#LOV SWEAT AND TEARS PUT INTO THIS PIECE ..................

[maplebars]

ode to a manga dear to my heart

[musings-of-a-college-dork]

Nightmares and Soft Words

Dabi x fem!Reader

I realized I write a lot and I never publish any of it, a lot of original work but a lot of fanfic as well so I figured why not put it on the internet. This is part of a longer piece so it feels more like a scene than a completed work but here you go!

Background: Y/n’s quirk is Reactive Adaptation and she is a civilian taken captive by the LOV. She has a bit of a mysterious past...but all of this can be read as a stand alone.

“Hey we’ve gotta go. Boss just called and said the pros are pretty much at our doorstep.”

“Shit. Did they get the things moved over to the other lab?”

“Some but not all. Boss said to dispose of the evidence that we can’t move.”

“What about her?” 

Silence. 

“Boss said to dispose of all the evidence-”

“But we can’t!”

“Do you really want to go against the boss’ orders?”

“...No...but I can’t do it either.”

“Fine. Then I will.” 

The second y/n sat up from her spot on the floor of the blonde’s room, she clasped her hand over her mouth as she had done so many night’s before, trying to force the scream back but it was far too late for that. 

If anyone hears you-

“The hell do you think you're doing screaming at three in the morning, doll,” 

Came a snarl from the doorway of the room. She cursed herself as her eyes flickered in the voice’s direction. 

There Dabi stood in a black t-shirt and sweatpants, wiping the sleep from his eyes, a pissed off look present on his face at being so rudely woken up. He leaned up against the doorway, lit up by the light that streamed in from the hallway. Y/n swallowed, hard.

Damnit.

She removed her hands from her mouth and instead covered her eyes as she pulled her knees to her chest, bracing for something...anything.

“I’m sorry,” She apologized without a second thought, “I didn’t mean...I’m...” She couldn’t even get the words out from how badly she was shaking.

“Doesn’t matter if you meant it or not,” Dabi grumbled as he pushed off of the doorway and made his way over to her. She kept her hands over her eyes as he approached making him scowl. If she’s going to make such a commotion in the middle of the night then she should damn well have the audacity to look me in the eyes after-

Dabi’s thoughts were cut short as the light hit her still trembling form. Her usually pale skin had gone a metallic silver in color causing the light from the hallway to reflect off of her. Despite this, he could see the sweat that had managed to soak through her thin excuse for a nightgown and coated her skin. He ceased to move for a moment, hesitating before kneeling down.

He reached for her to remove her hands from her eyes and she instantly flinched away from his grasp, a little shock of electricity radiating off of her when he grabbed her hands. Unlike her, he didn’t flinch at all as he pulled her hands from her face, grabbing her wrists with one of his hands to keep her from bringing them back up.

Her face was stained with tears, eyes puffy, and chest heaving as she refused to meet his eyes. The girl instead opted to tilt her head down and look at the floor, trying her best to not hyperventilate. This was absolutely unacceptable in the man’s eyes. 

Dabi reached his free hand up and grabbed the girl’s chin, roughly turning her face up to meet his.

“Look at me, doll,” He commanded and surprisingly, she complied with his request. As her teary eyes met his piercing blue ones, he felt his heart stop a bit.  

Nightmare. He knew the signs all too well. 

He continued to scan her, examining every inch of her trembling form but mainly keeping his focus on her face. Us? No, he thought as his brows furrowed, her being metal wouldn’t protect her from anyone except Toga and this is...this is different. This is what I look like when I dream of-

The sheer shock of the thought made Dabi draw his hands back as if she had burned him, the girl looking away from him as soon as possible. 

She didn’t want him to see her like this...so...broken. As much as she wished the burnt man would evaporate into thin air so he wouldn’t be able to see how she shook like a leaf, a part of her didn’t want to be left alone in the dark again. 

She waited, waited for him to do anything, to yell at her, to make a snarky comment, something. Instead, she was met with silence as he sat down in front of her, his gaze still locked on her. In response to his lack of...well anything, she turned her focus to her heart rate finally decreasing enough for her skin to fade back at least part way into its natural state. 

Dabi watched her for a moment longer before standing and disappearing from the room. Y/n felt her heart sink for a moment before shaking her head to try and pull her from her thoughts. Stop it, she scolded herself as she pulled her knees to her body, you should be glad he’s gone. Besides...he left the door open. Y/n’s head shot up at this realization, her eyes instantly darting towards the door and the light that seemed to beckon her into the hallway. 

The girl considered her options for a moment more before her body began to move on it’s own, rising from where she had been curled up on the cold stone floor. She didn’t even feel her feet hit the ground as she padded over to the door, only to have a shadow cast over her small form.

“You really don’t learn, do ya?” Dabi sighed as he stood between her and the hallway, a plastic cup in his hand. She held his eye contact, still looking like a deer in headlights. He chuckled as he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. Y/n instantly backed up as if she couldn’t even be in his aura’s radius which made the man shake his head as he held the cup out to her. 

“Drink.” 

The girl looked up at him, a mix of fear and confusion written in her eyes as she glanced at the cup. She didn’t step forward to take it from him, merely staring it down.

“Problem?” 

“How do I know it isn’t drugged?” She asked in a timid voice as her eyes met his. The man shrugged indifferently.

“You don’t. Gonna have to hedge your bets, doll.” Y/n considered it for a moment but despite her better judgment, she took the cup from his hands. She examined it for a moment, swirling the liquid this way and that before finally sighing. She took a sip, knowing that even if it was drugged it would wash the taste of metal and leather from her mouth and maybe it would help her sleep through the night. The first sip of water circulated through her body but the cold liquid didn’t do much to stop the shivering. 

“Thank you,” She said after a moment. She wanted to bite her tongue or take it back, not wanting to thank one of her captors despite him not having done anything to harm her. He was only helping out his friend after all by keeping her here. 

Dabi nodded as he stayed where he was, his arms crossed as he opted to lean against the door he had closed only moments before. 

Y/n eyed him over the rim of the plastic cup, not sure what to do in this situation. Why is he still here? Maybe it actually is drugged and he’s just waiting… 

“Do you want me to leave?” The villain asked, as if he had read her mind. Y/n opened her mouth to say yes but the word didn’t form. There was no reason for him to be here but...

She shook her head.

Dabi nodded. He just stood there, his gaze examining Toga’s room. It had been a while since he’d been inside the girl’s room and she had shifted it a bit to accommodate her...guest. She had moved the bed just enough to place a blanket down on the floor for the girl and, well other than that, it looked the same as usual.

“Did I wake you up?” His gaze snapped to the girl. Her focus was on the cup of water despite having just asked him a question. 

“Surprised you didn’t wake the whole building with your screaming.” He bit back, trying to get a response from her. The girl merely shrugged, her focus still on the cup as she swirled the liquid in it. Realizing that trying to get a rise from her was useless he sighed with a little shake of his head.

“No, just couldn’t sleep,” He said with another shrug.

“Are you having nightmares too?” For once the burnt man didn’t have anything to say, prompting y/n to actually steal a glance at her captor. Maybe he was- A dark, low, chuckle cut her off, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up as she looked at the villain. 

“Not so timid anymore are you, doll?” He asked after a moment. He looked up and as his flaming blue eyes met hers, she felt her stomach flip. The fact that he lit a finger up with his flames and proceeded to move it through the air in intricate patterns didn’t help her nausea. “You better be careful what you say around here,” He said as he turned his focus to the flame, “You might just set one of us over the edge and you don’t want to know what would happen to you then.” He pointed it at her as he finished, his face stoic as he looked for a response.

“Maybe that’s what I want,” Y/n spoke before she could stop the words, “Maybe the goal is to piss you off until you snap and kill me.” The silence was deafening. Shit, Y/n swore wishing she could take it back. Instead she sipped her water. 

If I keep drinking this I can’t say anything else stupid. 

“You’re still shivering.” Y/n looked up to find Dabi looking at her, the flame in his hand extinguished. His eyes didn’t hold any rage or anger as she feared they would. Instead they were...soft? No...that wasn’t right. That couldn’t be right. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” She said almost subconsciously with a little sigh. She continued to clutch the cup, running her fingers over the little ridges on the sides. Anything to distract herself. 

“You cold?” 

“Yeah.” Dabi let out a little hum and noticed that y/n’s cup was empty. Without another word he took it from her hands and set it down beside her on the floor. He then began to move putting y/n on high alert. He reached for her and instantly her skin went metallic once more as she tensed up, her arms going out in front of her defensively. 

“Relax,” Dabi commanded her upon noticing the silver sheen returning to her pale skin. He held his hands up in a surrender of sorts, “I’m not going to hurt you.” Y/n’s skin still stayed metallic but was able to slow her breathing a little bit as she realized that the man truly hadn’t hurt her yet. Sure, he had lit his flames in threat before but he’d never actually laid a finger on her. 

“What do you want me to do?” She asked as she pulled her hands into her chest defensively.  He nodded and stood up before walking over to the bed. 

“The floor is cold and you’re still shivering,” He said as he opened up the covers for her, “Get into the bed.” 

Y/n stayed frozen in place, her eyes nervously darting from him to where he was gesturing for her to be. “I’m not allowed, I don’t think-”

“I don’t care,” Dabi said simply holding her gaze, “She’s not here and she’ll be more pissed if you’re too tired when she’s in a mood to play.” Y/n still stayed frozen, weighing his words over.

“Now, doll. I don’t have all night,” He said as he rolled his eyes. At last, y/n made her way across the room towards the man. She looked down at where he held the covers open before slowly crawling under them. She laid down initially stiff as a rod but upon feeling how surprisingly soft the bed was she couldn’t help but relax, letting out a soft sigh of relief as she sunk into the sea of pillows. Dabi fought back a smile as he closed the blanket. He then shrugged off his shirt, quietly as to not disturb the moment of peace she was having. Y/n then felt the bed dip and shot straight up. She turned to look behind her to find the now shirtless man laying next to her on the bed, his eyes closed originally but opening in a sleepy annoyed way. She scanned him quickly, a blush coming to her cheeks and she just hoped that her current metallic state would cover it up.

“What are yo-” Dabi didn’t let her get another word in before he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pushing her so that she was laying down once more. 

“Be quiet,” he growled in a low tone that made her tense up once more before she let out a sigh, his grip on her loosening a bit. “Go to sleep.”

“But-“ y/n let out a little yelp as Dabi flipped her body so he was on top of her, the covers still separating them much to y/n’s thanks. He leaned in far too close for comfort, making her breath hitch as the heat radiated off of him in waves.

“If you need something to tire you out, doll, I am more than happy to oblige,” he whispered into the crook of her neck. Her body had absolutely frozen underneath him and not a single sound came from her leading him to smirk. That did the trick. He moved back to his original position and pulled her covered body tighter to his through the layer of blankets. 

“Then go to sleep.” He commanded as he felt her body go a bit more slack. This wasn’t due to the fact that she felt calm at the thought of this literally super villain sharing a bed with her, no. Despite knowing what he had done, what he continued to do...she couldn’t help but want more of the warmth he gave off. 

The villain couldn’t help but smile as the girl scooted closer to him, the silver sheen disappearing as her breathing evened out. He then realized what he was doing with a grimace, pulling away which elicited a pouty little huff from the now sleeping girl. He continued to keep his arms close to his chest before letting out a sigh and holding her once more, earning a contented hum from y/n as she slept. 

What the hell are you doing to me? He thought as he drifted off...

[charkyzombicorn]

Okay thought up a quirk and a villain motivation so I'm gonna put it on Izuku because reasons.

The quirk is called Picture Perfect

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️

Whoever Izuku takes a picture of (physical picture, digital doesn't count) is frozen, disappearing from the real world and only existing in that photo. Izuku doesn't discover his quirk until he's about 14, he was given the diagnosis of quirkless and no one uses polaroids anymore so it wasn't exactly easy to catch. Since he was 'quirkless' for a whole decade, his dad left and him mom had to work two jobs to support them both and he started coming home beaten bloody by his classmates and after ten years Izumi Midoriya is always tired. She rarely looked happy anymore, and Izuku couldn't help because the whole world seemed to be crushing her. And when Izuku is 14, he decides to get a polaroid so that he can start putting more than just his idol on his wall.

It's his mom's birthday, he made her her favorite dessert and picked up some shifts at the library so she wouldn't have to work that day. She was smiling the brightest smile he'd seen in years and he used his polaroid for the first time to take a picture of his mother. So he was terrified at first when he realised he'd accidentally trapped her, deducing that it was his quirk and that he could let her out if he tried. He almost did, but then he saw the smile on her face, frozen, happy. He put her picture down on the table and left, going outside and testing his quirk on a few strays to make sure he could absolutely get his mom back without hurting her. He went back home an hour later and he realised something.

She was frozen, happy, she didn't have to worry about anything in there, the world wasn't crushing her, she was safe. Keeping people safe and happy is what heroes did, wasn't it?

He carefully used double-sided tape to fasten the picture to the wall without tampering with the ink. That's what he was doing, he was protecting her from all the harsh things even pro heroes couldn't protect people from.

He didn't tell anyone, if he did, they would make her go back to working herself to death, they would take smile off her face. He wouldn't let that happen. He stopped going to school, he left his house with only a few pairs of clothes, some money, and his mother safely stashed away pressed in a hardcover cookbook. He had to give up the idea of UA, but that was okay, because he was gonna be a hero to protect people for all the harshness of the world instead of just villains.

He thought it was selfish that he had the power to freeze people in bliss and only gave his mother said freedom, so he marched up to the first homeless man he saw and explained his quirk, offered the man a trouble-free existence.

To his surprise, the man seemed horrified at the idea. He said he would keep his life and the hardships that came with it, and sped away as if Izuku were crazy. Izuku didn't offer anyone else, wandering around the red light district looking for a cheap hotel to stay the night. He ended up accidentally going in circles and it was starting to get dark when he came across an alleyway, and some part of his gut urged him toward it.

Eventually his steps became wet and he looked down, in the dim light he could barely see a figure to he turned on the flashlight on his phone. He threw up a second later. There in the middle of the alley was the corpse of that same homeless man, mangled and broken and not breathing. If he had just listened to Izuku this never would have happened, he would have been happy and alive and as well as his mother. He ran away, tears clouding his vision because he couldn't protect this one.

Next time, he didn't ask. Instead, he offered the homeless woman a sandwich and talked to her. It seemed she didn't get that sort of kindness often because she brightened at the wide-eyed little boy she met. They chatted and laughed and it was one of the best days the woman had had in months of misfortune. He decided to capture her, which he thought sounded much worse than it was. He whipped out his camera and told a lie about taking pictures of people he helped in the community for a school project and she obliged happily. He put her picture in the cookbook for safe keeping.

He kept doing this, for every down-on-their-luck person he came across, he was reported a missing person along with his mother so he started dying his hair and wearing a medical mask, purely to keep all his pictures safe and happy.

But then the news started getting on with all the missing persons, and he was labeled a villain. He knew why, the general public don't know how happy they can be, forever. He was given the name Broke Bandit, which was a rather dumb name, but a bit fitting considering he mostly took pictures of people who were down on their luck money wise. He started being more careful, only making people happy when they were alone because he'd already done too much good to give it all up now. He was helping people, no matter how much the public wanted to twist his motives. He took odd jobs to keep himself fed and housed, occasionally sleeping in empty bachelor pads and borrowing money from wallets that wouldn't be needed where their owners were. The UA exams passed and his Kacchan got into UA just like he always wanted, Izuku was so happy for him. But then UA was attacked by the league of villains and that wouldn't do. How could Kacchan be happy if he wasn't safe at his own dream school?

He did research, but that wasn't enough. He started taking up different kinds of odd jobs. People traded people for information, a few questionable individuals but if they were consorting with these types the people he captured must have been bad types. He gave away the photographs with minimal questioning, not releasing them from their pictures though. Even if these people wanted to kill the people he captured for them, he wouldn't let them hurt. That wasn't was heroes did.

He found the LOV base too late, Kacchan was kidnapped by those bastards and that wouldn't do. He made his way there as quickly as possible, he picked up a few tricks capturing people before they could see him, and he got into the base with a bit of struggle. He positioned himself right behind the chair they had crudely strapped Kacchan to, and got his camera ready.

He took a picture of everyone in the room from just above Kacchan's head so he wouldn't be captured too, and every villain disappeared into the tiny piece of paper.

He walked into view of his former bully, waving the picture casually as if he weren't internally bouncing off the walls with excitement to see his oldest and only friend. But before he did, he had business to take care of.

He held up the picture, showing the final moment of the LOV. "They're all in here, trapped until I let them out." He said evenly, before gently opening the blond's palm and placing the picture there before closing the fist, hearing the paper curl and crinkle. "Destroy it." He said, staring down at his friend with a mad glint in his eye.

Red eyes went wide, his jaw clenched before he started hurling insults like they were still five and he was having a tantrum. "What the fuck?! No! Why should I believe you?! Fucking asshole! I'll kill you! Why would I kill them I ain't a damn MONSTER!!" He struggled harshly against his restraints, accidentally making his palms sweat more.

No, Izuku couldn't get rid of the LOV, the credit would go to an unknown mask instead of Kacchan, and Kacchan wanted to be number one. Taking down a whole villain organisation that even got past All Might would surely help Katsuki more than him. He sighed, and decided once again, since people refused to see the bigger picture, he'd give it to them free of charge whether they liked it or not. He hooked a finger under his mask, and pulled it down. He smiled kindly at his friend, who suddenly looked like he'd seen a ghost.

Then all the rage that had been collecting over all those months since Deku had disappeared made him slip. He lost control and reflexively made an explosion big enough to decintigrate the tiny photo.

Ash fell through the teen's fingers as he realised he had just killed people. He struggled against his restraints more harshly, hissing and spitting barely comprehensible threats.

Izuku's work was done, so he tugged his mask back up before putting a finger over his covered mouth. Katsuki froze. "Don't tell anyone I was here, then you won't get all the credit for such an amazing feat, ne?" And he left.

Katsuki told. And Izuku had never felt more betrayed when he saw his face on the news of the cheap motel TV talking about all his heroism as if he were evil. He cried.

He needed advice, but he had no one. So after a lot of debate, he got out his mother's picture, still smiling in front of her birthday cake as she was when he'd taken her. He released her.

She stumbled backwards, losing all the colour in her face and falling as if she hadn't used her legs in months, her puples like pinpricks. She looked up at Izuku and everything she emitted was fear, not tainted with relief or happiness at all. Izuku didn't understand.

He tried to explain what happened, but she didn't say a word, she kept crawling away from him feebly as if he were everything bad in one small package. "Y-Y-You're a murderer." She said, and Izuku would have revelled in hearing his mothers voice again after so long were it not for the words.

"What?"

"I was there, I couldn't move, you let people die, you killed people, you trapped people." Her voice got more steady as she got more angry but it barely covered a portion of her skin-bleaching fear. Izuku blinked at his mother.

"I-I was just trying to help--" his words made her flinsh as if she didn't know he was her son.

Suddenly anger flooded the teenage boy. "I gave up UA to try to keep you happy, I gave up my name to protect people from killing themselves with all the hardships of this world! I gave my life to keep bad people off the streets and to keep people happy!! I lost everything, and now you won't even look your own son in the eyes?!" He hated this, he gave everything and she was looking at him like this. Angry tears flowed down his cheeks as he harshly grabbed the polaroid still hanging from his neck, and his mother scrambled to try to stop him even though all she could do with the lack of practice moving was crawl.

His next picture of her wasn't happy. She was pale, crying, pathetic, reaching for the camera with wide eyes that held nothing but fear for her only son. He crumpled up the paper into a crude ball, stomping out to the hotel parking lot and burning her picture on the concrete, followed by everyone else he kept safe in his cookbook.

If everyone insisted he was a murderer, if he was going to be punished as a murderer no matter what he did, he might as well be guilty.

[yukimoji]

Goodbye, My Beloved. ( Kyojuro Rengoku x Reader )

[ Muichiro pls or a Giyuu or Rengoku Specific request for rengoku that it’s an angst of reader reminiscing about rengoku after finding out he died maybe the reader is pregnant too. Oblivion ]

(a/n: my second attempt of writing angst! as usual, there will be grammar mistakes and typos here and there. thank you reading!)

Total words: 2100+ words

Genre: Angst

!!MANGA SPOILERS FOR THE INFINITY TRAIN ARC!!

---

Within a world full of suffering and loss, there was not much room for the warmth of happiness and love to settle in the dark pits of bloodshed and danger. The vast sky above mirrored this sensation, the shades of dark gray circling overhead as thick clouds threaten to shower the earth below with droplets of heavy rain.

You scurried to the backyard of your humble abode, scrambling to grab the damp pieces of clothing that had been put on the drying rack. You proceeded to relocate them inside, as the possibility of heavy rain was looming over the area. After you took care of such a heavy load, you won't allow the rain to throw all your hard work to waste.

Your shared cottage, which was usually filled with joy and excitement, now felt lonely without the warm presence of your husband. Kyojuro was on a mission to investigate a demon riddled train in the far regions. Reports of Demon Slayers assigned to the train and not coming back were gradually increasing, and the Demon Slayer Corps ought to decide to finally send a Hashira to look into the matter.

It's been days since your beloved had journeyed into the far regions, and the knot in your stomach grew tighter in each passing day. In these lonely times, the feeling of fear and doubt has always been with you. While Kyojuro was out and slaying demons, you couldn't help but give in to the sensation of a knot in your stomach twisting and turning as you pray to the gods above for your husband's safe return.

However, you did not doubt your husband's abilities in any kind. He was a Hashira; one of the best of the best in the Demon Slayer Corps. He had decapitated countless demons with a simple quick slash of his Katana, the heads of the Lower Moon demons he defeated considered as prized victories. His breathing style had been passed down throughout centuries, the techniques filled with such precision and finesse that would have taken any demon down.

He always promised to come back to you.

And he did.

Besides, there was something else that increased his desire to come back to you.

You wobbled inside the cottage, a hand caressing your swollen tummy. Months ago, you announced to the world that you were carrying Kyojuro's baby. He was ecstatic by this news, pampering your face with loved-filled kisses as he lifted you up, laughter escaping both of your lips.

Ever since then, he doubled his efforts in his missions. He would take extra-precautions to keep himself safe, as he could not wait to come back home and meet his child.

You sighed and stood in front of the window, looking over the beautiful and vast plains of the area. The sky was getting darker, and you wondered if a big storm was coming. You were beginning to wonder; how was Kyojuro doing? Did he finish the mission? Is he making his way back to you already?

Humming softly, you tenderly caressed your stomach, singing out little lullabies for your unborn child. You felt your baby kick, and a smile tugged its way to the sides of your lips. You were excited for the day when you would finally meet your child. You daydreamed how your days would go by, the images of Kyojuro and you cuddling with your infant filling your heart with so much warmth that your eyes were threatening to water.

As if the gods had heard your pleas, you heard soft knocking coming from your front door.

Your eyes lit up, your [E / C] sparkling with anticipation as you staggered your way to the door. A giddy smile painted your lips, relief washing all over as as you stood in front of the door. As you lifted your hand to grasp the handle, you were a little confused as to why the feeling of dread did not cease. Surely, it was Kyojuro behind the door, right?

You shook your head from your intrusive thoughts. Kyojuro is alive, he must be. And here he was, waiting in the other side of the door, arms open to surround you in his warm embrace.

As you opened the door, you expected to meet a pair of golden eyes that you loved so much, but you were shocked when you saw a single Kakushi in the doorstep. They had a solemn expression on them, their eyes filled with so much worry and remorse that you felt the knot in your stomach grow tighter than ever before. Behind them was another Kakushi, who held some kind of rectangular object in their hands as they looked at you with a wry expression.

You gulped as you started to sweat. Your hands were trembling, as the unwanted thoughts of the unthinkable began to overwhelm you. Despite your increasing doubt, you forced yourself to give the Kakushi a welcoming smile.

"Hello there! What brings you here?" You asked, a slight tremble evident in your voice that gave away how you truly felt at that moment.

"Are you Mrs. [ Y / N ] Rengoku?" The Kakushi asked, their voice filled with concern.

The feeling of dread rose even further, as your heart began to thump wildly in your chest. You nodded, never breaking your smile as their eyes drooped even more.

You wanted to hurl as fear suffocated you.

"Ma'am, we came here to bring you news." The Kakushi started. Your eyes widened when the Kakushi brought out a letter, and began to read out it's contents;

"On the XX day of XXX, The Flame Hashira, Rengoku Kyojuro has been killed after an encounter against Upper Moon Three."

What?

What do you mean my husband is dead?

"His body is now relocated back to the Rengoku Estate, where his father and brother are beginning to make preparations for his burial."

No, no. There must be a mistake. There is no way my husband is dead.

He promised me he would come back for us.

"As you may know, the Flame Hashira was sent to investigate a train where a demon was thought to have caused havoc. With the aid of reinforcements, Rengoku successfully saved countless human lives while the demon was successfully destroyed. Upon the sudden emergence of Upper Moon Three, the Hashira Flame gave his life to protect those in harm's way. In the end, Upper Moon Three retreated and all the victims of the train returned to their homes."

No.. No.. No..!

"We sincerely mourn the loss of such a strong-willed man. Rengoku Kyojuro will forever go down in the history of the Corps as one of the strongest. His sacrifices and tribulations will live on, as his death will not be in vain."

As the Kakushi continued to speak, the smile on your face was no longer there. You stared at the Kakushi, eyes blazed with disbelief. You couldn't properly comprehend the information being stated to you. Your chest ached with so much pain and pressure that it was suffocating you. The only thing your mind could do was repeat a sentence;

Kyojuro is dead.

With the last of your willpower, you looked up and met the eyes of the Kakushi.

"..I see." You forced yourself to voice out.

At this point, all you could hear was the heavy beating of your heart. Your eyebrows were scrunched together, and your eyes as wide as saucers. You began to draw labored breaths, placing a hand in your chest as you gripped your clothing tightly.

The clouds above became even more darker, as small droplets of rain started to come down. The gloomy atmosphere was unironically fitting, as you could feel your resolve rapidly decline.

Surge of overwhelming emotions overtook you, as tears continuously spilled from your [ E / C ] orbs. Your body shook violently, and your knees were threatening to fall as each second passes by.  You felt sick, as the urge to vomit started to arise from your throat. Your knuckles were beginning to whiten from how hard you were gripping your clothes.

You couldn't speak, not when the only thing that came out of your mouth was the agony of whimpers and sobs. Your eyes shut tightly, as the tears continued pouring down your cheeks. You let out a pained wail as your knees finally gave in, falling to the ground as you allowed yourself to be racked with cries and sobs.

The Kakushi immediately caught you, holding you in their arms as they gently placed you down. You were a mess, tears wouldn't stop falling down from your face as you screamed into the horizon. The Kakushi holding you proceeded to draw long circles into your back in an attempt to comfort you.

"..We were also given orders to give you this. Rengoku-san specifically asked to give you a parting gift, along with a letter inside." The other Kakushi spoke up.

Without thinking, you stood up, startling the poor Kakushi in front of you. You hurriedly made your way to the other Kakushi, their eyes drooping from your swollen and tear stained face. Your eyes held a silent plea in them, begging the Kakushi to give you Rengoku's final gift.

They held the rectangular object in front of you, as you immediately took it from their hands. You traced the edges of the box, and with a deep sighs, you slowly opened it. You let out a pained cry as a little stuffed toy was inside the box, along with a piece of paper with your beloved's handwriting on it. Your trembling hands grabbed the letter, and you felt yourself fall on your knees once more as your eyes scanned over your husband's penmanship.

"My dearest, [ Y / N ],

My love, thank you for all those years you had spent with me. I will always cherish those moments were it would seem like that there was more than just a cruel world. Thank you so much for making me feel like the most loved man in the world, even with all my flaws and shortcomings.

I wish I could have met our child. Everyday, I anticipate for their arrival and I had always hoped that we could've had a happy family like you deserve to have. I hope this little toy would always remind our child that their father will always love them wholeheartedly, even though I am no longer here.

I wish I could've written more, but my injuries is against me.

Farewell, my love. You and my child were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I would not dare to replace every little moment that we shared together. Embrace my darling child for me, beloved. I will await the day where I could finally meet you again in a better world.

Always and forever,

Rengoku Kyojuro."

Your eyes stared at the letter in front of you. Your tears dropped into his signature, and you shut your eyes once more as you held the letter and the toy tightly in your chest. Heavy rain rapidly streamed down, as mud and puddles started to form around your body.

Your body was soaking wet, but you didn't care. You continued to wail, your cries almost reaching the heavens above. Images of Kyojuro flashed in your mind, as you continue to scream out for your deceased beloved.

You remember the times were he would always come home to your embrace after every mission. He would whisper sweet nothings to your ear, a declaration of love escaping his lips as he would shower you with affection.

Every time he comes back to you, he would always make love to you in the most intimate and passionate way a man could ever do.

And then, you realized.

His eyes.

His smile.

His warm embrace.

You weren't going to experience that again.

After a while, the rain suddenly died down a bit. Your throat was already sore and raw from your screaming, but you still continued to weep under the rain. The Kakushis were trying their best to keep you dry, even putting an umbrella over you, but to no avail. Your clothes were already stained with mud, and you were soaking wet.

Even so, in your daze, you swore that you could feel a pair of familiar arms curl around you. Warmth engulfed you, which seemed like an attempt to comfort you, as you continued to mourn the loss of your beloved. The wind brushes your hair, and you could faintly make out a familiar voice;

"Goodbye, my beloved."

[ackermans-freedom-inc]

HELLO! @hidehaskak you always have such ANGSTY requests and I LOV IT. Hurt me more pls. feel free to send in more requests! 110% promise that you will never stress me out <3. Hope you enjoy!

I Miss Her Too – death mention, blood mention

You and Kat had met during training, her bubbly personality making it easy to strike up a friendship. The two of you had gone through thick and thin, from the first time you saved her from a titan, slashing through its nape and claiming your first kill, to when she hugged you to her chest as you cried, afraid that she would distance herself after confessing to her that you were bi. She was always by your side. She picked up the pieces of your heart when you got dumped, would act as moral support, hiding nearby when you broke up with your exes, and would always have your favourite foods ready when you were feeling crummy. In return, you swooped in to save her from horrible dates, protected her from clingy exes who followed her around, and would go and give shitty boyfriends a piece of your mind when you found out they weren’t treating your best friend well. You both shared your secrets, about your childhoods, your parents, and the struggles of growing up. You supported each other through dark days in training, when a squad would come back, horses without riders. You held her as she cried over the death of her brother, and it was she who encouraged you to go and flirt with the captain.

The ever-gutsy girl that she was, Kat had even dared to threaten Levi when you two finally started dating, telling him that he had better treat you well. He would never admit it to her, but Levi had truly been scared of Kat that day, her eyes fiery as she spoke of how great a person you were, how fiercely she said she loved you and how she would never forgive him if he did not treat you the way you deserved. What Levi never told you was how Kat had made him promise to protect you, no matter what. “If one day I’m gone, you have to protect her Levi. Promise me. Protect her.”

~

You couldn’t stand it. You screamed and screamed, hands tugging at your blood-soaked hair, wishing you would wake from this horrible nightmare. You knelt by Kat, her hand in yours as she smiled up at you, her face ashen. “Hush now” she whispered, “I’ll always be with you. It’s alright. It’s alright I love you Y/N.”

You had screamed your love back to her through your tears and as her breathing started to falter, you held her close, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You know Y/N…you’re like the sister I wish I had…I’m so glad I get to spend these last moments with you…” She coughed, your free hand getting soaked in her blood. You knew it was futile to put pressure on a wound of that size, but you had to try. Shaking her head, you wiped the cold sweat off her face as you held her close, unable to form the words that would be the last Kat ever heard.

When Levi heard the report from Erwin, he had rushed to the infirmary where Hanji was patching you up. You had washed the blood from your hands, but your uniform was still soaked. What scared Levi most about you was your eyes. He had never seen them so lifeless, without the spark, that glint he had gotten so used to in the months you had been together. As he nodded his head to Hanji, thanking her for taking care of you, he took you gently by the arm as he led you to your shared room. There, he stayed silent, peeling your uniform off you and setting up the shower, urging you to wash the evidence of the day off your weary body. His gentle hands and soft whispers somehow made you mad. How could he be so patient with you. How could he be so calm when Kat was gone.

Letting him dress you as your eyes filled once again with tears, he sat you down on the bed and brought your face to his chest, rubbing your back soothingly. “Take your time Y/N. Whenever you want to talk, whenever you’re ready, I’m here to talk.” He whispered.

“I don’t want to talk about anything Levi!” You screamed, tears pouring down your cheeks as you pushed him away. “How can you be so calm! Don’t you care at all that she’s gone? Doesn’t anyone else miss her?” your hands balled into fists as you sobbed. Your grief was slowly turning into anger, anger that Kat would be so reckless, anger at the titans for existing, angry at yourself for not keeping a better eye on Kat. As Levi attempted to wrap his arms around you again, you shoved him away, harder this time. “Just…Just leave me the hell alone Levi. I don’t need your pity.” you spat, standing up and running out the room. You knew it wasn’t fair to lash out at Levi like this, after all, he was probably the next closest person to Kat. But you didn’t care that you were being unfair. You just wanted to feel okay again. You just wanted Kat to be back by your side.

~

You had made a grave mistake. At first, running into the darkness of the woods seemed like a good idea. You could wallow there in pain, away from prying eyes. But as your mind started to work again, the cloud of pain and anguish slowly lifting, your rational thinking coming back little by little. That was when you realized how cold you were, clad in only a thin shirt and pants unsuited for the blustery day. The next thing you noticed was how you had no idea where you were. You thought you knew this forest like the back of your hand, but as the night grew darker and darker, the shadows seemed to make all the foliage blend into one amorphous, unrecognizable blur. And of course, that was the moment you had to stumble, shoes losing grip on a rock that stuck out from the dirt, causing you to roll your ankle as you heard an ugly “crack”.

As you sat in the dirt, utter lost, shivering, and in pain as your ankle throbbed, you chuckled mirthlessly. You really had fucked up. Staring up into the darn void you screamed, hoping Kat, wherever she was, could hear you. “Kat…I fucked up…I really fucked up didn’t I….” You tried getting up, pleased you were still able to put pressure on your injured foot. Nothing had broken. You looked around and saw a large rock that had some downed trees leaning on it, creating a tiny makeshift awning. You hobbled over, deciding this was where you were to spend the rest of the night, at least until light when you could make it back. Your heart clenched, thinking of how hurt Levi must have been when you told him to leave you alone. You brought your knees up to your chest, head on your knees as you tried not to cry for what seemed like the thousandth time that night.

Back at base, Levi had passed the time, trying to find more work to do in Hanji and Erwin’s office, giving you the time you needed to let off steam and get back home. So when he stumbled back to the room just before dawn, his heart nearly stopped when he didn’t see your familiar body, a lump under the covers. He then ransacked nearly all the barracks on base, the girl’s room his last hope. When sleepy faces gawked at home, none of them you, he knew something was wrong. Very wrong. You were still out. You wouldn’t be so reckless to spend all. Night out. While he knew the chances of a titan encounter were slim, as the sun got closer and closer to rising, his heart started to pick up speed. Gathering his equipment and hopping on his horse, he set out for the forest, calling out your name.

It must’ve been hours since you had left base. Your tears had dried and you had fully absorbed the fact that Kat was gone. Your heart panged with loss, but you were finally clearheaded. As you looked towards the east, where the sun was beginning to tinge the sky a light blue, you thought you were still in a dream when you heard the faint sounds of your name being called. Levi.

You screamed your reply, calling out his name over and over again. Soon, you heard the familiar sound of hoofbeats a smile breaking out on your face as your beloved came into view. Dismounting, he wrapped a blanket around you and helped you on the horse, face stern. As safe as the forest should be, he did not want to take any chances. You sat in front of him silently the entire ride back to base. Neither of you said a word.

Finally back in the safety of your room, Levi had wordlessly left you alone once more as he went to grab Hanji to take a look at your ankle. By the time you finished showering, Hanji had arrived, proclaiming your ankle just rolled, telling you to elevate it and keep off it if possible. Hanji cast a glance towards Levi, who was leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, before laying a soft hand on your shoulder. “He’s under more pressure than you think Y/N.” they whispered, packing up their supplies and breezing out of the room.

Biting your lip, you looked up at your boyfriend, who was still leaned against the door. “Thank you for saving me” you offered, slightly sheepish. Grey eyes flicked over for a brief moment before looking back away.

“I’m sorry for everything. I just needed some space.” You admitted, looking down into your lap and fiddling with your fingers.

“Tch.” Breaking his silence, Levi walked over to join you on the bed. “I’m not mad that you needed space. Everyone mourns differently. I have no issue with that” he explained, a soft hand on your knee. “What I cannot condone, as a Captain and boyfriend is you running out there with no regard for your own life.”

You were silent, acknowledging the irresponsibility of your actions. But what he said next had your head snapping up to look him in the eye.

“Kat would never have forgiven me if anything happened to you tonight”

“Kat?” you breathed, your heart still hurting.

“She made me promise to protect you if anything happened to her. I intend on keeping it.”

Realizing what Hanji had meant, you felt your body warm and whispered a secret thank you to your best friend before wrapping Levi into a hug, soft tears slowly staining his shoulder.

“I know. I miss her too”

[sweetwritertanya]

Stormy Night (Original)

Summary: A snow storm leads to you losing your chance to not only see your boyfriend, as it was planned, but also communicate at all with him as the blizzard worsens. Little did you know, that would be the last time you would ever spend a stormy night alone.

Warnings: HORROR! Nothing too bad, hopefully it just sends those spooky scary tingles down your back. No trigger warnings, no violence or anything of the sort. Tell me what you all think of it, if you can! Did it spook you a bit? Did you guess what was about to happen?

Word Count: 2345

“Hun, I hate this” you complain into the phone in your hand against your ear, pacing around in the living room and looking out the window to the dark threatening sky.

“I know, muffin, I know. I hate it too” your boyfriend reciprocates on the other side of the call.

“I mean, I had everything ready, I was going to make your favorite meal, went to the supermarket and got all the freaking ingredients and whatever, bought the expensive wine, booked the tickets to the play and…” you sigh heavily. “All for nothing.”

“We couldn’t have predicted this, Y/N. I mean, this storm came out of nowhere, not even the weathermen saw it coming” he tries and console you, like he always did whenever you were frustrated at something you couldn’t quite control.

“It just… sucks! I haven’t seen you in three months!”

You didn’t mean for the last sentence to come out almost like a sob, but your pent-up feelings surface quickly and you start snuffling as you try to keep the tears from falling.

“Fuck, baby, I know and it’s killing me too. I just want to hold you in my arms again and kiss the pout I know you have right now away” he confesses, sounding every bit as disappointed as you. A small smile comes to your lips when he mentions the pout that you, in fact, had been sporting the entire call. “If only I had booked a flight one day earlier, I could have been snowed in with you during the storm. Keep you protected and warm.”

“It’s not your fault you’re so busy with work. You know one of the things I love about you is how dedicated you are.” It’s your turn to console him and that somehow helps you feeling better, focusing on making him feel better instead of pitying yourself any further.

“The only thing I hate about my job is how it keeps me away from you so much” he murmurs, groggily.

“You know what? It’s fine. This is fine” you decide with a renewed determination, walking out of the living room you were at and making your way to the kitchen. “We’ll meet after the storm is all over and we’ll make it an even better stay! I’ll get refunded for the tickets, use the money to instead take us out for dinner so I don’t have to cook and we can have our own movie session at home. Which is better anyway, because we can get comfortable and snuggle how much we want without disapproving eyes all around.”

You gasp loudly and jump in place as a loud thunder shakes the ground, lightning tearing apart the cloudy sky outside. The wind seems to pick up in response and you can only see a blur of white snow falling out your windows.

“Y/N? M-ffin, are yo- o-y?”

The signal of your phone call weakens and you can barely make out what he is saying from the other side.

“Babe, I’m okay! Can you hear me? I’m fine, but I think I’m losing signal” you yell into the phone, hoping that he can still comprehend what you are saying so he doesn’t worry.

“I hea- you. Ok-y, you’re oka-. Cal- -morrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll call you tomorrow! Love you!”

“Lov- -ou, bye muff-” And the call ends abruptly.

“Damnit…” you whisper in a sigh. “Was supposed to be spending the day with him and now I can’t even have a phone call or a video chat with him. Stupid weather!”

As you had predicted, both your wi-fi and even the television feed were struggling due to the conditions outside, so you weren’t even bothering turning them on. Taking out all of the candles you had available, which were mainly scented candles you received from people you barely knew, you left at least one in each room and picked the largest one to carry with you around the house, expecting the lights to go out some time during the storm.

When living alone in a small one-bedroom house in the outskirts of town, one could never be too prepared. Especially a woman living alone. So, you have thought of every situation you could find yourself in and came up with solutions that didn’t depend on someone else coming over to fix. The candles were a wise decision, as it turned out, since early in the evening, while you were trying to entertain yourself by reading a book in bed, the only lamp turned on by your nightstand went out and the moonlight was all you had.

“Figures” you dryly say, reaching for the lighter you kept on the first drawer and lighting the large vanilla and coffee scented candle.

Even though it was earlier than when you usually went to sleep, there was really not much you could do without the modern commodities you were used to, especially in the dark of the young night, so you just laid down in bed and covered yourself with the blankets, keeping the candle going in case you needed to go to the bathroom during the night and the lights weren’t back on yet.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take much for you to fall asleep, even with the wind owling loudly outside and the occasional thunder. And yet, it was a loud crash coming from somewhere in the house that wakes you in a jerk, sounding like one of your plant pots had fallen and shattered on the ground. You grimace just thinking of having to get up and clean it all up, but the thought of just leaving your plant on the ground to wither guilt trips you into doing so.

With a grunt, you remove the covers and put on your slippers, picking the candle up and opening your bedroom’s door. Walking to the kitchen, much like you suspected, you find that the plant you kept on the windowsill above your sink had fallen to the ground and the window’s doors were blasted open with the furious wind, making you shiver from head to toe at how cold it was.

Automatically, you go and close the window before anything else, making sure to close the latch securely this time. It was such a mundane task, something you did every night before going to bed, that you almost missed it.

Just as you were about to turn around and pick up the broken pieces off the floor, your numb mind picks up something strange. You look back outside, frowning as you don’t quite understand what seems strange. It takes you maybe five solid seconds of staring for you to see it.

The footprints, on an otherwise completely immaculate white veil above the ground. The snow was falling so quick and so much that the tracks were starting to be covered up again, soon to disappear beneath a newly fresh layer of pristine snow. But you still saw them.

And they were leading straight to your window.

Your whole body freezes, heart stops and your breathing comes to a frightening halt. Blankly, you stare at the outside for a few more moments before the terrifying realizations hits you. Your silent hammer switches to a hammering beat against your chest, blood rushing loudly in your ears and sold sweats prickling up your skin as you slowly turn around and scan your house.

The dirt of the pot, it had been moved. A snow trail melting in your wooden floors, from your sink where the open window was to across the kitchen. Your eyes follow it and you fight back a fearful whimper once you notice the opened door to the small basement. A door you always closed and seldomly opened.

Your mind races, working in overpower as survival mode seems to set in. There was someone at your house. Someone broke in. Your first thought is to run to your phone and call for help, but your last phone call proved that the storm was interfering with means of communication. And you didn’t have a landline.

You slap your hand against your mouth as a shriek escapes you and you scrunch down to your knees when a creak comes from bellow. Your eyes start to swell up with dread and you force yourself to silently move away. The basement door was made of cement, which meant the creaking could only be made if someone was coming up the stairs.

There were only two options in your brain now. Fight or flight. You couldn’t call for help, hiding would do you no good when there were only a handful of places to do so, and even if you screamed in hopes that your only neighbors from across the street would hear you, the loud storm would drown you out.

The stairs creak again and you are maybe seven feet away from your front door. The door to the basement is still within your view and you wide scared eyes miss nothing at this second. So you see it. Even with the only light sources being the candle you left on the counter and the streetlight from outside, you see it.

The large grey hand with dark dirty nails that clutches around the side of the door, as if about to open it. And the sparkle of something metallic coming from the darkness.

Gathering all of the strength you could master in your panicked state, you stand up and run towards the front door, fighting with the latch to open just as you hear heavy footsteps that didn’t belong to you. Swinging the door open, you run into the blizzard with a shrieking scream that contended with the owling wind, barefoot and only in your pajamas, too caught up in the moment to even feel how cold it was.

You are screaming the entire path across the street, even as you hammer against your neighbor’s door so heavily you might actually break down their door.

“HELP! HELP, I NEED HELP! SOMEBODY! HELP!”

The man from the mid-aged couple is the one who opens the door for you, looking half worried and half annoyed, the woman coming down the stairs hurled up in her robe with concern.

“What the hell is go-”

“Call the police! Somebody broke in to my house and they are there right now. Please, call the police!” you beg, starting to shiver as the cold starts to get to you.

“Dear God, let her in a lock the doors!” the woman tells her husband immediately, taking off her robe and giving it to you as you enter their home.

Thankfully, their landline telephone was still functioning despite the storm and the police was contacted. They arrive an excruciatingly long thirty minutes later, knocking at your neighbor’s door and asking what happened.

That’s when the weirdest thing happens. You walk with the officers back to your house, feeling more secure now that you had two people with guns next to you. The blizzard had almost erased the footsteps from you running away from the house, your door still swinging open and moving with the strong wind. Looking around, you don’t see any tracks other than yours leading out of the house. One of them goes inside the house first, the other keeping you safe outside.

“All clear!” the policeman yells from inside.

Frowning and uncertain, you and the other officer enter the house to inspect.

It’s mind boggling, really. How immaculate all of it was. The flowerpot that had fell to the ground was gone, no indications of any dirt on the ground, all completely clean as if it never happened. The window was still shut just as you left it, candle still burning on your kitchen’s counter. No snow or water trails on the floor anywhere.

They checked the basement and found nothing; it was just as you always left it. The policemen made you search for any lost valuables, any expensive items you might have had that could be stolen, but everything was in its place. Nothing was missing.

You beg them to look for fingerprints, namely on the door where you know you saw a hand. After a bit of pressure, they grant your request and gather all of the fingerprints around the spot you assured them the person had their hands. It would take a few days for them to come back with any result.

Obviously, you didn’t stay back in that house. In fact, you were almost entirely decisive on moving out as soon as possible. The only way you would even consider staying there again was if the police found and imprisoned the person who broke in.

They never did. The fingerprints they collected at the scene, as it turned out, were all yours. There was no indication of anyone ever having broken in. And with nothing stolen or damaged, they couldn’t continue the case and it was closed.

Up until months after you moved out, you were still bothered by vivid nightmares of that night. If you were ever home alone and it was dark, you would see grey nasty hands in the darkest corners. And you made sure from the on to never spend a stormy night alone ever again.

[morston-trash]

Content

This is a Morston Fanfic that I wrote in between other works. It is trash but I am happy with it and felt like I needed to post it somewhere. 

----------------------------

No smut, the most that happens is making out. Alcohol consumption.

John looked around, making sure that no one was around to witness him. Even in his drunken state, he knew this was a bad idea. Arthur would probably punch him if he found him in his room. But he, Dutch, and Hosea had gone out on a scouting trip, making sure that no lawmen had followed them this far. It was just the four males, the four outlaws. It had been that way ever since John had joined the ragtag group when he was a boy. Now, he was a young man. A drunken fool of a man perhaps, but a young man nonetheless. There were three rooms in the cabin they were holed up in for the winter. The two older men thought it was too brutal of a winter to be moving around from place to place, living in their tents. John, being the youngest, was situated on the sorry excuse for a couch that was provided in their temporary home. Artur had offered to share a room with him, but his stubborn pride forced him to refuse the offer. That's what he was going to go with. Not the fact that he was hopelessly in love with the older man. No, that wasn't possible. Even if it was, the youngest man would never admit it to anyone but himself. It was clear, no one was around to catch him in Arthur's room. He entered the dark room. Almost immediately, the intoxicating smell of the older man overtook his senses. The entire room smelt of its inhabitant, Arthur Morgan. Cheap whiskey, cigarettes, gunpowder, sweat, and horses. All things that, when combined together, made up the smell of the blonde-headed brute. It brought warmth to the younger male's insides, one that he couldn't explain. 'It's just the whiskey,' he thought to himself. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, but it only made him dizzy. The entire room was spinning. He stumbled over to Arthur's cot that was situated against the middle of the back wall. He practically fell onto the uncomfortable piece of furniture. He didn't even attempt to get up, he knew that he would just fall down again. Shit, he had never been this drunk before. He didn't even remember why he had decided to down the bottle of whiskey. Just for the hell of it? To drown his sorrows? To chase away the harsh cold? All of the thinking he was doing was hurting his head, not an uncommon occurrence for the raven-haired male. As gravity held him against the cot, he felt something underneath him. John shifted just enough that he could pull it out from underneath himself. His vision was blurred from the alcohol, but he managed to make it out. It was Arthur's light leather jacket that he wore when it wasn't quite cold enough for his large, fur-lined, denim duster. He pulled it up to his face, inhaling deeply. He took in every bit of Arthur's scent. In his current state, he decided that it would be a good idea to wear the jacket. Slipping his arms into the sleeves, he put it on. It swallowed him. The owner was a broad, muscular, mature man while he was a thin, scrappy, young man. The drink had a hold on him, making his eyelids feel heavier than they ever had before. He fought to keep his eyes open. But the more he struggled to stay awake, the harder it became to keep conscious. Before he had even known it, he had passed out in Arthur's room, on his cot, wearing his jacket, and smelling of booze.

"Now remember, keep your heads down. We don't need to draw any unwanted attention. That means keeping an eye on John as well, Arthur," Dutch explained. "That's right, we don't need him getting into any trouble. Just long enough for us to wait out this bitterly cold winter," Hosea chimed in. "But why me? Y'all will need help, ya ain't exactly young no more," Arthur laughed to cover up his displeasure. Sure, he and the younger man got along well. But John was hotheaded, cocky, hard to control sometimes. He didn't much like the idea of being stuck with him for the next few months. "Because he looks up to you, he'll listen to you once you get through to him. We're not as old as you would like to imagine either," Dutch said, seemingly ending the discussion and leaving Arthur with his thoughts. Hosea looked back to him sympathetically, knowing just how hard this would be for Mogan. He may be a big brute who naturally took charge, but he absolutely hated babysitting. He always felt he could b doing things that were actually of use, helpful, getting things done was what he lived for. He liked to be of use. Babysitting the younger man wasn't exactly what he considered being useful, even if Dutch thought otherwise. His word was final, so it looked like he would be stuck with John attached to his hip at all times. The ride back to the cabin was mostly quiet, the occasional sound coming from the horses or a complaint about the cold being the only noise to be heard. The snow made the ride harder on the horses, so they hadn't strayed far from their temporary home. They didn't want to overwork or injure the animals. That would be just as bad as being without. As they came upon the homestead in which they were staying, the trio made their way to the barn opposite from the cabin. They dismounted before leading the horses into the wooden structure. Arthur leads his American Paint mare into her stall before removing her tack. Dutch led his Thoroughbred stallion into the stall across from Arthur's, following suite. Hosea put his Tenessee Walker mare into the stall beside Dutch, across from where John's Andalusian stallion was kept. Once all of the horses were tended to, free of tack, and settled in, the pair left the outbuilding and made their way to the house. Arthur made it inside first, noticing almost immediately the frigid air inside of the cabin. Turning his head towards the fireplace, he noticed that the fire had gone out. Marston had let the fire go out. He sighed before making his way over to salvage the dying embers. He would have to gripe at him later. It was too cold to be forgetting to tend the fire. As he got to the fireplace, his father figures ade their way inside as well. He saw that they knew what had happened, it shone in their eyes. They chose not to say anything. Once the dirty blonde headed man had saved them from freezing to death, he scanned the room for the younger man. He was nowhere to be seen. He wasn't in the building as far as he could tell. Ah, shit, he would have to go looking for the boy. He was already proving to be an annoyance. "Dutch, Hosea! Have y'all seen John?" the man yelled to the pair of older men. "No," Dutch responded from his room. "I haven't, maybe he went outside!" Hosea called from the couch. Arthur shook his head. He didn't want to go back out there, he just got back. He decided to wait, just in case, he came back. He made his way to his room, it was the first door leading from the main room. The sight that greeted him brought a flood of feelings flying to his chest. There the boy was, passed out drunk on his cot and wearing his jacket. He was almost cute like this, peaceful and calm. But he was in his spot. He made his way over to the younger man. Pressing his boot against his back, he pushed him off of the cot. "H-hey..! What the hell... Morgan? What are you doing here?" the raven headed man asked, confused. "More like what are you doing here? And why are ya wearing my jacket, Marston?" Arthur teases. He didn't actually mind, he just wanted to mess with the boy. He watched the confusion pool inside of the younger man as he looked around. It took only moments for him to figure out where he was. He was in Arthur's room. Shit, just what had he done while he was in his drunken stupor? His head throbbed, trying to remember anything that would be helpful. He drew blanks, unable to think of a valid excuse. "Oh, um... I, uh... Um, I-I..." He stuttered before giving up. He was certain that Arthur already knew. It was obvious. He wasn't even going to try to make up an excuse. He just sat down on the wooden floor, looking down. Embarrassment ran hot through him, his face flushing. He didn't know quite what to do. He wasn't one to show emotion, but he couldn't hide the look of embarrassment and pain on his face. Hot tears threatened to pool into his eyes, but he pushed them away. He wouldn't give the asshole the satisfaction. Arthur almost felt bad, he could hear John sniffling. Of course, he knew exactly why John was in here. He could smell the whiskey radiating off of the younger man. He could hear him calling his name when he had a nightmare. The boy talked in his sleep. He was easy to read, too. He shook his head slightly, John was a god damned mess. However, he couldn't say that he disliked these qualities of his. He found them to be adorable, despite the rough demeanor of the younger man. As much as he wanted to pounce on the younger man, to kiss him and so much more, he held his ground and controlled himself. He refused to take advantage of him. He was drunk and obviously not in any state for rational thinking. He sighed, shaking his head once again. This was so much trouble already. "Let's get ya up and outta here," Arthur suggested calmly. "Yeah," John mumbled, barely audible. Arthur walked to the other side of the cot. Extending his hand towards the younger man, he reached for his hand. John grabbed it, using Arthur to pull himself up. Once standing, he attempted to stumble a few steps forward. However, he failed. He fell back down onto the cabin floor. He attempted to get up by himself, but the whiskey's grip had turned his legs to jelly. He was frustrated, why did things like this always happen to him. It was just like Arthur always said, he really is a mess. He couldn't help but take comfort in those words. The older man was always there for him, to pull him out of whatever trouble he managed to stir up. He was the only one that cared enough to. As much as his father figures loved him, they'd rather just run away, flee to the next town. If it wasn't for the dirty blonde, they would have been run out of every town they had ever visited. That was just one of the many reasons he loved the older male. Arthur stood there, pity in his eyes. He knew John was embarrassed about this whole situation. Helping him would only make it worse. The boy had the stubborn pride of an angry bull. He wasn't scared even in the slightest of the other male, but he didn't feel like making this more difficult than it had to be. There had to be a way to somehow fix this. Suddenly an idea formed in his brain. The sound of the other man's boots crossing the wooden floor brought him out of his self-pitying thoughts. John raised his head to look at Arthur. There was a twinkle of mischief in his gorgeous blue-green eyes. Just what was that man up to? He gave him a confused look, hoping to get an explanation. He was not granted that pleasure. The older man loved to tease, to confuse him. Without any sort of warning, Arthur grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him close. John's heart beat furiously at the sudden closeness. The older man examined the younger, scanning his face for any sort of negative reaction. As expected: he found no objections. With that taken care of, he smashed his lips against the raven-haired man. John's eyes widened in surprise. The man he loved, Arthur Morgan, was kissing him. Without thinking, he kissed back. 'Good boy,' Arthur thought to himself. He would have said it out loud had his lips not been busy devouring the taste of John's. He quickly slid his arms under Marston, not giving him a chance to complain. Their lips didn't part, instead, the kiss deepened. Arthur ran his tongue across John's bottom lip, asking for permission. He obliged, eagerly parting his lips for his superior. This was wrong, taking advantage of the still tipsy man, but he wasn't going to do anything extreme. He would never allow himself to do that. He would keep himself reigned in, despite how badly he wanted the younger man. He carried the pair of them to his cot, sitting down before placing John down beside him. He broke the kiss, separating so that they could catch their breath. John was a blushing mess, a sight that Arthur quite enjoyed. He couldn't hide his smirk. He felt like a wolf preying on a lamb, not an incorrect comparison. He lay down before pulling John to his chest. The cot was just barely big enough for the pair. John's smaller body was pressed snuggly against Arthur's more muscular frame. "Sleep it off, ya drunken idiot," Arthur teased. "W-whatever, Morgan," John growled playfully. The younger male rested his head against his superior's shoulder. He was so comfortable, so content, so damn happy. Could it get any better? Probably not. He had been waiting for this for so long, and here it was. He was over the moon with excitement and joy. He couldn't sleep. He was in too good of a mood to rest. The kiss had chased away the remainder of his drunkenness. He wouldn't let Morgan know that of course. But he was content for once in his life and you could bet that he was going to enjoy this.

[luninosity]

For @whumptober2020 for today, here’s a newly written chapter from...er...the sequel in progress to one of my original stories that’s still unpublished! I think it mostly stands on its own, so it should read just fine - all you really need to know is that book one involves a magician marrying his king (with kind-of sort-of polyamory, or at least an understanding about what Jamie occasionally does with the Faerie King as part of a willing arrangement about magic, and they all agree to that), after some Drama involving faerie kidnappings and rescues, and this one picks up several years after that happy ending resolution.

Theme No 20. TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE’RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE - specific prompt: Medieval and theme No 21. I DON’T FEEL SO WELL - specific prompt: Chronic Pain

#

Jamie stepped out of nothing into a game of football happening on the Great Lawn, under large shaggy trees and the benevolent gaze of the castle’s old stones; the University students had the afternoon off and were taking full advantage of early autumn sun. None of them flinched, being more or less used to the Royal Consort walking out of tree-trunks and unexpected doors and magic; they were young enough to have grown up with a magician living in the castle and in love with their King, and several of them were also old enough to know that the University’d been one of Jamie’s personal projects as Consort. Rilla, the architecture-minded daughter of the farmers he’d once protected from the year of the Great Northern Flood, kicked the ball his way, laughing, an invitation. Jamie blocked it neatly, considered Faerie-related magical-traveling weariness and his second-best pair of boots, shrugged, and ran over.

 Bren would’ve worried. For multiple reasons. But, then, his husband was several years older, was the actual King and thus had at least a small amount more royal dignity, and was built of high-strung nervous protective awareness of the world. Brendan, Jamie had always thought, would’ve fussed over his family no matter the size of it, one other person in a clerk’s small rented room or the entire populace of his kingdom.

 Bren would’ve worried even more at this particular moment. They both knew perfectly well that trips to Faerie were exhausting, draining, entangled with enchantment in multiple ways; Bren knew that Jamie and the Faerie King had what could at best be called a tempestuous relationship, and did not like that either, also for multiple reasons. Jamie did not keep secrets from his husband, whom he loved with every ounce of his heart and soul, if magicians had souls—the Church he’d been raised in suggested that the jury might still be debating this one—and therefore had not kept that secret either.

 He occasionally did not tell Brendan every detail. Like the slow increase of the tug, the pull, the difficulty opening doors home again. It wasn’t exhaustion, not precisely, though it left him weary with loss. It wasn’t pain, not precisely, though it hurt someplace deep inside, and he thought it was getting worse.

 He breathed in bright green grass and familiar autumn, felt the low deep pleased thrum of ground and rocks and tree-roots and human taverns and roadways and rumbling carts and growing turnips; and came over to join the closest University student team when they waved. He wasn’t that much older than they were, as he sometimes found himself reminded by elderly Councilors and annoyed Lords. And he’d always liked football.

 Besides, the game felt very joyful and very messy and very human. An anchor. This plane.

 They’d already picked out goals and haphazard field boundaries; Rilla said, “So, no enchanting anything to move or talk or jump over someone’s head, no matter what rules you might’ve learned up there in Caledon,” but it was lighthearted, poking a Royal Consort who’d arrived years ago as a brand-new foreign ambassador and promptly fallen head over heels for their King. Jamie said, “I’m offended you think my side can’t beat yours fair and square, shouldn’t even need magic for that,” and grinned at her.

 It was a good game, noisy and full of shouting and sunlight and running and jumping around and cheering with delight when someone managed to score; the ball got stuck in a tree once, and narrowly missed a cart belonging to a seller of roasted apples once, and one of the palace cats ran across the field in the background. Jamie did in fact intervene with regard to the apple-cart, a tiny nudge of magic so as not to hit the poor man’s livelihood dead-on.

 He had to pause for a moment, leaning over, hands on knees. Surprisingly winded. He’d come back more wrung out than he’d thought. Too hard, leaving. Too much like tearing himself out of a tapestry, threads ripping in anguish, magic wanting to stay with magic—

 “Jamie!” someone said, from down the field. “I thought Royal Consorts were supposed to be good at maintaining relations with the people! Come have good relations with this ball!”

 Jamie laughed, straightened up, and went. And helped score that goal, with a mild sense of satisfied vengeance.

 His side lost in the end, though only by a point; they stopped as the sun got lower and a few players had assignments to finish for University masters or friends to meet, and they exchanged back-slaps and compliments and happy waves, breaking up the group. Several of them were headed to the nearest tavern, and they beckoned him along; Jamie waved them off and flopped down on the grass, sprawled lazily on his back.

 He was more tired than he’d let on, though it was the tiredness of good exhaustion, of physicality, mostly. Not entirely; but more than the rest.

 The tall calm young man who’d been the captain of the opposing team came over, gazed at the exhausted Royal Consort thoughtfully, went off and got a cup of water from the nearest well and came back. He had dark skin and dark eyes and darker ink-splash freckles across his nose, and he held out the drinking-cup. “All right?”

 “Oh,” Jamie said, sitting up more, “fine, thank you. Brilliant goal, by the way, that last one; you deserved the win. I really am fine; stop looking at me like that.”

 “Right,” Neved said, “that’s just what happens when the older generation plays football—”

 “How old do you think I am?”

 “And also when you jump out of a tree in the middle of the afternoon.” Nev sat down next to him on the grass, unshakably cheerfully watchful.

 “Ah,” Jamie said, and drank half the water. “That. Sorry.”

 “What for? Does it hurt? Going there. Coming back.”

 “Oh…” He looked into the depths of the cup. Thought briefly of color-shifting leaves, of unearthly shimmers in stones and vines. Of the touch of a hand, cool and inhuman, resting on his arm. “No. Not exactly.”

 “You’re sure about that, then,” Neved said, meaningfully.

 “It’s like…” He put the cup down. Used both hands to talk. “Imagine you’ve been mostly blind your whole life. You can see a bit, just enough to get the—the shapes of things. To know colors. But then you go somewhere else, and not only can you see—everything—you can hear and smell and taste and feel it too. Like drinking rainbows, or breathing sapphires, or seeing the notes of a harp in amber and scarlet and wine…” He waved fingers about, not quite sure he’d managed successful illustration. “And then you give it up, over and over, and you come back to that first place, in the dark…”

 It was true, though if he ever put it in those terms to Brendan he’d break his husband’s heart. He wasn’t sure why he’d said it here, under earth-bound sun.

 “So you are hurt.”

 “Culture shock,” Jamie said, leaning back on elbows, letting the scent of grass and the heat of fading sun envelop him. “It’ll fade. You did help, all of you.” And then he had to explain about anchors and the rich raw sensations of earth and laughter and bodies and sweat and human things. Neved listened gravely; Jamie finished, “Bren sometimes talks to me about economics. Nothing is more real than projected income from turnip crop yields, believe me.”

 This got a laugh. “I could tell you about my senior thesis at the University. Ekkarian warrior honor codes, historical, from the fourth century? And how they’re expressed in epic poetry of the time?”

 “Oh,” Jamie said, “absolutely yes, go on,” because he didn’t know much about Ekkarian culture and because he liked seeing people get passionate about pieces of themselves. “Honor codes? Something like our oath of fealty?”

 ***

 Brendan, glancing idly up from financial reports about the proposed cost of the harbor improvements, had peeked out his study window at blue skies and green trees and the stretch of the Great Lawn; he’d known when Jamie had arrived because he’d both felt and seen the presence of his husband stepping back into the world.

 His husband; his magician; his other half: sometimes all those thoughts still made him shiver with delight. Six years into being married, and he still found it hard to believe. The last proper magician anywhere, a secret Jamie’d kept for years. A beautiful young newly appointed ambassador, arriving from Caledon. A young man who’d looked at Brendan’s exhausted discomfort with the endless evening of royal reception protocol, and who’d smiled and cured Bren’s headache with a touch, never mind that it’d potentially expose his power.

 Jamie had fallen in love with him. Jamie wanted him: the anxious skinny unremarkable king of a small mostly unremarkable kingdom, a king who’d inherited too young and consequently got nervous about storms at sea and the ache of loss of both parents, a king who really genuinely did enjoy balancing numbers on a spreadsheet and panicked when asked to make small talk at a banquet. Jamie had married him. How?

 He knew it was more complicated than that. He let his pen slow, and come to rest, over a line about the docks.

 He watched Jamie laugh and get pulled into a game of football with University students, sunshine in auburn hair, tumbling over shortness and gesturing hands. Bren wasn’t sure whether to worry or smile. His people loved his husband—but were Jamie’s shoulders too slumped? Movements less energetic than they should be?

 He knew traveling to Faerie came at a cost. He knew Jamie came back tired, quieter, pensive, even if brighter and more knowledgeable, a paradox.

 He knew it’d been the only way Jamie could’ve ever found a proper teacher, a world of real magic, not the stray bits that slipped into the human realm. He knew Jamie and the Faerie King were—

 They were something. Bren tried not to think about that. He’d made himself mostly accept it: his husband loved him, and he loved Jamie, and he was consequently in some sort of strange three-way relationship with a King in another realm, because Jamie had once been kidnapped as a Faerie Consort and that’d gotten terribly complicated, and Bren wasn’t sure it was love but he also wasn’t sure it wasn’t. Jamie and Oberon understood each other in a way that he, being thoroughly human, never would; Jamie tried not to hold grudges because when magicians did it could be dangerous, and Brendan was allowed to be annoyed about the kidnapping on his behalf.

 He’d met Oberon twice. They’d regarded each other with prickly wariness, both rulers, both understanding that the entire power of Faerie could do terrible things to Bren’s tiny kingdom, and also equally understanding that they both cared for the short sturdy blue-eyed magician who’d folded both arms and leaned a hip against Bren’s desk and said, “How nice, we’re all getting along, shall we talk about establishing cross-realm communications properly, then?”

 He watched Jamie run around the Great Lawn and pause, briefly, to breathe, bending over. Bren’s heart did a little jump; but Jamie straightened up and ran over to help his team score. Bren might’ve cheered, alone in his study. He wouldn’t’ve cared if anyone’d walked in, anyway.

 He did sometimes wonder whether—

 No, he told himself. No. You’re not thinking that. You’re enough, you’re more than enough, he’s said he loves you and you believe him. He doesn’t care you’re not as young as he is or as fun or the sort of person who’d spontaneously join a game of football or gifted with impossible wild magic. He doesn’t.

 Bren went to move his pen, discovered an inkblot, sighed. Poked at numbers. They behaved themselves, adding up, clear and soothing.

 Cheers indicated that someone’d won. Drawn by the sound, Bren drifted back to the window, watched students and his husband run around, watched them being happy.

 He watched Jamie say goodbye to a few more players and then sit down abruptly, right there on the grass of the Great Lawn—and then lie down, leaning back, apparently too tired to stay upright—

 Bren dropped the pen.

 One of the students—he couldn’t tell who—had come over. Bringing water. Sitting with Jamie. Who took the water but didn’t get up.

 Jamie had been traveling—had been crossing between realms—and wearing himself thin even before that, trying to figure out the mysterious crop failures and unseasonal weather shifts—and now he’d come back and decided to play football with students, of all the ridiculous—

 And he was probably fine, almost certainly fine; Jamie knew his own limits—but if something were really seriously wrong, the students wouldn’t know how to help, what to do—

 Bren ran for the door. The castle stairs.

 When he tumbled out onto the Great Lawn, the sun was lowering itself beyond the trees; flashes of light dazzled him momentarily. Breathless and clumsy, he skidded to a halt and dropped to his knees at Jamie’s side. His husband’s eyes were closed, though he was awake; the young man sitting beside him was talking about some sort of epic poetry, very animatedly, while Jamie made interested noises of encouragement.

 “Hello, love,” Jamie said without looking, which might be either a magician’s or a husband’s senses; Bren wasn’t sure. Might’ve been both. “Have you met Neved? He’s our University football captain for the Blues, and he’s been lecturing me on Ekkarian warrior culture and epic poetry. Very eloquently, I might add. And also I’m fine.”

 “You are not,” said both Brendan and Neved simultaneously; they glanced at each other and away, embarrassed for more or less the same reason. Jamie opened both eyes and pushed himself up on both elbows, and laughed. “Your faces, both of you…”

 “No one believes you,” Neved said, “and next time you let me know if you’re tired, all right? I mean. Ah. Sorry, your majesty.”

 Bren winced a little—he knew most of his people liked him, and he also knew he wasn’t as approachable as Jamie, despite being the one of them born and raised in Erinne—but tried, “No apologies? Um. That is. It’s just Brendan. Really. Um. If you’re friends with Jamie.”

 Neved’s expression said very clearly that he wasn’t sure he could in fact call his king by a first name, but he nodded, at least.

 Bren took his husband’s closest hand. “Jamie—”

 “I’m just enjoying the lawn. Nice friendly grass. Don’t worry about me. How’re your harbor cost estimates?”

 “Fascinating. Lots of numbers to balance. I’ll tell you later. What do you need? Sugar? Chocolate biscuits? The last oranges?” Jamie’s hand was warm, but was his grip not as firm as usual? Bren’s heart shredded tiny pieces of itself in distress.

 “Sugar helps?” Neved said, with the expression of someone taking mental notes about the Royal Consort’s well-being, and also very aware that the Royal Consort’s husband was present, hovering, and technically his absolute ruler. “My gran makes these fantastic spiced honey cakes. I could run home and bring some up to the castle, later.”

 “Bren,” Jamie said, “our current ambassador to Ekkar, the one stationed in the capital, that’s Lord Summerton, right? I mean the older one, not the younger one who eloped with his mother’s lady’s maid last month and caused all the scandal. He must be nearly seventy by now—the older one, not the one with the lady’s maid—and do you think he could use a sort of junior ambassador? Someone who knows the culture and the customs? We don’t have enough people who do, and did you know Summerton didn’t even speak the language when he was appointed? I know he was friendly with your father, but honestly that seems a bit unfortunate. And Nev would be brilliant. Caring about people, and about history, and all.”

 “Oh Tree and Leaf,” Neved said, now sounding faintly shocked.

 “He’s always like this,” Bren explained, “you get used to it. Jamie—”

 “Of course you should finish University first,” Jamie said to him, “and speak to your family. And then come talk to us. I honestly am fine, love, I’m just being lazy now.”

 “You’re not,” Bren said again, and sighed. “But I’m not arguing. I’m taking you home and feeding you. Royal, um, edict. Or something. I can do that, you know.”

 “Love you.” Jamie sat up easily, more so than Bren had expected; a good sign, then. “And I’m listening. Especially if you’re promising chocolate biscuits. And you can tell me all about your numbers and the budget for improvements while I eat them.”

[teddylupines]

[ PLOT ARC 4, PROPHECY 6, THE CHAMELEON ] ❝ Oh, I’ve been waitin’ for something to change but I can’t escape this waterfall of doubt. Oh, my blood, sweat, and tears for twenty-some years, all bottled up and broken. ❞ TEDDY LUPIN looks a lot like that muggle, TOMMY MARTINEZ/MARIA GABRIELA DE FARIA, right? Only 27 years old, that HUFFLEPUFF alumnus works as a WANDMAKER and is sided with the ORDER OF THE PHOENIX. THEY identify as GENDERFLUID and is a HALFBLOOD (METAMORPHAGUS). [ JAY, HE/HIM, 24, EST ]

howdy hey i’m jay, and no i didn’t mean for that to rhyme but here we are. this is teddy! my child! my heart! they’re soft. very good. mean well. a little chaotic. a little messy. they have a lot of feelings. below the cut is info about teddy!

i definitely want to plot with everyone. i have ideas for people who are in the order and for people who are wraiths (listen........ plotting their relationship with valentina nott, the wraith teddy is impersonating......... and having teddy try to figure out how to interact with everyone? *chef’s kiss* the drama. i’m here for it) and just everyone please.

Teddy Lupin is my trash son (read: absolute darling love of my life 10/10 would die for him without hesitation they’re perfect and I disparage them with fondness)  and I’m playing them a bit differently than I usually do so I’m still learning about them, so please bear with me. I’ve played them a hundred times before but I’m still figuring out the nuances and details.

Teddy Lupin, in a mess of words: Strange and unusual. Turquoise. The smell of something faintly burning. Crooked grins. Bubblegum pink. An old piece of parchment (maybe it’s a map). Messy hair. Nails painted the muggle way, dried with a quick charm. Heart bursting. Odd splinters of wood. Righteousness. Rich yellows. Bleeding heart. A collection of records first started by the first Ted. Coming alive after dark. Ever changing. Grief-stricken. Scribbles on scraps of paper. An eyebrow piercing that made Andromeda cry. Cereal at midnight, no milk. Plinking keys on a piano. Blood doesn’t make family. Too many words to say. A former troublemaker. Dedicated.

To begin, as we all know, Edward Teddy Lupin was the only child born to Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks. One was a Gryffindor, one was a Hufflepuff. Both were brave beyond compare, dedicated to their beliefs and to their friends -- at least, that’s what Teddy was always told growing up, and they had no reason to believe otherwise. They grew up with their grandmother, Andromeda, and they’d lay on the floor in her living room as she told stories of them both. They’d stare at the ceiling, their mind flitting with thought as they replayed story over and over until there was no way they could forget it forget it.

Andromeda, the only blood relative that Teddy grew up around, was not Teddy’s only family. And they thank Merlin for that every day. Teddy had the privilege of growing up around their godfather, the one and only Harry Potter. By extension, he also grew up around the Potter-Weasley family and their relatives. There was never any question that the lot of them were their family. Older than most of them, they saw most of the lot as younger siblings, friends unquestionably (of course, this included everyone but Victoire, but she’s another story entirely).

Going to Hogwarts, Teddy walked up to the sorting hat, their hair their signature turquoise, and they placed it on their own head and waited. And waited some more. The hat talked to Teddy, about their parents, about where they would do well. Much to the hat’s chagrin, Teddy had no preference whatsoever, so they served as no help. They wanted to go where they’d fit best (a strange thought, considering how prone to change they were). Finally, after what seemed like ages, the hat called Hufflepuff. Pleased, Teddy’s hair turned a rich yellow, and they walked to their table -- to their new family and home.

With a marauder as a parent, and a marauder’s son as a godparent, there was never ever doubting that Teddy was going to be a little troublesome, and perhaps, on some days, a little was an understatement. They were never malicious or filled with bad intent, they just craved fun and excitement. There were times they couldn’t get either of those things without a little rule-breaking. Teddy always saw it as this: as long as no one got hurt, there was no harm done. Whether they were right about that was and will always be up for debate. Despite their disposition for a little trouble, they were named prefect their fifth year, then headboy their seventh year. Their headboy badge was then charmed to say, “Head Ted”. It was much more fitting, if you asked them.

Post-Hogwarts, Teddy faltered. The plan had been to follow in Harry’s footsteps, to become an auror. They had the grades, their NEWTs were nearly impeccable, but when it came time to apply? They didn’t. They couldn’t. Everyone knew that Teddy had always been more of a lover than a fighter anyways. So, for the summer after finishing their schooling at Hogwarts, they did a little bit of everything. They shadowed mediwitches at St. Mungos, they worked at a few different shops in Diagon Alley (including a very brief stint at WWW -- it ended when they realized they had not one, not two, but three different puffles to take care of, and they couldn’t be confident in their own abilities to say no to bringing home a fourth).

Everything changed when Teddy noticed a brief advertisement in the Daily Prophet. It was written by none other than Garrick Ollivander and Teddy’s attention had been caught. It said they were looking for someone strange and unusual for a strange and unusual job. How could they have said no to that? They couldn’t. So, instead, they wrote to Ollivander, inquiring about the position, and soon enough -- Teddy was the elderly wandmaker’s apprentice. It was never where they imagined themself ending up, but they quickly realized they loved working with wands and with the renowned wandmaker.

 When Harry restarted the Order in 2023, there was no doubting that Teddy would be a part of it. Though their godfather wasn’t keen on them putting themself at any risk ,there was no stopping Teddy. Their mother had been a part of it, their father had been a part of it -- wouldn’t they have wanted them to do what was right? Teddy, though slightly morally ambiguous in school (rules were broken, fights were had -- they were genuinely good-spirited, but they weren’t always nice), not quite brave enough to become an auror, couldn’t deny that the Order stood for what was right. The idea of anyone disagreeing was blasphemous, and what the Death Eaters had done? What the Wraiths were stirring up again? Teddy had never been too keen on fighting, almost too soft, almost too hesitant, but they wouldn’t sit idle. They’d play the fight where they could. If that was offense, so be it. If it was intelligence, so be it. They couldn’t stand around being useless. Tonks and Remus’ child was not going to stand around, letting the world fight for what was right around them. ( Quick addition: Teddy’s Order Code Name is Kit -- their patronus is a fox!)

{ DEATH MENTION } When someone first told Teddy that Harry had been killed, they couldn’t believe it -- they didn’t want to believe. Harry was the Boy Who Lived -- he wasn’t meant to die. And yet, Harry, their godfather, the closest thing to an actual father they had, was dead. It was devastating. Suddenly, Teddy had to do more. They watched people give up their day jobs to dedicate themselves to the order, maybe they should do that, too. They just needed an opportunity, a chance to prove themself.

That chance came when Valentina Nott died. The Wraiths believed that she was missing, no proof otherwise or body found. The idea came to Teddy quickly, and they approached both Ron and Hermione with trepidation. They didn’t want to be seen as the kid that grew up around them, so they raised their chin, they spoke without a wobble in their voice. They would pretend to be Valentina, having been injured badly, too severely to immediately return. They knew that her rune was seen on her hand -- like her, they’d wear a pair of gloves. So long as they didn’t remove it, no one would know. It could be crucial to getting information, Teddy urged. Eventually, Ron and Hermione. Teddy would be given a chance to do this.

Teddy is getting used to the Wraiths, hiding their disgust in meetings and discussions. They’ve learned to talk like Valentina, they’ve learned to be Valentina. It’s hard, spending so much time away from the order, but this is what’s right, isn’t it? They’ve only ever wanted to do that.

Regarding Harry Potter returning, Teddy is conflicted. On one hand, they know how much pain Harry went through -- they were alike in so many ways, orphaned by a war started long before their birth, and Harry had dealt with so much more. To spare him reliving it would be merciful.  But to let him know nothing, to be naively blind? That seemed just as cruel.

For the prophecy, Teddy wholeheartedly thinks it means they will die. Whether as Teddy or Valentina, they’re willing to take the risk. Their parents died for what was right, Harry died for what was right. Maybe they will, too.

Quick and Dirty about for Valentina Nott, the Wraith Teddy is impersonating

25 years old, a former Slytherin

Betrothed to ??? someone. Honestly I’m a sucker for a cool plot idea & I had the idea that maybe Valentina was betrothed to another Wraith & now Teddy not only has to deal with the struggle of pretending to be Valentina and the Wraith ideology, but now this person who Valentina was supposedly in love with or was in love with her (more details to come later, I’m just a fool)

ANYWAYS. The eldest daughter to Camila and Theodore Nott. She has an older brother and another younger sibling. Theodore Nott had not gotten the dark mark before the end of the war but was close to it. He always had poor things to say about muggles and muggle borns as she grew up.

Pretty. Loves the idea of being more than someone else.

Talented with charms, begun developing her own spells when she was alive. Her rune was meant to enhance her power of spell-casting. Her rune was on the palm of her hand and was typically covered by silk gloves.

Her Wraith Code Name was Coruscatio, meaning a glittering, a flash

[dirtyhuantingthings]

In which I’m just missing Snart

“Okay Barry I’m sitting down” Iris sat on the edge of the couch in their new home.

“So before you - I just wanted to say I’m - I knew - no I - this is really hard” Barry prattled on , pacing, in circles.

Iris interjected assuredly  “-Barry whatever it is you know you can tell me”

Barry took a deep breath in and exhaled. “I’ve been seeing Snart” he pronounced.

Iris raised an eyebrow looking around the room. “...here” Iris edged carefully.

“No” Bary’s distress was increasing “I’ve been seeing him” Barry lowered his voice “in real life”. Iris pushed herself back into the couch, ready to hear whatever impossible thing was now a reality of her existence - one she could probably never write about. She sighed at the thought.

“I need you to hear me” Barry fidgeted, flustered that Iris thought after everything he was losing his mind and because of what he had to admit to.

“I am listening” Iris stated slowly and calmly.

“I.. slept...forced..last month” were the words Barry decided sounded least jarring aloud.

“You ran in your sleep” Iris made the statement a question- even though she was certain.

“Where I wasn’t supposed to go” Barry continued.

Iris chuckled at first about to make a joke of Barry showing up in the middle of the night at work in his boxers, until she remembered what started this conversation. “Barry you didn’t” Iris looked crestfallen.

“I didn’t mean to, I was dreaming” Barry stammered. “It’s just- everything has had a chance to calm down we rescued you from..me. And the time disturbances seem to have subsided. We’re in a good place- a great place. I guess when there are no longer a crisis on two earth’s, things you haven’t quite...dealt with come up”

Iris was silent.

Barry told Iris about the dream. “I was dreaming I was in a jewelry store getting an anniversary gift for you and then Snart showed up to steal things and then I was just..standing in front of him. In my boxers.” Barry paused as if he was having trouble remembering all of his dream. “Iris. Iris, I told him he died- I thought I was still dreaming. He was so - resigned to it, ti was like he didn’t even care. It was so heartbreaking”   

Iris interrupted. “You have been going back in time- after all that we’ve been through- for a month!”

Barry protested “No. Iris! I keep ending up in the same place. I go to sleep and I wake up-”

“You haven’t been sleeping these last two weeks. You’ve been trying to stay awake” Iris was putting the pieces together aloud.

Barry rubbed his hands with is face. “This is not what I wanted to- what I needed to” Barry huffed. How I do I say this?” Barry let out a defeated tone through his fingers. There was a long pause. Barry crouched in the floor, he still had his hands over his face. Barry got up and walked toward the far window, he looked out onto the street as if it was all different.

‘What changed Barry- what did you change?” Iris was terrified to ask, but sh edid anyway.

Barry turned towards her “Nothing! Everything.” When I met you I was so young and you were - you. And I never really imagined anything else, ever. There was just no room for anything other than perfection and I didn’t think I could even feel anything about..I was lucky enough to find you..so early.” Barry looked across the room to the mirror above the mantle place. “ I never really asked myself what I wanted because I already had it”

“But nothing’s changed” Iris stayed on target. “everything is how you left it? Snart didn't try and alter the future. You said he accepted-”

“Iris that’s... not what I’m trying to tell you” Barry said softly. I kept going back there- to him- and at first I didn’t know why it was just him. Closure maybe, I never got to say goodbye. I - I”. Barry began to stammer and then teh more he stammered he began to blink in and out of existence. “Iris!” Barry called out instinctively reaching for her hand.

“Barry!” Iris reached for him. They spun through the speedforce in a swirl of blue and grey landing on the floor at the foot of Leonard Snart’s bed.

“Mrs. West-Allen.” Leonard greeted in his typical cold yet chivalrous manner. Iris dropped to her knees and vomited all over the cherry wood floor of Leonard Snart’s bedroom loft. “Is she fast now too?” Leonard said as if price-checking and item at the grocery store.

“It’s scientifically-not possible” Barry gaped at his crumpled wife on the floor.

Leonard rose up out of bed. “Why don’t you get her some water” Leonard mouthed and gestured at the mess on the floor.

Barry blinked in and out of the room reappearing with cleanser, a towel and a glass of water. Barry handed Iris the glass. Iris sipped her water slowly, eyes fixed on the floor boards.

“You don't seem that surprised to see us” Barry eyed Snart with confusion.

“Knowing you Barry, in light of our last encounter, Iris couldn’t be far behind” Leonard said matter-of-factually. Iris wobbled, blinking intermittently. Leonard leaned in stiffly.“On a scale of one to screwed, how likely am I to die earlier than anticipated?”  Leonard asked Barry in a whisper.

“I was telling her and I think I had a panic attack and then I grabbed her and now”  Barry whispered back a very quick recap.

Iris made a valiant attempt at standing up and succeeded in sitting on the bed.

“I’m going to put a shirt on” Leonard walked awkwardly toward his closet.

Barry looked at the love of his life. “I don’t know if I can get you back safely”  Barry said apologetically, making no attempt to hide the worry in his voice.

“Don’t change the subject Barry Allen!” Iris coughed.

“In terms of priority” Barry began before being sharply cut off by Leonard walking into the room.

“Barry, perhaps it’s wise to start with why you’re here and then you can work on finding your way home.

“Okay” Barry said shakily. “I kept arriving here” Barry became increasingly unsteady. He started to, once more, phase in and out. Both Iris and Leonard reached for him, catching either arm. He solidified but Barry still felt as if he were buzzing all over. He looked pale. Leonard suggested Barry splash some water on his face.

“The reason Barry can’t spit it out is because the thought it is literally causing him to tear himself in twain. Common for a man in his position, complicated by the fact that’s he’s the flash.

Iris could hear her father words echo in her head “Barry’s oversharing- his commitment. He’s passionate about this family but sometimes I worry. I mean he’s so deeply tied to this family- to you- that, letting go, tethering to anything else - it might not even be possible. I mean look at Savitar. When Barry lost us- he lost himself.”

Leonard explained “It’s not just that he feels he betrayed you, he-”

“Barry thinks of himself through his connections with other people and if he feels they contradict, he’s conflicted in himself- literally.” Iris finished Leonard’s thought.

“Stunning and perceptive. I imagine I’d be a mess if I felt I’d disappointed you too” Leonard mused.

In the bathroom Barry tried to focus on his reflection but he couldn’t, his hand kept passing through the mirror, then the sink. The water fell through his hands.

“So you tell me then” It was a requirement not a demand. Iris crossed the room to get another glass of water and sat down patiently at the kitchen table. “I’m not going to ask whether or not you really want to know” Leonard said as a warning and also a full acknowledgement that the warning was wholly unnecessary for a woman like Iris West.

“He kept showing up. In light of the news of my pending demise, I found myself more inclined to focus on what I wanted” Leonard said without a hint of remorse.

“What happened four nights ago?” Iris pressed.

“Time is tricky for a speedster, but I believe I know of the day you speak.” Leonard leaned “Who’s asking?” he ventured with a hushed tone. Iris looked indignant but before she could say anything “I’m curious, Mrs. West Allen intrepid reporter, truth seeker? Or not all all surprised by her husbands new found preferences, fiance Iris”  Leonard always had a slight expression as if he was the cat who caught the canary.

“Wife.” Iris corrected.

“Wife.” Leonard repeated

“Both” Iris clarified.

“Fair enough.” Leonard said, “It was three weeks ago. We’d finished eating. I asked him how much more of my precious time had he intended to occupy and it what capacity.

“What did he say” Iris asked, voice steady and even. 

“Not much” Leonard dodged.

“What did you say?” Iris pressed further.

“I’m more of a man of action when it comes to..” Leonard searched carefully for a word and found none that suited the conversation “relationships” he finished. A bit of guilt and shame shown though his icy exterior, selfish exterior. 

Iris breathed deep and emphasized each syllable “What. Actions. Did-”

Leonard should have saved her the indignity of having to ask because he knew she was going to. Mrs. West Allen appeared to be able to handle anything. Leonard walked to to the edge of the loft and pointed. “We were in that corner. I said ‘I think we can find more interesting ways to spend out time’ I put two fingers to his lips. He opened his mouth.” Leonard mimed the motion as if trying to recall one particular sweet detail.

Iris cleared her throat “That is a thing that he likes”

Leonard rubbed the back of his head “It seemed that way- then he got this look on his face- same look he’s had all night. He said your name. He flickered, fell part way though the wall, then he ran out of here” Leonard felt no need to repeat the crucial detail.

Iris did “Three weeks ago”

“Four nights ago” It was Leonard’s turn to ask.

Iris exhaled “Four nights ago Barry had woken up from a nightmare.” Iris expression frowned in concern “He was hyperventilating he couldn't breathe. He -was probably phasing in and out, but it was the middle of the night so..He kept apologizing to me. He said he messed up- he was messed up, he shouldn’t have gone..He sounded so afraid. He was sweating. I told him to go back to sleep, it was just a dream. But he wouldn’t. ‘I love you’ he said, as if I had forgotten. He just kept repeating like I didn’t believe him. He was so intense. I’ve never- we’ve never- not like this. He was holding me like I was going to vanish! But now I suppose it was because he thought he was going to vanish.”

“You’re right and I’m sorry” Barry was sobbing his voice echoed from the behind them both, he still appeared unstable. His voice cut in and out “Iris, we’d just stared our life together - everything I wanted- then I started- I needed to know what was real but I just got more and more confused.” 

Iris reached a hand out to Barry, he may have winced but Iris couldn't say with all the fluctuation “Silly Bear” Iris breathed. “Every part of you is real”. Iris rested a hand to his cheek as she did Barry could feel himself becoming whole again.

There was a sudden and sharp knock at the door. Iris and Barry whirred around to the sound. Leonard looked as if the poorly timed knock was somehow his fault “Take-out, I ordered, when you got here.” Leonard stopped explaining and went to go answer the door. 

“Oh god I am starving” Iris realized aloud. 

Barry nodded “Time travel is rough.

“Any conversation worth having should be done on a full stomach” Iris and Barry recited together absently.

“Joe West words of wisdom?” Leonard’s voice came from behind several stacks of boxes. “He’s a good guy- for a cop”

“Grandma West actually- Is that Rico’s?” Iris got a whiff of the take-out.

“Yes and” Leonard dropped small containers in from of Iris “three extra spicy mustard on the side” He winked at her. It must be exhausting Iris thought for the charm to always be on like that. Either way,  no matter the circumstances there was no way she was going to turn down her favorite food. God, How is Barry this hungry all the time? Three weeks, Iris wondered breaking the boxes seal, how much had Barry shared about her. Aside from being a super-villian who occasionally flirted with and assisted her husband she didn't know anything about Leonard Snart.  She ought to, she thought, chewing.