of them to her insta and trying to get John to model for her pictures.

She, like the rest of the family, knew Grace was a snake, and always got bad vibes from Linda…smh.

When she heard news of Grace leaving, she shared a glance with John and did a happy dance internally. In regards to Linda, she wanted to claw her eyes out a bit but she held herself back. Linda would eventually get what came to her. Karma really is that bitch.

As time went on, she found herself agreeing on a whim to marry John, and later falling pregnant with her first of many children. But she’s fine with this situation as long as he helps her live her cottage!core dreams with a bunch of chickens running around while they raise their 10,000 kids.

Linda Shelby

Major: Agriculture

Minor: Religious Studies

Unhinged™

Joined a philanthropic sorority, so she mainly focuses on serving people at shelters and charities instead of serving looks at frat parties.

Claims to be a Christian.

Has the eye for anyone with a penis.

Spends most of her agriculture classes daydreaming about shooting Arthur.

Prays she has the knowledge to pass her exams instead of actually studying for them.

Just wants to live on a farm and be a housewife.

Gives off major bitch vibes no matter how many crucifixes she wears around her neck. Polly tolerates her, and so does the rest of the family, but it’s only a matter of time before someone snaps.

Textbook good-girl-gone-bad trope. Everyone knows her around campus for preaching about no sex until marriage but she be doing the nasty with her side-bae after prayer night.

Enjoys eavesdropping on the Shelby family’s conversations. She supplies Grace with information in exchange for free coffee.

Gaslighting is her second language, speaking in tongues is her third.

When she’s not planning things, she can be seen talking to Grace at Starbucks or stress-baking. She hooks her friends up with weed brownies and later switches to coke because of her boyfriend’s family *cough* Arthur.

Binge drinks on Saturdays and crawls to church on Sundays.

Gets clingy and manipulative at times.

Loves doing her religious studies homework in the chapel or the huge library on campus.

She’d do okay up until finals week, then she’d have many a break down that only cocaine could fix.

Drunk calls Arthur and lets it slip she’d been sleeping with someone the whole time they’d been together. Has 2 working braincells at that point.

He goes off on the dude as they both went to the same bible study. He begged for mercy in the middle of the church floor for Arthur to stop with the punches but we all know hell hath no fury like a person who’s been cheated on. May have almost killed him but it’s fine.

Linda finds him bleeding almost as much as Jesus did.

After crying to Grace on the phone, she snorts a couple lines and downs some shots and heads to Arthur’s dorm. Sos Linda’s got a gun.

Gets shot and lives to tell about it.

She leaves to find god perhaps after all this...or more coke, and just says “fuck it” to her degree. College isn’t for everyone, it’s ok Linda.

Poor Arthur is confused in the weeks leading to the shooting and Linda leaving. Isiah tried to warn him since he was her partner for some projects but he didn’t listen. He wanted to question Tommy’s barista bae about her too but she dipped tf out. The world may never know.

Lizzie Starke

Major: English

She’d taken up an assistants job at the business college and so she worked for nonother than Professor Polly Gray.

She got along with her well, and on Friday nights when she’d be invited out for drinks, she’d overhear Polly divulge one too many secrets about her business.

She kept her circle small so she never felt the need to tell anyone, also fearing that she wouldn’t live to see tomorrow if she did.

Polly trusted her with all her paperwork, often having to proofread and go over Tommy’s insanely long assignments and political debate notes.

Tommy would often be seen around the office, talking Polly’s ear off about business and legal issues, all while she’d get lost in his eyes as he spoke.

She knew she was out of his league, at least while Grace had him wrapped around her finger, but Polly said her day would come so she believed it.

In her spare time, she’d read poetry and sip tea, and on occasion try to teach Tommy about the world of laptops, but even she gave up after a while.

Her major took up a good deal of her time, constantly writing papers and re-reading books, but there was always one silver-lining. Tommy would often skip getting Finn’s help and go straight to her. He said it was because she gave good advice, but his demeanor said otherwise.

When he’d arrive, she’d notice him gradually improving his appearance, much like he did with Grace. And when he’d leave, Polly would shoot her a knowing look.

She may be quiet, but she’s smart, and knows when to make her moves, which both impresses Polly and intrigues Tommy.

Ends up being one of the only ones able to call Tommy out on his shit.

When she’s not around the Shelby’s she’s with her friends or hitting up bars and bookstores.

When she and Tommy finally get together, some students turned their heads at first, but they were good for each other in the long run, it just took Tommy longer to see it.

Gina Gray:

Major: Business Management

Minor: Fashion Merchandising

She came in the picture shortly after Grace’s departure. She was studying abroad but decided to come back for her business classes.

When she first laid eyes on Michael she knew he was the one, but she had to go through Polly, her professor first.

They dated for a while until he popped the question one weekend, leaving everyone in shock.

When she wasn’t fooling around with Michael, she could be seen around campus with her sorority sisters and some of her close friends. Since she was a fashion minor, she always made sure she was dressed to the nines and turned heads almost as much as Michael’s cousin Ada, almost.

Gives off bitch vibes 24/7. No one can really tell if she’s genuine in her feelings, not even Michael, poor bud.

His family thought she was suspicious like Grace, and Polly still can’t put her finger on why she feels she may have a trick up her embellished sleeves.

Michael tends to follow her like a lost puppy of sorts, but she loves the attention, and when he mentioned how his family worked she didn’t seem very phased by it, coming from a somewhat dysfunctional and power-hungry family herself.

She tries to study a decent amount but she’s always hanging out with Michael or getting herself into trouble with the cops when her sorority sisters throw parties.

She’s smart and very convincing, but Polly sees right through her, leading up to a very heated discussion between the two women after class one day.

It’s safe to say that her grades for Polly’s class are holding on by a thread, much like Polly is to her sanity.

She loves a game, whether that’s messing with people’s heads, or trying to beat her friends on game night. She always enjoys watching how they work through their problems, picking out the weakest ones in order to beat them while they’re down.

When she’s not scraping by in her business classes, she’s brainstorming fashion ideas for her numerous projects she’s left until the last minute. Somehow she’s passing the class with flying colors though.

Like Michael’s cousin Tommy, she’s always scheming over something, and so it’s only a matter of time before she fucks something up.

Aberama Gold:

Profession: Philosophy Professor

Side Job: Hitman

His teaching styles are eccentric, often taking the class on field trips to immerse them in the experience.

Goes on for hours about various stories and theories, often losing the class after 30 minutes.

Sometimes he gets called out of class by the teaching assistant because he got an “important” phone call.

“Important” phone calls mean hits and he can’t turn them down unless he wants beef with his rival gang members or people involved in the mafia.

For these reasons, he has two phones. One for his usual work and family, and one for the dirty work.

His son always teases him about having hella phones, but he ain’t no drug dealer, although he most definitely knows some by association.

Asks hard questions to his students and expects good answers.

Doesn’t believe in homework, but makes the classes very challenging and hard to skip.

In his spare time he helps out at the boxing ring, teaching his son the ropes and prepping him for competitions. Other times he helps Arthur and Finn train, all in an attempt to get them to mention their aunt Polly.

He’s in love with the woman but is a bit shy like his son. It takes him a bit to get the courage to meet her but once he does they hit it off.

Polly wasn’t turned off by his dangerous lifestyle, in fact she was turned on by it as she’s lived the same life.

When he wasn’t with Polly or helping his son, he could be seen roaming campus in his signature hat, resting in alleyways or leaving campus abruptly, obviously to go kill someone.

He’d often spend nights away from home alone in the forest, away from Polly and his family, using “philosophy research purposes” as an excuse so he could stake out targets.

He always kept his end of the bargain up, even when he had to deal with Polly’s family and their gangly family business.

Bonnie Gold:

Major: Sports Management

One of the more quiet, reserved students on campus. He can get mouthy when challenged though so watch out.

Would definitely hang with the art and english students, they’re chill.

Can be seen carrying his boxing gloves between classes and doing routine jogs around campus.

All the bitches love him but he only has his eyes on his future. He just wants to win his matches and then he’ll think about love, or so he says. He has the eye for someone in class though and it’s not long until his dad finds out.

He’s health-conscious af.

Has never eaten Ramen noodles a day in his life and doesn’t plan on it. Even if his friends Finn and Isiah try to bribe him. It’s one of the peak college experiences after all.

May have gotten drunk at a frat party and fought a tree.

Would throw hands if someone was being a dick to someone he cared about.

Takes his major seriously. He studies decently well given his dad is always on his ass about it, but when he’s done he goes to parties or hits the ring.

Often has his head in the clouds, dreaming of being a famous boxer, or at least managing a very successful sports team.

Helps his dad on hits. Not many people know this so it’s hush hush.

When he’s not shooting at his fathers enemies, he’s in the ring practicing for the big competitions.

Often spends weekends with his dad, helping to plan attacks and meeting with his blinder friends.

Almost got suspended for knocking out a couple guys cuz they insulted his father.

Attends his dads lectures just to keep an eye on things for him and because he actually finds the subject interesting. May also have a “thing” for a girl in the class but most likely won’t make a move because he’s shy af most times.

Isiah Jesus:

Major: History

Minor: Religious Studies

Despite his wild lifestyle, he likes learning about religions and how they all came to be, given his dad is a preacher.

He may not be a saint but he tries to do well in the classes at least.

Can be seen fucking around with his buds Finn and Bonnie, and going to one too many frat parties.

Finn and him would do lines of coke as soon as Arthur helped move a new supply in, and he’d try to bribe Bonnie to try it but he’d refuse and say he “has to stay clean for his matches.”

When he’s not doing coke or studying for his history or religion exams, he’s out helping the blinders on various jobs.

He often gets in trouble with security because he’s always sneaking about the dorms with some girls he met at parties.

Call it divine intervention, but he couldn’t help but feel something was “off” with the girl Arthur was seeing, cuz he’d gotten partnered up with her for some religion projects in the past and her ideas were concerning. He told Arthur to be careful but we all know what went down.

He likes joining the blinders on their business trips, often leaving his schoolwork until the last minute, just to get the opportunity to help in the business.

He and Finn rant about them not getting enough exposure to the family business but Polly quickly shoves the ideas from their heads saying they need to focus on school, at least then maybe the family could have some other potential.

Daydreams of being a full-blown leader like all the ones he’d read about in his history books. He often looks up to Tommy just as much as Finn does, which sometimes gets them both hurt.

He can be seen often at the ring training with Finn and Bonnie.

He sticks up for his family and friends, even if it means putting himself on the line. No one messes with him unless they want trouble from him and everyone he knows.

#katies headcanons #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders headcanons #grace burgess #esme lee #linda shelby #lizzie starke #lizzie stark #gina gray #aberama gold #bonnie gold #isiah jesus

111 notes · View notes

plant-flwrs · 4 years ago

Text

Eternal Spring // wolfstar

Chapter One: Calholme

masterlist!

series masterlist!

series summary: Remus was fine being alone until a mysterious and loud man crashes his motorbike into Remus’s life.

a/n: hi!!! i have a series!!! i’ve got a couple of series and chapter stories in my drafts, but i’ve never really had the courage to post them. i have put so much into this story, though, and i really hope you all like it :) leave me some feedback! i’ll probably post more once i know that its not a complete and utter flop. also, i’ve posted it on my ao3 so you can go read it over there too <33

(1.9k)

It was a drowsy, subdued place, in Remus' opinion, every moment of the year except for spring. Where he grew up, and where he currently resided, the entire town took a green glowing hue for the season. It was cold in the mornings, so when Remus went outside to spread chicken seed on the dewy grass, he put on a sweater. It warmed up as the sun rose, and from the time it took the sun to travel from the horizon to the middle of the sky, Remus was comfortable in a t-shirt and loose-fitting jeans. When the sun was at its peak, Remus might start to sweat through his shirt, maybe going as far as to change into shorts if he was outside, which he usually was. He couldn't stand to be inside during spring.

The gravel driveway that led to a dirt road was sprouting an abundance of weeds and weeds that looked like flowers. The trees captured light, glowing, instead of the way they seemed to absorb and trap light in winter. Remus's backyard was a large forest, and Remus had never taken the time to check where his property line ended, so as far as he was concerned, the entire forest was his. If you went deep enough in any direction, you would come to a clearing where the knee-high grass dove into some grass that only tickled your ankles. After the ankle grass, there was an unnaturally blue and unnaturally large lake. Remus' mom had told him that the lake was so blue and so large because it was natural, that no person could ever make something so beautiful, and Remus found himself agreeing as he got older.

With his mother and father gone to live somewhere where it was spring weather all the time, living on a vast farm with no animals and a huge lawnmower that his father comfortably sat on every weekend to trim the fields, Remus now lived in his slightly renovated childhood home. It was only slightly renovated because it was a great deal messier and almost every surface was covered in coffee or tea stains and a book. Remus also got a television that he rarely used and turned his old bedroom into some sort of reading room/ garden. So, slightly renovated.

Past the gravel driveway littered with weeds and imposter weeds, past the dirt road that served as a crossing and sometimes rest area for the wild animals in the area, was the more populated town. Calholme had two public libraries; three hardware stores, one of which sold exclusively fishing supplies; a psychic who did palm readings and sold handmade jewelry and was rumored to have built the house she did aforementioned things in herself; three gas stations, one on each side of the outskirts of town, and one right in the center; two banks, one of which was relatively new that not many people frequented due to either a lack of trust for banks or simply because it was new; a multitude of fruits and vegetables stands with products grown in the area, delis in which the products ate the grass not 20 miles away, and bakeries that sent a sweet aroma into the air; a record shop that doubled as a coffee shop, candy store, and sometimes a furniture store when the records weren't selling too well; a car repair shop called Matt Mocks's garage that also repaired tractors and other broken farm equipment, and if the right guy was in that day, you could get your television repaired, too; and any other storefront that the simple people of Calholme thought they needed. They were quite resourceful in that sense.

So, down one end of the road was Calholme, and down the other were a few scattered cottages and large farmhouses, and even further down was a paved road that brought Sirius Black into town.

---

Remus had opened the window in his kitchen and stood in front of it as he waited for his tea to steep. It was that wonderfully chilly morning, so he shivered a little as the cold air clipped his crooked nose and sharp chin. He wrapped his long arms around his body to give some sort of comfort but found his lack of sustainable body fat and bony arms were more of a hindrance than not. Sighing and turning away from the window, he retrieved a cardigan that was draped over the couch, shaking off some loose crumbs before putting it on and returning to the window. He passed the sink on the way, a large white ceramic hole in the counter that looked more like a tub than a sink, and filled up a cup of water for the plants on the window sill. The house was in disarray, as usual, but Remus kept his plants alive. Most of the ones on the sill were herbs that he cooked with, with one or two flowers mingled in. If he kept the window open all day during this time of year, butterflies would come to the flowers and find themselves fluttering around the kitchen until they could find the window again. Occasionally, they just make themselves at home.

Window plants watered, arms covered and no longer shivering, tea fully steeped and mixed with the right amount of milk and honey, Remus stood in front of the window again. He could hear his chickens clucking by the other side of the house, and the rustle of the trees, the faint hum of a tractor miles off as people started their day. Then, he heard the roar of a failing engine. Not long after that, he heard the harsh sounds of metal scraping and a yelp of surprise that soon turned into groans of pain.

Remus ran to the door, tripping over his discarded rainboots, then running his shin into a coffee table, then shouldering the wall before falling on his face after tripping on some more shoes. When he finally got to the door, the chickens were louder, and so was the groaning.

His driveway wasn't too long, but it was still long enough and curved enough so that the house couldn't be seen from the road. The gravel crunched under his feet, eyes surveying the weeds, hands warmed by the mug he had forgotten to put down and somehow, miraculously, had not dropped on his way out.

There was a lump that may have been a human body or may have been a Greek god that had fallen down to the earth. Besides this was a discarded and seriously fucked up motorbike. A few feet away was a duffel bag with its contents spilled out onto his driveway. Telling from the skid marks, Remus guessed that this Greek god had lost his footing, or maybe hadn't seen a pothole, and veered into his driveway for somewhat of an easier crash than what would have been in the woods. The marks also told Remus that the driver was coming into town.

"Are you alright?" Remus tried, taking the groans as a sign of life and creeping closer to the body.

"Oh, fuck," they groaned, "fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Do you need help?" Remus knew it was a stupid question, one with the answer right in front of his face, as they began to writhe around the ground and get their wits about them.

Remus moved over to the scattered possessions, setting down his mug and gathering the various items back into the duffel. He ignored the magazine with David Bowie on the cover, ignored the criminally small shirt that had tears in the collar and Remus knew would make the Greek god look even more godlike, ignored the eyeliner pencil, and politely folded things when necessary before putting them away.

"Where the fuck am I?" the body had moved into a sitting position, feet on the ground and legs bent at the knees. There were rips in his black jeans, blood seeping into the denim, and a tattered hole in the sleeve of his leather jacket that also left red dripping onto the gravel. His face wasn't too scuffed, just some road rash on his cheekbone and jaw. Greek god confirmed. Fallen from heaven, straight from Olympius, carved by the hands of Zeus himself.

He was strikingly pale, which made his eyes and hair striking as well. His eyes were a deep blue, blue like Remus' lake, and his black hair was long and cut into a choppy sort of shag with lots of layers. He looked disheveled, obviously, because he was just in an awful motorbike accident, and Remus was staring at him.

"Just outside of Calholme," Remus almost called him 'sir', despite the fact that he hadn't called anyone but his teachers and his father 'sir', and this boy was obviously close to Remus' age. But the boy had a commanding presence, one that made people want to call him 'sir', and tremble with nerves as they did so.

Shuffling a bit, still sat down, he surveyed the damage. No longer groaning nor writhing, he was somehow even more attractive. His brows were furrowed-in pain, concentration, just pure Greek god sternness? Remus could not tell- as he pulled at the new holes in his jeans. He didn't wince, but he did scowl, and his fingertips ran through his blood for a moment before sighing. He twisted to look at his arm, and he winced then, but only because of his beloved jacket.

"Motherfucker," he mumbled, taking care to slip off the arm of the jacket and pinch the torn edges together as if they would magically stitch together.

Remus realized he was still holding the boy's duffel, so he dropped it gently on the gravel between them.

He cast his eyes up to look at Remus for the first time. "Thanks," he said softly, pulling off his entire jacket now.

It was cold, and Remus was wrapped tightly in his cardigan, and this boy was bleeding, his motorbike dented and silent even though he had never taken the keys out of the ignition.

"Can you walk?" Remus asked, surprising himself with the nervous tremble in his voice. Remus didn't talk much during the day, besides to his chickens and the lake and the flowers and the butterflies, and occasionally to the stray cat that would make the long trek from the neighboring properties. This boy was a little different than talking to those things.

He struggled to his feet, easing gently on his knees and not putting his scraped hands on the gravel. He bent his legs, only grimacing a little, and said, "Yeah."

"Do you want to come inside? It's warmer."

The boy craned his neck, looking at the heavily forested area around him, his bike, and Remus. He looked at Remus a little longer than these other things and nodded briskly.

Remus grabbed his mug and turned to walk up the driveway, listening to the crunch of the boy's footsteps behind him. They were strong and sure, despite the trail of blood he was leaving.

"This your house?" The boy said from a few paces behind Remus once they got close enough to see it. He sounded neutral, not apprehensive or suspicious of Remus, but not grateful or relieved. Remus found it a little unnerving, especially with his back to him. He shivered and turned to face him, nodding and opening the front door.

#wolfstar #Remus Lupin/Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin x sirius black #remus lupin fanfic #remus x sirius #Sirius Black #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black x remus lupin #wolfstar fluff #wolfstar fic #domestic wolfstar

17 notes · View notes

jasmine-bailey · 3 years ago

Text

FULL NAME: Jasmine Elizabeth Davenport - Bailey

NICKNAME: Jasmine, Jazz

AGE/BIRTHDAY: 52 (July 14, 1969)

PLACE OF BIRTH: Westminster, London, UK

GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cisfemale - she/her

ORIENTATION: Heterosexual

HAIR COLOR: Dark brown

EYES: Hazel

HEIGHT: 5 feet, 5 inches

FAMILY: Richard Bailey (husband); Aslihan Deniz Bailey (adoptive daughter); Adoptive Son

EDUCATION: Bachelor of Science in Marine Biology (University of Liverpool); Master of Research in Marine Biology (University of Plymouth); Doctor of Philosophy in Marine Biology (James Cook University; Australian Institute of Marine Science)

OCCUPATION: Marine Biologist; Adjunct Professor of Biology at Providence Peak University

NEIGHBORHOOD: Summit Lake

( I will be adding more things in here soon. I will be editing her biography soon too.)

AESTHETICS:

the smell of sea water,

the stillness of the library,

coffee stains on paper,

family photos on the walls,

the gentle strains of classical music over hushed conversations in an elegant ballroom,

the sound of children laughing,

muddy but sturdy boots under elegant dresses,

a well-worn ring

HEADCANONS:

Jasmine loves being surrounded by children. Having grown up an only child but with a myriad of cousins, she always longed to have a large family of her own. She was devastated at first when she and Richard couldn't seem to have a child of their own, but she's happy now with her adopted children, and her granddaughter.

Jasmine likes to dabble with painting and drawing in her spare time. She finds the activity relaxing. When her children were younger, she'd sometimes let them borrow her paints and pencils, and let them "express themselves". Whatever "masterpieces" they made, she framed them and displayed proudly in their home. As the children grew older, they were taken down, but she still has them kept tucked away in a spare room.

Jasmine's career as a marine biologist was at first frowned upon by her ultra conservative and old-fashioned mother, who was grooming her to be a high-class lady that could perhaps catch the eye of some nobility or any other rich man. Her father, on the other hand, was supportive of her. Her mother finally reluctantly agreed to her being a "career woman" when she was eventually involved with Richard, after her mother knew of Richard's family's background. Her mother found Richard a "rather peculiar fellow" though, but didn't object to their relationship and then eventual marriage.

Jasmine and Richard makes donations to the Wolf Wild Rescue. They do it anonymously, but somehow, some people already figured it out. They don't mind it though.

BIOGRAPHY:

(tw: mention of miscarriage)

Jasmine Elizabeth Davenport was born into a somewhat privileged life. Her family came from relatively new money, but somehow managed to interject themselves into the inner high social circles of England. Jasmine's father was a businessman, and didn't mind high society so much, focusing more on his business and the prospect of making more money. Her mother, on the other hand, loved the notion of being in high society. And she wanted even more. So when Jasmine was born, her mother saw an opportunity to climb even higher. Her mother wasted no expense at grooming Jasmine into becoming the perfect lady - perhaps someone perfect enough to catch the eye of someone richer, or perhaps even from nobility. Young Jasmine didn't mind it at first, as it meant more attention from her mother than she could ever want for. Also, it meant that she got to spend much time studying and reading, as she soon found out that she loved accumulating all sorts of tidbits of knowledge she could find. While her mother wasn't all too pleased at the notion of her being "bookish", Jasmine somehow found herself retreating more and more into the library and their gardens - soaking up all the knowledge they could give her.

However, as she grew older, and saw how her many cousins weren't as rigid in their upbringing as hers, she began wanting to rebel. She knew that there was more to life than what her mother had in plan for her. She wanted to visit different places - exotic places she only somehow read in her books. So, she concocted a plan of her freedom. At first, she hoped that more siblings would detract her mother's attention from her. Alas, her parents weren't able to give her any. Jasmine was devastated at first, as she somehow envied her cousins and often wondered what having siblings would have been like. It also dashed her hope that perhaps having siblings would make her life at home...less colder and restricted.

Now determined more than ever to somehow break free from her gilded cage, she then sought to seek her freedom somewhere else -- through the very high society circles she and her family were part of. Her plan was to somehow snare a rich-enough man that would please both her parents (most especially her mother) and would also somehow not care about her enough to just leave her alone to her own biddings. She didn't, however, count on meeting Richard Bailey.

Everyone in their circles knew the Baileys. They were an old, old family and were well-respected among their peers, and within the academic circles as well. Jasmine only saw Richard Bailey once when she was younger, and it was only for a short introduction. After all, they were only both children at that time. However, years later, during one of those society parties her mother so loved to be a part of, she saw him once again. She wasn't entirely charmed with him at first, but he was a persistent man. She soon found herself spending more and more time with him, and getting to know him better. And somehow, she fell in love with him. And to her delight, he loved her right back. And it was in that instant that Jasmine knew that her life would definitely be changed.

Richard wasn't ideally the man her mother wanted for her. He was a scholar and an archeologist, preferring his books and his tools and not squirming at the notion of getting dirty and sweaty. But he was the heir to the Bailey name and fortune, and that was something that her mother could not say no to. Jasmine was thrilled at her mother's (conditional) acceptance of Richard, as it also allowed her to finally pursue her dreams of going into the academic field, after much nudging from Richard. Her parents allowed her to take up Marine Biology during her university years, in which she finally found her calling.

Her life with Richard at first was exhilarating and fun. She got to travel alongside with him to many different places. And while it was great at first, Jasmine suddenly found herself wanting something - a child. When she and Richard first started trying for one, they were giddy with excitement. And when she finally found herself pregnant, they were both brimming with happiness. Alas, it was not meant to be. A month after her positive pregnancy result, while accompanying her husband to South Africa, she found herself bleeding profusely. A trip to the doctor confirmed their worst fear. The baby was lost, and both she and Richard were heartbroken. The two of them were never the same after that. Though they both had each other for comfort, Jasmine also found constant solace in her studies. Sure, they tried, but a child was never conceived again. Jasmine's hopes for a large family was crushed. So, she and Richard buried themselves in studies, research and in exploration.

Hope sprang again when a friend of theirs suggested they adopt. They didn't really explore that option before, but now, they were willing to give it a try. And as soon as they laid eyes on their soon-to-be adoptive son, they knew that they were going to be parents. They didn't stop at one though. During a visit to Turkey, they met Little Deniz, fell in love with her, and adopted her as well.

Jasmine found herself loving becoming a mother. She and Richard brought the children along with them wherever they went, teaching them what they know, and allowing them to explore and learn more about the world and their surroundings. Their love for knowledge and the world were somehow passed on to them, and Jasmine is rather proud that she and Richard were able to raise their children into the fine adults they are now.

While Jasmine still loves to travel, now that both she and Richard were getting older, she found herself looking forward to a cozy home life more. They settled into the manor house Richard inherited from his parents, situated right outside of London, while their now-grown children traveled the world without them.

Both she and Richard are highly respected in the academic world, him in the circles of archeology and history, while her in the biological and marine sciences. Jasmine, after settling in England, found herself spending some of her time teaching at a nearby university, while also diving back into the high society world of her younger years -- attending parties, appearances at charity balls, and doing philanthropic work.

She had a rather routine life, when one day, her daughter, Deniz (who has changed her name to Aslihan, or Asli for short) arrived home pregnant. Of course Jasmine was shocked at first, but she welcomed Asli back with open arms. She took care of Asli during the rest of her pregnancy, and was curious about the baby's father, but didn't push Asli for more information about him other than what their daughter told them. When Alexandra was born and Jasmine had the chance to hold her in her arms, she knew that even if she had no blood connection to the little child, Alexandra was her granddaughter. And no one could say otherwise.

Having Alexandra and Asli around brought a much-needed life to their manor house in London, and Jasmine loved having them around. However, she sensed that Asli was somehow restless and perhaps was looking for something else. So when her daughter announced that she was moving to Colorado in the United States, it was to no surprise to Jasmine. Still, Jasmine was all teary-eyed when she and Richard dropped both Asli and Alexandra off at the airport.

Jasmine missed her daughter terribly, of course, but she was grateful for technology nowadays, as it allowed her to call them every now and then. However, when news arrived to them that their daughter was hospitalized because of an attack, she and Richard knew that it was best to pack their bags and go to Providence Peak.

They decided to stay in Providence Peak, even after Asli's recovery, knowing that their lives were better off with family nearby. Nowadays, they live in Summit Lake, with Jasmine's time spent between being a marine biologist and an adjunct professor at the university, and spending time with people around town. Jasmine loves opening her home to children, and most days can be seen either holding impromptu art classes to them in their lawn, or taking them down to the lakeside, playing with them.

Providence Peak has now become more and more like home to Jasmine, and looking back at her life, she wouldn't have guessed it. Spending her days with her family nearby, Jasmine wouldn't ask for anything more.

#providence.intro #bio #will put these in a bio dedicated page soon #might even add a few more things in here too

4 notes · View notes

hisakata-resutomoshibi · 4 years ago

Text

Part two to this post that no one asked for-

There are smiles of Mikuni's that remind Jeje of someone, though he can not quite place who that someone is.

These are the ones that are most meaningful, the ones that Mikuni lets show unfiltered, un-tempered with hidden plans or ulterior motive; a purely honest smile that reaches from the corners of his gently curved lips up to his eyes, melting them from cold steel to sun warmed gold. They are Jeje's favorites, even though he could probably count the number of times he's seen them in the years they've been together on just two hands.

There were other things about Mikuni that rang familiar, like a church bell in the foggy morning, but Jeje didn't like to think too deeply about things like that. The past was best left where it was for unchangeable things would only ever bring stasis and suffering to the soul. All of this would run occasionally through his mind, incorporeal, idle musings that held no sway over his mood, and he would let them, carefully keeping his distance until they had once more passed. It remained this way until one morning when he glanced towards the kitchen doorway after hearing Mikuni give a frustrated shout.

"Damn it!" He yelled once more for good measure, staring down at the pancake he had been attempting to catch in the pan, and missed by a good three feet, sending batter splattering across the floor.

Jeje turned back to his ship, hiding the tiny smile that hovered over his lips. He had warned him that it was more difficult than it looked.

"What do you say we just skip the pancakes?" Mikuni asked boisterously, coming to lean in the doorway, arms crossed as he watched Jeje work. "And call a maid service."

Still fighting the telltale look of amusement, Jeje kept his head down, back bent over the miniature, and Mikuni huffed in annoyance. When, after seven stitches along the sail, he still hadn't returned to the kitchen, Jeje sighed and finally glanced back at him. "I'm not hungry."

"You're never hungry!" Mikuni accused, throwing his hands up. "Well, I need coffee at least." But he made no move to turn back and instead his eyes shifted to the small sail held so carefully in Jeje's hand and he grinned, that snarky, unwelcome grin that Jeje found so grating. "So, what's with the tiny boats anyway?"

He asked it as a slight, as a harmless poke at Jeje as he was so wont to do whenever he was feeling inadequate or embarrassed and normally Jeje let these roll off his back, forgiving the youth their ignorance, but something about the question was sharp and quick. It took aim and hit a memory that Jeje had not even known he had lost. As he sat, staring unseeingly at Mikuni, he felt the small needle and canvas square fall from his hands, and Mikuni's gaze shifted from teasing to a curious worry as he watched but Jeje could not find his tongue to redirect the situation.

A name had hit him with the force of a bullet. A soft, lilting name that he had not said or heard in over four centuries.

Matteo.

Matteo had taught him the infuriating art of bottling ships.

All at once, as though it had been a floodgate that had suddenly been thrown open, everything that had been repressed came flowing back, drowning him in the fear and rage and hurt again. So heavy and loud were the waves of emotion that it was several times before he heard Mikuni call his name and when he finally pulled himself back up, resurfaced from beneath the crushing weight of failure and regret, it was to find Mikuni crouched in front of him, brows twisted in unease, hands resting on his stiff shoulders.

"Are you ok?"

If he had been any more in his right mind, Jeje would have found it absolutely staggering to hear such a simple, caring question directed at him, but as it was, he was not capable of thought, and so he merely stared blankly back into the wild golden eyes and tried to decide if he was actually going to throw up.

With all the force of will left in his body he managed finally to breath a weak "yeah" and then could only pray Mikuni would lose interest, his ever busy mind discarding the experience as inconsequential. At first it seemed that Mikuni was going to ask another question, try to dig deeper into the newly unearthed, bloody remains of Jeje's sanity, but after a moment his eyes darted away, back towards the kitchen, and he stood, letting his hands fall from where they rested.

"Get ready to go. I wanna go into town for a cappuccino."

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

The fresh morning air was welcome and helped to clear his head.

It was rather sunny and so he had finally given up the effort and simply wrapped himself around Mikuni's neck as he so often did, secretly reveling in the warmth. Mikuni's endless chatter also helped to soothe him and soon enough he was dozing off, having learned long ago that listening to anything Mikuni said with any amount of concentration was pointless. It was better to just get the gist, check out, and then when prompted, respond affirmatively.

Times like this, times without subterfuge and scheming and fighting were his favorite and Jeje always tried to keep the feeling of them bundled up tightly and safely where he could access it again later. He grew so tired of the constant warring, and, if he were being honest, a content, safe Mikuni was far better than a frigid, angered one. This Mikuni, like the one that made pancakes sometimes and liked lavender scented candles and would play solitaire and drink coffee all morning, was softer and gentler, less likely to poke and prod and be generally annoying. It was definitely Jeje's favorite version, but he was so very unusual to see.

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

It seemed that Mikuni had taken more note of Jeje's strange episode than he had let on for it soon became apparent that he was suggesting more and more early morning walks with badly concealed concern, his tone light and fake as he insisted that the coffee shop downtown was better and he just simply couldn't bare to have anything else.

"You are so dramatic." Jeje sighed finally, standing in defeat and tucking the small book he had been reading back into his pocket. "Let's go."

"What is that?" Mikuni asked, his eyes tracking the movement of Jeje's hands as he retied the cinch at his waist.

"What is what?"

"That little book."

Jeje hesitated, it was rare for Mikuni to show any interest in anything Jeje did at all aside from the occasional mad inquiry, and when he found genuine interest in Mikuni's expression, he gave in and pulled the book free once more. Holding it out for Mikuni to take, he started towards the door. "I'll tell you on the way."

It wasn't until several blocks later that he finally began to explain, glancing over and watching as Mikuni browsed the first few pages of the little directory. "It is a book of-"

"Names!" Mikuni interrupted, eyes still glued to the tiny text. "But they're odd."

"They are predominantly Italian." When Mikuni only raised a brow in question, he continued. "Genealogies of Vatican City, and any related diocese."

"Uh huh." Mikuni hummed skeptically. "And why are you reading this? Is this what your little errand was the other day? You went to the library?"

Jeje did not dignify this with a response, deciding he had said enough. There was no need to explain that he had been- was- desperately scouring any and all census sheets, service rosters, anything he could find, for the name Matteo Rossi. It wasn't anything he wanted to explain even if he could figure out a way to. But Mikuni was clever, dangerously so, and soon he was watching Jeje, the book still clutched in his hands.

"Who are you looking for?"

Closing his eyes, Jeje sighed. It was no use trying to keep anything from Mikuni, he knew this, had relied until now on his inherent disinterest in anything about him to protect him from prying eyes, but as was always the case with such a troublesome man, he had decided at exactly the wrong time to become invested. "A man I used to know."

A strange emotion passed over Mikuni's face, one that Jeje could not quite place, as though he were painfully curious but angry, and he flipped the book closed, handing it back. "How typical." When Jeje did not answer, he pointed out over the street. "That's the shop I'm trying today, come on."

The sky had been over cast when they left and was still obligingly dark and so it was that Jeje was following along on his own two feet today. When he had just stepped up to the curb across the street he heard it- the soft, musical voice of someone speaking quick, fluent Italian. It struck some secret place deep in his mind and without thinking he froze, eyes searching the crowd, somehow knowing, feeling it in his gut that- yes- just in front of them, sitting in the cozy little veranda chairs of the very coffee shop that Mikuni had set his heart on, were two men. Each was dressed in long black robes, the telltale vestments laid carefully over their shoulders- Jeje would know the look anywhere- with steaming mugs of drink clutched in their hands, but it wasn't the dress of the men that caught his eye, but the shining autumn brown of the youngers hair, soft and constant looking as though he had just stepped from out of a summer storm.

In a daze, Jeje found himself walking towards the table where the men sat, unsure why he was even approaching. When he came to rest at the very edge of their table, both glanced quizzically up at him and he was suddenly terrified. They could not see his face, and it would not matter if they could or not either way surely, but what of his soul? Could they sense it? None had ever before but that had been years, centuries, ago.

"Is there something we can help you with?" The younger one asked brightly, smiling. The other man threw him a vaguely disgruntled look and Jeje could have laughed.

Of course. Matteo always was a bleeding heart.

Jeje felt Mikuni's curiosity pull at him through the contract, sharp and impatient, but he ignored it, and for the first time in all the recent years, spoke without the use of the illusionary magic of his curse, the words fitting like a glove on his tongue, a language he had never thought to need again. “No. I’m sorry, Father.”

"Ah! It is always so nice to hear a familiar language, no?" He responded in Italian as well now and Jeje felt the eons slide away, leaving him oddly bereft and exposed.

Mikuni's curiosity had spiked, tinted now with an almost violent irritation, when he had failed to understand what Jeje had said and, fearlessly, he barged suddenly forward, putting himself too closely to Jeje's elbow, staring down at the men. "Who is this?"

At his words, the young mans brows rose in subtle amusement and he once more smiled. "I am Father Matthias." He said, holding out a hand.

Jeje had never been more tempted to shoot Mikuni on the spot then when he merely snorted, arms crossed defiantly across his chest and refused the offer. To his credit, Matthias seemed unfazed by this and after a moment glanced at Jeje and extended the same hand. It was with great trepidation, nay, an almost debilitating hesitation, that he finally reached out and clasped it in his own.

It was like any other hand, warm and smooth; there was no shock, no angry gods lightning strike, just a simple handshake. Unsure if he was disappointed or relieved, he withdrew his and swallowed nervously. Why had he approached these men? What did he hope to accomplish? This was not truly Matteo, and never would be. There had been no spark of recognition in his soft brown eyes, no sudden flash of memory or past life. He should not have come over here. He should walk away right now, spare himself the anguish and the tangible building of Mikuni's wrath. He should-

"Why don't you have a seat?" Matthias asked, gesturing to the two empty seats at the table. "We just got here and like I said, it's always nice to hear the mother tongue!"

He sat down, not thinking, acting on impulse, and behind him heard Mikuni make a strangled noise of outrage. Not bothering to wonder if he would throw a fit and run away or not, he turned towards the other man and held out his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

After staring at him for a moment, he put out his hand as well, meeting him in the middle, wrapping calloused, short fingers over his. "Father Angelo."

Matthias clapped him on the shoulder and laughed. "You're always so dour!"

Jeje's heart, already beating at an irregular, surely unhealthy, tempo, sped up and he barely kept the gasp building in his chest from breaking free and falling garishly on the table in front of everyone. Hands clamped unseen on his thighs, he bit his tongue until he tasted blood and struggled to stay afloat.

"So what are you two supposed to be?" Mikuni asked suddenly, apparently having decided that his curiosity outweighed his annoyance. Leaning forward on the table, arms crossed, he tipped his head to indicate the deep purple stole that lay over their shoulders. "Priests?"

"Obviously." Jeje muttered under his breath, earning a kick to his ankle from Mikuni who continued to smile predacious-ly across the table.

"Correct!" Matthias said, pointing down at his robes.

"We're exorcists." Angelo then cut in, watching Mikuni as though waiting for a specific reaction.

He had feared it. In seeing the collars and rosaries, Jeje had come to the conclusion that they must be so, but had held out a vain hope, a desperate plea, that he was wrong, had simply forgotten even more than he originally thought he had lost to the sands of time. It had been a surprise to find that, when he had met those familiar warm, kind eyes, he had felt no anger, no hatred or loathing, just a simple yearning and pitiful nostalgia. Now, sneaking a look at Matthias as he leaned forward, immune to Mikuni's prickly aura, to explain their reason for being here, Jeje realized that he also was not shocked that, in a world such as this, where he could be ripped from the mortal plain so easily, where werewolves and demons and vampires were real, he did not find it at all hard to believe that reincarnation was also a fact of life.

"So tell me!" Matthias turned to Jeje, expression open and friendly. "Your pronunciation is beautiful! Where did you grow up?"

"Ah. I was from... Vatican City." He stumbled over the name, distracted by the increasingly interested looks Mikuni was giving him; no doubt he would be paying for this when they got home. Throwing caution to the winds, he continued, trying to keep his voice audible despite his nerves. "I studied. In the seminary. There."

"You don't say!" Matthias exclaimed, grinning. "What stopped you?"

Still studiously ignoring Mikuni's quiet, varying sounds of surprise, he hesitated, chest tight. "I was- not suited to the calling."

His eyes softening in compassion, Matthias laid a hand on Jeje's arm where it rested on the table. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. We all have different fates. There are many ways to answer Him."

Jeje was staring down at the hand, the gentle fingers and pale expanse of skin, just as freckled as his face, and it was only when Mikuni subtly dug a boot into his ankle that he tore his eyes away. Feeling his face heat and for just a moment forgetting that they could not see it, he ducked his head down. "That may be true, yes." He managed to murmur. Matthias withdrew his hand slowly, looking curious but didn't say anything, and it was, strangely, Mikuni who broke the ensuing silence.

"As I'm sure you've both surmised, I am not from Italy. But I am interested- tell me, how does one go about becoming a priest?" He was staring hard at Angelo, singling him out to answer and leaving Matthias free, amused and trying not to laugh, to turn to Jeje once more.

Still grinning, he shrugged to indicate that he had no intentions of rescuing Angelo from Mikuni's rabid questioning and instead leaned over, pointing at the bag over Jeje's head. "Forgive me, as you've already seen I have a tendency to stick my foot in my mouth-" He laughed and Jeje almost gave himself away, almost let slip a wistful "I know", and then continued. "But I wanted to ask. Why do you have that on?"

A hand reaching up unconsciously to pat lightly at the brown pressed pulp, Jeje bit his lip. What kind of explanation even made sense? He couldn't possibly claim he was embarrassed, what kind of human wore a paper bag over their head anyway? Mikuni sure made fun of it often enough. But the truth, that he was ashamed, that his heart fluttered in panic at the very thought of anyone that had ever known him seeing his face after he had become this monstrous betrayal to his every faith and belief, was no more an option than saying he simply liked it. All of a sudden he realized it had taken him too long to answer and Matthias' brow was creasing in worry and before Jeje could stop himself, just wanting to wipe the anxious look from his face, he blurted the first thing that came to mind. "My eyes. They're... frightening."

"Is that all?!" Matthias exclaimed. "My friend, you have nothing to fear here. I have seen all you can imagine. Why don't you remove it? Just for the rest of our lunch?"

Never would he have dreamed of doing it, never would he have allowed himself the foolish indulgence, but he wasn't given the choice. Like an unexpected flash of lightning, Mikuni reached over and, pinching the very corner of the bag carefully between his fingers, whipped it off. As his hair fluttered down and free across his shoulders, Jeje turned to stare accusingly at Mikuni, the sudden anger he felt frightening, but froze when he was met with a somber, sparkling gold gaze. Without a word, Mikuni gently folded the bag up and laid it on the table, placing his arm securely over it, and looked back to Angelo, expression bland as though he had never looked away.

"It seems your companion doesn't think you need it either." Matthias said brightly when Jeje had finally found the courage to glance over.

"Either?"

"I don't see anything strange." He said levelly, eyes wide in sincerity as they looked straight into Jeje's red ones. "Now, with the fresh air, what do you say we get something warm? I've always found stew to be a good outdoor food."

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

It would seem strange to Jeje for the rest of his existence that Matthias had not said anything, not mentioned the devil in his eyes or the unnatural pallor to his skin, but it was something that, like all the other somethings, he preferred not to think about. A simple memory that could warm or chill depending on the lens it was viewed through. Now, months, years, centuries later, glancing over and finding Mikuni perched beside him on the couch, tongue between his teeth as he tried, enraged, to fit the sail he had sewn through the neck of the bottle, he thought that maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

"You must fol-"

"I know already!" Mikuni snapped, almost dropping his hold on the tweezers. "You've told me! Why do you do this?! It's infuriating!"

"It was a comfort."

Lowering the bottle and peering over, Mikuni hummed thoughtfully. "A comfort from what?"

The question surprised Jeje, still so unlike Mikuni it was to ask, and so he didn't think before he answered. "From the fear and tedium."

"Fear of God?"

Unsure if it was jest or genuine, Jeje merely sighed, looking away, out the bay window to the porch over which he could see the afternoon sun sinking lower and lower, towards the horizon line of the new city they had found. "Fear of failure."

"How could you fail?"

Hiding the small smirk as it crossed, fleetingly, over his lips, Jeje shrugged before reaching out and taking the bottle from Mikuni. "Is it not obvious that I did?"

"Who was that man? Really."

His tone was low, leaving no room to avoid, and Jeje frowned. He had been afraid that Mikuni would bring it up again. When they had parted ways, leaving the two ill fated priests at the café, he had watched Jeje like a hawk, refusing to let him out of his sight for the next forty eight hours and finally, at his breaking point, Jeje had resorted to his snake form, knowing in that at least, his expression was indecipherable. Mikuni, out of character, had not said anything about it, only made sure that Jeje was wrapped around his neck wherever they went. If he hadn't know better he would have thought, indulged in the idea, that Mikuni was actually worried he might disappear, running off to find the ruins of his past. Whether it was emotion or simple self preservation that motivated this intense vigil didn't matter. It was just nice to know that if he were there or not mattered in the slightest.

"He was..." He trailed off, unsure how to explain. Knowing in his heart, dead as it may be, that it had been Matteo, was different than saying it out loud. And in the end, he still wasn't sure he even wanted the truth to be heard. Matteo was never going to be safe, never have the life he truly deserved, because somewhere along the line his soul had been so ensnared with the evil he had ignorantly summoned he was now fated for a path that Jeje could do nothing about.

Eventually, tenacity fueled by their meeting, Jeje had managed to dig up a roster that listed one Father Matteo Rossi. He had lived in the same seminary, the same time; there was no question. The aged little book, now clutched worryingly tightly in Jeje's hands, had gone on to say that Father Matteo, upon his ordainment had chosen to branch out and been quite successful, listed as one of the Vatican's top exorcists. He had had few partners, often going alone, choosing places and people far removed from their home, leaving with little expectation to return, only to do so, shocking those that had bid him farewell. Viewed fondly by all who met or knew of him, his reputation had brought him fame and status, though it appeared it was never something he made use of. In the end, after fifteen or so odd years, he had met his end, and that's where the information had abruptly cut off. In a fit, Jeje had hunted up everything even remotely related that he could find, well aware he would regret knowing the details but needing them all the same.

When he had finally returned home that day he had slid beneath the couch, finding the heat register that ran along the wall and curling up on it. Mikuni had already dragged him through the coals about his daily excursions to the library and now, after what he had found out, he wasn't sure, even being immortal, that he could survive another sarcastic tongue lashing. He must have dozed off because it was here that Mikuni found him, hours later, and after pushing the couch back, pulled him free.

"You should have known better than to go digging." Was all he said, wrapping Jeje around his neck and wandering back to the bedroom.

Now, weeks later, he seemed to have deemed it a once more breachable topic and yet Jeje was still unable to answer him. Perhaps it was simply that there was no answer; there never had been. "He was a friend." He said plainly.

Watching Mikuni consider this response, he wondered if maybe this was, in itself, an answer, that the similarities between them, that spark of sass and fire, the innate ability to annoy, the quick silver smiles like honeyed light, were all that mattered, if that, in Mikuni, Matteo and Jeje himself, might be able to find forgiveness. Mikuni finally turned to him, mouth open to say something but Jeje interrupted, freeing the words that had lay buried so deeply for so long before he could even decide not to.

"I think you're my fate."

#servamp #my writing #servamp jeje #mikuni alicein #jekuni #sorry guys it always turns into that with me #read between the lines if you want #i #doubt doubt #that you'll be able to ignore it hAH #ORIGIN STORIES #I wanna tag my baby......#matteo rossi #who wants to send me art of him?????

29 notes · View notes

k7l4d4 · 3 years ago

Text

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 7 Part 2

Hello all, I’ve returned for another piece of Midnight Striga! Everybody Clap Your Hands!!

Scowling to himself, Hunter ducked away from the human. He… wasn’t supposed to be in Bonesburough, not really, but it was one of the few days off he got, so he decided to make the most of it with some research. Events had shifted. What before everyone would’ve laughed off as some kind of joke, or the words of a deluded fool, were proven true when a group of human rogues decided to raze the Covention, using magic!! Hunter wouldn’t deny, he burned to know how they did it, how did they overcome the biological limitation? If ever questioned, he could and would easily decry it as Wild Magic, something to be locked away for the heresy against the Titan it was… but in private, he craved that power for himself. Not for glory, or conquest, no! He wasn’t an idiot.

He wanted to be normal.

“Stupid human, thinking I would buy a cheap excuse like that.” He muttered. It burned, it truly did, that she somehow thought he would fall for a ploy, even if she had no clue who he truly was. ‘The Emperor’s most trusted agent, The Golden Guard himself!’ He puffed out his chest, smirking in pride at what he’d accomplished. And it WAS an accomplishment. Anyone who knew the truth of his situation would no-doubt cry about how he had it all handed to him by his uncle, and if they did he would have no problem laughing at the fools, behind their backs of course, no need to start a fight when he could finish one.

For as long as he’d been in his Uncle’s care, he’d worked and slaved to obtain his position. He’d studied, trained, honing his body and his mind to be the best. If someone crossed him, he found ways of getting even, and without even having to get his own hands dirty half the time. Seriously, he understood the need to maintain the Coven’s image of being the best of the best, but most of them were just stupid!! ‘Even Clawthorne.’ He scornfully smirked to himself. He was ecstatic at seeing the cocky witch being taken down a peg, especially by her own hand. The fact that it showed the Isles what she really was, a worm and a cheat who slinked her way to the top, made it all the sweeter, and not to mention that her actions unleashed the most dangerous Wild Witch in generations into the populace. He knew that’s not how it actually worked, but it was a convenient lie that people would reach of their own free will, and would make an excellent tool for getting her out of the way when she finally outlived her usefulness.

But that’s besides the point. He shook his head lightly, clearing his thoughts as he leaned against a bookshelf. The human was here, in the library, and that was an opportunity he wouldn’t let pass. He wouldn’t stalk her or anything, but he’d be watching, waiting, and listening to see just what exactly she intended for the Isles. The mad laughter of those maniacs who had been brought in echoed in his ears, his eyes hardening into stone at the memory. If she turned out to be a threat, he would destroy her. Even if he never gained the secret to the humans’ ability to wield magic, he would gladly sacrifice it to protect the Isles. He swore it.

“This place is both amazing, and kind of ridiculous.” Luz commented, having put aside any thoughts of that rude guy from before, determined to make this a good day. She ducked under a book flying overhead, glaring at it as it shrieked at her. “I wonder if anyone would be willing to help me navigate this place.” She murmured, rubbing her head at another near miss.

“I believe we can help with that!” A voice that seemed to mix charming and cheese together in a corny mess sounded out behind her. Turning around, Luz raised an eyebrow at what she saw. Two Witches, a male and a female, and by her guess twins, if the incredibly strong resemblance and similarity in age was anything to base her decision off of. The two were standing back to back, the boy shooting a cocky grin that he probably thought made him look “so cool!” beneath his deep green hair and golden eyes, his apparent sister tilting her head in a different direction, gazing off in thought, a mysterious look in her eyes.

Luz turned on her heel, already done with these two. “Yeah, if you’re trying to flirt with me, I prefer homemade food and some shopping,” She said, not watching as the two collapsed in shock. “Also, you guys kind of come across as desperate.” She added, turning her head back to shoot them an eyebrow.

“W-we weren’t flirting with you!” The girl shouted, face flushed, even as her brother sat in a heap, poking at the ground with his finger. She marched over, her flush fading as her look shifted from it’s brief moment of outrage to some measure of control. “We just overheard you saying you’d appreciate someone showing you around, and we happen to know someone. We’d be cool introducing you.” She explained, looking Luz up and down as she did so. She shrugged. “But yeah, we probably would flirt with you normally, but we don’t have time for that today. Ed!” She called, her brother raising his head in response. “Let’s go find Mittens!” Her brother nodded in agreement, still seeming a little dazed from Luz’s snark from before.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Luz rebutted, raising her hand in a halting motion. “Did I say that I agreed? Because I don’t think I did.” She said, crossing her arms.

The girl huffed, hands on her hips. “Do you have a reason to actually refuse?” She challenged.

Luz paused, thinking for a moment, before shrugging. “Fair. Okay, let’s go.” She stopped, causing the girl to groan.

“What now?” She asked.

“I just remembered I never got your name.” Luz sheepishly admitted.

The girl blinked, before chuckling, some of the tension in her face bleeding away. “Yeah, I did too.” She stuck out her hand in a shaking gesture, leaning forward at an angle that honestly looked a little silly. “Emira Blight, at your service.” She smirked.

“And I’m Edric!” Edric called out, popping up behind his sister.

Luz laughed. “Heh! Good to know! Since we’re formally introducing ourselves, not that I don’t believe for a second that you don’t know who I am,” She said, shooting the two a challenging smirk. They had the good sense to accept it with a shrug and a nod without putting on airs. “The name’s Luz. Luz Noceda.” She declared, shaking the slightly older girl’s hand. Her grin turned mischievous. “So, I’m assuming that Mittens is Amity?” She asked gleefully, leaning forward, even as the two siblings did the same.

“You know Luz, I think we are gonna get along just fine.” Emira declared, an equally mischievous smile on her face, mirrored by her brother. With that, the trio rapidly began plotting how to best fluster the composed youngest Blight. Hey, Luz more or less liked her, but she thought a little harmless goofiness would get her to destress some. Not too much though, she liked her head on her shoulders. The trio walked off, heedless of their watcher in the isles.

Boscha breathed out a sigh of relief. “They’re gone.” She muttered. Not only was she here, but so were Amity’s older siblings!? Yeah, she wasn’t gonna stay and get caught in whatever craziness those two decided to get into. With a spine-cracking stretch, Boscha pulled away from the Isles, pulling a book to her chest. She breathed in deep, sighing out, before freezing at the sight of flame licking out of her mouth. Clamping her jaw shut, she rapidly shifted her eyes back and forth, already feeling paranoid at anyone having seen that. She clambered off towards the checkout, the book white-knuckled in her grip.

The book’s title read “Mysteries of the Mind, and Other Dark Truths.” Maybe now Boscha will be able to get some answers.

Luz rounded the corner, arm slung over Emira’s shoulder, chatting away with the other girl. “-And that’s why I never date a girl with fire magic without asking if they are medicated or not first!” She boldly declared, completely unbothered by her own past misadventures. Admittedly, she and Azzie probably would’ve still been together, if she wasn’t head over heels for a childhood friend who ran away with the circus.

Edric sprayed out his drinking, choking on his laughter. “And she let you live!?” He asked incredulously, choking and wheezing all the while.

Luz sheepishly shrugged. “Yeah, maybe trying to tell her that I wanted to break up while she was waiting for her medicine to be refilled, and while she was practicing her spells to boot, wasn’t my smartest move.” She was SOOO lucky she dodged that initial attack, her butt still felt like it was singed at the memory!!

Emira gave her an amused smirk. “Oh, I wonder why?” She playfully ribbed the other girl. Her look of amusement softened. “You know, I was honestly all geared up to tear you apart at first.” She casually admitted, even as Edric stared at her in shock and Luz raised an eyebrow at her admission. “Yeah, after I got a rundown about what you accidentally dragged Mittens into, and trust me, I know you wouldn’t be able to stop her, I was totally prepared to dismember you and bury your corpse so you could never get involved with her again.”

“Eh, not the worst thing anyone’s admitted to wanting to do to me.” Luz said, shrugging the casual death threat off. Edric just wordlessly worked his jaw, somehow at a loss for words.

“But… as much as I want to blame you, I get that it wasn’t your fault, what went down. So I’ll be keeping an eye on you, but I’m not gonna try anything. Especially not now that I know how fun you are!” She finished, giving Luz a chipper wink, getting a friendly smirk in response. As the next area caught her eye, she perked up. “Oh! I think we’re here!”

“Finally!” Edric cheered, having gotten bored of the place a few stacks ago, with only Luz’s stories to keep him going. Who knew you could cause so much chaos with Cheese, a banjo, and a juggler!? He must find a way to top that…!

Peering around the corner, Luz’s eyes widened. “Is that what I think it is?” She asked, her voice tight with awe and fervent hope.

“Yeah.” Emira squeaked, equally overcome.

Edric just raised his eyebrows. “I don’t get the big deal, but you guys do you, I guess.” He said, shrugging.

Before them sat Amity Blight, her normally stern look having fallen away, a look of innocence and kindness gracing her features, as she read from the book in her lap to the children surrounding her, Skara standing to the side with a happy smile of her own.

“‘What do you think you’re doing?’” Amity read along, keeping pace with her place in the book, her eager audience leaning in closer, with Skara sidling up too, a sheepish grin on her face at how captivated she was with the simple reading. “‘We’re your friends and we wanna help!’ said the Tin Boy with a yelp. Otabin smiled and paced the floor. ‘I’ve never had real friends before.’”

Luz suddenly found herself very much identifying with a children’s book character from a story she never read, just from that one line. She turned to the twins with starry eyes. “Amity reads to kids?” She stated more than asked, getting an enthusiastic nod from Emira and a playful smirk from Edric.

She watched in slight awe as Amity continued. “‘Then we’ll be your first.’ The Chicken Witch Clucked. Otabin couldn’t believe his luck.” She turned her gaze to the kids, eyes glowing in delight at this simple kindness she was performing. “So, Bookmaker Otabin, surrounded by friends, bound a book of friendship and that’s the end.” She finished cheerfully, the children cheering and applauding, while Skara threw an arm over her friend’s shoulder, which Amity playfully shoved off.

“Yay!”

“Thank you so much.”

“Goodbye.”

One particular kid walked up to Amity and hugged her legs, before speaking in a strikingly deep voice. “Thank you for the story Miss Amity.”

Amity gave the little demon boy a kind smile, reaching down to return the hug. “Ah, thank you Braxas. Have a good day, and give your dad my wishes while he heals up. See you next week.”

The little demon, Braxas apparently, cheerfully ran off, waving in reply behind him. “Okay!”

Skara gave a soft laugh, clapping her hands. “That was so sweet, Ams!” She cheered. She shot Amity a mock critical look. “And just why haven’t you shown this to me before?” She asked faux-haughtily, even as Amity snorted.

“I think what I do to destress is my own business.” Amity replied dryly, getting a sheepish laugh from Skara in response. Her smirk softened into a smile. “But still, I’m okay with you having shown up. The kids really liked you.” She gave Skara an appraising look. “I honestly didn’t expect you to be cool with something like this.” She softly admitted.

Skara gave Amity a stern look. “Amity, I get that I can be judgy, but I’m not gonna bust your chops for being nice to kids.” She said sharply, before shifting into a teasing smirk. “Still, you know that now you have to do something I like to do without other people, right?”

Amity spluttered. “I don’t remember agreeing to that!” She said hotly, her face flush.

Skara spun on her heel, pulling Amity along with her. “Ah, don’t be such a buzz-kill! It’s nothing illegal, and I promise, you’ll enjoy it.” She said, giving Amity a wink, prompting the other Witch to roll her eyes.

At that point, Luz decided that it was about the right moment to reveal herself. “Well, well, well! It looks like Hexside’s number one lemon drop has a secret sweet center.” She commented, stepping into view.

Behind her, Edric and Emira shared matching looks of glee, mouthing the words ‘lemon drop’ to each other in delight. Oh yeah, they liked Luz, for sure!

#the owl house #fairy tail #owl house au #fairy tail au #owl house crossover #fairy tail crossover #luz noceda #amity blight #emira blight #edric blight #braxas the owl house #skara the owl house #magic

5 notes · View notes

providencepeakrp · 3 years ago

Photo

CALLIE HENDRICKS

age: 28.

gender & pronouns: cis female & she/her.

neighborhood: bighorn hills.

occupation: veterinarian at healthy tails.

fc: phoebe tonkin.

BIOGRAPHY

trigger warnings: medical, tumor, death, and miscarriage.

In Pasadena, Callie was brought into the world by Robin and Stella Hendricks. Her father was a renowned surgeon and her mother a hospital administrator, raising her alongside two siblings she was smack in the middle of. The siblings were close and the home was always a happy one despite the long hours each parent tended to work. Callie’s mother mostly made a set schedule so that she could be as present as possible in the upbringing of her children, denying her husband’s offer to hire help for her every single time he mentioned it. She didn’t believe in her children being raised by nannies nor did she want her children to become latchkey, which meant that she had to be passed up a few times when it came to promotions given that she needed to stick to a strict nine to five schedule. Stella wanted to be home every night to prepare dinner for her family and check on her children’s homework. The siblings couldn’t be any more different from each other; Callie’s older sister was very much the girly type that was a princess as a child and a popular cheerleader when she reached her teens, whereas her younger brother was adventurous and sporty. She, herself, was the nerdy type. Callie loved to read and had a knack for tech, she either had her nose in a book or was taking something apart and putting it back together often leaving things to run better once she was done messing with them. She was lucky in the fact that she received two great qualities from her parents, her organization from her mother and her precision from her father.

During her school years, Callie wasn’t the popular kid, she was either in the library or the science lab. But her lack of popularity wasn’t ever a problem for her, she was never a busy body like that and she was quite overshadowed by her siblings. Her older sister was very popular and her peers were generally nice to her for that reason, although it only made living in her older sister’s shadow that much more difficult. She was beautiful and had a figure enviable of every single girl in school, she had a charm about her that was effortless which only made her appearance that much more powerful and devastating. Callie would often look at herself in the mirror, stare at her boyish figure and wish to be a little something more, especially since it seemed to be what most people, especially in high school, seemed to put the most value into. Where Callie had no popularity when it came to dating opportunities she made up for when it came to her scholastic achievements. She was the girl that made honor roll every quarter, was in all AP classes as well as some classes she was taking advanced at the local college, and was in programs such as GATE.

Naturally she earned a few scholarships and chose to attend Providence Peak University and entered into the biology/zoology science program for her bachelor’s degree. Callie excelled immediately, most science and math courses by then were already second nature to her given her educational background and volunteer work that had already bloomed in her early teen years. Back in those days, before her life was consumed with coursework and internships at veterinary practices and rescue organizations that littered the valley, she made an independent living with a side hustle as a phlebotomist. Callie had taken then required course at the local community college and completed her required lab hours before she could be licensed and had used that skill as a step in for internships and also when she completed the next step in becoming a vet tech. She did so well that she passed her undergraduate with honors and was already onto her graduate and veterinary school when the call came from her family about what had been found in her mother’s regular health check-up at the doctor. It was frightening news learning that her mother had a brain tumor and was in need of surgery, but by then Callie also had support in the life she’d built around her in Providence Peak. During her senior year of university, she met Orion Williams, they were in the same course and his family owned the Wild Wolf Rescue, a place she’d always wanted to volunteer and/or work with yet hadn’t. The demands of her new job post bachelor’s degree was difficult to keep up with when also trying to balance out the remainder of her university education and knowing her mother wasn’t doing well back home.

Somewhere along the way Callie moved in with Orion and they began building a life together. He was everything she had ever dreamed of in a partner and pinched herself sometimes to make sure it was all real and she wasn’t dreaming. Especially with how supportive he was of her trying to do it all. Even though Callie was far away from her older sister there was a part of her that always overcompensated and was in competition. It was something they eventually put to rest when she made the tough decision to go back home to Pasadena and take care of her mother. Stella had put off surgery for long enough that she had begun to have motor function issues, and her siblings weren’t able to upend their lives as easily as Callie was. Not that sitting down with Rion and saying she had to leave Providence Peak and their home was easy, he just somehow made it that way. Wanting to keep their relationship steady despite the distance that would be between them. Post surgery she took care of her mother on a daily basis and balanced veterinary school demands, another thing Rion seemed to ease in all the stress she endured through that time. They exchanged texts, calls, FaceTimed as often as possible and kept to their plan of visiting each other once a month to keep as close to each other as the distance allowed.

It went on like that for years and Callie eventually fell into a rhythm with it all, but for a while it seemed as though hardship was going to take hold. Stella passed away, losing the battle with the tumors that infiltrated her brain, and shortly after Callie had a miscarriage. One loss after the other absolutely devastated her, but the baby maybe hurt a little more. It was a glimmer of light amidst enduring grey skies that had colored the last few years for her. She felt guilty, as though she’d done something wrong, despite the doctor telling her it was likely due to the amount of stress she’d been under. That her body simply couldn’t handle it all. Furthermore, having to share the loss with Rion was harder than Callie could have anticipated. Her guilt doubled when she looked at him, her pain seemed insurmountable when she realized how much she had failed at everything, but they eventually made it through by doing what they do best: sticking together and supporting one another. The loss is a wound Callie isn’t sure will ever fully heal, it simply got to a point where it’s not constantly bleeding. She found herself able to carry on and once she made peace with her mother’s death and helped her father pack up the family home, Callie looked to returning to what had become her home. Orion in Providence Peak. By then she’d finished her veterinarian school and was licensed, she accepted an offer to work at Healthy Tails and was far too eager to move back in with Orion. Soon after finding herself with a ring on her finger and herself engaged to her first and only love.

written by: christie.

#phoebe tonkin #callie hendricks #tw tumor #tw death #tw medical #tw miscarriage #bighorn hills

4 notes · View notes

the-ipre · 4 years ago

Note

oh????? tma elsewhere university au?????????????? :3<

yes yes yes! it doesn’t really have a plot but some general Thoughts™ and Vibes™. wasn’t sure how to work around names because its not like you can just fully change their names for a fic, but atm i’m thinking they go by their last names because those are horror author last names (and in this au they would probably have different real last names or something like that? not 100% sure tho)

- Jon is skeptical of the Gentry, despite having had an encounter as a child. He still follows all the rules, though, because it would be a death wish to go around giving away your name or speaking carelessly. Besides, having Rules™ to follow are a generally appealing thing to his brain (autism rights), and an iron ring is good for stimming. He gets drawn further and further into the library, losing days to the stacks and returning after barely an hour has passed. He watches, and researches, and puts enough salt around his room and in the seams of his clothes to be excessive to most everyone on campus. He almost loses himself to the theater, wears the role of Hamlet too close to his skin and keeps too close an eye on the Theater Gentry for anyone’s comfort. Afterwards, he gives the building a wide berth, focus shifted elsewhere as he trades with Cat-Eyes for a pair of seeing glasses. He must understand the world that comes into view.

- Martin does not know about the faeries, and when he is told about them, he doesn’t much believe it. Still, there is a packet of salt in his bag that he keeps forgetting to take out, and after a few attempts at introducing himself as Martin, he learns to go by Blackwood. He is used to pulling all-nighters, to working himself harder than is wise, and he gets a night job at the Denny’s on campus. It is a strange job, and the people who frequent and staff it are even stranger, but being in any fast food place at midnight would be strange. He needs the job, though, and the few days he tried working at the local Walmart did not go well. He reads poetry under a large oak tree and the crows listen, and take him under their wings. There are gifts left on his windowsill and he buys them birdseed, which they don’t seem to enjoy as much as his words.

- Tim’s brother was taken by the fae, and there’s not a way to get him back and he’s not so stupid as to go in waging war, but he would prefer to know this enemy as something beyond shadows in the trees. He is there for the college experience, of course, but who is he to complain if journalistic techniques help him choose his words well. He hears about the knights, those who take up the sword and retrieve those who were taken, and he buys a crowbar on his next trip to the local Walmart. It doesn’t get much use, but when the Wild Hunt howls outside he makes sure it is close at hand. Late in his first year, one of his hallmates get taken, and so he takes up his crowbar, weighs down his pockets with salt and iron. He brings them back with a scar or two to show for it, a new certainty in his stride. Tim isn’t exactly a fulltime knight, but he won’t let any of his people be Taken. Not without a fight.

- Sasha’s mother went to Elsewhere University, and the rituals of iron necklaces and witch hazel are familiar ones. She knows better than to disrespect the Gentry, and they tend to look at her with a wary eye because of her skills with technology. She wears a mood ring on a necklace, and although she does not use it much the knowledge that she has the ability to See is an appreciated one. More willing to make deals than some, she keeps an eye out for lost pennies and tokens easy to give. She gains the attention of a long-limbed faerie who enjoys lurking in the cafe that should not be there, and she knows better than to wear out its welcome. She is clever, and quick, and able to take care of herself quite well. She knows the pathways that she can cross at night if only she keeps her eyes to the gravel, and she knows the ones to never step foot on. She does everything right, just curious enough for her own good, until one day she is Taken.

- Georgie is an RA, and nothing happens to those on her hall. Her first year, she was lost. Not replaced, not Taken, but she stumbled into the south stairwell of a building she was not welcome in and saw things that she never should have seen. She escaped with a streak of her hair gone white to help her remember by, and the next day she bought as much salt as she could carry. Others on campus could play their games and keep their deals, could live in blissful ignorance or go on the attack, but she knew about the Fair Folk and she would not let them near her. They exist, of course, there is nothing that she can do about that, but she will not allow them entrance to her hall, and those who live there know that. She has a spot on the campus radio, speaks on ghosts that definitively do not exist because wouldn’t it be fun if they did? Once, someone asks her about the ghosts of the south stairwell. She does not give them an answer.

- Melanie is too curious for her own good, doesn’t know much about faeries beyond a few Holly Black books she read as a teen, and has an interest in those things beyond our world. She is more interested in learning about the first real something than in her classes, but who could truly blame her. A deal is struck, and a day passes on college grounds while seventy seven days pass for her in elsewhere. She comes out changed, sharper, not much aligned with the humans or the faeries. She was a champion for some days in another world, and back in the real world she sheds that mantle, and the idea of just going back to classes is almost impossible to imagine. The teachers are understanding, though, and she does what is needed to pass her classes, but who she has become is not something that she can truly turn her back on.

- Daisy does not think that faeries should be allowed to linger on campus. Among the most extreme of the knights, she is hard and does her best to beat back any fae she sees. For the most part, everything has learned to give her a wide berth, the baseball bat studded with iron nails lurking in her closet as good a reason as her reputation. In her eyes, those who make deals with the faeries aren’t to be trusted either, willing as they are to give up bits of themselves to creatures beyond mortal understanding. She saved Basira when she was taken back in their freshman year, has a scar in the shape of a daisy carved into her back to show for it. A nod to the name she wears as a shield, a name that becomes more and more her own with every day that passes.

- Basira does not have the same hatred for the Gentry that Daisy does, doesn’t believe it’s possible to drive them all back, but that doesn’t stop her from watching her back, carrying salt to match Daisy’s iron. She owes her a debt, after all, and they’ve been partners ever since a bleeding Daisy pulled her free from a forest that seemed set on taking Basira for its own. A number of charms have passed through her hands, found or given or slipped under her door, and she has done her best to pass them on. It is not as though she will leave no mark on this school, but she will do her best to accrue no further debts. She is almost done with her education, but she isn’t sure if Daisy will leave when she will. If Basira will be able to leave her behind, or if she will stay behind to guard her partner the same as she has been for the past three years.

#tma elsewhere university au #the magnus archives #elsewhere university #ash writes #not gonna tag all the characters but >:))))#more info to come in another ask! thank you so very much for sending this #long post #Anonymous

41 notes · View notes

beni-draw-ikemen-please · 4 years ago

Text

EYES NOSE LIPS CH 6

EYES NOSE LIPS CHAPTER 6 - DON’T

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR X FEMALE PREFECT

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,344

You can read the previous Chapters below:

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

EYES NOSE LIPS CHAPTER 6 - DON’T

Leona didn’t have the mental capacity or patience to attend afternoon flying lessons. Quite frankly, he didn’t really feel like participating in anything. His feet dragged him over towards the library after lunch that day. It’s been a while since he did. It used to be his favourite napping place. It’s dim, it’s quiet and not many people visit the dusty library.

Leona entered and sighed in relief to see the front desk empty. He could just walk in and sleep by the shelves. The rich violet carpets complemented the warm hues of maple shelves. The smell of old and paper lingered. Streaks of sunlight passing through small windows on high ceilings, bits of stained glass carefully illuminated the dusty particles that flew around the air. They looked magical, in a way. Like stardust. Flying books here and there, and not a single person in sight. Leona walked around, looking at the section numbers whilst thinking of the least frequently visited aisle when he heard a voice.

He clicked his tongue in frustration. Some nerd was occupying his aisle. He was just about to leave but when he took a peek to see if he could scare them off, he was surprised to see her.

The prefect towered over him through a ladder. She looked like she was reaching for something - something old and dusty and high, very high up the shelves.

“Oi--”

Leona called out to her to warn her of flying books.

Of course.

She smiled, “I got it! This is the one!” barely noticing him.

Asami managed to reach the book that was just about to fly off from her fingertips and in one instant motion, just as she reached a little bit further, the ladder tipped to the side slamming her face towards Leona who was looking up to her.

“Fuck--” Leona groaned as he felt the impact of her fall on his forehead. Thank the great seven, he caught her. Asami tried to stand, pushing herself languidly from his chest, unknowingly pressing her knee down his tail.

“FUCK!!! My taaaill!!!!”

Asami squealed and moved away from him, whispering ‘I’m sorry’ five times before looking up to him.

“I’m so sorry, Leona-san” her nose was bleeding and Leona could hear himself click his tongue again. This girl is hopeless.

He pulled her closer and wiped the blood dripping down her nose with his white sleeve.

“What the fuck were you doing?” Leona rubbed his forehead, and slowly stood up.

“I’m sorry— I was reaching for…” Asami looked around and exclaimed in satisfaction when she found her precious title just next to her leg. Leona couldn’t help but sigh, his head still throbbing.

This girl is hopeless. He thought to himself as he dusted his pants off.

“Can you stand?” Leona offered his hand and Asam’s eyes finally settled on him; cheeks slowly turning a soft pink hue. It had been days since she last saw him.

What was he doing here?

Why is he here during this time?

He never visited the library before.

She knows, because she’s here every single day.

She couldn’t answer. She could feel a sharp pain on her ankle. And she didn't want to inconvenience him right after she fell and slammed herself onto Leona Kingscholar himself.

“I’m okay.” she lowers her head, not moving. Her head dipping lower, shoulders seemingly trying to hide herself once more. Leona looked around, there was no one. Then, his eyes trailed to her. He felt his eye roll, but as he ran his gloved hand through his hair with a deep and heavy sigh, he reached out to her and picked her up in his arms.

Asami found herself holding onto his neck trying her best not to weigh Leona down. Head low, her fringe hiding most of her face and cheeks hotter than ever. She didn’t say anything, he clicked his tongue again, this time, Asami couldn’t really sense real irritation from him.

She whispered an apology again as she held onto him tighter.

“Is your tail okay?” she asked, her head ducked low in hopes to hide her already embarrassed and red face.

“It’s fine. And don’t ask me that question again.” He walked slow- heavy and deliberate strides out of the library and into the hallways of Night Raven. The odd pair earning confused looks and murmurs as they walked towards the infirmary.

She wasn’t that heavy, Leona thought to himself. Her shoulders felt like they were trembling, and she hid herself on the side of his neck. Leona didn’t mind but he was curious what kind of face she made as he carried her like that. Leona set her down atop one of the beds.

He couldn't really see how bad the swelling was because she wore tights, but he guessed she probably twisted it pretty bad if she wasn't able to stand on her own.

The school nurse was never around but he was quite familiar with the place.

He napped there quite often too. Asami was quiet as she watched him move around the space. Her face painted a picture of worry and guilt and that made Leona’s insides squirm. Her blush was unsettling.

He wasn’t sure if it was because he was around or if it was because she was hurting so much.

He opened the mini fridge and got a crystal bottle filled with what looked like lavender-infused water with pink and yellow stones and handed it to her.

“It’s a calming potion. And it helps with some degree of pain.” Asami took the bottle and thanked him. Leona crouched down and pressed an ice pack on her ankle. His hand gripping her leg softly.

It had been days since he saw her, and he was glad to be right there at that exact moment. Leona couldn’t tell how bad the swelling was, but he hoped the ice pack and him being there, provided some comfort to Asami. She was quiet, he kind of realised she wasn’t the chatty kind -- and he liked that about her. Her eyes watched him intently and carefully, like always. The red on her cheeks never fading.

For a moment, Leona acknowledged that he was looking at her, as she was. Eyes of summer green seemingly savouring the very sight of her.

It’s been a while, he thought to himself. Though he was careful not to say it out loud.

“I’m sorry…” She finally spoke. Voice slightly husked and small, just like how it was during the morning they spent together. Leona’s eyes stayed on hers, and she looked like she was about to cry. Carnelian pools that looked like they were searching for something - something in him.

What it was, he could never discern.

Maybe, because he too was searching for something in hers.

“Does it hurt? Can you walk back to your dorm?” His voice was gentler now. Affectionate, even. And he didn’t notice it but she did. His usual grumbles and eye rolling paused. And he seemed like a completely different person towards her. And she was confused for a bit, but Asami somehow convinced herself that it was okay to imagine Leona Kingscholar being affectionate towards her. She liked the idea that she was witness to this side of him. An unknown side, maybe even to himself.

“It hurts but… I think I can manage.” She didn’t want the spell to be broken, but she felt responsible and she needed to snap back to reality.

“I can just….” Asami’s eyes locked with his and her mouth stopped moving. His hand, firmly on her ankle. His long, dark hair, as messy and wild as she remembers it— the way the setting sun touched the dark strands of his hair softly, and how the shadows of his fringe highlighted the bright green of his eyes— he looked so beautiful to her in that afternoon light.

“It’s great to see you, dorm leader…” She smiled softly at him.

For a moment, they’d forgotten why they were there. Why there was an ice pack involved and why he wasn’t napping. Leona Kingscholar couldn’t take her honesty and was forced to look away. Hoping his mane would hide some of the hesitation and confusion in his face. She looked very satisfied with her statement, albeit the red of her face.

*****

Asami held on to his shoulders. Trying her best not to weigh him down. How? She tried. She could only imagine. But he was not being himself. It felt like a day out of a picture book. So maybe, just maybe, it was okay for her not to be her self.

Leona Kingscholar didn’t think the Ramshackle dorm would be like this.

It looked old and felt old. It smelled like his grandmother’s closet.

It was cold there, and the hallways were small and narrow compared to Savanaclaw.

Asami’s room was small, at least to him, it felt small. She had a big window by her bed, and her own bathroom across it. She had a small dresser and an easel by her bed. It was decent. Not much. A typical dorm, he’d say. Not that he knew what a typical dorm looked like, but if he would imagine, it would look like this.

The room, however, smelled like her. And somehow, he felt at home there. Like he never wanted to leave. Leona made it a point not to look at her directly as he carried her like that.

And as he gently settled her on top of the bed, he felt a pang on his chest as he forced himself away from her once more.

There were tea canisters by a small table by the window. And some books. A milk bottle with some dried baby’s breath. That was the sign that gave it away. He was inside a girl’s room now.

His eyes — sharp and focused — watched her and her shoulders slightly lifted as she looked around her room.

“It’s weird to have other people here…” the red on her cheek was just as intense as earlier. And soon he realised that he was in her room, alone, with her.

“Can’t be helped. Or would you rather sleep in the infirmary?” the room smelled of her. And it felt warm even though it was significantly colder there compared to Savanaclaw. It was a weird feeling, especially to him. His eyes never left hers. His voice sounded more comfortable this time. The irritation seemed to have dissipated. Was it her fault? He would never admit it, but maybe, just maybe, yes. It was because of her.

“Does it still hurt?” his voice was gentle as he moved closer to her, unconsciously reaching for her hand.

“I’ll have to check…” Asami tried to stand up but her strength failed her. Leona helped her up and held her close. For a moment, he stayed there. The scent of her hair— hints of vanilla, the smell of cloth, the smell of old books stayed around her blazer, traces of lavender near her cheek and neck, just like how he remembered — was familiar, and tantalising.

Why do you smell so good?

But he had to look away when he realised that she was trying to pull down her stockings. She didn’t look like she was aware of the situation, so he tried to lock the questions he had for her, maybe for another time.

He helped her sit back down again, and as she rolled down her stockings, he let himself sit on the carpeted floor so he could check how bad the swelling actually was.

The ice didn’t help much, no.

No wonder she couldn’t stand on her own.

Leona’s hand gently traced the small of her ankle, and as Asami drew in a sharp breath, Leona quickly realised that she was sitting on the bed, wearing a skirt, without stockings and he was on the floor, at a vantage point so clearly unintentional but dangerous. Leona Kingscholar cleared his throat and stood abruptly.

“You should rest. And Ice” he could barely look at her. It didn't look like she noticed. But it was harder to breathe now, and it felt like his senses were being drowned by her. The way her eyes focused on him, as he stood there, made the longing, wanting and owning more apparent, more urgent.

“Yes of course. Thank you for your help, Leona-san” the way his name sounded with her voice, he liked that. He loved it. Up until recently, she called him senpai or dorm leader. He didn’t think his own name would sound so delicate, so sweet. Only when she said it. Only in that moment.

“I’ll have Ruggie bring you stuff.” He turned to leave, but he walked slowly, he felt her eyes on him. And it made it hard for him to leave.

Why?

Why was being around her like this?

Leona wanted to leave her room. He wanted to go back to Savanaclaw, back to his room, back to his world, back to when he didn’t think about her, back to the time when he didn’t know about her.

Back to the time when he wasn’t hoping to see her. Back to the time when he wasn’t always thinking about some girl.

Right. She’s just some girl. Why was she making him feel like this? It was absurd, he thought. It was hilarious — even comical, how he was hoping to stay in that small room. Just to be around her. Just to be in her presence. This world he knew of — the world that was just her.

When was the last time he was this close to someone?

Someone other than Ruggie?

Someone other than family?

He brushed the questions off and threw them out the window. Along with reason, and other important things he couldn’t list at that moment because he was too busy breathing her scent in. Enjoying the bits of her as he walked slowly out of her room.

“Seriously. Take care of yourself.” Leona turned to leave.

To be continued.

Also tagging @ohno-otome o(≧▽≦)o

#Leona x Asami #Leona Kingscholar x Female Prefect #twst leona #Beni Twst #Leona Kingscholar

13 notes · View notes