#Rune x Hound

[weasleyreidstyles]

Serendipity

chapter three

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. All characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): cannonical violence, mentions of dark magic and torture

series masterlist; previous part; next part

Over the next few weeks, you and Riddle met up in one of the abandoned Astronomy classrooms to practice your lessons, and the library where you really did attempt to tutor him in Ancient Runes, with little to no luck. He was hopeless at the subject.

You were not friends by any means. You were like oil and water, not willing to step over the line that separated friend from foe. He was infuriating as ever, and he seemed to find your incessant need for asking questions entirely incorrigible. But you'd both come to an understanding: this was a necessary sacrifice for the greater good of your mutual friends. It needed to be done.

Your own friends were starting to question the hours you spent with him and it was becoming increasingly more difficult to lie when Harry spent every spare waking hour, that wasn't spent in school or on the Quidditch pitch, scanning the Marauder's Map.

In this particular session, Riddle had bombarded your thoughts with so much information and strain that you thought you'd pass out from exhaustion at any second.

"You're unfocused." he stated, unamused as he watched your hazed expression.

"You've been hounding me, for hours. I'm tired Riddle. Give me a break." you mumbled, voice low and resentful.

No. It's only been fifteen minutes. Due to your lack of focus, the burning sensation had come back at full force, causing you to stumble into the desk behind you.

He tutted, as he wrapped a strong arm around your waist to support you from injury, knowing Theo would probably maim him if something happened to you. When his hands retreated, his touch left a tingling sensation in its wake.

"Fine. 20 minutes. But the hour's not up yet. We'll carry on afterwards." he sounded as irritated as he looked, which had become a common occurrence in these sessions, not helped by your sarcastic commentary whenever you had the strength to cause an argument with him.

You closed your eyes for what felt like seconds, but it must've been for the duration of your 'break' because he woke you up with a forceful nudge.

"Breaks over. Now block me out like I showed you. We both know you're capable, prove to me that this wasn't a massive waste of time."

The burning sensation was back once again but it was duller than before, more manageable.

Ron saving the most goals he'd ever saved in one singular match.

Trying to teach Riddle a simple Rune pattern.

Hermione running out of the Gryffindor common room, tears streaming down her face.

Lavender Brown snogging your best friend.

You successfully locked your thoughts away, securing the lid of the 'box' with a mental thud, watching as the distinct orb of energy you'd recognised as Riddle's magical core, floated to a standstill in your mind.

"Good." he says, his face impassive. "Again."

He enters your mind with more vigour, but you're prepared this time, focusing your energy on keeping the ball of his magic confined to one area of your mind, to stop him unlocking all your thoughts.

What he didn't know was that you'd been reading up on Occlimency in any spare time you had to yourself, which was slim. You focused all your attention on that bright silver orb in your mind and pushed back with as much strength as you could muster. Startled, Riddle's shields fell momentarily.

You found yourself watching him from an outsider's perspective. You were in his home, the Riddle mannor, which gave off an air of stale coldness. Like death itself had taken up residence there. Then you heard it. The low hissing of a snake, Nagini – the snake that had attacked Arthur Weasley just over a year ago.

You watched as she glided past you, towards the shadow of a figure you were too afraid to face.

"My son." Voldemort says, in a creepy sort of drawl. "Have you done as I requested?"

You watched as Riddle, cold and indifferent as always, sucked in a breath before he stared his father in the face. Wordlessly he let the double doors behind him open, letting Malfoy and Berkshire stumble into the room, eyes flickering nervously.

"Yes father." he sounded resentful. And you caught the glance he shared with his two friends. He looked remorseful and almost...sad.

"And what of Master Nott? Master Zabini?" you saw Riddle's facade fall for only a moment, then watched as his shields slipped as he cradled the back of his head with a barely contained wince. Voldemort was in his head.

"Very interesting, my son." Voldemort hissed, eyes narrowed on the boy, who looked entirely too small under his father's watchful glare. "This must be remedied. Perhaps a little punishment will remind you of your place."

Then you watched as a father cast an unforgivable on his only living heir.

You were forced out of his mind with a push similar to what you had done to him, and when you cast your eyes onto his, you found twin obsidian irises...glaring at you.

"Satisfied?" he snarled, stalking towards you, backing you against the wall of the classroom. "Do you feel accomplished, sweetheart?"

The way his fists clashed with the wall on either side of your head prevented you from interpreting this new nickname. You stared up at him, shock and apprehension painting your features.

His eyes, once a cool, calming brown were like deep, black holes, narrowed on your expression. It scared you, rendered you speechless.

You should be scared, sweetheart. I didn't give you permission to do that. Gods, even the voice in your head was frightening. He was menacing.

He seemed to break out of his staring trance and shook his head slightly, as if this was an outer body experience for him. He looked surprised at being so close to you; you swore his eyes trailed from your own to your lips, but it must've been a nasty trick of the light, to dissuade you from this crazed persona he suddenly harboured.

He sighed as he pushed off the wall and without a word, he left. Once again leaving you standing alone in a dark, empty room.

~∞~

The first Hogsmeade trip of the year is always a fun affair. You remember the very first time you stepped out of the carriage onto the cobblestone streets of the town with Ron and Hermione during your third year. And just like that first time, it was magical every year.

This year seemed extra special. Snow was falling heavily from the bright white sky and the third years were having fun throwing snowballs at each other. You were bundled up in warm clothes: hat, scarf, gloves and giant coat, in hopes of not having your limbs freeze.

"I am begging you," you mumble to the Golden trio, who walked beside you, "can we please go to the Three Broomsticks? I'm in need of a Butterbeer. Or better yet, a hot chocolate. I'm so fucking cold."

Ron only laughed at you while you shivered; they all agreed before he yelped and began hastily running away when he realised his detrimental mistake.

The idiot had dumped a load of snow on your head.

"RONALD!" you scream, but it's drowned out by your own laughter, along with Harry and Hermione's, the latter of which hadn't laughed much recently. "I'll get you for that you wanker!"

Your friends had seldom had time to have a proper laugh this year. Each busy with their own endeavours: Ron with his new girlfriend Lavender; Harry with Slughorn, under Dumbledore's ample instruction and Hermione, who was putting all her effort into avoiding the former and trying to persuade Harry to get rid of his potions book (which had given him a fast track to top of the class). It was a wonder that you'd convinced them to come along.

When you entered the pub, sodden and cold from the barrage of snow that Ron had unleashed on you, the warmth of Madame Rosmerta's heating charms caressed you like a tight hug. Unwrapping your scarf from your shoulders and removing your coat, gloves and hat, you slumped into the cushioned seat of a nearby empty table, not taking into account the surrounding occupants.

Riddle was sat among his friends, watching you. He'd been doing that more since he walked out on you a week ago. He didn't turn up to your next session a few days afterwards, and when he didn't show earlier that day, you walked out of the room, incredibly annoyed. But you weren't about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was beginning to affect you.

As you sat side on at the table, with Ron facing his back to them, you saw how, despite his guard being held up extremely well, he huffed a laugh when Enzo said something entirely unfunny and rolled his eyes when Theo said something dramatic. You also saw how his jaw visibly clenched when Pansy was talking about the recent boyfriend who ended up being a complete dick. You wouldn't be surpised to find the boy beaten to a bloody pulp later.

You paid attention to your friends when Harry dropped a steaming cup of hot chocolate in front of you.

"You truly are a life saver, oh Chosen One." you tease as he takes the seat opposite you.

"Piss off." he mumbles, but the smirk on his face tells you that he's not annoyed.

"I feel like we haven't spoke in ages." you say to your friends, who despite all being happy to see you, look like they'd rather be anywhere else. "How's being Captain treating you, Harold?"

As you let your friend mumble on about the stresses of looking after a group of rowdy quidditch players, you can't help the feeling that something terrible was going to happen.

~∞~

An hour or so later, the four of you were wandering down an icy path back up towards the carriages that would take you to the castle, the only other people around were Katie Bell and her friend Leanne, who seemed to be immersed in an argument that you paid little attention to.

Hermione was arguing with Harry about his potions book again when the air around you went eerily still. Then you felt it, this strange feeling. It was magic, you'd recognise the feeling from anywhere, but this was different, it felt entirely too dark.

When the four of you rounded the corner of the lane, that feeling grew inexplicably. Leanne had tried to grab a brown paper package from Katie's grasp but the latter had tugged it back, causing whatever contents inside to fall to the ground. That eery feeling seemed to increase tenfold and you staggered to a holt as Katie Bell was hoisted into the air by an invisible force.

The sight was harrowing. She was six feet in the air by the time you'd raced to where Leanne was panicking. The package appeared to be an antique opal necklace, and it was omitting a deadly magical signature. It was without a doubt, cursed.

Harry went to touch it, but you rapidly grabbed his arm. "Don't. It's been cursed."

He looked at you incredulously but at that moment, poor Katie, who's hair was whipping wildly in her expressionless face, let out a gut renching, terrifying scream.

It seemed that Riddle and his friends rounded the corner at that moment; Theo and Pansy running to stand beside you, faces matching your own. Katie was still screaming when Riddle went to examine the necklace.

"It's been cursed." he mumbled to himself.

"We've already established that, Riddle." you mutter, glaring at him. He ignored you. "We can't deal with this ourselves. We need a teacher."

He seemed to agree with you as he sent Enzo and Zabini running back to the pub in search of someone, anyone. In the meantime, Katie seemed to be losing height and was getting lower to the ground, although she was still writhing uncontrollably. Mattheo, Theo and Ron managed to gently lower her body to the ground and you immediately went to check her over, until she began thrashing and screaming again, knocking away your approaching hand, sending an excruciating sensation up your forearm.

You winced, but only Riddle seemed to notice.

Enzo and Zabini came sprinting up the lane at that moment, Hagrid following hastily behind them.

"Get back!" the gamekeeper yelled, prompting you to all back away from Katie.

Leanne was a mess, sobbing as she tried to explain to Hagrid but he seemed to hear none of it as he stared down at the writhing girl for a moment. Without a word, he scooped her into his arms and began to run back up to the castle with her, carrying her piercing screams with him.

Hermione and Pansy immediately went to Leanne's aid, but you didn't move from your spot on the floor, staring at your arm, that was still burning.

Someone knelt in front of you, and expecting Theo, you looked up, startled to find Riddle, staring at you.

You looked away from him, but he cupped your chin with his fingers to bring your gaze to his.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, a curious look on his face, and underlines of worry were there too. But you only had one concern.

"Why could I feel the dark magic in that necklace? And why did she burn me and not any of you?" you asked timidly. You appeared to be shaking, from the adrenaline or the cold, you were none the wiser.

"I'm not sure, but we'll figure it out." he assured, he looked as confused as you felt.

"How?" you snapped. "You haven't shown up for the past week, Riddle."

He sighed as if annoyed before he did something you didn't know he was caple of.

"I'm sorry, okay. You caught me off guard, and I panicked. I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"Did you just apologise to me, Mattheo?" a slow smile began to graze your face.

"Tell anyone and I'll make you regret it." he muttered, but his brown eyes carried mirth as he stared at you.

You were about to reply when you saw Ron in the corner of your eye crounching bu the antique necklace.

"Don't touch it, Ron!" you said, jumping up, bursting the bubble that you and Riddle had created. Your friend startled and moved away from the necklace.

"I've seen it before." Harry mumbled and you watched as Riddle and all his friends tensed, it was a wonder that none of the boys you were with started throwing insults towards eachother. "On display in Borgin and Burkes ages ago. The label said it was cursed, Katie must've touched it."

Theo scoffed, which seemed to remind the trio that the Slytherins were still there.

"Something to say, Nott?" Ron snapped.

"Anyone with a brain can see that it was cursed, Weasley. But you still went to touch it. Thank Salazar for Meadow." Theo rebutted and you had half the mind to stand between the two of them to stop the fight, but you felt lightheaded. You needed to sit down, or maybe sleep for a week.

You grabbed hold of the closest thing for stability: Riddle's stupidly strong arm. He startled but said nothing as he held you up, hands cradling your forearms.

What's wrong? His voice was a soft caress.

I feel like I might pass out. My arm is burning.

Did you touch the necklace?

I think I'd be halfway in the air if I did, Mattheo.

He looks concerned.

I'm taking you to Madame Promfrey. Take the necklace too.

He seems to say something to Theo, who interrupts a sobbing Leanne in favour of levitating the necklace away.

"We'll take this to Madame Pomfrey." he says and at Hermione's troubled look, he reassures her. "Meadow's with us. She'll make sure it gets there Granger."

With that, you're guided away by the Slytherin prince and all his friends, but it all feels like a fever dream.

~∞~

the change in nickname🫢

and Meadow called him Mattheo instead of Riddle🤭

gonna start a taglist too, as its been requested so comment if you want to be added xxx

taglist:

@camille-1019 @lovelyygirl8

[thedrearydreamer]

Amidst Time and Scorching Fire (Tedros x Fem!Reader) - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - Loathing

Summary - Stranded in the unpredictable strands of time, you, a member of the time travelling counsel in your planet, Jelaria, found yourself faced with the beguiling temptress of a mystical land of adventures and princes from an era long bygone at the School for Good and Evil. The problem? Your powers are slowly fading away, along with your chances of returning home. A particular cocky prince certainly did not help your dilemma.

a/n: Warning, English is not my first language so apologies if there are any mistakes

The ballroom reeked of gunpowder and burnt satin. You smirked and waved your hand around to dispel the smoke clouding your vision. "Oh fair lady! Where have you run off to in the smoke now?" You called out mockingly, prowling around the area as your shoes clacked against the marble floors. "Come on, I did not disrupt a royal ballroom to not catch a pesky bugger like you. You've got the entire Counsel of Timekeepers on the hunt for you."

The faint warmth of a hand ghosted past your back and you swiveled around, coming face to face with the primary public enemy of Jelaria: the leader of the anti regime Black Rose, Maulina De Clare. Her red hair, ablaze like a thousand suns, glimmered beneath the light of the chandeliers as she rose her arms. "And yet I evade you each and every time, little mouse. So either I am a truly fortunate sorceress or..." Maulina grinned as thousands of venomous spikes materialized in the air which she sent hurtling towards you. "Or you are an atrocious timekeeper indeed."

You tossed your rifle into the air and yelled "Telerius Incanto!" The air around you swirled as the haphazard cogs of the rifle spun frantically and transformed into a sword. Your pocket watch ticked and with a flick of your finger, the spikes slowed to a halt. You leapt, catching the sword into your hands and sliced through the air. The spikes clattered against the ground, one of them finding it's mark in a pot of lilies. The lilies wilted and slumped to the ground, as black as the husk of a corpse.

Maulina laughed, throwing her head back. "Good reflexes, Hound of Jelaria."

You shrugged, running straight towards the emerald-eyed sorceress. "Eh, I prefer my soon to be title of Sorceress Slayer."

The ballroom grew warmer and a bolt of lighting burst through the roof, searing the roof right off the palace. The marble clattered to the ground while the spot where you had been moments ago was left a charred crater.

You cocked your head to the side, tipping your feathered top hat. "Too slow. Really, you ought to be faster. I was about to snooze from your paltry weather shams."

Maulina snarled and charged at you, a hand that crackled with the arcane outstretched to your face. You whizzed around her, a blur of flesh and clothes, and dodged. "Try again!" You drawled in a sing-song voice. "Time is my domain after all, so I have a ton to spare."

The sorceress cackled. "Foolish girl. You should learn to look around yourself more."

"What-" You glanced up and down, finally noticing the faint rune markings that littered the vast columns. Your eyes narrowed at the familiar lines scrawled in a gossamer-esque manner. Curse runes shimmered around you and you were right in the middle of their circle. Shit-

Using your surprise to her advantage, Maulina pounced upon you. She engulfed your hand with hers and brought her face close to yours. Her breath ghosted over your face as she whispered gleefully. "Try reversing time now."

You scoffed and kicked her stomach, hoping to loosen her grip but Maulina remained as formidable as ever. You gritted your teeth and summoned your powers. Just a fraction of a second and you'd send this cocky insubordinate flying....

The familiar pang of electricity in your hands, the pure unbridled rush of adrenaline and the sensation of your soul floating out its constraint of flesh that that had become second nature to you over all your years as a timekeeper were gone.

"....what did you do?" A shiver ran down your spine. Your power was no where to be found.

Maulina dug her nails into your palm and you hissed, throwing your head back against the floor. Loud ringing rang in your head when you saw sun-gold tendrils of magic sprout between the entwined hands of you and your enemy. "You will be a lone wanderer, never at home, neither lost nor found, neither a victor nor the defeated. You will wander amidst the web of time, another creature swallowed by the mysterious workings of the universe." The witch hissed in your ear.

"Let go of me you bitch!" You tilted your head and bit at her arm. "You do not get to curse me-"

She remained unfazed. "Too late."

The marble beneath you gave way to a swirling portal as you thrashed. "H-how did you do that!? Only timekeepers can open portals-"

"Suppose you'll have all the time in the world to figure that out. If you ever manage to make it back, give the counsel my regards. The Black Rose shall reign again." Were the last words you heard before the portal swallowed you whole. Eras whizzed past you in a blur of colors induced by Maulina's magic. The jolly music of the 1970s, the roars of medieval knights spurred on by thoughts of valor, the ships of vikings clamoring against vicious storms: all sights you had borne witness to. You spluttered and clawed at your throat, desperate to get the air leaving your lungs back inside. "Help p-please-" You choked out before the darkness enveloped you in its harsh grip of an embrace.

--

Tedros hummed jovially, walking along the moss-lined grounds of the School for Good. He watched as countless Ever girls, princesses with hair spun like the finest of silk and faces sculpted with the precise chisel of an artist, sprouted from the ground. They took in deep breaths and twirled their arms around as the scent of the vast field of blossoms wafted around them, filling the air with its soothing caresses.

Chadwick elbowed Tedros' side, wiggling his brows. "Any of them manage to catch your eye?"

The prince of Camelot chuckled. "We'll see at the ceremony, Chadwick." Tedros ruffled his golden hair, immensely aware of the perpetual stares and swoons from the girls gathered at the garden. He preened and flexed his arms as his shirt rippled with his muscles.

"Careful or they might start throwing themselves upon you at any second now." An Ever prince added. "Leave some for us!"

Tedros snickered and walked ahead, holding his head high. "I'll try. Afterall, not just any princess shall be enough for me. She'll have to be the fairest of them all-"

An ear piercing shriek cut through the air, a sound so horrid that even birds erupted from their nests. Some of the girls tittered and swiveled their heads around, features twisting in astonishment. Tedros winced and rubbed the back of his neck. "Was that a stymph? Who let out those things?"

Thump.

An undistinguishable mess of skirts, cogs, scabbards and belts tumbled from the sky before landing haphazardly in the twisted and gnarly branches of the willow tree.

Tedros gawked, rubbing his eyes. Instinctively, his hand found the hilt of his sword: Excalibur which glimmered triumphantly in the morning rays, forged diligently by the Lady of The Lake herself.

"Oh my prince, what is that??" Beatrice, one of the princesses, hurried over to Tedros with the rustle of her skirts accompanying her. Her elegant blonde ringlets fell down to her chest, framing her face and plump lips.

"Do not fret, I shall be able to vanquish any beast from any nook of The Endless Woods." He proclaimed valiantly and brandished his sword. "Show yourself, foul creature!"

You groaned and rubbed your eyes groggily. "...what?" You blinked, the sunlight filtering through the canopy of the leaves stinging your consciousness. "Who in the blasted realms are you?"

You attempted to sit up and ignored the throbbing in your head. Where were you? One minute you were fighting The Black Rose and now....some pretty boy was brandishing his weapon at you?

Snap!

The branch beneath your hips gave way with a sickening twist. Splinters rose into the air, drawing blood from the plush flesh of your thighs. You landed on your butt which sent your daggers and dignity flying out of your grasp and raised your hand, swatting at the leaves tangled in your locks of hair. Your feathered hat fell over your face, obscuring your view. "Ugh....answer my question."

Tedros's jaw went slack for an instant. In front him, there sat a slouched girl dressed in the most ludicrous clothes he had ever had the misfortune to witness. Mechanical parts spun in her hat, filling the air with their unseemly clatter and peacock feathers sprouted from the rim. Her skirt was a collection of haphazardly stitched together rags and an ivory blouse clung to her frame, white frills running down her chest. The prince flushed and felt heat rise to his ears and neck at the sight of a dagger-filled garter belt peeking from beneath her skirts. The black leather and straps swaddled her thigh, the metal of the daggers precariously close to her skin. To top it all of, owlish glasses made from spare bronze gears and bolts sat not even upon her head, but her hat. The princes behind Tedros stepped forward, all summoning their swords and shields. Tedros raised his head, signaling them to halt.

"I'm Prince Tedros, heir to Camelot, son of the great king Arthur. Who are you to dare to trespass onto the grounds??"

Beatrice shuddered and forced a smile. "You. Are you sure you're in the right school? I'm sure you lost your way. Do you have your Flowerground ticket?"

You blinked. Lost was the understatement of the millennia. Which time period had you even wound up in? Was this even your planet, Jelaria?

"No....I'm sure I'm in the right place..." You drawled and stood up, dusting off your clothes. No point in telling civilians about your crisis, especially if they were not citizens of Jelaria.

"Are you sure? Nevers are meant to go there." Beatrice clasped her hands to her chest and pointed a dainty finger to the looming structure. Stormy clouds swirled around the dilapidated obsidian castle, crackles of thunder accompanying the swirling acrid water of the moat. A rusted gate spelled the words 'School for Evil', portraying grotesque depictions of brutes and fair maidens being eaten alive.

You turned around and took in the sights of where you stood. Blades of grass rippled beneath your feet and rainbows sprawled across the skies. Whirling around, you were met with the statues of kings, knights and queens with the words 'The School for Good' in dazzling marble and gold. The polished, sleek white castle stood tall and proud with puke-inducing statues of love littered everywhere your eyes could reach.

School for Good? Nevers? School for Evil? What...?

Oh no.

Of course. You'd just had to wind up in Planet-67AB, as labelled by the Counsel of Timekeepers. Or, as you liked to call it, the planet of fairytale knuckleheads. When was the last time any respectable Timekeeper had even found themselves stranded in this place? Never, what a joke!

You sighed, rubbing your temples. During an ordinary day, a mere swish of your hands would be enough to vanquish yourself away into a portal and wipe out the memories of all these pests. Out of a pathetic desperation, you repeated the motion again. Swish and flick, just like the academy taught. Alas, it was to no avail, the cunning Maulina had somehow managed to seal your powers. "Quite sure." You said curtly.

Tedros' gaze snapped to the blood dripping off the folds of you skirt and the crevices of your shoes. It wasn't your blood.

"You witch!" Tedros growled and swung Excalibur. "How dare you attempt to pull your folly with us Evers? Go back to your school or whence you came!"

The resounding clang of steel against steel echoed through the years of the gathering students and the professors who hurried ahead to break up the fight. In a moment of reflex, you'd pulled out your own sword, slamming it against his weapon. "How dare you." You shot a smoldering glare at Tedros, stepping forward. "What sort of prince are you, raising your hand against a maiden?"

Hushed whispers broke out amidst the clamoring crowd. Had a girl just managed to parry against the Tedros?

The future king of Camelot lunged forward, missing her torso by a hairbreadth. "Oh but you are no maiden, witch. I know a princess when I see one."

You matched his pace, meeting his blade with your own. It was a whirlwind, a dance of the fervent clangor of battle that only two individuals who knew their swords like the back of their hands could recognize as you shoved him back and raised your arms to block his shield from connecting with your head.

You ducked down and aimed a kick at his shins. He rumpled to his ground, a flash of silver dashing past his eyes. A sharp sting burst across his cheek as a thin rivulet of blood ran down his face. He looked up at you, on his knees, red-hot rage brewing in the depths of his cerulean eyes. "Why you conniving, scheming-"

An airy, delict voice cut through the tense atmosphere like knife. "What on earth is happening here??" Professor Dovey, the dean of the School for Good gasped and hurried between you both.

Tedros exhaled a sharp breath, wiping the blood on the sleeve of his tunic. He pointed the hilt of his sword towards you. "We have a Never amidst us, professor!"

You straightened up, dusting off the leaves on your clothes. Your heart pounded, your brows furrowing as you met her gaze. "I...I'm not a Never." You scrutinized Professor Dovey, taking in the curls of silvery hair that were tied up into a meticulous bun and the wand clutched firmly in her hand. A woman of magic, huh? Maybe she would understand your predicament. If this was a school meant for the good, they had to help.

You opened your mouth, armed with the words ready to spill your crisis. A gargled choke escaped your lips, all your sentences stuck in your throat. What?

"No, sorry, what I meant is-" You tried again and hissed as rashes broke out on your hand, pus dripping onto the floor. You quickly tugged your hand back but before you can the words your soul craves to say, a strange sensation washes over you.

Your lips move on their own, your own voice uttering remorsefully even as your mind howled in disarray. "I'm from Gavaldon, I...what's this place?"

No, no, no. I'm from Jelaria, I'm a timekeeper, what even is Gavaldon???? The hell am I even saying!? No, I'm not from here!

Panic bubbled in the cauldron of your chest, overwhelming your senses. Maulina had bewitched your tongue too, twirled your identity into whatever misshapen shape she pleased. No matter how you twisted your neck or strained your throat, your mouth remained firmly sealed from telling the truth.

Professor Dovey smiled knowingly. "Ah, we have a reader in our midst."

A reader? Do people here not read?

You bit back the urge to gape. But if somehow the words forced from your unwilling self could aid you with blending in, it couldn't hurt to go along with it right?

Sensing the tides slowly turning your favor, you sniffled, forcing tears to well up along your lashes. "I..I got attacked by some beast, I didn't mean to frighten anyone, I'm so sorry Professor-" You blubbered, your bottom lip trembling.

Tedros balked, quirking a brow. He didn't care what you said, no reader looked like she'd been traversing through adventures with a sword in hand. But he bit his tongue.

"Oh no dearie, it's okay!" Professor Dovey shook her head vehemently and cupped your cheeks, wiping your tears. "Why don't you head inside the castle? We have begun distributing uniforms and books. You'll understand everything after the assembly."

You hurried away, clenching your fists and deftly hid your sword away. You needed a way to contact your superiors at Jelaria. And fast. Before any of these twats figured out. Tedros squinted, he could have sworn your tears had suddenly gone dry....

"As for you, Tedros," Professor Dovey turned to face him. "It would serve you well to remind yourself of the princely etiquette of chivalry before jumping to conclusions, child." She chided in a motherly tone before walking to the splendorous archway of the ivory castle, summoning the rest of the staff behind her with a gentle flick of her hand to help with distributing materials among the students.

Tedros got off the grass, his hair and ego ruffled in equal measure. "Tedros!" Beatrix cooed and clung to his arm like a leech. "How could she do that to you?? You were just trying to keep us all safe, she was the one who attacked like a wounded animal! And did you see that hideous rash breakout on her hand? She doesn't even seem like a princess!"

He nodded along to her words stiffly, the gears in his head turning a mile each second. His father's words echoed in his head. Be careful of the women who disguise themselves as good or they shall ensnare you in their claws. Pick a woman who is truly good, boy. "Yeah, yeah..."

Chadwick howled in laughter, slinging an arm around Tedros' shoulder. "How did you let a girl send you tripping?"

Tedros scoffed defensively as he carefully extracted himself from Beatrix's surprisingly strong grip, shaking his head. "I just went easy on her, there's no valor in winning against a girl. Besides, let's see who bests all of you in swordplay next, hm?"

Tedros stared ahead, noticing your glaringly obvious form desecrating his view of the grounds. Feeling a pair of eyes glaring daggers into the back of your head, you cast a wary glance behind.

Tedros' jaw clenched when he spotted your face. While he was stuck with crusted blood on his face and mud staining his knees, there you stood with a resolute tilt of your cheek. Gone were your crocodile tears, instead replaced with a pensive glint that foretold a scheming mind.

He dug his nails into his palm. Something was wrong about you. He was sure of it now. There had been a grave mistake, you weren't supposed to be in this school, you had to be a Never. It was as clear as the stars that illuminated the skies each night.

On the other hand, you fumed and nearly considered banging your head against the wall. Where had everything gone wrong? For god's sake, you were an esteemed member of a government for crying out loud! How the hell had you let a witch triumph over you like this? At this rate, you'd be the laughing stock of Jelaria. Along with that, this phoney loverboy just had to try to stir the pot of your misery.

For a split second, your eyes met. A pang of the same emotion rose in both of your hearts, as strong as the strings of the curse that now left your hands bound behind your back, powerless as a stray kitten.

It was loathing.

Pure, unadulterated loathing.

As undeterred as a flame.

--

Amidst the swirling clouds and blinding fog, with a lone tower, a gold pen floated above a stone table. An empty book floated atop the surface and landed down with a resounding smack, kicking up clouds of dust. The pages fluttered open seemingly moved by the invisible hand of the gods themselves. The pen, as sharp as the tip as a dagger, stabbed into the page bleeding ink resembling crimson blood onto the paper.

Once upon a time, an intruder snuck into the School for Good, her heart fluttering like a hummingbird within her. She gathered her skirts and scurried into the sprawling hallways that sent her nerves into a fit.

Y/N wanted to return home and burrow herself back into the warmth of the life she knew. Foolish girl, no one could leave once these esteemed halls welcomed them!

A man emerged from the shadows, his intricate mask only revealing a shred of his hauntingly ice-blue eyes, bellying the glaciers upon mountains themselves.

He watched over the words elegantly being scripted, his mouth curling upwards slightly.

The Storian writing the tale of an outsider the instant she barged in? Curious indeed.

[satanslovergirl]

=°=°=°=°=°=°=°=°=°=°=

° SHOELACES AND SIGILS °

"You don't have to be ruled by fate. You can choose freedom. And I still believe that's something worth fighting for."

— Sam Winchester, Supernatural Season 2

=°=°=°=°=°=°=°=°=°=°=

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Y/N (she/her)

Tone: Fluff, sweet romance, domestic fluff, hunter x hunter, undercover shenanigans

Rating: M (for language, heated kisses, and one hands-y minivan moment)

Word Count: 5,893

Written by: Little Devil ♥

Based on: Supernatural, Season 2–3 era (non-episode specific)

---

Synopsis:

When a string of mysterious deaths hits an idyllic cul-de-sac, Sam and Y/N go undercover as married parents to infiltrate the town’s most dangerous coven: the Parent-Teacher Association.

What starts as a standard witch hunt quickly becomes something more intimate. Between matching coffee mugs, after-school pickup duty, and Sam casually calling her "babe" like he means it, Y/N begins to wonder if the real threat isn’t the witches at all—but her growing desire to turn the fake marriage into something real.

Unfortunately, the minivan’s windows aren’t tinted enough for what happens next.

---

Scene I: Suburbia, Spells, and Sam in Khakis

The sun was a little too bright in a neighborhood that polished its sidewalks like it polished its secrets.

Y/N stood on the manicured lawn of 412 Wilshire Drive, her hands full with a casserole dish of false intentions. Her blouse—peach, buttoned high—itched with performative wholesomeness. Beside her, Sam Winchester wore khakis.

Khakis.

The end times were surely near.

"You good?" he murmured, voice low like it belonged in a church pew.

Y/N smirked. “Didn’t know The Exorcist came in beige slacks.”

He gave her that crooked grin, the one that tugged a thread behind her ribs. “It’s called blending in. You should try it. Maybe bake something.”

“I did. I baked up the perfect fake backstory for us, babe.”

Sam turned his head slightly, amused. “Right. PTA married couple. Two kids. What are their names again?”

“Jesse and Clementine.”

“You named our fake kids after a Breaking Bad dealer and a fruit?”

“You named our dog Rufus.”

He blinked. “That’s a good name for a basset hound.”

They were bickering on autopilot—part strategy, part survival, part flirting. Y/N bit back a grin, watching Sam open the front door with the casserole and a perfectly rehearsed, “Hi, I’m Sam. This is my wife.”

And it hit her a second too hard: how easily he said my wife.

And how much she liked it.

---

°°°

Scene II: Coven Cookies and a Bunch of Hexed Husbands

“Cathy has the best lemon bars. I don’t trust her,” Y/N whispered, flipping through the PTA sign-in sheet like it held ancient runes.

Sam sat beside her at a cafeteria folding table, legs stretched out, arm casually resting behind her seat like a sleepy panther in a cul-de-sac jungle. He leaned over, lips ghosting her ear. “Second row, third from the left. That’s her. She’s wearing a silver charm necklace—could be an amulet.”

Y/N didn’t shiver. She did not. But damn if he didn’t make “amulet” sound like a term of endearment.

“I’ll talk to her,” she said, slipping into her role like a second skin. “You distract the lemon bars.”

But it didn’t go quite to plan. While she investigated suspicious sigils and snuck photos of Cathy’s oddly pungent kitchen altar, Sam kept chatting up the locals. Complimented somebody’s grill. Discussed youth soccer strategy. He even helped someone with their groceries.

And later, when they reconvened by the van, Y/N stopped short.

“You’re enjoying this.”

Sam looked up from where he was placing the hex bag behind the driver’s seat. “Enjoying what?”

“The suburbs. The fake kids. The... minivan.”

He paused, then shut the door. “You caught me. I do think I peaked as a soccer dad.”

“Sam.”

He turned to her fully, expression softening. “It’s not fake to me. You, in that sweater? Us, being a team like this? It’s—nice. Easy. Domestic, in a good way.”

She blinked, the air caught between heartbeats.

“You keep calling me babe.”

He smiled. “Because I mean it.”

She barely registered closing the distance. One moment, her hand was on his chest, steadying the storm behind her ribs, and the next—

---

Scene III: The Minivan Moment

—his lips crashed into hers like a spell gone right.

It was clumsy and urgent, all teeth and want, but the second kiss was slower. Deeper. As if the silence of suburbia demanded reverence.

He backed her into the van, fingers threaded in her hair. Her blouse wrinkled in his fists. The bench seat creaked under shifting weight.

“God, you smell like pot roast and lemon bars,” she whispered.

“And you taste like trouble,” he murmured, voice low, hand splayed wide over her ribs.

Her legs circled his hips. A moan escaped somewhere between his name and the phrase shut the door. He did. With his foot. Never breaking the kiss.

It wasn’t about sex—not fully. It was about surrendering to the softness they so rarely allowed. His breath in her ear. Her hand tugging his collar. The illusion of normalcy wrapped in the scent of synthetic car freshener.

He kissed her like the world wasn’t ending in slow motion. Like maybe they could stay in the cul-de-sac, just this once. Maybe they could be Sam and Y/N, the PTA warriors who made out in the Dodge Caravan.

Then his phone buzzed.

Dean.

Witch had fled. Hunt’s back on. Real life calling.

They broke apart, foreheads pressed, eyes wide open.

“I liked pretending,” she said quietly.

He took her hand. Kissed the knuckles.

“Who said we have to stop?”

=°=°=°=°=°=°=°=°=°=°=

THE END

— Written by Little Devil ♥

=°=°=°=°=°=°=°=°=°=°=

[geekusfemme]

Fenrir

Full story on Ao3 — Wattpad 100k+

Astarion x Female OC

Rating: Mature

Summary: What if Astarion was betrayed by the Dark Urge and handed over to the Gur Hunter? And what if another kind of hunter saved him and set his life on a new course, one that would ultimately lead him to cross paths with those who had abandoned him? This story aims to give Astarion his own hero's journey separate to the main party, and will run parallel to the canon story in which Durge will be an antagonist.

*******************************************

Chapter Six: After the battle in the grove, Ashara is returning the power granted to her by Fenrir...

—★—

The forest clearing was bathed in the eerie luminescence of pre-dawn, when Astarion, Ashara and Onyx returned to the ritual site, five spectral wolves trailing behind them.

A faint mist curled around their ankles like restless spirits as Ashara dropped to one knee, her head bowed low, her ebony hair spilling over her shoulders like a cascade of black silk. Her voice, steady but reverent, carried through the silence. "Lord Fenrir, the hunt is complete. I return thy power and thank thee for thy favor."

The runes around the carved circle began to glow, and once again Fenrir's haunting visage appeared in the centre, wreathed in smoke and a cold flickering light as his voice echoed through the air.

"Thou hast done well. Vengeance has been wrought and souls laid to rest."

One by one, the spectral wolves stepped into the swirling smoke pouring from the rockface, their translucent forms dissipating like mist under the morning sun. Their departure was elegant and final, a wordless goodbye. Astarion's crimson eyes tracked them, captivated. The pull was primal, a nagging desire he couldn't quite suppress.

Before he could think better of it, he stepped forward, his boots crunching softly on the leaf-strewn ground. He raised a hand, his pale fingers trembling slightly as he asked loudly, "I don't suppose you'd consider letting one or two of those stick around, would you?"

The air froze, as if the forest itself had taken a sharp breath. Fenrir's glowing eyes snapped to him, their intensity like twin suns bearing down on his head. Astarion swallowed hard, his instinct to flee warring with his determination to stand his ground.

In front of him, Ashara stood and twisted her head to hiss, "What are you doing?"

Ignoring her, Astarion took another step forward. His movements were measured, calculated to appear confident despite the fluttering in his stomach. He offered Fenrir his most charming smile, the one that had gotten him out of trouble - and into worse trouble - countless times. "It's just that they're quite handy in a fight," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the departing wolves, "and I have a rather powerful individual on my tail that I need protection from."

Onyx, standing silently beside him, tilted his head, his golden eyes narrowing. "We have already promised you protection."

"Yes, yes, I know," Astarion replied, waving a hand dismissively. "But it never hurts to have a backup plan. Besides, I can't stay in your shadows forever, relying on you two like some coddled fledgling."

His crimson eyes flicked back to Fenrir, who hadn't moved but somehow radiated an increasing intensity. "So, Fenrir... do you mind if I call you Fenrir? 'My Lord' has always left a rather bitter taste in my mouth." He tilted his head, his tone sliding into a disarming casualness. "How does one go about earning your favor - specifically, the spectral hounds-of-death variety?"

The clearing fell silent, save for the soft rustling of leaves above. Fenrir's skull tilted slightly, the smoke around it swirling in lazy circles as if it were considering him. Ashara groaned quietly and covered her face with one hand, her shoulders slumping in mortification.

Finally, Fenrir spoke, his voice a guttural rumble that seemed to come from the depths of the earth. "Onyx..."

Onyx flattened his ears against his head and gave Astarion a look of pure reproach that seemed to say 'now you've done it', before turning to face Fenrir.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Who is this upstart pup?"

Astarion made an indignant sound in his throat, but Onyx's response came quickly, measured and deliberate. "Astarion of Baldur's Gate. He is... a vampire spawn newly escaped from his sire. Ashara offered him temporary sanctuary within our pack."

Astarion noted the slight pause before Onyx admitted what he was, and his brows furrowed in irritation. So even here, the truth of his nature warranted caution. Fenrir's gaze returned to him, and though the skull lacked flesh, Astarion swore it narrowed its non-existent eyelids.

"I see..." Fenrir said, his tone inscrutable.

Astarion's lip curled, his irritation surfacing before he could stop it, mingling with the sting of old wounds. "Let me guess. Being a vampire automatically disqualifies me from earning your so-called favor, doesn't it?" His voice was bitter now, his mask slipping just enough to reveal the cracks beneath. "Stupid of me to think you'd be any different from any of the other gods I've begged for help."

Ashara's hand dropped, her sharp gaze flicking to him with an odd mix of curiosity and sympathy. Astarion cursed himself silently for revealing more than he intended.

Fenrir's reply, when it came, was unexpected. "It is not thy nature that precludes thee, vampire. Rather, thy impudence."

Astarion blinked, surprised. "Oh," he said, then tilted his head and offered a sly, disarming smile. "So... you're saying I have a shot at being one of your 'faithful few' if I'm a good boy then?"

Ashara's palm slapped against her face with a sound so loud it echoed. Onyx exhaled slowly, his eyes closing as though praying for patience.

The weight of Fenrir's gaze didn't waver, and the silence stretched for an agonizing moment before the wolf god spoke again, his tone heavy with skepticism. "While not impossible... thou wouldst be the first of thy kind to gain my favor."

Astarion's grin widened, reckless. "Well... I'm always up for a challenge."

Onyx opened his eyes and sighed, his voice heavy with resignation. "Astarion... now would be a good time to stop talking."

Before Astarion could reply, Ashara grabbed his arm, her fingers digging into his sleeve. "That's enough," she whispered, her voice urgent. "We need to go. Now."

He resisted, turning his head to glance at her with a raised brow. "I'm not done yet."

"Yes, you are," she snapped, heaving at his arm. "The message runes have a time limit."

"Do they?"

Her grip tightened, her voice rising in frustration. "Honestly, I have no idea. I've never spoken to him this long before."

As she hauled him backward, he twisted to shout one last time to Fenrir. "We'll talk later, darling. Can't wait to discuss terms and conditions!"

Ashara squeaked, horrified. "You can't just call an all-powerful wolf god 'darling'!"

He leaned closer to her as they retreated, his grin positively wicked. "I don't see any lightning bolts coming to smite me, so I'd say he probably liked it."

Fenrir's voice rumbled one last time, sending a shiver through the clearing. "Onyx... remain here. I desire to have words with thee."

Astarion raised a brow, feigning innocence. "Oh dear... Do you think he's in trouble for letting riff-raff into the pack?"

Ashara paused and frowned, perplexed. "What are riff-raff?"

Astarion rolled his eyes, his tone dripping condescension. "It's another word for people who are disreputable or undesirable, darling. The lowest in society."

Her brow furrowed, genuine confusion evident. "Then why are you calling yourself that?"

For a moment, her earnestness struck him silent. He blinked, his heart skipping uncomfortably. Quickly, he masked it with a haughty smile. "Sorry, I forgot sarcasm was lost on you. If anything, I've improved the quality of your pack substantially."

Ashara's irritation returned in full force as she resumed pulling him away. "Whatever. Onyx can handle himself. Let's go."

Astarion relented, chuckling softly to himself as she dragged him into the forest shadows.

—◇—

Onyx stood motionless, his amber eyes fixed on the spot where Ashara and Astarion had disappeared into the dark embrace of the forest. The faint rustle of leaves marked their fading presence, and with it, Onyx felt the weight of his solitude grow heavier. He resisted the urge to follow, knowing that duty demanded his presence here.

They had left him to face Fenrir's ire, and he couldn't help but envy the vampire's carefree attitude as he had been dragged away.

He let out a slow breath, his chest rising and falling as he turned to face the glowing skull. The smoke swirling around it seemed thicker now, charged with a menacing energy that made the fur along his back prickle. His ears flattened instinctively as he lowered his gaze in deference.

Fenrir's voice rumbled, low and foreboding, like an earthquake building beneath the surface. "Onyx, my faithful servant. My most trusted soulshard and defender of all I hold dear..."

The words, though ostensibly kind, struck Onyx with the weight of a predator circling its prey. He winced internally, recognizing the ominous prelude. Fenrir's praises often foreshadowed a reckoning.

The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate. Onyx's ears flicked back nervously, and his tail instinctively tucked between his legs. The glowing skull flared, its ethereal light carving stark shadows across the clearing. When Fenrir spoke again, his voice was thunderous, shaking the very air around them.

"WHY, IN ALL THE BLOODY NINE HELLS, IS MY DAUGHTER RUNNING AROUND WITH A GODS-DAMNED VAMPIRE SPAWN?!"

The reverberation of Fenrir's outrage rattled Onyx's teeth and he swallowed hard, carefully lowering himself into a seated position. He curled his tail neatly around his paws, presenting an appearance of calm he did not feel.

Clearing his throat, he spoke with measured tones. "She demonstrated a compassionate impulse and rescued Astarion from a cruel fate. He sought her protection and has been traveling with us ever since. The vampire has proved himself a useful - if somewhat disruptive - companion."

"I don't care." Fenrir's growl cut through the air like a blade. "Get rid of him."

Onyx hesitated, his mind racing for a tactful response. "Ashara seems to have taken a liking to him..."

"She's not having a vampire as a companion!" Fenrir snapped, his tone edged with incredulity. "Get her a hook horror or something else less... less...whatever that was back there."

Onyx's muzzle twitched, but he quickly suppressed the smile. "She has made her choice, my lord."

A sharp, pointed glare burned through the glowing orbs of Fenrir's skull. "He hasn't bitten her, has he?"

"No," Onyx replied quickly. "He has only fed on me so far."

"Good. Keep it that way."

Onyx dipped his head in acknowledgment. "Understood, my lord. But I do not believe Astarion poses any danger to Ashara. He seems... content to simply aid us in exchange for safety."

Fenrir scoffed, the mist swirling violently in response. "Maybe not a physical danger, but vampires are cruel, selfish, power-hungry opportunists. If he ever finds out what she is, or figures out her connection to me—"

"He won't," Onyx interjected firmly. "She doesn't even know herself. The secret of her birth is still only known to the Fenris Guard."

Fenrir's presence seemed to still, the oppressive weight of his gaze easing fractionally. "Still... I don't want my daughter being corrupted by a creature like that."

Onyx hesitated before speaking, his voice thoughtful. "My intuition tells me that this vampire has the potential to evolve beyond his nature, given the right environment. It may be that Ashara will influence him far more than he will her."

The massive skull tilted slightly, as if considering his words. "Hmm... the possibility is intriguing. And I suppose, even if he turns around and stabs her in the back, at least she will have had a valuable lesson on the duplicity of mortals and the sting of betrayal."

Onyx's jaw tightened at the callous remark, but he kept his expression neutral.

"So..." he ventured cautiously, "Astarion can stay?"

Fenrir huffed, the sound reverberating like a distant avalanche. "Yes, yes, fine. She can keep the spawn. But I want regular updates on the situation. And if he bites her even once, he goes. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Onyx replied with a nod.

A long silence followed, and Onyx's fur prickled with unease. He wasn't sure if more was expected of him. Fenrir finally broke the quiet, his tone thoughtful. "Onyx. Do you think the archaic syntax and having people address me as 'my lord' these days is a bit... much?"

Onyx's ears flicked forward in surprise, and he blinked rapidly, scrambling for an appropriate response. "Lord is a title of respect that even mortals use among nobility. However, the common tongue has... shifted somewhat in the last thousand or so years."

Fenrir's spectral glow dimmed slightly as he seemed to ponder the observation. "Hmmm..."

Onyx tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "Why do you ask?"

Fenrir's voice grew abrupt, almost curt. "No reason. From now on, you can occasionally address me as sir."

Onyx's jaw opened, then closed, his thoughts a jumble of disbelief and bemusement. Finally, he settled for a cautious, "As you wish... sir."

The god gave an approving grunt before dismissing him with a flicker of light. Onyx stood slowly, the tension in his muscles easing as the oppressive presence began to fade, replaced with an almost anticlimactic silence. With a shake of his fur and a resigned sigh, he turned toward the forest, wondering - not for the first time - how he could have been born from the essence of a being so... erratic.

Like what you're reading so far? Check out the full chapter in the link below.

[rare-clone-fic-exchange]

Double, Double Boil and Trouble - Part 1

It is I, @dystopicjumpsuit, with a fic written especially for my beloved longtime reader @goblininawig!

Pairing: Clone Trooper Boil x Reader (GN; reader practices tasseomancy/reads tea leaves) 

Rating: T but minors DNI as always

Wordcount: 2.2k

Warnings and tags: fluff; minor angst; Star Wars swearing; Boil is canonically a bit of a tool; Boil still has his mustache 

Summary: Boil and his friends visit a fortune-telling shop during a night out on Coruscant.

A/N: There will be at least one more chapter coming soon. Don't worry, it ends happily 🧡

Suggested listening: "Reaching for the Moon," by Ella Fitzgerald

https://open.spotify.com/track/1PSpnTbP2TnstBbSpcGWGb?si=efc74bbdd4c34465

Stak, Razor and Wooley were approaching the raucous stage of inebriation as Boil sipped his iazacal liquor and watched them in stoic silence. By his calculation, they had about thirteen minutes left before they all got eighty-sixed from 79’s. They probably would have made it, except some shiny from the 104th got a little overly familiar with the pretty Twi'lek bartender, raising Wooley's immediate ire. The ensuing confrontation got them all kicked out and banned from the club for a week.

Boil would have happily gone back to the GAR barracks and pretended to sleep, but the others were determined to make the most of their first night of shore leave, and so they ventured out into the frigid, rainy night to explore the district around the clone bar in search of further entertainment. 

They didn't have to look far; the entertainment district was packed with all varieties of businesses eager to separate tourists from their credits. Unfortunately, most of them also had signs proclaiming “NO CLONES ALLOWED” displayed prominently in their windows.

We're good enough to die for them, but not good enough for them to let us have lives, he reflected bitterly.

“Look, that one allows clones,” Stak said, pointing to a small shop illuminated by lurid neon signs.

“A fortune teller?” Boil scoffed. “Might as well just toss your credits into the underworld portal. It'll get you the same result in the end.”

“Don't be such a kriffin’ buzzkill,” Wooley said. “I want to find out if there's a tall, good-looking stranger in my future.”

“If that's how you describe a super-battle droid, I'd say the odds are good,” Boil retorted.

“Well, I’m not going to stand out in the rain,” Stak said, overruling Boil’s objections.

Thus, the troopers soon found themselves in a cramped, stuffy room that reeked of incense and was cluttered with a dizzying array of mystical and occult paraphernalia. Their damp wool uniforms smelled like wet hounds, and condensation fogged the windows, making the neon city outside look blurry and dreamlike. The four fortune tellers who greeted them were dressed in elaborate, flamboyant robes that Boil highly doubted were authentic to any culture in the galaxy, but they were very effective in giving them an otherworldly—almost fantastical—air. 

Stak opted to have his palm read; Razor was intrigued by the card reader; and Wooley opted for runes, leaving Boil alone with the remaining con artist—er, fortune teller. He sized up the civvie before him, trying not to look openly hostile as he searched for the words to politely decline whatever snake oil remained to be peddled. Before he could speak, though, the charlatan—kriff—fortune teller gave him a dazzling smile, and Boil blinked, taken completely off guard.

You weren't particularly surprised when the first three troopers quickly paired up with your partners. Their styles of fortune telling were certainly flashier and more attractive to many customers than your quieter approach. Still, none of them could boast the numbers of loyal repeat customers that flocked to you again and again. The difficulty lay in convincing them to give you a chance in the first place.

The remaining clone did not look like the type to give you a chance. He stared at you and your partners with hard, jaded eyes and a mouth set in a firm line beneath his mustache. As his fellow troopers paired off one at a time with the other mediums, he looked more and more skittish, until it was just the two of you left in the reception room. It was clearly time to break out your secret weapon.

You gave him your patented brilliant smile that walked the perfect line between welcoming and subtly flirtatious. “Welcome. Am I right in thinking that your brothers wanted to have their fortunes read, and they insisted you come with them?”

He blinked at the force of your smile, then gave you the most reluctant half-smile you’d ever seen. “That obvious?”

“I don’t need to be psychic to see that you don’t want to be here,” you replied.

He laughed shortly. “No offense, but I don’t believe in any of this.”

“No offense taken. Perhaps you'd like to join me for a cup of tea while you wait for your brothers. When they're finished, you can pretend I read your tea leaves. No charge, of course.” You gave him a cheeky grin. “I won't tell if you don't.”

Some of the tension eased out of his shoulders at your offer. “Thanks. That’d be… nice.”

You led him into your reading room and invited him to sit wherever he liked. He looked around the room curiously before settling onto the ancient velvet sofa. You began to prepare a pot of tea for the two of you to share.

“Not exactly what I was expecting,” he observed as he looked around the cozy space furnished with soft, somewhat shabby furniture and bathed in the soft light of a few old-fashioned lamps. “Where are all the crystals and tchotchkes?”

“I prefer to minimize distractions during readings,” you replied. “Though as you can see, I do try to make it as comfortable as possible for my guests.”

“‘Guests,’” he snorted. “Is that what you call them?”

You raised your eyebrows at his tone. “Yes. And while I fully accept that you are skeptical of the services we provide, I draw the line at outright rudeness. If you intend to insult me, my colleagues, or our guests, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

He flinched, realizing he’d overstepped. “Apologies.”

You accepted his begrudging apology as you finished brewing the tea and arranged a small plate of sweet pastries. You had plenty of experience with the clone troopers, and you knew they tended to have a sweet tooth. Besides, you’d smelled the unmistakable scent of iazacal wafting off of him, and you hoped that his sullen mood might improve if he sobered up a bit. Hence, tea and pastries.

He tugged his gloves off and laid them neatly on the low table, wrapping his hands around the cup of tea you passed him. It was a cold night, and his uniform was damp from the rain, so it was no surprise to feel the chill of his skin when his fingers brushed against yours as you handed him the drink. You poured a cup for yourself, then curled up with the other at the opposite end of the small sofa, tucking your feet under you and leaving a small gap between yourself and him. His eyes flickered over you briefly as you sat. At least his expression was no longer actively hostile, though you also wouldn’t exactly describe him as friendly. He sniffed the tea curiously. 

“Is this magical tea?” he asked in a faintly mocking tone.

“Certainly not,” you replied with dignity. “I never perform spellwork on someone without their consent. Besides, the magic tea is too expensive to give away for free.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking,” he said.

You merely gave him a mysterious smile. “I didn’t catch your name earlier.” 

“Don’t you know it already?” he asked with a tiny smirk.

“Never heard that one before,” you said drily.

“You’re right. It was a low-hanging meiloorun,” he admitted. “Name’s Boil.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Boil,” you said.

“Now I know you’re lying,” he said with a self-deprecating chuckle.

“Fine, it’s an… experience to meet you,” you laughed. “What are you boys up to this fine Coruscanti evening?”

He shrugged. “Same as every shore leave. Gettin’ kriffed up. Tryin’ not to think too hard.”

You nodded. It wasn’t the first time a clone trooper had said something similar to you, and it wouldn’t be the last. “Is it working?”

He met your eyes. “Might have if those di’kuts hadn’t gotten us kicked out of the bar.”

“Music is better here.”

He frowned. “I don’t hear any music.”

“Exactly.”

He laughed, a genuine laugh for the first time since he’d walked into your shop. “You’re not wrong. What about you? Busy night?”

“Oh, you know, fleecing innocent tourists, bewitching unsuspecting troopers on shore leave, making pacts with the forces of darkness, eating more pastry than I should.”

“So an average Centaxday, then,” he said with a grin. When he smiled, his entire face transformed. His eyes lit; the lines of stress eased on his forehead; and he looked younger, less hardened.

“Maybe a few less blood sacrifices than usual,” you said with a smile.

“We’ve all had to cut back in this economy,” he replied, deadpan.

“So true. We should protest in front of the Senate building.”

“You’d certainly catch some eyes in that,” he said, gesturing toward your elaborate costume. 

“Then I must be doing it right,” you replied with a tiny smirk.

“So it’s all for show, then?” he asked, his voice neutral, but his eyes speculative.

You took a delicate sip of your tea and sighed with pleasure at the taste. “People have certain… expectations about the way someone in my line of work will look. Who am I to disappoint them?”

“So you exploit their expectations to manipulate them for profit,” he observed without heat.

“You certainly don’t pull your punches,” you said. It was far from the worst accusation you’d had flung at you by a disgruntled customer, but it still stung to learn that you sat so low in his opinion. “Do you feel like I’m swindling you with free tea and pastries?”

His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then rose back to meet your eyes. “Nothing is free.”

“And you say I’m the cynical one,” you replied with a level stare.

“Just an observation.”

“And what else do you observe about me?” you asked.

He sat back and surveyed you slowly, raking his eyes down your body. You felt your pulse kick up at his scrutiny; you were accustomed to people eyeing you like a piece of meat—so many would-be guests didn’t seem to comprehend the difference between paying for your services and paying for your body—but rarely did you have the sense that someone truly perceived you. You sat calmly with a slight, defiant tilt to your jaw, refusing to let him know he’d rattled you.

“For starters,” he said, “the fortune teller act is just that: an act. You've gotten a little tired of it, but it pays the bills.”

“I prefer ‘medium.’”

He laughed mirthlessly. “But you don’t deny the rest.”

“Would you believe me if I did?”

He didn’t reply, but merely took a long drink of tea. “I can also tell that you're clever, charming, and very good at reading people. How am I doing so far?”

“You should have led with that,” you replied, adjusting the drape of your robes. “The flattery would have made it easier to swallow being called a fraud.”

“Like I said. Just an observation.”

You smiled faintly. “Shall I tell you what I observe about you?”

“Seems fair,” he said with a confident smirk. “I’m just an amateur, after all. Can’t wait to see the master at work.”

You leaned forward slightly and gazed deeply into his eyes. After a few seconds, he glanced away, setting his half-empty cup of tea down on the low table, then he sat back and folded his arms over his chest, staring back at you with his jaw set in a stubborn line.

“You lost someone,” you said softly.

He huffed derisively, looking away. “We’re in a war. Everybody has lost someone.”

“Not just someone,” you replied, unperturbed by his interruption. “A brother.”

His eyes jolted back to yours. “Everyone knows we clones call each other ‘brother.’ We’re bred to die. It’d be more surprising if I hadn’t lost a brother.”

He snatched up his teacup and tossed back the rest of the tepid brew, his eyes hard and angry.

“May I see your cup?” you asked.

His brows snapped together as he eyed you suspiciously, but he handed it over. You gave him a soft, reassuring smile, but he didn’t relax as you peered down into his cup to examine the leaves that clung to the delicate porcelain.

“There’s a word,” you said slowly. “It’s not Basic or Sy Bisti. It could be a name.”

Despite himself, he leaned closer, trying to see what you saw.

“Boil… does ‘Nerra’ mean anything to you?”

Boil shot to his feet, staggering backward. “How do you know that?”

His voice was hoarse and strained. You set down the cup carefully and rose from the sofa.

“How the hell do you know that?” he repeated, his voice a menacing growl as he advanced a step closer to you.

Quite suddenly, he seemed to tower over you, and your heart raced as you realized that you could be in real danger. You subtly reached for the small panic button that you kept concealed in one of your many bracelets, but before you could call for help, he whirled abruptly and stormed out of the shop into the torrential downpour of the dark Coruscant night.

You sagged with relief and closed your eyes as you leaned against the wall, breathing hard. I’m safe. He didn’t hurt me. When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was a pair of leather gloves sitting on the low table. You didn’t need to read the leaves in the bottom of your cup to know that he’d be back.

[fantomette22]

And here’s a bloodborne crows headcanons drawing no one ask for!

Yeah I headcanons that some characters used to have some pet crows but it’s mostly a references for my fic verse too.

So I don’t have names for all the crows but I have a couple of ideas already. If you have ideas too pls share I’m listening.

Let’s begin with Cainhurst! 🛡️

📚🦉Ok Beltran from the cut content! Not sure he’s still alive during old hunters time but basically I imagined he was the (first?) crow master of Cainhurst.

🐦‍⬛⚔️Vledemyr my oc, my fav cainhurst knight! The current crow master. (Maria & Annalise’s cousin too) He was the one in charged of them before he become captain of the royal guard, he actually have lots of them (and they all love him a lot) but his very first crow is Corvus, the crow on his shoulder.

👑🕊️Ok so Annalise was offered an Albino crow, because she’s the princess and future Queen you see. *Check notes* hm Yuki is a possible name but idk either smt Japanese or slavic who mean snow or fit with cainhurst aesthetic idk.

👑🐦‍⬛ Ah Charles (oc based on the cainhurst portrait too, king consort when Annalise was Queen). So when he marry her and was crowned he was offered a baby leucistic crow (that’s why it’s brown, it’s a loose of melanine like albinism bur not complete the the eyes aren’t red or the skin pink for exemple), he was so confused about it like you can see XD probably except a hound or smt (in his dream he would have wish for a lion but there’s no lions at Cainhurst since like 60+ years or smt)

🐦‍⬛🌕🐦‍⬛Maria have 2-3 crows (the ones at the research hall you know 😢 minus the one with the guidance rune that belong to Ludwig like you can see) As for the names I was hesitating between Hugin & Munin (Odin’s crows) or Phobos & Deimos (Mars’moon) for the 2 crows siblings (well I hc Maria study astronomy so… heheh also her third one is the one German is holding x) yeah missing a leg I know. Ok also after Maria passed away the crows escape from the research hall and freak Gehrman out! They wanted to say to him hello or called his named and because crows can mimics sound and voices they took Maria’s voice 💀 he thought he was going crazy for a few mins before he found them… but really it annoyed more Laurence XD the crows really went to harass him (they know what’s up. Or didn’t take well he put them in cages or smt, or you know because of Maria. It got to the point Laurence almost wanted them dead 💀

Fortunately Gehrman managed to made them go with the very first official hunter of hunter, he passed to him the mercy blade as well.

🐥Ah Voron my boy! Aka future bloody crow🩸🐦‍⬛ (No I am not detailing the entire backstory here! And yes his name means raven/crow I KNOW!) also the red of the cap don’t appear much sorry… thanks the scan.

✨+Svetta another Cainhurst oc based the painting with her crow, Voron mom yes. Vledemyr is his dad.

👁️I managed to put Micolash & Edgar on the page XD

💣🔥 Ah this one well when we first got into the hunter nightmare there’s a hunter before a gate right? Behind there’s a crow and I noticed the crow attacked the beasts but the hunter and the bird never attacked each other (only the hunter or beast) that’s why I now headcanons that many old hunters had crows too like this one.

🗡️🌕Ludwig & his crow with the guidance rune. One day the old hunters found many dead crows in the forest, not a good sign… Ludwig managed to recover a baby crow an care for it (he was so panicked at first he asked Maria for help so many times XD)

🐦‍⬛Eileen and some crows & the very first official hunter of hunters! (Before her)

🐦‍⬛The friendly crow of hemwick on the top left :3 I hc it’s either the crow bloody crow had or one link with Eileen or either my own hunter.

As for the other names I had in mind : Hrafn, Karasu, Branagan (I think I’m keeping this one as the name of the first crow hunter too)

🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

Now, you’re gonna ask me why didn’t I just named one « Kuro » (black color in Japanese) well, I’m keeping it for the horses’ names of Cainhurst!!!!

[multistanisms]

Let Our Circle Be Unbroken;  Prologue | NCT

FANDOM: NCT

PAIRING: Jaehyun x Taeyong, Yuta x OC

WORD COUNT: 1,704

RATING: PG-13

POTENTIAL TRIGGERS: Mentions of violence, blood, pain, animal death

SUMMARY:  Surviving a near death experience comes with a lot of surprises when warlock Jeong Jaehyun finds a dragon in a place that holds tragic memories for him. Nothing is as whirlwind, though, as when Jaehyun begins to meet the little clan of misfits Taeyong has gathered over the years and a mystery is revealed.

Author Notes: Reposting this from my archived blog to update the links [cuz I do not remember how to log into my old fic blog]

Previous || Masterlist || Next

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

‘Shit. This is bad. Really bad.’ Jaehyun thought as he ran. His magic enabled him to carry an unnatural speed in his rush, but the blood seeping from his side was an impending sign of how quickly he could lose consciousness if he wasn’t careful. He could hear the hunters, however, so stopping was not a viable option. The small group was far enough out of reach to not make a direct hit on him with their weapons but still close enough to hear their hounds and shouts. Humans with little more than fear and a prejudice against those who were different. Jaehyun was no fool to think he was immune to the tragedy of the human mind; he’d lived long enough to know better. No one who was born supernatural - even humans who happened to have a supernatural ancestor and ended up gifted - could escape being the object of human failure. 

This, though, was by far the closest in centuries the warlock had felt close to death. Even his magic was waning, losing it’s precision as his vision began to blur and darken at the edges. ‘Fuck, I’m running out of time.’ The thought hit him harder than a swift punch to the stomach or an unexpected kick to the nether region, and the warlock dove into the shadows of a nearby alley, cloaking himself. A swift escape was of utmost importance if he planned on surviving the wound in his side and keeping his eyes; the thing Jaehyun knew they would take as a trophy from his death. Dark hair was caked with sweat and Jaehyun is glaringly aware that he needs to focus on escaping or he may not make it to see the sunrise. His manor isn’t safe anymore, he knows that. If they could flush him out from his café, they no doubt knew where his home was. His other properties were currently being used as safehouses, and Jaehyun was in no way going to kickstart any stress or shock to those guests. A shaky breath shook Jaehyun’s body as he closed his eyes, glamour falling. As he looked up at the sky, he opened his eyes, revealing reptilian green irises accented by rainbow slits. His glamour wasn’t a priority compared to the situation he was in. A breath taken too hard made him wince as he leaned his head back against the dark grey terracotta wall.

‘Damn it, Jaehyun, think.’ he scolds himself, hand pressing to the gunshot wound in his side. ‘Think, think, think. Somewhere. There has to be somewhere.’ 

He’s jolted back to reality viciously when the renewed sounds of baying from the dogs is suddenly much closer. Large hunting breeds, vicious when they find their intended target. Fear riddles through Jaehyun’s blood like a discarded cigar on gasoline, and there’s a sudden flash through his mind. The answer is a risk, and there are so many emotions that bubble through his heart, but escape is at his grasp and he isn’t going to squander it because of a past he’d rather forget. Hope blooms to simmer down some of the fear, and his eyes ripple to life, glamour and natural color fighting as he brings the necessary casting rune to the forefront of his mind. He knows he has one, maybe two or an even slimmer three chances at this before he completely loses consciousness from the blood and he’s killed by fangs and crossbows alike. He traces the rune over the concrete, begging for it to work. Uneven breath halts when the magic fizzles and dies, leaving a pale shape on the cement. ‘No. Damn it to hell.’ he thought, frantically scribbling the rune on the cold pavement again. ‘Not here. Not like this. Please, no.’ Every fiber of his being was focused between panic and the need to escape. The rune fizzles at the edges and Jaehyun’s heart begins dropping before the magic sticks and the rune changes shape into the round portal that offers him escape. He moved to toss himself through the hole when his relief was cut short. A loud growl and sharp pain exploded over his arm as one of the dogs located him. With a yelp, Jaehyun’s balance was lost and he fell into the space, dragging the canine with him into the brief abyss before he crashed into a table on a large porch that gave way. 

Air left him in a rush and a weak groan, the overall pain finally making it almost impossible to stay awake. The dog released his arm and went to find purchase elsewhere when something snatched it up, and Jaehyun was vaguely aware of potential danger when he heard the brief scuffle of his predator becoming prey instead. Danger. The manor in the field wasn’t safe, either, it seemed. His vision was nearly completely black at this point, all he was aware of was black and rainbow dancing before him as unconsciousness took him hostage. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dragons had long faded from the forefront of the minds of the normal humans, but it wasn’t so simple as they had died off or been killed. Most had merely learned to stay in their human forms when among the masses, clans separated into smaller numbers to keep the species safe. Lee Taeyong was the youngest of the small sect from his clan, and the first to leave to find a clan of his own. His older sister, Areum, and their parents supported the choice, knowing full well that Taeyong had never really been able to be happy among only dragons. 

“Something else calls to you, little brother. You have to follow that to find your happiness.” Areum had told him as he had prepared to leave. IT was an emotional goodbye, but somehow, Taeyong knew he was heading into great things. 

And so the young dragon had gone off, found a clan of his own, and though the ranks weren’t large, the overall species was well mixed. And sometimes the clan had their own business to attend to, which was how Taeyong had found himself wandering the world, looking for a kind of vacation home for when the clan could reunite under one roof again. He had found one and had been working on remodeling and repairing it. The walls had all come down at their own pace, and the dragon had replaced them all and brought the house back to a lovely splendor. The high, covered wrap around porch was carefully set with a few swings, tables and chairs. Various plants were hung from the edge of the covering, a few potted plants settled among the railing around the porch. What had been an abandoned mansion that felt tragic and hopeless had started changing into a loving space. There was no furniture, but that would come in time. For now, the most important part was complete. The building was ready for it’s first bout of excitement when the clan gathered, and Taeyong was happy to think of that as he sat on the porch swing near the front door with a hot cup of tea as he watched the fall leaves drift about on the wind. His dream of making the property a home was almost done. A large garden ran along the west side of the mansion, a flower garden with a large pond and gazebo just north of the back entrance of the house. Imagining the fun and laughter that would one day be had made him content and he was humming softly to himself when there was a ripple of magic that pricked at his senses and made the hair on his arms stand up, goosebumps tracing up pale skin even under the soft, warm fabric of his favorite hoodie. Said goosebumps shivered briefly into black and rainbow colored scales that faded faster than they appeared. 

Curious, Taeyong reached to set his cup on the side table next to the swing, standing to walk down the porch steps and look around, hand resting on the large picnic table settled onto a large stone garden setup he had made for au fresco dining. Face contorted in confusion, he hummed curiously, moving to turn back when the magic came back in a much stronger wave, and Taeyong shifted out of protective instinct. The strong scent of coppery blood hit his nose first, then a loud crash and growling. When the intruding creature realized there was someone else, it released its prey to charge at Taeyong, only to wind up eaten by the large dragon. Tension still in his muscles, he turned his attention to the now destroyed table. The tabletop itself was surprisingly intact, the legs, however, would need to be remade. Now, though, with the immediate threat out of the way, the dragon brought himself closer to the scent of blood to better investigate. What he found was startling for him. The male was unconscious and very hurt, and despite the wounds and ragged breathing, Taeyong could see the male was beautiful. Magic was a palpable taste in the air, telling Taeyong the young man was likely a warlock or witch. What struck the dragon as odd was the intense need to save the other. 

Shifting back into human form, he lifted the other with ease, forgetting about the blood around his mouth and on his clothes as he carried the male into the mansion and laid him on the couch. “Where did you come from, beautiful?” he asked, looking over what he could to assess the damage. Blood had dried the male’s clothing to his skin, and there was a chunk of the man’s arm from the animal biting him. It was a lot to patch up for just one dragon, so Taeyong made a choice as he wrapped the dark blanket he’d been using around the unknown male. He walked to the porch to grab his phone, dialing a number as he knelt by the couch to brush his hand through the dark hair of the hurt man. When the other side fo the line picked up, Taeyong smiled. 

“Hey there, handsome. Are you and Arashi free? I need some serious help and your girl has the best magic to do so.”

[hunterofthegods]

A thing for some lovesick Dogs. All things on the left are Pup’s and the right is Hound’s! 

Hound belongs to @plumppeachprincess

both are they/them!!

[allegra-writes]

���The Devil all the time”

Hunter!Tom x Demon!Reader

Supernatural AU

NSFW

Warnings: Smut

"Break the silence, damn the dark

Damn the light..."

The Chain - Fleetwood Mac

Forget everything you thought you knew, you had every reason to be afraid of the dark when you were a kid. In this world where monsters are real, the Holland brothers hunt them so normal people can continue to live in the bliss of ignorance.

But when something goes terribly wrong, Tom will do anything to save his brother's life, including selling his soul to the devil. Well... Not exactly the devil, but close enough.

You don't need to watch Supernatural to read this AU

MY MASTERLIST

He knew it was you, even before turning. He knew it as soon as he heard your deceptively delicate footsteps break the supernatural silence that had fallen over the forest the moment he had buried the little metal box in the old crossroad. Tom didn't want to think about what it meant, having such an intimate knowledge of you to be able to recognize you by the cadence of your steps, being so in sync with you that he could tell whenever you were in the vicinity. 

So he used his favorite deflection technique whenever it came to you.

"Y/n? What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? Sorry, did I say nice girl? I meant evil skank"

The insult didn't phase you. None ever did. It was hard to take them seriously when you knew how many nights he fell asleep with your name on his lips, after pathetically releasing himself into his own hand, or fucking his boring girl-next-door girlfriend, chasing orgasm over unsatisfactory orgasm that would never completely satiate him. Because it wasn't your face the one contorted in pleasure looking up at him from the mattress.

"You called. I came" You batted your lashes, sweetly. "I always come when you call…" 

He gulped, the innuendo not lost to his ears. It threw him off guard, like it always did. 

"I would have thought this would be… beneath you" Tom cleared his throat, looking away, trying to regain his footing, "collecting a deal, like a vulgar crossroad demon"

There was nothing vulgar about the soul of a Holland. But he didn't need to know that, so you just shrugged,

"Queen Rowena has an interest in you boys. She finds you entertaining. I'm just being a good subdit" 

He scoffed,

"Funny. I would have never peg you for a sub"

You took a step closer to him.

"You don't have what it takes to make me submit, Holland" Your hot breath fanned over his skin, setting his skin on fire. Making his blood boil. You had a way of doing that, of bringing out the worst in him. Of making him lose control. And you thoroughly enjoyed it, poking at the bear until the claws came out, laughing at the carnage.

Another step, and you could physically feel it: The hate, radiating from his every pore, his mind screaming with it. He hated you. He hated your kind. He hated your beauty. He hated the pretty white dress you were wearing, so pure and innocent, glowing like a beacon in the dark. A lure, guiding uncountable men before him into perdition. 

But above all else, he hated that, even then, he couldn't help but to want you. Fervently. Desperately. Irreversibly. 

"I came here to make a deal" He croaked, cursing himself internally for showing weakness. 

"Let's negotiate, then," you replied, stepping away, mercifully letting him breath. 

"My brother-"

"I know" You interrupted, sounding bored already, "Reapers everywhere are going berserk. Who, oh who, will get to reap the soul of a Holland?" 

The wind picked up, making your long dress billow around your legs. You twirled a little, admiring the way it moved. Tom's eyes were glued to you, almost hypnotized. Partly because you were too dangerous to be left unsupervised even for a second, partly because you looked beautiful like that. It had never been more obvious to him that you were an unearthly creature, you didn't belong to this world. There, surrounded by greenery, barefoot, swaying softly under the twilight light, he wondered how could anybody ever mistake you for a human.

"Of course" your apathetic voice took him out of his revery, "being reapers, watching them go wild is rather boring. I swear they are the most uninteresting beings of all creation" 

That made him see red.

"Boring? Boring?!" He knew his voice was rising with every word but he just couldn't help it, "They're waiting for my little brother to die!!"

"Which could happen any minute now," You reminded him, all playfulness gone from your demeanor, "so if you wanna strike a deal, I suggest you start making me an offer worth my time"  

He was taken aback by that.

"I- My soul in exchange of a wish, and you collect it in ten years" He tried and failed not to think about what that implied: vicious, invisible hounds of hell tearing apart his body and dragging his soul to hell, "Isn't that the usual deal?"

You scoffed,

"After all the things you did in your life, what makes you think your soul doesn't belong in hell already? And if your brother dies, that is one less Holland on earth to worry about. You and your brothers have managed to become a big pain in the ass for us…"

He pulled out a knife, a strange one, with runes in the blade. You arched a brow in recognition

"The Winchesters' knife. Are you threatening me, little hunter?" 

Your lack of reaction was another blow. He had hoped you'd be more impressed than that. Nonetheless he turned it in his hands, offering you the handle.

"I'm throwing it into the deal" 

To his surprise, you didn't immediately take it from his hands, choosing instead to pace the clearing, deep in thought. 

The truth was you couldn't care less about the knife, it wasn't more dangerous to you than a toothpick. And while it was true it could certainly damage your queen, she had a far better weapon to protect herself: You.

But it did confirm your suspicions about the Hollands having access to the old Winchester arsenal, which meant they had access to something way more dangerous than that rustic weapon made of steel and bone. A book, made of ancient dark magic and human skin, written in blood. A book that was precious to queen Rowena and by extension to you: the Book of the Damned. 

The Hollands were a family of extremely talented, yes, but old fashioned hunters. The stab first, ask questions later kind. They probably had no idea what they had in their hands… but you did. 

"Very well then," you finally declared, "this is my offer: Your soul and that knife in exchange for sweet Harry's life and one year for you to get all your businesses in order" 

Tom felt all the blood drain from his face. One year. Just 365 more days to live, before an eternity of torture in hell. 

"O-one year?" He breathed.

"One year" You confirmed, "More than enough time to go see the Grand Canyon, eat the world's spiciest burger or whatever you have on your bucket list" 

The disdain in your words only made him hate you harder.

"Not nearly enough to live" He replied through clenched teeth. You rolled your eyes, 

"You're a hunter. You lead short, violent existences, charging head first towards what most humans run away from. Things faster, stronger, more powerful than you, surviving each encounter out of sheer luck. Killing one monster after another, until that luck runs out. Because the monsters? Unlike you who rely on it everyday, they just need. One. Single. Lucky. Strike." You punctuated every word with one step in his direction, until you were face to face again. Until, for the first time ever, you could see the fear, the desperating hopelessness he kept hidden inside, reflected on the warm coffee of his eyes. You knew a lesser man would be already crying and begging for Mercy.

Tom wasn't like other men though, that was the whole point. 

"Or…" You soften your tone and your stance, letting your fingers ghost over the back of his hand, his whole skin erupting in goosebumps. That was the very first time you touched him. Ever. 

And it was as if nobody had ever touched him before, the light caress enough to set every nerve ending, every single one of his cells, alight.

He was so distracted by the sensation and his body's response to it, he almost didn't hear your next words over the sound of his own pounding heart. 

"Or you could keep your little pocket knife, and even have your ten years if…"

"If?" He struggled to focus.

"You let me borrow a book"

His brows furrowed in confusion,

"A book? What book?"

"Any book of my liking, for as long as I want" You shrugged it off, "Do we have a deal?"

There was a catch there, it was obvious. He knew he was going to regret it but, what choice did he have? 

"Deal"

Your smile was blinding, luminous. If he didn't know any better, he would have called it angelical. Now, that was one ridiculous thought.

"What now? We seal it with a kiss?" His eyes fell to your lips, so soft looking and inviting. He wasn't eager to put his mouth on a filthy demon and doom himself. He wasn't. 

You chuckled, but there was no humor behind it.

"Oh no, darling. This is big. This is special" You're special, "A simple kiss just won't cut it…"

No. You couldn't mean… could you? Was there no limits to your hatred for him? Did you really want him so defeated, so humiliated? 

"What do you want?" He spat through gritted teeth.

"The same thing you want" You put your hands on his chest, rising to your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "The same thing you have wanted ever since we first met . The thing that's obsessing you..."

"I don't know what you're talking about"

You smirked,

"You can lie to your family, you can even lie to yourself, little hunter... But you can't lie to me." 

He couldn't hide, you could see every fantasy, hear every single one of his thoughts of you on repeat, like a prayer in your direction. Just like he couldn't hide the way his skin was burning now for you, the way his blood rushed south, the way all logical thought left his brain, his iron grip on his emotions finally breaking as he snapped. 

Lightning fast, in just a blink, he twirled you around, your back hitting the rough bark of a tree, as he towered over you, demon blade to your throat, every inch of his body pressed against yours. His eyes were ablazed with rage, and passion, as he surged forward, striking you with his best hit.

He kissed you. 

Lips vicious against yours, teeth biting and scraping only to soothe the offense seconds later with his tongue, until he was dizzy, light headed with the lack of oxygen and the taste of you. The hand not holding the knife to your neck fell to your breast, squeezing the pliant flesh with enough force to cause pain on a human woman, merely making you moan. He swallowed the sound, letting his fingers trace your waist, your hips, clawing at your dress until he finally, finally, felt skin under his fingertips. 

It was better than anything his mind had conjured in his feverish fantasies in the dead of the night. The skin of your inner thighs velvety soft, as they parted under his touch, the sweetest sounds leaving your lips as his fingers found your naked core. You weren't wearing any underwear, probably never had. The realization that, in all your past encounters and fights you had been standing there, just feet away from him with nothing under that damn dress hit him like a truck, making his head swim. 

He searched between your folds, and suddenly his fingers were inside you. He was inside you, a part of him was buried deep within you, within your silky heat, claiming you as his, if only for the night. 

And you were so wet for him, and only getting wetter as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, scissoring them, opening you up until he was able to slip a third one in, fucking you with his hand in earnest. You were sobbing, clutching at his biceps, head thrown back in pleasure. He took advantage of that to suck bruises on your neck, only to see them fade before his eyes. Your skin tasted clean, smelled like wild flowers and rain. Ozone. Lightning. Like those coursing through his veins with every cry, every delicious gasp you made. 

He found the perfect spot inside you, the one that sent sparks through your nerves with every stroke of his calloused fingers. 

"This what you wanted?" To make him lose it? Lose his mind, himself, in you? "For me to make you come on just my fingers, like the little slut you are?"

The floor disappeared from under his feet as you sent him flying away from you, a searing pain exploding at the back of his head as he landed, sprawled at the feet of an old, dying oak. With blurry eyes, he saw you stalk towards him, all power and cold, controlled fury. 

"Let's get one thing straight, Holland. I'm not one of your sluts" You sneered, "and I'm definitely not your basic bitch of a girlfriend. So you better start showing me a little respect, are we clear?"

He gulped, sitting up. He had to be seriously fucked up in the head, for his cock to be twitching inside his pants at your threatening tone.

"Crystal" 

"Good" You declared, coming to a stop right in front of him, standing between his parted legs, "Now, let's put that mouth of yours to a better use"

He knew that image was going to be forever tattooed on his brain: You standing in front of him, holding the skirt of your dress up, waiting for him to put his mouth on you. Tom took a moment to admire you, before delving in, flattening his tongue over your slit, before drawing tight, precise circles on your clit with the tip. God, you tasted so divine it was messing with his head; something as dark and corrupted and twisted as you, feeling so exquisite, so perfect, so heavenly to his every sense. 

He helped you hook your knee over his shoulder, his other arm snaking around your leg, pulling you even closer. You could feel his smirk against your cunt the moment he realized your legs were shaking, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care, not with his wicked talented mouth devouring you like a last meal, rocking your whole world, making you see stars behind your closed eyelids.

You always knew that man would make the stars fall. 

Tom kept on, penetrating you with his tongue as far as it would go, his whole face moving against you. The slight burn of his scruff felt delicious against your delicate labia, as he used his fingers to open you up like a flower, separating your petals to get to the delectable nectar inside. You were close, he could feel it, the obscene sounds you were making, the waves of sweetness falling on his lips feeding his ego, filling him up with pride. By the time the night was over, you'd be unable to forget him. He would make sure of that. He would make you come, over and over, until the only thoughts left in your brain were of him, the only word your lips knew how to speak was his name. He would mark you, like a bloodstain, like you had done to him. 

Almost there, he almost had you. Your muscles were locking, your walls starting to tremble, when a loud crack resonated over his head, and you stepped away on unstable legs, breathing hard. You didn't even need to breathe, it was just his effect on you. He made you feel human. And it was both exhilarating, and terrifying. 

You took another step back, but he took hold of your ankle, tugging hard enough to make you fall on his lap, white skirt covering the place where his hands were fumbling with his zip, with his boxers, aligning himself with your entrance.

"Fuck!" He cursed, as you sank on his rock hard cock, not giving him any time to get used to the feeling of you around him, before starting to move. 

"How does it feel" You taunted, "fucking a monster? Is it as good as you dreamed of?"

Better. You felt even better. Tom hadn't thought it was possible, but he loathed you even more for it. 

"Shut up" He growled. 

You leaned forwards, breath hot against his ear,

"Cause you feel amazing, Tom. Your cock feels like heaven" 

His hand tangled in your hair, keeping you in place as he crashed his mouth to yours again, the other fumbling for the buttons at the back of your dress, tugging and pulling, tearing at the fabric, in his haste to feel more. More of your skin against his, more of the body that had been his hyper fixation for far too long. 

You sat up, still grinding on his cock, letting the tattered dress fall to your waist, watching in satisfaction as his eyes went wide, zeroing on the way your breasts bounced in sync with your hips. 

Reaching up, for a glorious second Tom could feel one perfect pebbled nipple against his palm, the roundness, the weight of your soft flesh on his fingers; before an invisible force pinned his hands to his sides. 

You tsked.

"Still don't get it, do you little hunter? This?" You let yourself fall all the way down his thick cock, hard, tearing twin moans from his mouth and yours, "This isn't about you. This is about me." 

Leaning back, you braced yourself on his strong thighs, changing the angle, changing your movements to a slower rocking against his pelvis. The friction against your clit was perfect, the feeling of his big, throbbing dick so deep inside you, stretching you like no one before, sending electrical pulses through your spine. It was decadent. It was ecstasy.

It was torture. Underneath you, Tom was sobbing, eyes bright with unshed tears, fighting in vain against his bonds. He needed it faster, harder, anything to help tilt him over the edge you were keeping him on, your sweet cunt too tight, too good around him to allow his cock to soften, your rhythm too leisured to let the tensed, strained coil inside him to snap. You were uncaring, using him remorselessly to get yourself off, your little moans getting higher in pitch the closer you came to your climax. Tom felt himself getting higher just by looking at your beautiful pleasure ridden face. You cried out, and suddenly it was happening, you were coming, pulsating around his cock, falling apart on top of him.

And the ground beneath him quaked. The sky above his head bled, the blue twilight torn open by lightning, and thunder, despite the fact that there wasn't a single cloud marring its diaphaneity. You fell forwards, hand braced on the tree, next to his face, ridding the aftershocks of your orgasm until the end. 

"No!" Tom cried when, after a few seconds of catching your breath, you dismounted him, letting his dick slip out of you. 

You arched a brow,

"Something you want, Tommy?" 

He locked his mouth shut, gritting his teeth. You smiled, amused, knuckles stroking his still iron hard cock.

"Do you need more, little hunter?" You enveloped him in your hand, moving it up and down his member, watching the head disappear under his foreskin, "Do you need to come?"

He banged the back of his head against the bark.

"Yes!" He finally admitted, "So badly…"

"Then beg" You commanded, stilling your hand. He snapped open the eyes he hadn't realized he had closed. Oh, if looks could kill…

"Never" He hissed, livid.

"Very well, then" You picked up your pace, pumping him fast, your grip almost too rough. He gasped for air, feeling the telltale tightening of his balls, the coil inside just about to break under the tension. But you must have felt it too, cause your hand let go of him altogether. Too late, he understood what you were doing.

One beat. And then another, and he was coming all over his t-shirt, orgasm completely ruined. 

He cursed, tears escaping through the corner of his eyes, fingers digging into the moist ground under his hands. You chuckled, cruelly, standing up and stepping out of your shredded dress. He could have ganked you with the demon blade in that moment, he really could have, except his hands were still pinned by an invisible force at his sides. 

"Let me go, you bitch," Tom growled, tossing, fighting against his restraints to no avail, "aren't you done?!"

"Not quite." You smiled, mockingly sweet, "Just one more thing before I leave. Don't worry, it will only hurt for a minute…"

He renewed his efforts to escape, as you bended over, reaching for his chest, white hot pain burning through his ribs. He almost cried out, but what he saw stole the voice from his throat, turned his blood into ice inside his veins, leaving him shaking, jaw slack and mouth open in a soundless scream: 

You, naked and gorgeous and terrible. Transfixed, eyes glowing with a supernatural indigo light, the shadow of two massive, bended, broken wings projected on the trees behind you.

Not a demon, he thought. You're not a demon.

You smiled, and it was terrifying.

"No. I'm the thing demons have nightmares about" You replied out loud to the words he had only said in his mind, "And now, little hunter, you belong to me. Mind, body and soul"

[atypicalacademic]

Of Her Kind

Dragon Age

Words: 570

Rahvi Brosca x Gaadha Mahariel x Leliana (like, in the background)

Warnings: references to alcohol, violence, physical abuse, starvation.

*

The rusted gates swung with a glower of the guards’ eyes- averted now, begrudgingly, when Rahvi threw an answering glance over her shoulder. Cracked-tile gave way to raw rock, and the jagged craters lining the sides of the streets like her scars lined Ravhi’s skin. A young woman, face done-up and hair braided, scurried out of one of the moss-eaten ruins, her faux-silk skirts pitched up just as Rica had once held hers in the vain hope it wouldn’t trail the dust.

She nearly dropped them when she froze, catching Rahvi’s gaze, calculating the weight of her coin-purse and the strength of her armor, the familiar grey eye that stared back at her, opening and closing her mouth with a muted nod of part-apology, part-recognition, before she hurried away.

The rest were hiding, she knew, hiding as they did when the Commons were a-stir, when the nobles’ frustration spilled from the Quarter to the streets and they took to Dust Town for a punching-bag alive enough to wail, sick enough to die without fighting back.

She’d almost forgotten what hunger smelt like.

She shifted the weight of the eyes on her back, dragging her feet with enough noise so they knew they could show if they wanted, hide if they needed. Fresh blood-splatters marred the writing on the dilapidated walls, the same cry for uprising she’d ignored ‘til it boiled inside of her at the Proving that began and ended everything.

For it had a smell- empty bile and fevered flesh, lichen hacked up from stomachs too burnt to hold it, a cloud of warmth as quietly familiar as her mother’s hot tears and her liquor-soaked breath, sooty fingers pressing black trails down Rahvi’s bruised cheek as she rubbed, and rubbed, and-

It was her mother’s scent, and her own behind her armor, her sister’s beneath her silk, Leske’s behind his quicksilver smile, deeper than blood and sweat and tears and time.

(And Ancestors, she’d known, as she’d tried to drown it in ale and blood and someone else’s mouth on hers. Too late, as it’d seeped into her when she was born, as whole and heavy as the rune branded into her bronze skin and the cleaved socket behind her eyepatch.)

And now it’d taken her as any sickness would, hadn’t it? The kind that made her want to turn around and hack at the Commons with her maul until the stone shattered, until their bones shattered, until every golden rock framing every Paragon salted the earth beneath her feet, gold good enough to make up for her full belly and her scavenged armor that still gleamed and the maul she’d bought with coin ripped off the pockets of looters, still worth a month’s wage that Beraht spared her, that Jarvia had her kneeling and bleeding like a surfacer's war-hound for.

If this was what knowing better felt like, she didn’t sodding ask for it.

Leliana’s eyes followed the brand patterned on to the skin of a beggar- fainted or dead, crushed beneath someone else's boot over the piss-sodden, vomit-soaked stone, all the way to the one against Rahvi’s bronze skin. Gaadha’s gloved fingers brushed against her clenched fists, curling gently around her wrist.

But it was Alistair who spoke, cutting through the silence.

“So this place is..”

His voice was soft, gentled with understanding, and the uptick of a question didn’t ask for an answer.

By the Stone, she’d say it anyway.

“Home.”

[fated-imaginings]

any fluffy and or NSFW headcannons about how the cu's deal with a female masters time of the month

Wouldn’t consider this NSFW myself, but of course if any folks aren’t down for this sort of content, you can see the ask and breeze on by.

Proto has the least amount of experience with this sort of thing. He’s young and in the bachelor phase of his life, and hasn’t been close to any women in a way that would cause him to learn much about it. He’d probably become a bit awkward about it at first, a little flighty.

However, if Master asks him to help with anything, he’ll be right on it. Especially if she’s in discomfort or pain. Get her food? Sure. Blankets? Check. Entertainment, of course. Company? Well, yeah, he’s down to hang out if she needs that. 

Of course, if Master gets irritable with him because he’s being a little more awkward/flighty than usual, he’ll apologize, say he just isn’t used to this sort of thing... And Master might be a bit annoyed, but she doesn’t mean to get prickly when he’s doing his best, and gets a bit of a sad face when apologizing... 

Proto will be quick though to reassure her that it’s fine, he’s happy to help. Just say the word. Good pupper, 10/10

Lancer is a bit more accustomed to this. He had a wife, and of course that meant that he knows what it’s like when a woman’s on her period. When Master starts getting a bit more emotional than usual, a bit more tired and reluctant to be active, he picks up on it after a little bit. 

He’ll just casually ask Master if she wants to chill out for a bit with X, Y, or Z, and offers to grab some snacks and blankets. If Master’s having cramps, well, he doesn’t have quite a delicate enough knowledge and control of his runes to help, but he himself is very warm. If she wants his hand on her back, or to rub against her stomach, or to just cuddle up, he doesn’t mind. 

He’s in full attentive mode because he knows that this time can be pretty miserable, and he doesn’t like his Master being uncomfortable or in pain. Great doggo, 10/10

Caster is even more experienced than Lancer, and he’s got an edge over him with greater skill when it comes to runes. He’ll catch on maybe a bit faster than his immediate counterpart, and chances are he’ll make similar offers. 

The difference is that with runes, he knows how to basically form a magical heating pad around her abdomen 24/7. Which does some wonders for the cramps, especially given how cold Chaldea usually is. The downside is the lack of cuddling. He’s not as casually touchy-feely as his younger selves, despite being a bit pervy at times. So Master will have to ask outright, which she may or may not feel inclined to after he’s already gone out of his way to help.

At least the times when she has to get up and do things are more bearable thanks to the runes. 9/10 doggo, not as cuddly but still good.

Alter is where things don’t go as smoothly. He doesn’t notice, doesn’t really care. If Master seems uncomfortable, or more tired, or more snappish and quicker to tear up, he at first assumes it’s just a bad day or two. It’s when she starts hugging her middle and giving more hurried, flat responses, like she’s just trying to get things over with as fast as possible, that he finally addresses it.

His first question, naturally, is if she’s sick. No? Then what’s the problem. This isn’t like her. She didn’t get injured, he’s making sure of that. A bit of blunt prodding and she’ll snap that she’s on her period and cramps are making things miserable. 

Alter’s first inclination is that she should just suck it up and power through, but he has enough sense not to say that. She obviously IS doing that, but it’s clearly not going too well. Next is to ask if there isn’t anything she can take to dull the pain. No? Painkillers are reserved for emergencies only? Fine.

He point blank asks what she wants, then, and it isn’t long before Master is just ranting that she’s too cold, it feels like her insides are turning inside out while she’s being stabbed, she’s hungry, she hasn’t slept enough, and she’s had it up to HERE with just about everything today!

There is not a hugely empathetic response. However, Alter’s first and last loyalty is to his Master, and if his Master is distressed and needs help? Then that’s what he’s working on. He says fine, then missions are over for the day. He gets her to her room or an entertainment room and gets her blankets and whatever food she asks for. He says he can’t do anything about the pain, though...

When Master says the cold makes it worse, his only real reaction is “huh.” When she asks him to keep her warm, his reaction is “what.” But it’s not like he’s doing anything, and it’s a direct request from Master. He’s not thrilled, but he’s loyal, so with a sigh he’ll settle down and let her cuddle up, or just curl around her if that’s what she wants. Not the nicest hound, but does what needs to be done, 5/10

[multistanismsarchive]

Let Our Circle Be Unbroken;  Prologue | NCT

FANDOM: NCT

PAIRING: Jaehyun x Taeyong, Yuta x OC

WORD COUNT: 1,703

RATING: PG-13

POTENTIAL TRIGGERS: Mentions of violence, blood, pain, animal death

SUMMARY:  Surviving a near death experience comes with a lot of surprises when warlock Jeong Jaehyun finds a dragon in a place that holds tragic memories for him. Nothing is as whirlwind, though, as when Jaehyun begins to meet the little clan of misfits Taeyong has gathered over the years and a mystery is revealed.

Sneak Peeks | Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

‘Shit. This is bad. Really bad.’ Jaehyun thought as he ran. His magic enabled him to carry an unnatural speed in his rush, but the blood seeping from his side was an impending sign of how quickly he could lose consciousness if he wasn't careful. He could hear the hunters, however, so stopping was not a viable option. The small group was far enough out of reach to not make a direct hit on him with their weapons but still close enough to hear their hounds and shouts. Humans with little more than fear and a prejudice against those who were different. Jaehyun was no fool to think he was immune to the tragedy of the human mind; he'd lived long enough to know better. No one who was born supernatural - even humans who happened to have a supernatural ancestor and ended up gifted - could escape being the object of human failure. 

This, though, was by far the closest in centuries the warlock had felt close to death. Even his magic was waning, losing it's precision as his vision began to blur and darken at the edges. 'Fuck, I’m running out of time.' The thought hit him harder than a swift punch to the stomach or an unexpected kick to the nether region, and the warlock dove into the shadows of a nearby alley, cloaking himself. A swift escape was of utmost importance if he planned on surviving the wound in his side and keeping his eyes; the thing Jaehyun knew they would take as a trophy from his death. Dark hair was caked with sweat and Jaehyun is glaringly aware that he needs to focus on escaping or he may not make it to see the sunrise. His manor isn’t safe anymore, he knows that. If they could flush him out from his café, they no doubt knew where his home was. His other properties were currently being used as safehouses, and Jaehyun was in no way going to kickstart any stress or shock to those guests. A shaky breath shook Jaehyun’s body as he closed his eyes, glamour falling. As he looked up at the sky, he opened his eyes, revealing reptilian green irises accented by rainbow slits. His glamour wasn’t a priority compared to the situation he was in. A breath taken too hard made him wince as he leaned his head back against the dark grey terracotta wall.

‘Damn it, Jaehyun, think.’ he scolds himself, hand pressing to the gunshot wound in his side. ‘Think, think, think. Somewhere. There has to be somewhere.’ 

He’s jolted back to reality viciously when the renewed sounds of baying from the dogs is suddenly much closer. Large hunting breeds, vicious when they find their intended target. Fear riddles through Jaehyun’s blood like a discarded cigar on gasoline, and there’s a sudden flash through his mind. The answer is a risk, and there are so many emotions that bubble through his heart, but escape is at his grasp and he isn’t going to squander it because of a past he’d rather forget. Hope blooms to simmer down some of the fear, and his eyes ripple to life, glamour and natural color fighting as he brings the necessary casting rune to the forefront of his mind. He knows he has one, maybe two or an even slimmer three chances at this before he completely loses consciousness from the blood and he’s killed by fangs and crossbows alike. He traces the rune over the concrete, begging for it to work. Uneven breath halts when the magic fizzles and dies, leaving a pale shape on the cement. ‘No. Damn it to hell.’ he thought, frantically scribbling the rune on the cold pavement again. ‘Not here. Not like this. Please, no.’ Every fiber of his being was focused between panic and the need to escape. The rune fizzles at the edges and Jaehyun’s heart begins dropping before the magic sticks and the rune changes shape into the round portal that offers him escape. He moved to toss himself through the hole when his relief was cut short. A loud growl and sharp pain exploded over his arm as one of the dogs located him. With a yelp, Jaehyun’s balance was lost and he fell into the space, dragging the canine with him into the brief abyss before he crashed into a table on a large porch that gave way. 

Air left him in a rush and a weak groan, the overall pain finally making it almost impossible to stay awake. The dog released his arm and went to find purchase elsewhere when something snatched it up, and Jaehyun was vaguely aware of potential danger when he heard the brief scuffle of his predator becoming prey instead. Danger. The manor in the field wasn’t safe, either, it seemed. His vision was nearly completely black at this point, all he was aware of was black and rainbow dancing before him as unconsciousness took him hostage. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dragons had long faded from the forefront of the minds of the normal humans, but it wasn’t so simple as they had died off or been killed. Most had merely learned to stay in their human forms when among the masses, clans separated into smaller numbers to keep the species safe. Lee Taeyong was the youngest of the small sect from his clan, and the first to leave to find a clan of his own. His older sister, Areum, and their parents supported the choice, knowing full well that Taeyong had never really been able to be happy among only dragons. 

“Something else calls to you, little brother. You have to follow that to find your happiness.” Areum had told him as he had prepared to leave. IT was an emotional goodbye, but somehow, Taeyong knew he was heading into great things. 

And so the young dragon had gone off, found a clan of his own, and though the ranks weren’t large, the overall species was well mixed. And sometimes the clan had their own business to attend to, which was how Taeyong had found himself wandering the world, looking for a kind of vacation home for when the clan could reunite under one roof again. He had found one and had been working on remodeling and repairing it. The walls had all come down at their own pace, and the dragon had replaced them all and brought the house back to a lovely splendor. The high, covered wrap around porch was carefully set with a few swings, tables and chairs. Various plants were hung from the edge of the covering, a few potted plants settled among the railing around the porch. What had been an abandoned mansion that felt tragic and hopeless had started changing into a loving space. There was no furniture, but that would come in time. For now, the most important part was complete. The building was ready for it’s first bout of excitement when the clan gathered, and Taeyong was happy to think of that as he sat on the porch swing near the front door with a hot cup of tea as he watched the fall leaves drift about on the wind. His dream of making the property a home was almost done. A large garden ran along the west side of the mansion, a flower garden with a large pond and gazebo just north of the back entrance of the house. Imagining the fun and laughter that would one day be had made him content and he was humming softly to himself when there was a ripple of magic that pricked at his senses and made the hair on his arms stand up, goosebumps tracing up pale skin even under the soft, warm fabric of his favorite hoodie. Said goosebumps shivered briefly into black and rainbow colored scales that faded faster than they appeared. 

Curious, Taeyong reached to set his cup on the side table next to the swing, standing to walk down the porch steps and look around, hand resting on the large picnic table settled onto a large stone garden setup he had made for au fresco dining. Face contorted in confusion, he hummed curiously, moving to turn back when the magic came back in a much stronger wave, and Taeyong shifted out of protective instinct. The strong scent of coppery blood hit his nose first, then a loud crash and growling. When the intruding creature realized there was someone else, it released its prey to charge at Taeyong, only to wind up eaten by the large dragon. Tension still in his muscles, he turned his attention to the now destroyed table. The tabletop itself was surprisingly intact, the legs, however, would need to be remade. Now, though, with the immediate threat out of the way, the dragon brought himself closer to the scent of blood to better investigate. What he found was startling for him. The male was unconscious and very hurt, and despite the wounds and ragged breathing, Taeyong could see the male was beautiful. Magic was a palpable taste in the air, telling Taeyong the young man was likely a warlock or witch. What struck the dragon as odd was the intense need to save the other. 

Shifting back into human form, he lifted the other with ease, forgetting about the blood around his mouth and on his clothes as he carried the male into the mansion and laid him on the couch. “Where did you come from, beautiful?” he asked, looking over what he could to assess the damage. Blood had dried the male’s clothing to his skin, and there was a chunk of the man’s arm from the animal biting him. It was a lot to patch up for just one dragon, so Taeyong made a choice as he wrapped the dark blanket he’d been using around the unknown male. He walked to the porch to grab his phone, dialing a number as he knelt by the couch to brush his hand through the dark hair of the hurt man. When the other side fo the line picked up, Taeyong smiled. 

“Hey there, handsome. Are you and Arashi free? I need some serious help and your girl has the best magic to do so.”

[iraot]

Of Direwolves & Thunder

Warnings; eventual smut, fluff, minor angst, minor virginal terror, arranged marriage, age gap, size kink, sub/dom themes, Sansa is 18 in this. - this is for the fic overall. Pairing; Sansa Stark x Thor Mjölnir Word Count; 4,526 Next Update; Oct. 25th, 2020 A.N; i lied. I can’t wait that long to post - I’m WEAK. so here have this. If you’d like to be apart of my taglist for this fic please let me know! :) ( p.s there are two chapters left ) << previous chapter - next chapter >>

ONE

Sansa dreaded the day it came, two weeks of stitching nonstop. There had been a time when she'd thought herself to never tire of her needle work, it kept her constant mind racing but now it'd set her forward on journey as a woman. She'd even given a piece for Arya to work on; it seemed like she was actually trying even if she wasn't too thrilled about the prospect of her sister leaving. Her wedding dress was finished almost at the last minute, they were due to arrive at some point during the day. 

Her mother fussed over her hair and Sansa felt as if she might lose her breakfast – the meager buttered toast and warm tea. Taking a few calming breaths she watched as her mother let her tamed waves flow over her back while parts of her hair were designed in the Northern fashion. Her dress was black and grey, lined with soft wool to keep her warm. Her corset was decorated with fur and leather, and a belt at her waist kept everything snug and in place. 

Draping her cloak over her shoulders as her mother dabbed a bit of rose tinted balm to her lips, “Is this necessary?” 

Her mother tsk'd, “of course it is, your lips are a bit dry, make sure you drink more water. Adding some color into your face wouldn't go amiss either.” she pinked her cheeks making Sansa cry out in shock and indignation. “What was that for?!” Catelynn looked at her daughter then gave a quirk of her lips,”I remember the day I met your father, it was the day I met his brother.” Sansa snorted indelicately as her mother continued, “I was nervous, and angry when I couldn't marry Brandon. Things changed though, you'll see it's different once they're yours.” she explained to her with a sigh, “he'll be good to you, I knew his mother – she is very kind and it's often been told that he takes after her.” Sansa had been told much the same, but it didn't ease her nerves. Not one bit, there were other rumors about him and his ferocity on the battlefield. He was close to her father's age, or somewhere in there she'd been told. He had fought in the rebellion beside his own father for the murder of her Uncle and Grandfather. The sound of horns forced her eyes to jolt to the nearby window, pulling her from her rampant thoughts. The House Mjölnir flag was flying high over the hill signaling their arrival. Sansa choked on her breath then closed her eyes tightly, she wasn't ready – she couldn't do this. “Breathe, you're going to be alright. You're not the first bride to be nervous to meet her betrothed, you won't be the last.” Her mother stroked her cheek affectionately, “when you have daughters some day -” “I won't marry them off, I'll let them choose.” Sansa declared soberly, this fear was not something she ever wanted her children to feel. Class aside – she wanted them to feel comfortable, safe and have a level of knowledge about their intended. This.. this wasn't right, used for the betterment of her house. She refused to allow her daughters to feel such a deep rooted fear, a fear they couldn't escape if their worst imaginations came true. Her mother's eyes bore into her for a moment before she smoothed her skirts.  “Come, we won't keep them waiting.” the conversation was over, and  she didn't feel sorry. She'd stopped feeling sorry for expressing herself a long time ago. When she knew her life wasn't in her hands regardless of what she said. There was nothing further that could be taken from her if she continued to use them to benefit her. She'd never be a silent wife, a participant in the chains that had kept women silent for far too long while men tended to the important things. When her shoes were laced tightly, she swept from the room making her way to the courtyard. ◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆ Standing beside her father, normally this was Robb's position but this guest was here for her, not anyone else. There had been minor protest from her brother, she couldn't help but snort - he'd be meeting his betrothed in the next few months in White Harbor. Then, she wouldn't see him till his wedding, given she wasn't expecting at the time - she hoped she wasn't. The Mjölnir sigil was an intricately designed hammer, covered in runes with a bolt of lightning weaved around it; she'd find it beautiful if for the fact that it was intimidating. The direwolf had been her family sigil, and it always would be even if the realm didn't consider her a Stark any longer.  The carriage stopped, in it held Lord Mjölnir and his wife, riding on horseback behind them were their sons. Thor and Loki - she'd never seen either of them before in her life but she didn't dare look longer than she had to.  Poise and grace.  She wore a faux shield of confidence, one she'd been taught by her Septa.  Her father was the first to speak, "Lord Mjölnir, we're happy to welcome you to our home. " his tone was even and kind - she didn't know how he did it. They shook hands and hugged, just like he did with everyone. The men who had been by his side as he fought in the rebellion of the mad king.  "We're happy to be here, Lord Stark. It is only fitting it's to join our families - is it not?" The man chuckled roughly, he was definitely older. She was surprised he still seemed to be so spry and lively, but when his eyes moved to her she felt her heart rate quicken. "This must be her then, she's lovely." he smiled kindly then took her hand in his hand. "Lady Sansa, it is indeed an honor to finally meet you." Lord Mjölnir spoke to her, his wife moving to his side after having greeted her mother and father. Sansa offered a small smile, "It's is an honor that is all mine, Lord Mjölnir." she replied in kind. Though, she was sure she was going to lose her meal if this continued on too much longer, but she felt her mind was rushing too soon. "Thor, dear." His mother called to him, her heart rate tripled - she certainly hoped she wasn't sick on him; that'd be an introduction of the worst sort. At least she'd man an impression.  His figure blocked out the sun as he approached, far taller than any other man she'd met in the north - he had to be as tall as the Hound at least. Odin moved aside to allow Thor the space to greet his intended, everyone seemed all too eager to see the pair of them interact. She could see his brother peeking around their mother to get a look at her but her eyes were pulled to his. He grabbed her hand in his larger one then pressed his lips to the back of it, "Lady Sansa, I am honored to be within your presence." He was a large man, he towered over her lithe frame and he brought a sense of comfort along with it. Thor was a warrior, everyone knew it. He'd handled skirmishes alongside her brother, and had kept Asgard safe when his father's age restricted him from doing so.  "As am I in yours, Lord Thor."  Practiced words.  Recited, over and over, never had she anticipated nerves of this measure.  She was sure she stumbled over her words, tripped over them like she'd once tripped up the stairs to the tower where her room was held - oh, a mess he must think of her - she was sure. Though the small glint in his eyes as he released her hand from his own startled her; mischievousness, like the kind she'd found in her sister's when she'd done something really shouldn't have or when Robb was making a joke that their mother would box his ears for.  She hadn't expected to find lay there.  He stood back to his full height, though only a matter of seconds had passed it felt like minutes. Her grey eyes broke from his cerulean ones,  as he turned to greet her father with the respect he was due. Sansa's eyes cast down to the ground as she caught her breath; she hadn't even realized it was missing. A gentle hand grasped her own and when she lifted her eyes Lady Mjölnir gave her a reassuring smile.  "You did lovely, dear." the words were soft but reassuring, maybe she hadn't made a complete mess of things. Once she was so sure she could speak her mind, but just meeting her intended had left her a puddle of unspoken words and flushed from head to toe. "Come, I wish to get to know the woman who is to be my good daughter," she spoke freely as she saw the men walk away leaving everyone scrambling, "your father said you insisted on being married here - it is quite lovely, but I have a feeling there is more of a sentiment behind it?" Sansa walked with her arm linked in the older woman's, "It is tradition, Lady Mjölnir. Every Stark of Winterfell has been married under the Godswood since before Aegon the Conqueror." The stories had enthralled her as a child, but the sparkling blue eyes still tinged her mind, and she couldn't help but wonder if he thought of her too. "That is quite the tradition then, isn't it? Thor was all too pleased to agree, he'd always wanted to see Winterfell but never had reason enough to go." She chuckled a little as they walked towards the acreage that the Godswood was hidden within. "He'll be quite beside himself when he sees this, I've never quite seen him so excited. When he told us he was ready to take a wife.. I never thought I'd see the day."  Sansa swallowed then took a deep breath, "I'm a bit older than most girls who marry, Lady Mjölnir. Does that not bother him?" Frigga shook her head, "He was relieved, honestly. He is getting closer to his thirty fifth name day, and a very young wife wouldn't suit him." The words settled between them and Sansa carefully regarded them. Though, she was quite happy that this wasn't an issue; she wondered why.  "You're a woman grown, you're studied and have a better understanding of what the future holds" She stopped walking then took her hands within her own, "House Mjölnir has never married into another unless the bride was a bit older - some even older than yourself, it's a tradition of sorts." Frigga explained easily, " The men are always tall, and make for big babes. Thor himself weighed a bit under a full stone." Sansa eyes widened, Rickon had weighed half a stone and her mother said it had been a tiresome labor. "I do not know - " "We have the best healers in the North. A maester specialized in birthing just for this reason, Sansa -" she gave her a reassuring smile as she looked to the tree before them as they grew closer. "Please do not worry yourself.  You're a sight taller than myself, you'll do fine." Though her assurances didn't do much for her mind, it was not uncommon for women to perish in childbirth - she wouldn't have been the first nor the last to succumb to this fate.  Feeling comforted by the familiar tree she placed her hand against it then closed her eyes. This was home, it was if she could feel the seven flowing through her when she was here. The branches covered in crimson leaves some littering the ground, the hot spring in front of it keeping the air mildly warm despite the crisp temperatures. Taking a breath Sansa sighed, "Do you worship the old or new?"  Frigga shook her head, "I haven't worshiped either in some time, do you talk to them here?" she asked in awe of the beauty and size of the tree.  It was as old as the Stark name, probably even older than that if Sansa had to guess. It towered over them, it was over even the large walls that surrounded Winterfell.  "Sometimes, I feel them here. I don't know if it's truly the Gods I feel or if it's just home… I'm going to miss it." She admitted softly as she looked at the crystal clear waters of the hotspring. Her eyes watered and she took a deep breath, "I knew I'd have to leave eventually, but it didn't stop me from hoping it might not take me away Perhaps, I'd marry someone here - but I always knew." it was a foolish dream, childish hope that she'd never have to leave her family. That maybe she'd have her mother near when she birthed her first child, to have the creature comforts she remembered so keenly; so close. Frigga looked at her, "When I left home, it felt like I couldn't breathe. I remember it, just like it was yesterday. I stumbled over my words, and was sure I'd made a mess of myself in front of Odinn but he just smiled," there was a shy smile that appeared on the woman's face, like remembering a good memory. "He was very kind to me, I'm.. truly the only person he is kind to and I imagine you'll be second on that list."  "Does it get easier?" "Not at first, it gets worse. Once you're away from home, you'll feel panicked. Like you're being strangled I suppose, your sense of safety and comfort is behind you. " The words were far from comforting, but she appreciated her honesty. Sweet lies were not what she needed, and her mother would feed them to her to make herself feel better - that much she knew. "You will not be alone, and you will never be harmed. Asgard will be your new home, and it will take some time to adjust but with time it becomes easier but that's all it does."  Honesty. Truth. Cruel. It felt like all too often those things were rolled into one, and she preferred it. Sansa had been sheltered, if it weren't for the maids or Arya sneaking her bits and pieces of information here or there she'd be completely blind sighted by what was to come.  Married life came with duties; ones her Septa knew naught about but thought imprudent she shared whatever knowledge she felt necessary. Far too much of it sounded awful, terrifying even. She was loath to think of what her future held if it was truly as tedious as she made it sound. ◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆ Thor was beside himself, he hadn't wanted to leave her just yet but he could feel her nerves rolling off her in tidal waves. He couldn't blame her, even he had his own anxieties over their impending marriage. Seeing her for the first time when they'd rode into the square he had been floored, taller than he'd expected, beautiful. Her auburn hair glimmering near crimson in the sunlight. He had done the right thing in waiting to take a wife, she'd please him just fine. When he'd told his father he was ready to take a bride, he was a little worried who his father would choose - there were a number of options weighing down his father's desk in his solar, but only one would become his one and only. He'd known that the decision wouldn't be in his hands, as the eldest son he had his own duties to his family. Though, he supposed in a way they were similar to that of Lady Sansa.  Doing a duty to your family, for the good of the North, for the good of alliances. "So," he heard his brother's voice drawl from beside him, his chair creaking as he turned his attention towards him, and he just knew he wouldn't have left well enough alone, "she seems just proper."  Thor rolled his eyes as he looked towards Loki, he was always in his surly moods - souring everyone about him when things didn't go his way or something didn't act to fit his mold. "She was nervous, as was I. You seem to forget." He watched as his father talked with his soon to be Good Father - he didn't really know how he was going to handle talking to him alone. The time would come, he knew. Thor was not unaccustomed to talking with women, he was used to that much, however, he was not used to talking to their father's. Gods forbid. He'd have been dead a decade and some years ago if that were the case.  "But, of course. It's a pity really, what of the Tyrell girl? Father said they sent in an offer as well," Loki said to him as he sipped from the ale that was poured in his cup.  Thor shook his head, the Tyrells were a wealth of many things that just weren't necessary in the North. They had numbers for soldiers, for certain, a hundred thousand swords would aid them well if they became necessary. The North was in no need for it - but it took his father all of two days to brush off the offer. He was sure Lady Margaery was lovely, but at this moment he couldn't imagine anyone was as beautiful as Sansa Stark.  Taking a deep breath as he took his time to soak in the solar, it was beautifully crafted, intricate direwolf carvings into the mantle of the fireplace. He hadn't seen anything like this in Asgard, he suspected it was as old as the stories of old - but he couldn't be sure.  "It held no benefit for anyone, it was simply a marriage. Nothing gained nor lost. This marriage, it holds promise." He didn't have to explain as much to Loki -- he'd studied the law and rewritten it time and time again so that someday he could be a worthy advisor when Thor took over Asgard to become Lord of House Mjölnir. Even so, Sansa wasn't the only offer that had come across the redwood desk. Karstark, Mormont, Frey, Lannister - many names but as a Vassal to House Stark it was without question who was going to be chosen. It was an honor to marry to their liege Lord's family.  There was another perk, the fact that her father had waited so long to marry her - many called him a fool. Though, he understood. When these Lords married their daughters off the moment they bled he felt sick, even the Frey girl who had been offered was not even five and ten.  It was repulsive. The last thing he wanted was some child bride, the thought disturbed him in a way he couldn't begin to explain. "We're both from the North, and it strengthens the bonds between our houses." It would also cure his loneliness that seemed to persist - or so he hoped anyway. He'd been alone for quite sometime now, his bed cold, his heart feeling colder. Winter in the North wasn't a gentle breeze, it came with thundering clouds and so much snow people would be locked in their houses till midday. Ropes tied house to house, or house to barn so that they might feed their animals before the day was through. Creeks would rice with the excess water melted by the sun - should they be so lucky to have any - there was no time to dally; if they did not marry now they would not marry until the weather was agreeable which could be more than a year. "Boring." Loki huffed, obviously displeased with his answer - he knew they both had a knack for theatrics but his brother really did push it a little far sometimes. "Do you think they'd let me marry her then? Since you've done your duty, perhaps I won't have to try so hard."  "You're incorrigible, brother. To think it's me everyone seemed to worry about, and you're only worried about how far away your bride is." Thor chuckled a little into his cup before sitting back then looking towards his own father.  Eddard drank from his own cup then sighed, "I suppose we should talk business then. I've gotten a raven from the wall, the weather is changing fast, so it'd be best if we have the wedding quickly.  I think the day after tomorrow is sufficient, how many days ride back to Asgard is it?"  Thor cleared his throat, "About five days. Though that was with frequent stops and less riding during the day." He looked to his father with a teasing expression who rolled his eyes a little. "If we start at daybreak and only set camp when the sun goes down we could be back in three." "I'm not as young as I used to be, boy." Odinn chuckled as he looked at his son, "If I  fall behind then so be it. You'll bring your wife to Asgard quickly, it won't do for her to be traveling for long periods of time. " Eddard nodded a little as he looked between them, "Will she have her own carriage?" "Of course, and we'll have a horse led behind in case she would like to ride as well. I sent a raven ahead to have things prepared. I would like for her to be as comfortable as possible." Thor told him seriously, "it's not a difficult journey in optimum conditions but should it begin to snow she will be well taken care of; I assure you."  He could see the tense muscles in her father relax upon his statement, he couldn't imagine having these talks. How terrifying to let your child into the hands of another, knowing that their fate could end in tragedy if you didn't choose the right partner for them. "As I'm sure you understand, Lord Thor, if anything untoward were to happen to her…" he trailed off. "I would do anything in my power to see that that never happens, Lord Stark. "Thor assured him seriously, "I will take our vows and life together very seriously. She will never want for anything." The doors to the solar opened and Robb walked in with Jon hot on his heels, the two were inseparable as far as Thor knew. Half brothers but might as well have been true with how they squabbled. Where Robb went, so did Jon - on the battlefield he'd seen them for what they were; warriors. Despite their young age, they seemed to know tactician better than most men older than himself. There was no sign of the iron born boy he'd seen a few times before, and for that he was thankful. He had a distaste for them, it was probably wise he was kept out of his sight.   "Lord Thor, " Robb greeted him jovially. "Lord Robb," a quirk of his lips in response. He hadn't seen the younger man since he'd last helped - the previous spring. "It seems you're going to take my sister away then," he said as he sat across from him, filling his cup with some of the sweet beverages placed in the middle. "You'll bring her back for my wedding in a few months time won't you?"  The question hung heavy, there were a few things that depended on his answer. If she were carrying he would have to make sure it was safe for her to travel, and then it all depended upon the weather. Thor nodded, "If her health permits and the weather is not too severe. I don't see why that would be an issue," he said to him and took a healthy drink from his cup; he hated the heavy silence that hung there.  Knowing what was to come for him, what was to come for Winterfell's Daughter, he almost felt bad but he could not wait to have her as his own. He swore he saw Robb's eyes darken in distaste, surely these men were not so obtuse that they wouldn't think him capable of waiting to put a babe on her? She was lovely. More than, but thinking of her as more before he wed her would be a folly on his part.  "Of course," Robb seemed a bit put under by the thought of his sister not attending his own wedding but seemed to accept it. "Have you had any more skirmishes?" Robb queried, there had been a large number of them the year prior, fights over food - uprising over one thing or another - stolen land, stolen livestock, a never ending cycle. It was the only reason his decision to take a bride had taken so long. He'd been quite ready to take a wife for two years now, but seeing Lady Sansa made his waiting all the more worth it. He'd heard nothing but kind things about her from those who had met her or been at the receiving end of her kindness. Sighing, "a few but not nearly as many as the year prior. We've put a halt to the majority of them, and as they crop up we tear them down. It's a process," he admitted as he looked at the younger boy. Robb Stark was to be feared amongst those on the battlefield, the only other man he'd seen with such tactician is Tywin Lannister. He'd be a fitting husband for Myrcella Baratheon - perhaps they would make a brood of warriors to rival that of the mountain that walked.  "We've had a few deserters from the wall, seems the lot of them have gone mad up there." Eddard spoke solemnly, "A few Skirmishes of our own in Wintertown but nothing we can't manage on our own. We're preparing for the long winter, and the soils of Asgard will surely help when it comes to farming and our glass gardens." Thor looked to Eddard then nodded as he listened, "The carts of soil are on their way as we speak, I believe the amount we agreed on ended up being twelve carts full of soil. They're quite deep, I saw to that myself. They should be here by the time we've returned to Asgard."  Magic of the others ran deep through Asgard, the Mjölnir house was once said to be a family of sorcerers. Though, there was no way to prove these things even if they thought they were real; the lands were indeed something magical. The constant turnover of fresh produce and grain in the winter was nothing to sniff their noses at; food was so scarce - they needed every bit they could get their hands on. This union would bring more than two houses closer, the peace he sought in the battlefield was no longer there. He struggled to gain a grip on his life, he hoped she could provide him with that peace. Loneliness wasn't uncommon for Thor, even if he could have any woman with Asgard to warm his bed it no longer entranced him as it once had.  He wanted more, he wanted a family. 

[hecohansen31]

What We Used To Be As Children

Harald Finehair x Reader (Vikings Era).

(A/N): Hello there, @gearhead66​!

A little bird told me that you were having quite the rough patch this July, and that today was your birthday, so I thought about doing a small thing for you to enoy and to brighten your mood, I hope at least!

Hope you’ll enjoy this!

SUMMARY: You had always been in love with your veloved childhood friend, but to him you weren’t anything more than a fellow memory, but when time come for you both to marry, he might just change his mind.

WORDS: 2,1 K

WARNINGS: Slight Mention of Abusive Household, Reader’s Struggles and Insecurities, Not Exactly Following The Series (but when do I ever?)

Rumors had been going through the entire Vesterfold that the king would choose a bride soon.

And it replenished your heart with so much sorrow and sadness.

You couldn’t deny that you had avoided your beloved friend Harald for quite some time, although it was difficult since you had been attached to the hip since you were children.

The man had many times moved away from kingly duties to ‘annoy’ you in your work of keeping the household clean.

And your siblings, rigorously all boys, fed.

Who liked teasing you and liked Harald much more than you, teaming up with him against you, each time.

And being worst gossipers than you, yourself.

One time, they had almost made your heart rush out of your chest, because the eldest of them had commented that you were ‘old’ and still ‘unmarried’ as if it was your fault, when your father could barely keep his trousers on his work, your only income.

Harald’s generous offers that you had started accepting after a winter you had been all your brothers almost die of starvation.

You had never meant to take advantage of your friendship with the king, although your father insisted that you did, always commenting on you as if you were some kind of prized cow to be sold out to the best offer.

You and Harald had grown up as smart children, always left to fend for each other and eventually you had developed a protectiveness between each other that made him worry for your family and you for his poor battered heart.

Harald had a taste in women that was dangerous, to say the least.

But you didn’t want to appear as some kind of jealous freak, preferring to simply smile, meanwhile your heart broke from the inside, because you both grow up, him with the idea of a kingdom for Eilisif, you had grown up with the idea of a small life with him.

And everybody in your house seemed to know.

You had been talking with Harald, having invited him inside as he had brought you some meat leftovers from the latest feast, and he had witnessed your brother unhappy comment and you had caught the onto it, glaring at your brother in a way that had made him stand up in his place.

But your younger brother couldn’t be convinced so easily, with his big mouth.

“… here comes the reason why our sister is unmarried!” he had shouted, meanwhile the toddler of the family had waved at Harald with his tiny hands, evidently having also understood what your brother had meant.

Your face had then been coated with crimson and even the ever-feared Harald Finehair beside you had blushed lightly, order your younger brothers ‘to leave you alone’, although it was a comment that held no strength in it.

Soon after the news of him having to marry came arriving to all Vesterfold and you had started avoiding him attentively, leaving only accidental meetings at the market or when you came to the feasts mostly for the food and the ale.

You wondered whether the knowledge of your interest in him had speeded up the process of him wanting to marry or he had been harboring the idea for quite some time.

Both ideas made you uneasy.

And your heart had already shattered itself to the ground the night that you had discovered he had invited a stranger in his own bed, bringing her from Kattegat and calling her aòready ‘his queen’.

You had never wanted that title for yourself.

Your childish-self had once jokingly married Harald in the middle of a clearing with only a dress of cotton and flowers threaded in your and his hair, and you would have done it again.

But he had obviously shown that he didn’t care for such a thing with you.

You had then wondered whether it had been you who had not been enough or if he had been too interested in following flames to sit properly at the hearth and enjoy its warmth.

Either way, it was none of your business.

It would never be, from the moment he swore his loyalty to her.

What good was a childhood friend to him now that he had a lifelong company?

And your father must have thought the same, thinking that if you lost Harald’s favor, he would have soon lost all his income and he wouldn’t have been able to simply sleep off the all day.

He had to do something about it.

He had to sell you out.

He had already sold all the pieces your mother had left from her morgengifu, so you were the only thing he could still sell without being looked like the madman he was and you welcomed gladly his choice, because you would have at least something to take care of your head meanwhile Harald enjoyed his wife.

And your soon-to-be-husband turned out to be a merchant, who had paid your father an hefty sum for your fertile hips and pretty smile, although you could feel his arrogant soul, you knew that you’d have travelled far away.

You’d be worried for your brothers, but some fresh air would have helped you.

And soon words of your engagement got out of your small town, mostly because of your father, who in a drunken fit confessed to you:

‘I had to fucking marry off my sole daughter to a foreigner… because that cunt of a king would hound her like a dog, scaring off all her suitors’.

You had calmed down your father, suggesting that Harald hadn’t cared about you all that much.

Had he cared for you at all, he wouldn’t have hounded your suitors, but he would have followed you, to chase your hand marriage.

But it’d never happen.

Or so you thought.

That afternoon you had been working thread and stitch, preparing your bridal dress and bridal towels, embedded with runes of fertility and strength, and although you weren’t looking forward to  wear the former and use the latter, you found the gesture strangely reassuring.

It certainly helped you to keep your mind focused.

And then all your friends were gasping, meanwhile you were teaching a smaller girl an elegant pattern and you thought your father must have again forgot his pants at home, but as you raised your head to scold him, you found it wasn’t your naked father.

It was much worse.

It was Harald.

“Ladies, will you do the favor of leaving me and (Y/N), alone?” his tone might have been an order and soon, in a fury of cotton and stitches all your friends had left the room, as you shifted uncomfortable on the chair.

It had gone all so well.

You had been able to avoid him perfectly and soon you’d be shipped off with your husband, enough not to have to meet him again.

You hoped and dreaded that thought.

“You aren’t seriously even going to face me?” his tone was arrogant and aggressive, pushing your head to look further up on the worn out boots you had chosen for that day.

Although you didn’t have much choice, since they were the only ones you owned.

You didn’t have the algid beauty of Astrid or the elegance of Eilisif, certainly not being able to compare yourself to them.

But you wouldn’t have hurt Harald.

Not intentionally at least.

“… we used to be best friends and now you can’t even face me” commented Harald with disdain in his tone “… what might have I done to make you act like this?”.

‘You are marrying, after you promised to do the same with me, under a crown of oranges and lilies’.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it.

“I’ll be a married woman soon” you simply chanted, the words sounding so foreign on your tongue “… and I don’t think it is proper for me to see other men that don’t belong to my family”.

Harald took a sharp hiss and then his fist hit the back of the chair next to him, startling you at the horrid sound that gesture made, not afraid of Harald, never afraid of him.

But the gesture wanted to make you fight him.

“… don’t ruin my house” also your voice was a hiss, a snake hiss, as your eyes finally met Harald’s amber ones “… you’ll be a polite guest or I’ll have my fun throwing ‘an old friend’ outside, believe me…”.

And Harald’s face shone of hidden amusement.

Because that had been the façade his friend had always given him.

And that was why he had chosen you, through so many children.

You didn’t give a shit and you wouldn’t have coddled him.

“… then don’t bullshit me” he shot back “… your soon-to-be-husband isn’t the one thing stopping you from visiting me… and if he is… he isn’t the right one for you”.

“As if you knew who is right for me” you spoke back, as you crossed your arms over your chest, leaving your weight completely on the back of the chair.

And he had pushed himself forward, grabbing under your chin with a swiftness that had caught you completely off guard.

“… I do” and his eyes spoke of inner truth “… you deserve somebody who’ll treat you with kindness and won’t be afraid of that savage side you hide to everyone but me”.

“My future husband might be just like that”.

But even your tone wasn’t convincing.

In the slightest.

“You were always a terrible liar”.

“And father wants to sell me. He has to since you won’t be providing for us anymore”.

Harald’s eyes became tight at that mention and you knew you had hit a sore spot.

He had always wondered what people loved him truly for, aching for a pure love, one that would have withstood rain and fire, whether he was a king or not.

And he hadn’t ever had anybody for that.

Except you.

But you knew he harbored some doubts due to your father’s inquiries towards him.

And you knew the quickest way to push him away.

“… who told him I won’t take care of you” one of his hands lowered itself onto your arm to stop you from the cross position you were in “… I’d take care of you and your family for as long as I live”.

“Will you swear it?” you were teasing darkly, and you saw the beast appearing in the man’s eyes.

And it made liquid arousal fall down between your legs, making you shift your legs closer, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed to Harald.

But you brought back his attention.

“… you’ll have a wife” his eyes were glued on your body, as they lowered themselves slowly “… and she won’t be happy of your help towards me, Wives are jealous and wicked things, wanting their husbands solely for themselves”.

“I thought husbands were like that” he commented, and soon his hand was again under your chin, indulging on your throat in a way that was a sensual caress and suddenly the air in the room had tensed itself up and it wasn’t rageful anymore.

It was arousal.

“… wives hold the heart of the beasts in their hands, believe me” you chastised him, holding yourself closer till you were inches apart from doing what you had ached obtaining for a whole lifetime.

Not a child anymore, and neither a clumsy teen.

A full-grown woman.

And a threat in itself.

Harald pushed you back still so easily that it made you feel like a ragdoll.

And soon you were in his arm, unable to run away.

But could you seriously run away from the place you had always wanted to stay in.

“Did you just say that I am a beast”.

“I am not your wife, so you aren’t my beast” and then realized that one minute spent in his arms would have been a minute more of torment in your mind “… leave me, Harald, my father could walk over us and…”.

“… he has already… so many times” he spoke loudly “… and you don’t want me to leave”.

“Think about your wife!” you tried to make him reason.

“… I don’t have a wife” he breathed on your lips.

“Not yet!”.

“Not anymore”.

And that surprised you as your eyes pleaded him for more.

“I sent her away…” he confessed, as he brought you closer and right on your lips he whispered “My heart is not mine to give because it is already yours”.

[higuchimon]

[prompts]

I've just been going over my WIPs and prompts and made a decision. While I've said I want to empty out my inbox this year, that won't be a thing, sadly. Because combined, my plans for both WIPs and prompts comprise over a million words. That would require writig over seven thousand words a day and that's not even remotely possible for me.

So, I'm going to focus on my WIPs and I will work on filling prompts as best I can, but I cannot promise anything will be done at any given point. We'll see how it all comes out. I have a bad habit of making fills very complex and the ideas just won't go away. So I'll do my very best.

So, this means the following prompts (i.e., all of them) are on hold until I can clear through more of my WIPs. I'm honestly tempted to alternate them, now that I think about it. Finish a posted WIP, write a fill, finish a posted WIP, lather, rinse, repeat. Which means next is finishing a posted WIP.

ETA: of course, there will always be unexpected ideas that strike out of the blue & focus weeks/months. So I will post new non-prompt works at times as well.

Regardless: on hold as of now:

please shut the hell up: Yuuya x Yuuto

holding hands walking in snow: Fubuki x Manjoume

librarian/avid reader AU: Kinshiro x Atsushi

taking the hit: Hikari & Ken

drink me: Yubel x Juudai x Johan

please, put it DOWN: Edo x Ryou

please listen to me/I told you not to all in love with me: Yubel x Johan

look at at me - just breathe, okay?: Taichi x Daisuke

ouija board: Ken x Daisuke

sleeping together/call me: Yuusaku x Ryouken

two pizzas & Oroos: Jim & Toby

date soulmate dies on your wrist: Edo x Ryou

share extreme physical sensation: Yubel x Juudai x Johan

Arc-V: Yubel x Juudai x Johan

Summer Camp/Bathtub: Yubel x Juudai x Johan

obsession/pet: Kaiser x Daisuke

Blanket fort: Sora, Riku, & Kairi

I thought you said you didn't have any powers: Juudai & SHou, Reversal Healer/Firestarter AU

Tucking their hands beneath the other person’s shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin; One person tracing the other’s lips with a fingertip until they can’t resist any longer, tilting their chin towards them for a kiss/A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck: Kaiser x Daisuke

heart growing three sizes, the grinch-style: Kaiser x Daisuke

it’s a christmas miracle!: Ken x Daisuke

cuddling for warmth: Ken x Daisuke [breeds]

the nutcracker: Ken x Daisuke: [breeds]

“I cannot emphasise, just how immeasurably fucking stupid, this idea is.”: Ken x Daisuke: ageswap

"You're insane." "You love me." "Not right now I don't." Ken x Daisuke: breeds

Yubel x Juudai: Please listen to me

And these are my posted WIPs (except Wings of Freedom because I update that on a weekly basis anyway):

What's Mine Is Mine: Kaiser x Daisuke: 14/20 chapters: 900 wpc: 5,400

Meeting The Babies: Vector, Yuuri: 2/6 chapters: 1,600 wpc: 6,740

Royal Hound: Juudai, Wolf (OC): 3/5 fics: 3,800 wpf: 7,600

Strange Friends: Rin, Rei: 1/8 chapters: 1,200 wpc: 8,397

Fatherhood: Brron, Rune, Johan: 1/8 chapters: 1,200 wpc: 8,499

On The Other Side: Rune, Latinum: 1/12 chapters: 1,500 wpc: 16,500

Chains of Blood: Ruki x Renamon: 6/10 chapters: 4,500 wpc: 22,000

Hunting Games: Juudai, Guardian Baou, Hane Kuriboh, & Geise: 2/17 chapters: 1,000 wpc: 15,000

One of Those Days: Hiroaki, Piemon, Yamato: 3/12 chapters: 1,600 wpc: 14,400

Shards of Ice: Rio, Rin: 2/12 chapters: 1,500 wpc: 14,938

Succumb To The Shadows: Juudai: 1/15 chapters: 1,200 wpc: 16,796

Choice To Protect: Ken x Daisuke: 1/18 chapters: 1,000 wpc: 17,000

Call of Darkness: Lucifer (OC), others: 6/10: 4,500 wpc: 18,000

In Any World: Yubel x Juudai: 4/10 stories: 4,500 wpf: 28,000

Shadow Strings: Yubel x Juudai, Johan, Rune: 1/24 chapters: 2,000 wpc: 46,000

Kingseeker: Guardian Baou, Juudai: 1/45 chapters: 1,000 wpc: 44,000

Passing The Torch, Willing Or Not: Yubel x Juudai, Johan: 1/40 chapters: 1,200 wpc: 46,800

Unholy Desires: Taichi x Yamato: 12/50 chapters: 2,000 wpc: 76,000

Across The Threshold: Ryou x Mizael: 2/36 chapters: 2,500 wpc: 85,000

War of the Undead: Ryou: 19/60 chapters: 3,000 wpc: 123,000

[little-legend-baby]

Sleepy Studying

Author’s Note: This is my first time posting fanfiction here on tumblr, yikes. I hope that whoever sees this enjoys it, it brought me some comfort writing it while I was having a dark weekend. 

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing Remus Lupin x Ravenclaw OC

Word count: 1743

The Hogwarts library had a special ability with light. Depending on where and how the light hit the endless shelves, it could make one feel any wide range of emotions. During a sunny day with the rays of light spilling onto the lightly dusted books, it brought a feeling of serenity. But at night, when there was little more than the occasional lamp and candle to light the rooms, it felt like a living mystery. Dark corridors of shelves, secrets tucked away within the endless pages of books… it was eerie but fascinating. 

There was one particular corner, however, that was less of a haunting mystery, and more of a comforting nook. All the way in the back, there was a secluded corner with two scarlet loveseats, a small table, a mountain of books, and a myriad floating candles above the heads of two students. 

“What’s that thing with the curl at the end? It’s some gibberish name.” 

Remus Lupin was positively exhausted. He had lost track of time hours ago, right around the time he’d forgotten what they were studying for. He imagined it was somewhere around 3 in the morning, long since curfew. That meant there was less than… some amount of hours before the exam. Right! Ancient Runes, that’s what they were studying. 

“Er… it’s called a-”

Hanna Newton was fighting to find the word, looping her index finger in a curl, as if signing the rune they were trying to name. She knew it, she knew it, if only her brain were awake enough to remember. She had to know it, the exam was only hours away, and worth a significant part of their final grade. What was it… She adjusted her glasses, hoping that seeing straight would help her think straight.

“It’s like a loop, I- I know it… it means four,”

“F-... Fwour?” 

Remus felt delirious, slurring his words in an attempt to find the name. Four… Fwour? Floop? He lowered his heads into his hands, letting his long fingers run through his hair for the hundredth time that night. 

“If I get it, I’m done. I can’t take anymore. Runes, floops, whatever,” he mumbled.

Floop. That sounded right, or almost right. Hanna sighed, shutting her eyes tight. Her mind was slipping, but she could picture the rune in her mind. Floop. No. Fwour. No.

“Fwoop,” she whispered. 

“Fwoop?”

“That’s it… Fwooper, means four,” she sighed, lazily grabbing the runes book and opening it to the back. 

She was avoiding the book, testing their memory for the exam. But now that they settled on an answer, they could check. Remus lifted his head and flopped over the armrest of the loveseat he was on, haphazardly waving his hand to beckon her over with the book. She obliged, standing and shuffling over, taking a seat on the opposite armrest. In her exhausted state, she had a harder time maintaining her balance, and it didn’t help that she was holding a book that seemingly weighed about half of her weight. 

Remus switched sides, shifting and looking into the ancient-looking ancient runes textbook. He placed his finger over the open pages, tracing the absurd little drawings until he found what they were looking for. It looked like a dark bird in a perched position, with a curled spiral underneath.

“Fwooper! That’s it!”

He was relieved more than anything. They had an answer and he could finally give in to the sleep that was gripping at him. But, his fit of relief exuded excitement, and he slammed his finger onto the book in an AH-HA fashion. 

It was good-natured, but the wrong thing to do when the girl holding the book was about the size of a bird herself. The force sent her teetering on the edge of the armrest, trying to balance herself without toppling onto her study partner. But it was too much, and Hanna’s lack of alertness made it impossible for her to compose herself.

With a rather loud thud, the ancient runes book flew out of her hands and onto the ground, while Hanna collapsed straight into Remus’s lap with a waking gasp. 

“Oh, s-sorry I jus- sorry-” Hanna sputtered, clambering to sit up. 

It seemed Remus had not noticed that 7-stones worth of girl had landed in his lap, or if he did, he didn’t seem to care. With the book not in his sight, and his question answered, he was ready to tap out. He rested his arms over top of her and let his head loll to the side sleepily. 

Though his arms were just as skinny and lanky as the rest of him, it was enough to effectively trap Hanna in his grasp. She let out a small “uh-”, but was met with the droning soporific voice of her counterpart.

“Goodnight.”

“W-what?”

“I give up, and I can’t stay up all night.” 

She sighed, turning to look at his face. The candlelight barely illuminated him, but cast a pinkish glow across the jagged scars on his cheeks and neck. He was already half-asleep, his eyes closed calmly and his breath steady. His light brown hair was tousled from running his hands through it. He looked placid and soft. Hanna felt her own brown eyes fall, taking in every detail of his dimly lit figure. 

But it was wrong, all wrong. She shouldn’t have been right there, in his warm sweatered arms. She shouldn’t have been looking at him the way she was, groggy and full of yearning. She should not have been thinking about what she was thinking, and she certainly should not have done what she thought about. But the warm shadows of sleep were reaching for her, bringing her down. And Remus was too, with the dead weight of his arms pushing her closer to him. So, despite every last bit of reason screaming at her to resist, Hanna gave up her resistance. 

She allowed her head to fall into his chest, her black framed glasses sliding down her freckled nose. Her arms came to rest on top of his, and she exhaled a deep breath.

How could something be so completely wrong, and yet feel so absolutely right? 

It felt like only a matter of moments before her eyes fell closed and her breathing fell in rhythm with his. With her head to his maroon sweater, she could faintly hear the soft beat of his heart, beating steadily like a soft metronome. Constant and reassuring, just the way Hanna loved it. 

She loved it. She loved the feeling of being close to him. She loved the warmth radiating off of him, like a welcoming fire on a cold night. She loved… everything, really. She loved him... The thoughts floated through her mind, disembodied from one another, with moments of blankness in between as she slipped out of consciousness. The reminder of her feelings were the last thing she remembered before she fell asleep in Remus Lupin’s lap....

--

There was that feeling of serenity that was common to the Hogwarts library, when the sun spilled through the windows and illuminated everything in a glowing haze. It was early in the morning, a time when only the most dedicated or desperate students were in the library. And of course there were the two in the corner, still curled up together on the velvet loveseat. Dedicated to their studies, but desperate for sleep.

The floating candles still cast a small glow on the two, but the morning rays did more to wake them up. It was Remus who awoke first, blinking and yawning as he came to recognize his surroundings. He never made it to the common room last night. He had fallen asleep studying with Hanna. And Hanna was… asleep, right there with him.

Now it was his turn to take in the sight. She was curled up against him, as if she were seeking protection. Her head was tucked forward against his chest, her chestnut brown hair falling into her eyes. Her glasses were askew, and had made a little red indent on the bridge of her nose. She looked peaceful, unbothered by the woes of everyday life, or the anxiety that seemed to hound the poor girl at every waking moment. But in a non-waking moment, she could escape. It made Remus’s lips curl up slightly, smiling at her. He didn’t know what had happened exactly that led to them at that moment, but whatever it was, it must have been nice. And the moment itself, right then, was endearing. 

“Hanna,” Remus whispered softly, bringing his face closer to hers. He slipped his arms around her, almost cradling her small frame in his lap. He whispered her name a couple more times before her cocoa brown eyes fluttered open wearily and drifted to find the source of the voice.

Remus. It was Remus, and she was right there in his lap. Oh no… She’d hardly woken up, hardly had time to process, and she was already blushing a furious red color, squirming to look away. She shouldn’t have done that, she shouldn’t have given in. Now, she’d have to face him.

“S-sorry, I-” she stammered, her voice still a weary whisper, though growing more frantic by the moment. But she was met with a surprise, one that took her aback, quite literally.

Remus’s arms wrapped around her, now completely cradling her frame. He held her close, smiling sleepily at her. 

“Slept well, I hope,” he said, cutting off her sentence and finishing it for her. Whatever was flying around her mind was not the same thing in his, he knew that. Whatever fear was already gnawing away at her was unwarranted. Did she think he didn’t enjoy this? By god, it was physical affection! And from someone he liked! 

“Well, y-yes,” Hanna admitted bashfully, her furiously red cheeks somehow growing even more red. This couldn’t be happening. He was smiling at her, holding her close, as if nothing was wrong. Was nothing actually wrong? 

“Good. Breakfast then? We’ve got an exam to ace,” he said, scooping her up and standing. He placed her down and stretched, then bent down to grab his things. Hanna did the same, stretching her small frame out and grabbing her backpack and textbook, which was still open on the ground where it dropped.

Together, they looked at one another, and Hanna spoke up, a renewed sense of happiness in her soft voice. “Let’s do it.”