#She looks like she's supposed to have fairy wings and everything | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

halfmoonaria · 3 months ago

Text

change of plans

pairing: tara carpenter & female reader

summary: tara was going to take care of it—end things for good—but nothing went the way she planned.

word count: 9.6k

warnings: dark themes, murder intent, violence, strong language, intrusive thoughts, implied stalking.

Tara didn't think she was a jealous person.

She was sure of it, actually.

Jealousy wasn't something she dealt with, at least not in the same way other people did. She told herself she wasn't the type to stew over what someone else had or waste time feeling resentful.

But looking back, there were moments—small, fleeting ones—that didn't quite fit the version of herself she liked to believe in.

When she was little, the first spark of that unfamiliar emotion would hit when someone snatched a toy out of her hands. It wasn't sadness or disappointment—it was sharper, hotter, and before she even realized what she was doing, she'd yank the toy back, sometimes with enough force to send the other kid stumbling.

She didn't mean to hurt them, not really, but the instinct to make things fair—or at least fair by her standards—was too strong to ignore.

Her teachers called it "trouble controlling her temper." Her mom called it a "phase." But it kept happening.

There was the time in first grade when another girl in her class got to play the fairy princess during dress-up. Tara had been stuck with the frog costume.

She'd sulked in the corner, watching the other girl twirl around in sparkly wings, until something inside her snapped. The girl didn't see it coming when Tara stomped up, grabbed the glittery wand, and broke it clean in two.

She didn't even regret it until she was sitting in the principal's office with her mom glaring at her from across the room.

By the time she was nine, Tara had lost count of how many times she'd been dragged to the teacher's office. Sometimes it was for yanking a classmate's hair after they showed off a new toy she didn't have. Other times, it was for shoving someone too hard during recess when she thought they were bragging about something they shouldn't have.

Her teachers always asked the same question: "Why did you do it, Tara?"

She never had a good answer.

Her mom tried everything—calming techniques, time-outs, grounding her from TV or playdates—but none of it worked.

The truth was, Tara didn't know why it bothered her so much when someone else got what she wanted. All she knew was that the feeling burned in her chest, hot and heavy, until she had to do something to let it out.

She couldn't pinpoint what the feeling was, not even as she got older—when she was supposed to be able to handle her emotions better, to control the bursts of anger and the bubbling rage that seemed to come out of nowhere.

It wasn't jealousy though. She was sure of that.

Jealousy felt petty, childish, like something people dealt with in middle school when they saw someone else wearing the same pair of shoes but in a better color. Tara wasn't petty, and she definitely wasn't childish. At least, that's what she told herself every time the heat rose to her face, her fists clenched so tight her nails dug into her palms, and her vision blurred with that same fiery haze she'd felt since kindergarten.

It didn't make sense to call it jealousy. Jealousy implied weakness, didn't it? Like you couldn't be happy for someone else because you wanted what they had. Tara didn't think she wanted what anyone else had—she just hated the idea that they had it at all.

She didn't think it was anywhere close to jealousy—not until Chad broke up with her.

At first, all she felt was heartbreak, raw and overwhelming, the kind of sadness that made her chest feel hollow and heavy all at once. There was anger too, bubbling beneath the surface, but she pushed it down, unwilling to let him see that part of her. Tara told herself that staying calm was the only way to keep control of the situation, even as she listened to him try to explain himself.

He had said he didn't feel the same anymore, that something between them had changed. He wasn't sure when it had happened, but he no longer felt the love they once had. His voice had been quiet, hesitant, as if he didn't want to hurt her more than he already was. He told her it wasn't her fault, that she'd been a great girlfriend and that he still cared about her.

The words sounded like they should've been comforting, but they weren't. They only made her feel worse. Love didn't just disappear, did it? And if it did, what did that say about her? She couldn't wrap her head around how everything could change so quickly, how something that had seemed so solid could slip through her fingers without warning.

For days after the breakup, she replayed his words in her mind, searching for some clue, some sign she might have missed. The sadness lingered, a constant ache she couldn't shake, and when the anger flared, she shoved it back down where it belonged. It wouldn't change anything, and it wouldn't bring him back.

At first, she thought heartbreak was all she'd have to contend with. But then, as the days stretched into weeks, another feeling began to creep in—something darker, sharper, and impossible to ignore.

That dark, sharper, and impossible-to-ignore feeling had only grown worse. In fact, it had become unbearable when she saw Chad a few weeks later.

With you.

She hadn't been prepared for it. In hindsight, maybe she should've been. They had gone to the same school—it had only been a matter of time before she ran into him again. But Tara hadn't expected him to look so... fine. Like nothing had happened. Like breaking up with her hadn't fazed him in the slightest. And she especially hadn't expected to see him with someone else.

You had been standing next to him near the lockers, your body slightly turned toward his as you spoke. She hadn't been able to hear what you were saying, but whatever it had been, it had made him laugh. That same, familiar laugh that had once been hers to hear.

Her chest had tightened, the weight of it pressing down on her like a physical force. It had been the first time she had seen him since the breakup, and heartbreak hadn't been what she had felt then. No, it had been something else entirely. It had been hot and all-consuming, curling its way through her like wildfire.

Her gaze had locked on the way you had reached out, your fingers briefly brushing his arm as you spoke. It had been such a casual, effortless gesture, but to Tara, it had felt deliberate. She had clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she had struggled to steady her breathing.

She hadn't wanted to look at you. She hadn't wanted to acknowledge the way your presence, your closeness to Chad, had made her feel. But she hadn't been able to tear her eyes away.

It hadn't been fair. Chad wasn't supposed to move on so quickly. He wasn't supposed to look this happy, not when she had still been trying to piece herself back together. And you—God, you hadn't been supposed to be so... perfect. So at ease, standing there with him like you had belonged.

Tara's stomach had churned, a bitter taste rising in her throat. The feeling bubbling inside her had been almost painfully familiar, a twisted echo of the jealousy she had felt as a child.

She could still remember the heat of it, the way it had burned through her tiny body when someone had gotten the last cookie in class or taken the swing she had wanted on the playground.

Back then, her jealousy had been wild and unrestrained, often spilling out as anger—pushing, hitting, shouting until someone had intervened.

But this hadn't been the same. She wasn't a kid anymore, and she had known better than to lash out. And yet, the anger had simmered beneath the surface, waiting for her to slip, to let it spill over.

Her jaw had tightened as she had forced herself to look away, her fists clenching at her sides. Chad hadn't been hers anymore, she had reminded herself, no matter how much she had wanted him to be.

She hadn't had the right to feel this way, to be so consumed by jealousy over someone who had clearly moved on.

But knowing that hadn't made it stop. The jealousy had still been there, sharp and unrelenting, twisting inside her like a knife.

It had dug in deeper with every passing day, lodging itself in a part of her she didn't know how to reach, let alone remove.

It didn't help that Tara knew exactly who you were. Of course she did—everyone in Woodsboro seemed to know everyone.

The town was too small for anyone to go unnoticed, their business too easily whispered about or pieced together.

She had known who you were since kindergarten, though, in moments like these, it felt like a cruel twist of fate that you hadn't been one of the kids she'd shoved in a fit of childish rage.

Maybe if you had been, she wouldn't feel so powerless now. She could have at least claimed to have gotten her frustration out once, a long time ago. But no. You had been one of the few to escape her younger wrath, and somehow that made this worse.

It wasn't just that, though. Tara couldn't think about you without hearing her mother's voice in the back of her mind, muttering something about how she wished Tara were "more like you."

Her mother said things like that about plenty of kids, especially when Tara landed herself in trouble at school. But the way she spoke about you had always felt different—like she meant it.

You were polite, diligent, the kind of kid parents liked to hold up as an example. Tara had hated it back then, hearing those comparisons tossed her way whenever she acted out. Now, remembering it made her blood boil.

You weren't a stranger to her. Not really. How could you be when Wes had spent all of middle school hopelessly infatuated with you? His crush had been embarrassingly obvious, even to people who weren't paying attention.

Tara remembered the way he'd stumble through his sentences whenever you so much as glanced in his direction. How he'd linger near your locker as though working up the courage to say something, only to turn red and scurry off when Amber caught him at it.

Amber had loved teasing him for it. She'd nudge his arm and whisper loud enough for everyone to hear, calling him love-struck and pitiful. And Tara? She'd roll her eyes and laugh right along with her.

She hadn't understood the appeal back then. Sure, you were nice. Polite, from what people said. But to Tara, you'd just been another person in the hallways, someone she could name but not care much about. Wes's hopeless pining had been little more than background noise to her.

But now... now that memory left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Not that she'd ever had a real problem with you. If anything, she'd been indifferent toward you all these years. You were nice, she supposed. Everyone said so, and it wasn't hard to believe.

You dressed well enough to stand out without trying too hard, cared enough about your grades to keep them respectable, and generally managed to avoid any kind of trouble. There wasn't much about you that people could complain about.

Tara hadn't spoken to you much. Maybe a couple of times, when group projects forced you together or when politeness demanded it. But it had never gone beyond that, never lingered in a way that mattered. You were a passing presence, just one of the many faces she'd seen over the years, easily forgotten once you were out of sight.

At least, that was how it used to be.

Now, it felt like you were everywhere. And worse, you weren't just a face in the crowd anymore. You were always laughing, always smiling, always looking so damn perfect. And you weren't alone. You were with Chad. His arm slung around your shoulders like you were his.

And that, Tara couldn't ignore.

You were with her Chad. Her boyfriend.

Or at least, that's what her mind insisted on calling him, despite the breakup. Despite everything. He was still hers. He had to be. There was no way he wasn't, not when she could still feel the ghost of his hand in hers, not when her chest tightened every time she thought about him laughing at something you said. It wasn't right. It didn't feel right.

You didn't belong under his arm like that. You didn't belong anywhere near him.

Tara's jaw clenched as the image burned itself deeper into her memory: the way his arm had draped over your shoulders so effortlessly, like it was the most natural thing in the world. It wasn't. It couldn't be. That spot was hers—had been hers for so long that seeing anyone else there made her stomach twist with something jagged and unbearable.

And it didn't help that you didn't even look good there. Not to her, anyway. You didn't fit the way she did. You didn't mold into his side like you belonged there, not like she had. Chad was tall, broad-shouldered, and Tara had always thought they looked balanced together. She'd fit neatly under his arm, a perfect complement to his size and presence. You? You just looked... wrong.

At least, that's what she told herself as her eyes lingered on you for too long, darting between the way you smiled at him and the way he smiled back at you.

Her chest tightened further, the edges of her jealousy sharpening with every second.

She tried to tell herself not to care. Really, she did. She told herself that it didn't matter anymore, that Chad wasn't hers, that this—whatever this was—wasn't her business. He had every right to move on. She even tried repeating it in her head, like some kind of mantra: It’s over, it’s over, it’s over.

But it didn't work. It never worked.

It wasn't just the jealousy, though that was certainly the loudest emotion screaming in her chest. It was the helplessness that came with it. The same helplessness she'd felt back in kindergarten, when that dark, fiery feeling had bubbled up inside her and she hadn't known what to do with it. Back then, she'd pushed people, shoved them, let her rage and frustration spill out in any way it could.

Now? Now she was older. Supposedly more mature. She was supposed to be able to handle her emotions, wasn't she? But standing there, watching Chad lean into you, laugh at something you said like it was the funniest thing in the world, Tara felt that same fiery frustration rise in her chest.

She didn't shove people anymore—didn't let that dark feeling spill out like she used to—but that didn't mean it wasn't still there, simmering just below the surface. And now, as she stood frozen in the hallway, all of it—every last ounce of it—was directed at you.

Because you didn't belong there.

You didn't belong with Chad.

You didn't belong in the picture she still couldn't stop replaying in her head: you laughing at something he said, him pulling you closer, the two of you looking... happy.

Tara bit the inside of her cheek, hard enough to taste blood. She told herself to turn away, to stop looking, to let it go. But it was impossible. Just like it had been when she was five years old, that feeling burned too brightly, clawed at her too viciously to ignore.

And now, as she stared at you from across the hallway, she realized she didn't know how to make it stop.

She couldn't stop seeing it—couldn't stop feeling it. You and him. It was burned into her mind, an image so vivid it felt like it had been seared there with a branding iron. Every time she closed her eyes, it was there. You and Chad. Laughing together. Holding hands. Kissing.

Tara's hands clenched into fists at her sides. She hated it. She hated you.

She hated the way you were always smiling, like you didn't have a care in the world. She hated the way you stood so close to him every day, the way his arm so casually rested on your shoulders. She hated the way you looked at him, and the way he looked at you. Like you were the only person in the room. Like you were perfect.

You weren't even that cute. That's what she tried to tell herself, over and over again. You weren't anything special. There were plenty of other girls in Woodsboro prettier than you, smarter than you, more interesting than you.

But it was a lie.

Because you were beautiful.

You were effortlessly beautiful in a way that made Tara's stomach churn. She hated the fact that she couldn't use your looks as an excuse. She hated how good you looked with Chad, how perfect you seemed together, how easy it was to see why he'd chosen you.

And that made her hatred burn even brighter.

Most nights, she couldn't sleep. The second her head hit the pillow, her mind would start spinning, and the thoughts would creep in—dark, ugly thoughts that wrapped around her like a vice. She could see it so clearly, almost like it was happening right in front of her.

You touching him in places she was supposed to touch. You undressing him, his hands roaming over your body instead of hers. You kissing him, making him moan, sitting on top of him—doing all the things she was supposed to do.

It made her blood boil. It made her want to scream.

The images were relentless, vivid and visceral, and every one of them felt like a knife twisting deeper into her chest. Sometimes, the anger was so sharp it made her want to claw at her own skin, like she could rip the feeling out of herself if she just tried hard enough.

But no matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried to push the thoughts away, they always came back. They stayed with her, haunting her like a ghost she couldn't escape.

And every time, the hatred burned hotter.

It wasn't fair. You weren't supposed to have him. You weren't supposed to be in his arms, weren't supposed to hear his laugh up close, weren't supposed to know what his lips felt like. You didn't deserve any of it. You didn't deserve him.

He was hers. He'd always been hers.

But now, he wasn't.

And it was all because of you.

And this wasn't like any other time. Not even close.

Tara had always known her temper was a problem. She'd been told that enough times growing up—by her teachers, by her mom, by anyone who'd had the misfortune of crossing her when she was angry. But this? This was different.

She'd never felt this way before.

She'd tried everything to stop it, to keep herself from unraveling. Everything her mom had suggested back when she'd first started noticing how intense Tara's outbursts could be. Taking deep breaths, counting to ten, picturing a happy place—none of it worked. It never had.

And when her mom's suggestions fell flat, Tara had turned to the internet, searching desperately for anything that might help. Techniques to control anger, ways to keep herself calm, tips to avoid losing her temper. She'd read every article she could find, watched every video, tried every trick. Not because she cared about managing her emotions—no, she just wanted to avoid her mom forcing her into some anger management program or therapy session she'd be stuck in for months.

But now? Now, she couldn't even pretend to have control. Nothing worked. Nothing.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her skin prickled with heat, and the jealousy burned so hot and sharp that she felt like she was coming apart at the seams. It wasn't just anger anymore. It was something else entirely, something darker and more consuming.

Tara felt insane.

Because no matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried to push it down or ignore it, the feeling wouldn't go away. It wrapped around her like a second skin, suffocating and unbearable, until there was only one thought left in her mind:

She had to get rid of you.

It wasn't even a question anymore. It was a fact, plain and simple. There was no other way to fix this, no other way to make the feelings stop. You had to go.

At first, Tara thought about spreading a rumor or two. Nothing big, just enough to make you and Chad fight. Enough to plant a seed of doubt, to tear apart whatever connection you had with him. It sounded perfect at first—until she realized how easily it could blow up in her face.

Chad would figure it out eventually. He'd find out Tara was behind it, and then she'd lose any chance of getting him back.

She thought about telling you to leave, to move away, to go anywhere but here. But that was ridiculous. You'd never listen.

She thought about kidnapping you.

The thought came and went so quickly it almost startled her. For a split second, her mind flickered to the idea of forcing you out of the picture entirely, taking control in a way that left no room for argument.

But no. That was insane.

...Wasn't it?

Tara clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms hard enough to hurt. She was spiraling. She knew it. But she couldn't stop.

Nothing else would work. Nothing except you being gone.

She didn't know how, she didn't know when, but Tara knew one thing with absolute certainty:

You couldn't stay.

You didn't belong here. You didn't belong with Chad. You didn't belong anywhere near him, near her, near this town.

You didn't belong anywhere.

And Tara? Tara was going to make sure of it.

She toyed with possibilities. But none of them seemed right.

Kidnapping you crossed her mind more than once though. Briefly.

But it was stupid, insane.

Because what would she do when she had you?

Just keep you there?

It seemed suiting, but it wouldn't work out.

But she couldn't help thinking it—if only because she was running out of options.

And then, the thought hit her. It came out of nowhere, sharp and sudden, like a knife to the gut.

She could kill you.

At first, the thought had hit her like a slap to the face, sharp and jarring in its absurdity. It had seemed insane. Because it was insane. What kind of person even thought something like that, let alone seriously considered it?

But as the days dragged on, the idea didn't fade. If anything, it took root. The more Tara thought about it, the less insane it seemed. Her anger, that relentless, boiling rage, started to simmer. It didn't disappear entirely—not even close—but it

lessened.

For the first time in weeks, she could breathe.

The idea itself was enough at first. She didn't need to act on it. Just thinking about it was enough to bring her some semblance of peace. She let the fantasy play out in her mind like a sick little movie: you, out of the picture, gone forever. It didn't matter how or when—just that it happened.

And for a few days, she was happy with just that. She let herself exist in that space, in the calm that came with imagining a world where you didn't exist. A weekend of relative peace, of daydreams that made her anger feel manageable.

But then Monday came.

And Tara saw you again.

You were standing in the hallway, smiling up at Chad like he was the only person in the world. His arm was slung casually around your shoulders, his head tilted toward yours in that stupid, familiar way that made Tara's stomach twist.

It was like being set on fire all over again.

Her chest burned, her vision blurred, and that fleeting peace she'd found over the weekend vanished in an instant. The rage came roaring back, hotter and more vicious than ever, tearing through her like a wildfire.

Because the thought of you being gone wasn't enough anymore. Not when you were right there, so close, so perfect, so fucking smug without even trying.

Tara's fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms until they left crescent-shaped indents. Her jaw tightened, her teeth grinding as she stared at you, as she watched you.

You didn't belong there. You didn't belong under his arm. You didn't belong anywhere near him.

And now? Now, Tara knew what she had to do.

It wasn't a matter of if anymore. It was a matter of when.

Because just thinking about it wasn't enough. Not anymore.

She was going to kill you.

And she was going to feel better for it.

___

Tara had everything prepared.

The thought of it had consumed her, growing like a rock inside her chest, feeding off her every waking moment until it was impossible to ignore.

And now, it was time.

She had spent days balancing on the edge of dread and longing, torn between the weight of what she was about to do and the twisted satisfaction she knew it would bring. It wasn't something she wanted—not really. But it was something she had to do. The only way to end the torment that had been eating away at her since the moment she saw you with him.

So Tara had done her research, gathering every scrap of information she could. She watched you closely—closer than ever. She had listened, observed, bided her time until the perfect opportunity revealed itself.

And it had.

It had been math class on Monday afternoon, and Tara had been lucky enough to snag a seat directly behind you and your friends. Normally, she would've tuned out your conversation entirely, drowning it in her thoughts. But this time, she had leaned in, careful to catch every word.

You'd been talking about the upcoming math test, about how you'd be studying for it Wednesday afternoon. Alone.

Your parents were going to be at some lame work conference, and they'd decided to take your younger brother along to make a trip out of it. You'd rolled your eyes as you explained how stupid it all sounded, but Tara hadn't cared about your opinion.

All she cared about was the opening.

You'd be home. Alone.

It was perfect.

Tara's pencil had hovered over her notebook as she pretended to take notes, but her mind wasn't on algebra. It was spinning with possibilities, with plans, with the kind of clarity that had eluded her for weeks.

When the bell rang and you left the room with your friends, Tara sat frozen in her seat for a moment, her fists clenched around the edge of her desk. The pounding in her chest felt louder than the shuffle of students leaving the classroom, louder than the voices in the hallway.

Because now, it wasn't just an idea.

It was a plan.

Wednesday. After school. It would be done.

And finally, finally, she would feel better.

Wednesday came, and Tara felt something she hadn't in weeks. Happiness.

It wasn't the fleeting, muted kind that came and went without leaving a trace. No, this was sharp, visceral, alive. She could feel it buzzing beneath her skin, coiling around her chest like a warm, electric current.

She didn't remember the last time she'd woken up this excited. It was like every nerve in her body had been lit aflame, pushing her through the motions of her morning routine with a sense of purpose she hadn't felt in so long.

Because today was the day.

Every second that ticked by brought her closer to it. To you. To the end of the endless cycle of rage and jealousy that had consumed her. She could picture it already—vivid, perfect, satisfying.

You'd be scared, of course. How could you not be? She imagined the way your eyes would widen, the way you'd stammer out a pathetic plea. You'd try to push her off, scramble for an escape, but it wouldn't work.

It wouldn't work because you were weak. You weren't like her. You didn't know what it meant to fight, to claw your way through something until you got what you wanted. You'd crumble like paper.

And then you'd be gone.

She could see the aftermath so clearly it almost felt real. Chad, walking through the school corridors alone, his shoulders slumped with the weight of grief. His face twisted in pain as he thought about you.

And then—then he'd come back to her. He had to. It was inevitable, wasn't it? He'd remember how good things were with her, how much better they could be now that you were out of the picture. He'd pull himself to her, broken but needing her to put him back together.

It was all Tara could think about.

The entire day felt like a blur, her mind too preoccupied to focus on anything else. Teachers droned on and on about tests and essays, classmates chatted about meaningless things, but none of it mattered. Nothing mattered except what was waiting for her after school.

And yet, the anger was still there.

It simmered beneath the surface, coiled tight in her chest, a constant reminder that nothing was done yet. You were still there, still laughing and smiling and making her blood boil with every second that passed.

In English class, she caught sight of you leaning over Chad's desk, your voice low as you explained something to him. Grammar, maybe. Whatever it was, Tara didn't care.

What she cared about was the way he was looking at you. That stupid, soft smile, the same one he used to give her.

It made her stomach turn.

You didn’t even know what you were doing, she thought bitterly, her fists clenching beneath her desk. You didn't know him. You didn't know how to help him, not like she did. You weren't supposed to be there, leaning over his shoulder, pointing at his textbook like you had any idea what you were doing.

Tara's jaw tightened, her teeth grinding together as she stared at the two of you.

But it was fine. It wouldn't matter soon enough.

By the time the final bell rang, she was practically buzzing with anticipation, her hands trembling as she shoved her books into her bag.

Because today was the day.

And by the time it was over, you'd be gone. Forever.

By the time last period rolled around, Tara could barely contain herself. She was bouncing her leg under the desk, the rapid up-and-down movement making the surface wobble slightly. It wasn't stress, though. Not even close.

It was excitement.

Because in just a few hours, everything would be different. You'd be gone.

She'd spent the entire day anticipating this moment, and now that it was so close, she could hardly breathe. Her chest felt tight, but not in the way it used to when the anger consumed her. This was something else—something electric, like a firework waiting to explode.

When the bell finally rang for the last time that day, Tara practically shot out of her seat. Her heart was pounding, her pulse thrumming in her ears as she sprinted to her locker, dodging through the crowded hallway like her life depended on it.

She grabbed her things in a flurry, barely paying attention to what she was stuffing into her bag. The details didn't matter. Nothing mattered except getting out of there as quickly as possible.

The walk home was a blur. She couldn't even remember the route she took, but she knew it was fast because she'd gotten there in record time. She practically burst through the door of the apartment, slamming it shut behind her with a force that rattled the frame.

The space was empty, just as she'd hoped. Sam wasn't home, probably still at the café down the street where she worked long shifts most afternoons.

Tara didn't waste any time. She stormed into her room, yanking her bag off her shoulder and dumping its contents onto the bed. Books, hair ties, pens, and random scraps of paper spilled out in a messy heap. She didn't bother organizing any of it, her focus locked on what came next.

She started packing what she'd need instead.

First came the basics: a pair of gloves she'd swiped from the closet, a small hand towel, and a few cleaning supplies she'd found under the sink. Just in case.

Then there was the book. She'd borrowed it from the library earlier that day, an afterthought at the time, but now it served a purpose. If anyone asked what she'd been doing when you turned up dead, she'd have an alibi.

And then there was the knife.

Tara headed to the kitchen, her hands trembling slightly as she opened the drawer where Sam kept the cutlery. She stared at the knives for a moment, her breathing shallow as she considered her options.

Finally, she picked one.

It wasn't the largest or the sharpest, but it felt solid in her grip. Familiar, almost.

She held it for a moment, staring down at the blade as it caught the light. Her reflection stared back at her, warped and fragmented in the metal, but she didn't flinch.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself before tucking the knife into her bag.

This was it.

She was ready.

Tara zipped her bag shut and slung it over her shoulder, not even sparing a second thought for the knife or the other incriminating items inside. Evidence of what was about to happen was tucked away in plain sight, but the thought didn't concern her. Why would it? She wasn't going to get caught.

She paused in the doorway of the apartment, pulling out her phone to double-check the address one last time. It was burned into her memory by now, but a quick glance wouldn't hurt. She'd found it easily enough a week ago, scouring the school directory that had been left out in the counselor's office during one of her "mandatory check-ins." Your address had been listed next to your emergency contacts, all neatly typed out.

Perfect.

Satisfied, she slipped her phone back into her pocket and stepped out into the hallway. The stairwell echoed with her footsteps as she made her way down, each step slow and deliberate. She wasn't in a rush. Not yet.

The walk to your house wasn't short, but it wasn't unbearably long either. Just far enough to give her plenty of time to think, to imagine, to savor the anticipation building in her chest like a drug.

Tara was thrilled.

Not just because of what she was about to do, but because of how clever she'd been about it. The idea had struck her like lightning, and the more she thought about it, the more genius it seemed. She wasn't just solving a problem—she was removing it, erasing it entirely.

As she walked, her thoughts grew darker, more vivid. She pictured you in front of her, on your knees, crying and begging her to stop. But she wouldn't stop. She'd pin you down with a strength you couldn't fight against, her hands steady, her resolve unshakable.

Her gaze flicked down to her white Converse, and she pictured them splattered with red. Blood staining the canvas, dripping onto the pavement, marking every step she took.

She imagined your blood on her hands, warm and slick, streaked across her fingers like war paint. She pictured your face as she hovered over you, the way your eyes would widen with fear, the way your mouth would open to scream—only to be silenced.

The image sent a thrill through her, a jolt of satisfaction that made her grin.

To anyone else, these thoughts would be horrifying. Disturbing. Insane.

But to Tara, they were... liberating.

She couldn't wait.

Tara had dreamt about this moment. Every detail had been mapped out in her mind, as vivid and meticulous as if it had already happened. She hadn't missed a single thing while planning it.

She knew exactly how it would go.

You'd answer the door, your steps light as they always seemed to be. When the door swung open, you'd greet her with that confused little smile, the one that would tug at the corner of your lips as you tried to figure out what she was doing there.

She could already imagine the polite mask you'd pull on, hiding the confusion behind your soft smile as you asked—probably in that gentle, saccharine voice Chad loved so much—what she was doing at your house.

And Tara would match your politeness, feigning a warm, almost apologetic smile as she began to speak. She'd tell you that you'd left the classroom before the teacher had a chance to hand you a paper—a makeup assignment for the math test you were apparently struggling with. She'd tell you how she'd volunteered to bring it to you, mentioning offhandedly that your house was "on the way" to hers.

It wasn't.

But you were probably stupid enough to believe it.

Tara could almost see the way you'd nod, your suspicion melting away as you stepped aside to let her in. And that's when she'd set her plan into motion.

She'd unzip her bag slowly, her movements deliberate, casual, as if she really were pulling out a sheet of paper. She'd even keep talking, her voice calm, explaining how the assignment wasn't that difficult, just a review of material you should already know.

But when her hand came out of the bag, it wouldn't be holding any paper.

It would be holding the knife.

The image was so clear in her mind, so vivid that it felt real. She could see the shock on your face, the way your smile would drop, the way your eyes would widen. She'd let you stand there, frozen and clueless, for just a moment before she lunged.

The first stab would be quick, precise. She'd aim for your stomach, the blade plunging in before you had a chance to react. And as you stumbled back, clutching at the wound, she'd step inside, closing the door behind her with her free hand.

It wouldn't stop there. It couldn't.

She'd keep going, stabbing again and again, her movements frenzied but deliberate, each strike fueled by the rage that had been festering inside her for weeks.

By the time you hit the floor, Tara would already be kneeling over you, her knife rising and falling with a terrifying rhythm.

She'd finish it. Completely.

Tara found herself smirking at the thought, her steps quickening as she neared your street. The plan played out in her head like a movie she'd already watched a hundred times, each scene perfectly clear, perfectly executed.

The thought of it all—the fear in your eyes, the blood on her hands, the peace that would finally follow—was almost enough to make her laugh.

By the time she reached your street, her smirk had settled into something more fixed, more certain. The weight of the knife in her bag wasn't something she second-guessed. There was no hesitation in her steps, no flicker of doubt in her mind. She had played this moment over so many times that it felt inevitable, like she was simply walking through a prewritten script.

And then she saw your house.

That perfect, suburban home—one of those places that looked like it had been plucked from a family sitcom. The kind of house where nothing bad was ever supposed to happen. The driveway was empty, just like it was supposed to be. No parents home. No witnesses. But that didn't matter.

What mattered was that you had all of this.

Tara felt her stomach twist in something that wasn't quite anger, wasn't quite jealousy, but a poisonous mix of both. The house itself was nice—not a mansion, but big enough that she knew you had space that was yours. No sharing. No constantly moving from one place to another. You had stability. The porch light was already on despite the sun still clinging to the sky, because you had parents who actually cared if you got home in the dark.

Parents who were probably normal.

Not like hers.

And it wasn't just the house. It was everything. The car parked on the curb—the one that she knew was yours and not some shared family vehicle. The way your front yard was neatly kept, the way there was a welcome mat in front of the door, the way it all screamed a life she never had.

It made her hate you even more.

But that hate only made her more certain. Because soon, none of it would matter. Your perfect house, your caring parents, your stupid little car—they would all be meaningless.

Soon, the only thing you'd have was a gravestone with your name carved into it.

And that made her happy.

Tara forced herself to relax as she walked up the front steps, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. She let out a slow breath, schooling her expression into something neutral. She wasn't just about to commit murder—no, she was just a classmate doing a favor, dropping off an assignment.

The thought almost made her laugh.

She reached the front door, lifting a fist and knocking twice against the wood.

The house was quiet. Peaceful.

But soon, Tara imagined, it would be fuller.

Fuller with screams.

And then—she heard it.

A soft, thoughtless hum from the other side of the door. Light, airy, clueless.

Her hands twitched at her sides, damp with sweat before she even realized it. A sick, twisted heat pooled in her stomach, curling around her ribs like a vice, because for the first time all day, something foreign crawled up her spine.

Nerves.

Real, undeniable, nerves.

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms.

No. No. That wasn't right. She had waited for this.

She had planned, dreamed, prepared for this exact moment. She was supposed to feel good. Excited.

Not like this.

Not like her body had turned against her.

Tara's jaw tightened, anger sparking white-hot beneath her skin, because that was your fault, too.

Of course, it was.

You were the one who made her feel this way. You were the reason her mind had been tangled in knots for weeks, the reason she couldn't breathe without choking on the thought of you, the reason everything felt so wrong.

And that was why she was here.

She sucked in a sharp breath, planting her feet firmly on the doorstep, pushing the shaking from her hands, the sweat from her palms.

Because it didn't matter.

It didn't matter that her heart was hammering against her ribs. It didn't matter that her mind was racing.

All that mattered was that you were coming.

And then—

A quiet shuffle of footsteps.

Closer.

Tara's stomach twisted.

Another step.

And another.

The shadow of movement from behind the glass.

And then—

The door clicked as the lock turned.

The handle shifted.

And Tara stopped breathing.

The door swung open.

And there you were.

Tara didn't know what she had expected. She had run through this moment in her head too many times to count, had pictured every detail—the way you'd react, the way she'd feel, the way it would finally happen. But none of those versions had prepared her for the real thing.

Because the real thing was you—standing there, so normal, so alive in a way that made something tighten in her chest.

You hadn't even looked to see who it was before your lips curled into a soft, polite smile, like answering the door and finding someone waiting for you was just another part of your evening. Like she was just another part of your evening.

And Tara—

Tara froze.

Her grip tightened around the strap of her bag, fingers stiff, nails pressing into her palm. The weight of it suddenly felt too heavy, dragging her down, pinning her in place.

You weren't looking at her yet, not fully, but she could see the moment it registered. The way your eyes flickered, widening just a little before settling, before you adjusted.

Tara swallowed hard, throat dry.

She hadn't planned for this—for the way time seemed to slow, for the way her pulse slammed against her ribs, not in anger but in something else, something unreadable. She had prepared for every possible scenario, had thought through every single step. She knew exactly what she had to do.

So why the fuck wasn't she doing it?

Why was she standing there, frozen, when this was exactly what she had been waiting for?

Her stomach twisted, a sick, sudden nausea creeping in.

She had to say something.

She had to move.

But she just stood there, staring.

It was like her body had short-circuited, her mind blanking out in a way it never did. She had pictured this moment a hundred times, had mapped it out in her head with a precision so sharp it felt real—but now? Now, standing in front of you, with your stupid soft smile and your wide, expectant eyes, everything felt wrong.

She was supposed to have control.

She was supposed to speak first.

But before she could force a single word out of her mouth—

"Oh my God, Tara!"

Your voice hit her like a slap to the face.

Not just because of the voice—bright, warm, too friendly for what this moment was meant to be—but because of how you said her name.

Wrong.

You stretched out the A like it belonged there, like you had never even considered the right way to say it.

Tara's stomach twisted, her nose scrunching slightly before she could stop it.

She hated when people did that.

It wasn't even complicated. It wasn't hard.

Tara. Short. Sharp. Simple.

Why the fuck would it be anything else?

But then—before she could even say anything, before she could snap at you the way she wanted to—you noticed.

Not in the way most people did.

You didn't fumble over yourself, didn't look nervous, didn't react like someone who had just made a mistake in front of the wrong person.

No.

You just... realized.

"Oh—sorry. It's Tara, right?"

And this time, you said it right.

Tara felt something hot crawl up her spine.

You didn't wait for her to correct you.

You didn’t need her to tell you you were wrong.

You figured it out on your own.

And yet, you still smiled.

"I'm sorry, I totally suck at names," you added, your voice easy, a small, amused sigh slipping through a quiet giggle.

A giggle.

Like this was nothing.

Like you weren't standing in your doorway, staring at someone who had come here to kill you.

Tara's grip on her bag tightened.

You weren't nervous.

Not even a little.

Why weren't you nervous?

You were supposed to be. Yet she was the one that was.

Tara didn't know what the fuck was happening to her.

This wasn't right.

She was supposed to be in control. She was supposed to be sharp, precise, already halfway inside your house by now, setting her plan into motion.

But instead, she stood there.

Frozen.

Silent.

She couldn't speak.

Her body acted before her mind caught up, lips pressing together in something barely resembling a smile. Thin. Tense. Fake.

"It's fine," she mumbled, her voice lower than she intended.

It wasn't fine.

Nothing about this was fine.

And yet, you still didn't ask her what she was doing here.

You didn't look suspicious. You didn't hesitate. You didn't ask.

Tara could feel something bubbling in her chest, frustration twisting in with something else, something hotter, sharper.

Why weren't you asking?

Why weren't you wary?

Why weren't you treating her like a stranger who had no reason to be on your doorstep?

But before she could dwell on it for too long, your face lit up even more—

And you started talking.

"I've actually been wanting to speak to you for a while."

Your voice was too warm. Too light.

Tara's jaw clenched.

"This whole thing with Chad..."

You trailed off, tucking a bit of hair behind your ear, tilting your head ever so slightly as your eyes flicked to her face—

Waiting.

Waiting to see if she reacted to his name.

And fuck, she did.

She hated that she did.

But you didn't seem to notice.

Or maybe you did, but you didn't care.

You just continued, words spilling out like you had been holding them in for too long.

"I wanted to ask if you guys were fine before... yeah, you know."

Tara didn't need you to finish that sentence.

She knew exactly what you meant.

Before you.

Before Chad moved on.

Before you ruined everything.

Her nails dug into the strap of her bag.

And still, you didn't stop talking.

"I know we're not friends and barely know each other," you admitted, still looking at her with that same softness. That genuine fucking softness that made her stomach twist in ways it shouldn't.

"But you're really nice," you went on.

Tara almost laughed at that.

Nice.

You thought she was nice.

And then—

"I just didn't want to make you uncomfortable or, you know... secretly hate me."

The way you said it was almost casual, like it was just a thought, something light, something small—

But Tara felt her heartbeat slam against her ribs.

You didn't know.

You had no idea.

And for the first time since she got here, she felt a flicker of something close to panic.

You didn't hate her.

You weren't afraid of her.

You thought she was nice.

What the fuck was she supposed to do with that?

Tara tried to reason with herself.

If she just did it now, everything would be fine.

If she just said what she planned to say, if she reached for her bag, if she pulled out the knife instead—

It would be over.

It would be done.

You would be nothing but a mess on the floor, and Chad would be devastated, and he would come crawling back, and everything would go back to how it was supposed to be.

So why wasn't she moving?

Her fingers twitched against the strap of her bag, but her body stayed rooted to the spot.

She wanted to.

Oh, how she wanted to.

She had dreamed about this moment.

Had imagined the way you'd look at her—terrified, confused, realizing too late what was about to happen.

She had longed for it.

And yet—

She couldn't.

For some stupid, inexplicable reason, she couldn't.

Something in her wouldn't let her.

What the fuck was she even thinking earlier?

Why did she think this would be easy?

Why did she think she could just walk up here and do it like it was nothing?

Her head felt too full, a war raging behind her eyes, pushing, pulling, twisting.

She wasn't supposed to hesitate.

She wasn't supposed to second-guess herself.

She was supposed to kill you.

So why was it suddenly feeling impossible?

You studied her face as she stood there, silent.

To you, it probably looked like she was still hurt over Chad.

Like she was standing here, struggling to find the right words, caught up in old feelings she hadn't moved past yet.

And when she didn't answer, you didn't take it the way you should have.

You didn't question why she was just standing there.

You didn't wonder why she was looking at you like that, like something wasn't clicking in her head.

Instead—you invited her in.

You stepped back, opening the door a little wider, glancing at her with the same warm expression you had greeted her with.

"Do you want to come inside?"

Tara blinked.

For a second, she thought she misheard you.

But you weren't kidding.

You were actually letting her in.

You, the person she had been planning to kill, were offering to welcome her into your home.

You didn't even know her.

And when she didn't immediately respond, you just smiled a little and added, "Only if you want to."

That was it.

No hesitation. No suspicion. No fear.

Why weren't you scared of her?

Why weren't you acting like someone who was about to die?

Her fingers clenched tighter around the strap of her bag.

She should leave.

She should end this.

She should do what she came here to do.

And yet—

Almost without thinking, she found herself nodding.

Slowly, stiffly.

And then she was stepping inside.

Her body was acting on its own, ignoring the part of her mind still screaming at her to just fucking do it already.

She heard you close the door behind her.

She stood there, fists tightening at her sides, eyes flickering around your house—your nice, warm, safe house that made her sick.

And then you were talking again, so casually, so easily.

"I'm trying to study for the math test, but it's not going really well."

You let out a small, light laugh, like this was nothing.

Like she was just a friend stopping by instead of a fucking killer in your home.

Tara didn't know why she followed you.

Why her feet carried her further inside instead of turning around and doing what she was supposed to do.

She barely processed the way you walked ahead of her, leading her through the house like she belonged there.

Like she wasn't holding a knife in her bag.

Like she wasn't planning to use it.

Her fingers curled tighter around the strap, knuckles aching from the pressure, but she still didn't stop.

She stepped past the entryway, eyes flickering over everything she could see—the framed artwork on the walls, the coat rack near the door, the way the house smelled warm, lived in. There was something painfully normal about all of it. Too normal. It made her stomach turn.

And then her gaze landed on it.

The photo sitting neatly on the shelf above the couch.

She didn't mean to stop. Didn't mean to let her focus linger. But she did.

It was you.

Your family.

Your mom, your dad, your little brother.

All of you smiling, arms wrapped around each other like you had never known anything but happiness.

Her throat burned.

Her chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped their hands around her ribs and squeezed.

She didn't know why.

She didn't fucking know why.

All she knew was that she hated that picture.

Hated the way you had that.

Hated the way she couldn't even imagine a photo like that of her own family.

Most definitely not framed in the living room.

Her mouth pressed into a hard line, her grip tightening around the strap of her bag.

The weight of the knife sat heavy inside, like it was taunting her.

She should reach for it.

She should pull it out and remind herself why she was here.

But her body still wouldn't move.

And that made her furious.

Why the fuck was she just standing here?

Why wasn't she doing anything?

It would be so easy.

A few steps. A flick of her wrist.

Blood against the perfect little life you had.

A stain.

A reminder that nothing was ever really safe.

So why couldn't she do it?

Her fingers twitched at her sides.

Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out everything else—until your voice cut through the haze.

"Tara?"

She blinked.

Snapped back to the moment.

You were looking at her now, head slightly tilted, waiting for her to follow you further inside.

She forced her jaw to unclench, tearing her eyes away from the photo and moving again.

She followed you into the living room.

And that was when she saw the mess of notes and open notebooks spread out across the coffee table.

Pens scattered. Pages half-filled with numbers and formulas. Homework left abandoned mid-thought.

She stared.

She didn't even know why.

Maybe it was because it was so normal.

Like you had no idea what was standing right in front of you.

Like she wasn't supposed to be anything other than some classmate stopping by with an assignment.

Her fingers twitched against the strap of her bag.

Maybe if she just—

Your voice cut through the silence again, still light, still unbothered.

"You can sit down if you want."

You motioned toward the couch, as if this was just normal.

As if she wasn't standing in your house, her heart hammering, her mind completely unraveling.

Tara swallowed hard, forcing her feet forward.

One step.

Then another.

She made it halfway across the room before stopping again, her breath catching somewhere in her throat.

She shouldn't be here.

She shouldn't be doing this.

She should just grab the knife, should just do what she fucking came here to do.

But she couldn't.

And she didn’t know why.

#jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #mabel x reader #vada cavell x reader #wednesday addams x reader #melissa barrera x reader #sam carpenter #ask #sam carpenter x reader

291 notes · View notes

httpsdana · 2 months ago

Note

you have no idea how happy I am that you're back! I got totally addicted to your stories and the way you write, i seriously love them. I literally fell in love with Jamal just because of how you write about him lol, now he's one of my crushes, and he wasn’t even before!

Could you write something where Jude had already seen the reader at one of his games? She showed up on the big screen because her dad was a former Real Madrid player, and he kind of noticed her, but nothing really happened. Then later, there’s a team event at a pediatric oncology hospital, and she’s one of the intern doctors. The kids start shipping them because they look about the same age (and it happens to be the week she wears a fairy costume for patient visits).

Please think about it! And sorry if this was a bit messy haha.

Doctor Fairy~Jude Bellingham

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

・❥・a/n: I said I wouldn't write for Jude again but anon was so sweet and the request was adorable, so I had to write it 😭

Jude hadn’t meant to notice her that day, not on purpose.

It was just another La Liga match at the Bernabéu, the kind of game where adrenaline drowned out everything else.

But during a brief pause, an injury check in the opponents’ team player, the camera panned to the VIP box.

The crowd cheered as the screen highlighted one of Real Madrid’s most iconic legends: Raúl González. But Jude’s eyes didn’t land on Raúl.

They landed on the girl beside him.

She wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary. Just smiling softly, leaning slightly toward the legend next to her to say something as he nodded along.

But she had that kind of presence that made him look twice. Graceful, but not in the way that demanded attention, more in the way that made you curious.

Then her name flashed on the screen beneath.

"Raúl González and daughter y/n."

Oh she must be untouchable.

Jude found himself watching just a little too long before the screen changed. He wasn’t sure why it stuck with him. Maybe it was her smile, or the way her eyes seemed to actually watch the match instead of just being there for show.

And then, like most things during a match, the moment passed.

But he didn’t forget her.

Two weeks later, Jude was part of a club-organized visit to a local pediatric oncology hospital. He always made time for these events, knowing how much it meant to the kids. It was supposed to be a simple visit. Photos, gifts, autographs, and some smiles.

What he wasn’t expecting was to walk into the hospital playroom and see her again. The same girl from the stands. Only this time, she wasn’t just a spectator. She was part of the hospital staff.

Not in jeans or a blazer like at the match, but in a lilac tutu, green glittery fairy wings, and a star-shaped wand tucked in her skirt.

He almost stopped in the doorway. She was kneeling beside a patient, letting them decorate her with stickers, a soft laugh escaping her lips. She looked up just as he stepped in.

“...You?” Jude said before he could stop himself, a smile tugging at his lips.

She blinked in surprise, then stood, brushing glitter off her scrubs. “Me.”

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said.

“Likewise,” she replied, amused.

“You work here?” he asked, stepping closer.

“Intern,” she explained when their eyes met and lingered a little too long. “And apparently also the designated fairy this week.”

He smiled, trying to play it cool. “You’re the girl from the match.”

She tilted her head. “You recognized me?”

“Well, the camera did zoom in on you for a good five seconds.”

She gave a half-smile. “Guess that’s what happens when your father is named Raúl.”

He nodded, then said quietly, “I noticed before the name popped up.”

She let out a quiet laugh, a little taken aback. “Well, I definitely didn’t expect Jude Bellingham to remember me, especially while I’m covered in glitter with wings on my back.”

“Honestly?” he said, looking her over with a grin. “It kind of suits you.”

“Careful,” she teased, “I might take that as a compliment.”

“Maybe it is.”

Before she could answer, a small child tugged on her skirt. “Is he your prince?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Him,” the little girl said, pointing up at Jude. “You’re a fairy. He looks like a prince.”

Jude gave a sheepish grin. “I’ll take that.”

“He should stay here with you,” another kid chimed in. “Fairy and Prince Jude.”

“Okay, that’s a bit dramatic,” she muttered, trying not to laugh, cheeks now tinted pink.

But the kids were relentless. They had Jude sit beside her for storytime, handed them heart-shaped drawings, and assigned them roles in imaginary fairy tales. One even gave Jude a pair of sparkly wings to wear.

“You’re handling this very well,” she said later, handing him a juice box during a break.

“Trust me, I’ve faced tougher crowds,” he said, gesturing to the group of kids still peeking at them from behind a coloring table. “These ones just happen to be cute.”

“You’ve also got glitter on your neck,” she pointed out.

“I think I’m pulling it off,” he said with a wink.

She smiled softly, eyes lingering on him. “You’re good with them.”

“So are you,” he replied, voice a bit gentler now. “They clearly adore you.”

“They adore anything that sparkles.”

“Still,” he added, watching her carefully, “I’m glad I saw you again.”

“While wearing wings and a tutu?”

“Especially then.”

She laughed under her breath. “You’re not what I expected.”

“And you’re not just Raúl’s daughter.”

She looked at him, a little more curious now. “What am I then?”

“Someone I’d really like to see again,” he said. “Maybe…without the wings next time.”

Her smile widened just a bit. “You’re bold.”

“Just honest. Can I take you out?”

She paused, then reached for a nearby notepad and scribbled something down. When she handed it to him, he glanced at the number written across the page.

“You better. I think the kids would be devastated if this was all just a fairy tale.” she said casually.

“Noted,” he grinned. “Oh by the way, I’m keeping these wings.”

By the time it was time to leave, one of the kids had made them matching paper crowns.

And somehow, Jude wore his all the way back to the car.

Because maybe he hadn’t just met a fairy today, maybe he’d stumbled into something a little more magical.

And it all started with a glance, two weeks ago, in a stadium full of strangers.

my taglist: @barcapix @paucubarsisimp @spidybaby @mxryxmfooty @n0vazsq @joaosnovia @ilovebarcaaaa @f1lover55 @jajajhaahaha @universefcb @mariejuli (lmk if you want to be added!!)

#football #football blurb #football imagine #football one shot #football x reader #footballer imagine #real madrid #jude x reader #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x y/n #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham drabble #jude bellingham #jude bellingham fic

98 notes · View notes

fel-09 · 3 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/fel-09/776826484778254336/hello-dear-how-are-you-i-really-like-thranduil?source=share

What if the fairy reader is part of Thorin and his group. is very young (adult for fairy age). For example: 25 - 29. Can you write something for this? Thanks.

I didn't expect so many orders but I don't mind, I'm glad that someone likes my fanfics

"Wings of the Lost"

The wind carried the scent of damp earth and pine as the company pressed on through the thickening woods. Twilight stretched long shadows across the ground, and the air hummed with the quiet of an approaching night. Among them, moving with the grace of a whisper, was someone who did not belong.

The fairy.

She was young by the standards of her kind, barely past the threshold of adulthood—twenty-five, perhaps twenty-nine in the way mortals counted years. And yet, to Thorin and his company, she was a creature of mystery, something out of legend. She had joined them by chance or fate—none could say which—though all had their doubts in the beginning.

What could a fairy know of hardship? Of exile?

What did she know of the weight of a kingdom lost?

But she had proven herself time and time again. Her delicate hands could wield a dagger as swiftly as they could mend a wound. Her wings—hidden beneath layers of cloth for protection—had saved them more than once, gliding where no dwarf could follow, slipping through dangers unseen. She was small compared to them, slender where they were built of stone and fire, yet she was not fragile.

At least, not in the ways they expected.

Even now, as they trudged forward, Kili nudged Fili with a grin.

“She barely makes a sound,” he whispered. “Like a ghost.”

“She’s a fairy,” Fili muttered. “She’s supposed to be quiet.”

Nearby, Bofur chuckled. “Aye, but she’s tougher than she looks. I saw her patch up Thorin’s arm without so much as flinching. Stubborn little thing, isn’t she?”

Thorin himself said nothing. He only glanced toward her where she walked a few paces ahead, her gaze fixed on the darkening path. She was a strange addition to their group, that much was true. But she had not abandoned them, even when she had the chance.

That counted for something.

That night, as they made camp beneath the towering trees, she sat apart, fingers tracing absent patterns into the dirt. The firelight cast a golden hue against her skin, her eyes reflecting the flickering glow like distant stars.

Thorin watched her for a long moment before approaching.

“You should rest,” he said.

She did not look at him immediately. When she did, there was something unreadable in her expression. A weight, a thought unspoken.

“I don’t need much sleep,” she murmured. “Fairies… we don’t tire the way you do.”

Thorin frowned. He had noticed this before—how she seemed untouched by exhaustion, how she never lagged behind no matter how far they traveled. She felt no pain the way they did, nor cold, nor heat.

Yet there was something in her eyes that spoke of weariness.

Not of the body, but of the soul.

“You are part of this company,” he said at last. “You do not have to bear everything alone.”

She let out a breath, something like a laugh but not quite.

“I could say the same to you, King Under the Mountain.”

Thorin’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he did not argue.

Instead, he sat beside her in the quiet, beneath the watching stars.

#the hobbit thorin #thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin x reader #the lord of the rings #the hobbit #thorin x fem! reader #thorin x fem reader #x reader #fem reader

69 notes · View notes

blairwbb · 1 month ago

Text

I know it won’t work

A/N: hi! This is another part of I know it won’t work. I will probably only post one more part of this. I’m still getting used to writing a lot and good plots and stuff! Enjoy!

It’s been a few days since Blake and Paige ran into each other and Blake has been doing everything she can to avoid another run in with Paige.

That’s how she ended up here. Kate’s living room was dim, lit by the soft glow of fairy lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling, and they were one bottle of wine in—maybe one and a half. Blake had kicked off her shoes an hour ago, her legs curled under her, the stem of her glass forgotten on the coffee table. The weight she carried all week—every time she turned a corner, half-expecting to see Paige—was catching up to her.

Kate swirled the last sip of wine in her glass, eyeing Blake carefully. “So… are you going to tell me what actually happened between you two? College Paige sounds like a whole other person.”

Blake exhaled sharply, a half-laugh, half-sigh, like she’d been holding something in too long. She picked at the label on the wine bottle. “I didn’t mean to tell you. I don’t usually… talk about her.”

“You didn’t have to,” Kate said gently. “You wanted to.”

That was the thing. She had. And now, with the warmth of wine in her chest and Kate’s quiet presence beside her, the words were rushing out faster than she could filter them.

“I still love her,” Blake admitted, the words barely above a whisper. “God, I hate it. I hate that I do.”

Kate didn’t flinch. She just nodded slowly, letting Blake speak without judgment.

“I’ve tried everything,” Blake went on, voice cracking slightly. “Avoiding her, pretending she doesn’t exist, acting like I’m fine. But when I saw her the other day… it just—it ruined me. For a second, it was like no time had passed. Like she could still undo me with just one look.”

Kate set her glass down and leaned in a little. “You’ve been holding that in for a long time.”

Blake laughed bitterly. “Too long. I thought if I kept it buried, it would just go away. But it doesn’t. It’s like… she’s always there. In the back of my head. And I know she’s not good for me. I know that. But part of me still wants her to turn around and say she’s sorry. That she misses me too.”

Kate was quiet for a moment, then reached for Blake’s hand. “You don’t have to carry all of that alone. I meant it—I’m not going to tell anyone. You’re safe with me.”

Blake’s eyes welled up, but she blinked them back. “Thanks. I think I needed to say it out loud… even if it doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes something,” Kate said. “Maybe not with her. But with you.”

Blake nods not wanting to say anything out loud.

Blake let herself into her apartment, the door clicking shut behind her with a quiet finality. The warmth from Kate’s place still clung to her skin, but here—alone—it all started to unravel again. She kicked off her shoes, tossed her keys in the bowl by the door, and sank onto the couch without turning on a single light.

The TV was still on from earlier, the volume low. A Dallas Wings game lit up the screen in soft blues and whites, the camera panning across the court. And then—there she was.

Paige.

Blake’s breath caught without warning. Paige moved with that same sharp grace she always had—fast, focused, determined. Blake hated how instinctively she knew the way Paige’s shoulders tensed before a pass, how her jaw clenched right before a drive. She hated that she still noticed. That her eyes lingered longer than they should have.

She cursed under her breath and looked away, blinking hard.

This wasn’t love—not anymore. Love wasn’t supposed to feel like this: bitter and aching and lonely. But she still loved her. Of course she did. She had promised she always would.

So why did it feel so wrong now?

Maybe because Paige was out there, living like none of it mattered—like Blake never mattered. And maybe Blake was just here… moping. Mourning someone who’d already moved on.

She dragged herself to bed not long after, slipping beneath the covers like it might quiet the noise in her head. But it didn’t. The silence only made it worse.

Her heart was still heavy as she closed her eyes, Paige’s name echoing in the dark like a secret she’d never be free of.

The office buzzed with a soft kind of chaos—keyboards clacking, phones ringing, conversations muffled behind glass walls. Blake sat at her desk, half-tuned out of the morning meeting, eyes fixed on the screen in front of her but not really seeing it.

She was good at her job—new as it was—and maybe that’s what made it worse. Because even on days like this, when her chest felt tight and her head ached from too little sleep and too many thoughts, she still showed up. Still smiled. Still sent in reports on time and made her coworkers laugh over coffee breaks like she wasn’t falling apart inside. The night before still lingered—Kate’s apartment, the wine, the confession that still left a burn in her throat.

She needed quiet. Routine. Anything but this.

She stood to refill her coffee, hoping the break room was empty. It wasn’t.

Cassie’s voice was already floating through the air, casual and a little too loud, as she leaned against the counter talking to another coworker. Blake slowed her pace, pausing just outside the doorway.

“I swear, I still haven’t heard from her,” Cassie was saying with a laugh, stirring her coffee. “It was like… two days after that event we went to? Paige Bueckers. Yeah. That one.”

Blake froze.

“She came out with a few of us after, and I guess one thing led to another. We hooked up. And then—nothing. She dipped before I even woke up. Not a text, not even an emoji. Just… vanished.”

The other coworker gasped. “No way. That’s brutal.”

“I mean, it’s whatever,” Cassie continued, trying to sound nonchalant. “She’s Paige Bueckers. Everyone’s into her. It’s not like I expected a relationship or something. Still, it was cold. She barely knew me.”

Blake stood completely still in the hallway, her heart sinking deeper with every word. Something about hearing it out loud—from someone who had no clue—made it worse.

This wasn’t the Paige she remembered. Not the one who used to kiss her like she meant it, who used to call her by her full name just to make her blush. That Paige wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye. Wouldn’t have made someone feel like nothing.

But now?

Now she was sleeping with girls she barely knew and disappearing before the sun came up.

Blake turned and walked back toward her desk, the weight in her chest heavier than it had been in weeks. Maybe Paige had changed. Or maybe Blake had just never seen her clearly.

Either way, it stung.

She slid back into her chair, pretending to scroll through emails, pretending like none of it mattered. But her fingers were shaking slightly, and her coffee remained untouched.

Why was Paige still doing this?

Why did it still feel like Blake was the one left behind?

Why am I here? Was the only thing that was repeating in Blake’s head.

She’d said yes to Kate because she needed the distraction. One drink after work. Maybe two. Something easy, something light. Kate always had a way of pulling her out of her head without trying too hard. So they ended up at a small bar just off the main street—warm lighting, indie music playing low, enough background noise to muffle the week behind them.

Kate was mid-sentence about some coworker drama when Blake’s eyes caught on the door—and time stopped.

Holy shit.

Paige.

She walked in like she owned the place, like the city hadn’t swallowed Blake whole since the last time they locked eyes. Her hair pulled back, sleeves rolled just slightly, that same effortless gravity to her. She looked… exactly the same. And nothing like Blake remembered.

Blake froze. She couldn’t even hear what Kate was saying anymore.

Of course she’s here. Of course she is.

You can’t avoid her forever.

Paige’s eyes scanned the bar—laughing at something one of her friends said—until they landed on Blake. Just for a moment. But it was enough.

She came over.

“Blake.” Her voice was low, unreadable.

“Paige,” Blake said, sitting up a little straighter, every muscle in her body stiff.

Kate’s eyes darted between them but wisely said nothing, giving Blake the space she suddenly wasn’t sure she wanted.

There was a pause. An awkward, suffocating kind of silence that pressed down hard.

“You look…” Paige started, but her words trailed off.

“Don’t,” Blake said quickly, then took a long sip of her drink. “Please.”

Paige frowned, the calm in her face flickering.

“Haven’t seen you around much” Paige says

“I’ve been busy.” Blake replies quickly.

Blake let the silence stretch again before her voice dropped, quieter but sharp:

“Seems like you’ve been keeping yourself busy also.”

Paige’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Blake raised an eyebrow, the meaning behind her words clear. “Cassie? A couple days after the event?”

Paige stiffened. Her face didn’t give much away—but the crack was there. Barely visible, but Blake saw it.

“That’s none of your business,” Paige said quietly, but there was no heat behind it. Just something that sounded a little too close to guilt.

“Maybe it’s not,” Blake replied, finishing her drink in one final, bitter sip. “But don’t act surprised when your past starts catching up to you.”

Kate shifted slightly beside her, lips pressed into a line. Still saying nothing. Still watching it unfold.

Blake stood slowly, grabbing her coat. “Thanks for the drink, Kate. I’ll see you later.”

She didn’t look at Paige again as she walked out, but her heart was thudding against her ribs, loud enough to echo.

Outside, the cold hit her skin like a slap. But it was nothing compared to the storm still raging inside her.

Paige stood there long after Blake was gone, the air around her thick with everything left unsaid. Her fingers twitched at her sides, and for a second—just one brief, burning second—she almost chased

after her.

Almost.

Because God, she wanted to. She wanted to run out into the street and call her name, to grab her hand and tell her that none of this meant anything. That the hookups, the parties, the silence—it was all noise. It was all her trying to drown out the one voice she couldn’t stop hearing in her head.

Blake’s.

She missed her.

Not in a casual, passing way. In the way that gutted her. In the way that made everything else feel hollow.

But doing that—admitting it out loud—would mean everything. It would mean stepping back into the version of herself she’d been avoiding for months. The one that cared too much. The one that got hurt. The one that still loved Blake, no matter how far she tried to run from that truth.

And what if Blake didn’t care anymore?

What if she was done—really done?

Paige had pushed her away for so long, she wasn’t sure if she could blame her for walking out without a second glance.

So instead, Paige just stood there, the sounds of the bar dull and distant, her jaw tight.

She needed to fix herself. And fast.

Because if she didn’t, she was going to lose the only person who ever really knew her—again.

And this time, it might be for good.

Paige couldn’t get her shot to fall.

Every jumper rimmed out, every drive felt heavy, her passes off by a second. It was like her body was moving through molasses while the world spun faster around her. She wiped sweat off her forehead, muttering a curse under her breath as the whistle blew and the scrimmage came to a frustrating end.

Lou was already grinning when she jogged up beside her. “Damn, Bueckers. Who broke your heart this time?”

Paige gave her a look, grabbing a water bottle and tilting it back. Arike joined in, bumping her shoulder on the way to the bench.

“You’ve been off all week,” Arike said, eyebrow raised. “And don’t even try to blame it on your knee. We know you.”

Lou plopped down beside her, shooting her a knowing look. “Let me guess. A certain Blake kind of off?”

Paige froze, the bottle paused at her lips. The silence lasted a beat too long, and that was all the answer they needed.

They’d met Blake once. During the before. When things were still good. When Paige still had someone in the stands who made her feel like more than her stats.

Lou leaned back, arms crossed. “Didn’t think we’d hear that name again.”

Paige tried to laugh, but it came out dry.

“It’s nothing. Just saw her recently. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” Arike said, not buying it for a second. “And how’d that go?”

Paige shrugged, eyes glued to the floor. “She left. Can’t blame her.”

Lou let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Neither of them pushed. They never did when it came to the stuff that actually hurt.

After a long silence, Arike nudged her foot. “Look, I’m not saying this to lecture you, but… you can’t expect things to fall into place if you’re out here hooking up with girls you barely know and pretending you’re fine.”

Paige’s stomach twisted.

Lou nodded. “You keep messing yourself up, trying to outrun feelings that clearly haven’t gone anywhere. Maybe it’s time to stop.”

Paige blinked hard, jaw tight. The words shouldn’t have hit so deep, but they did. Because they were right.

She wasn’t okay. And she hadn’t been for a

while.

“I’ll figure it out,” she said quietly, more to herself than them.

Arike stood, tossing her towel over her shoulder. “You better. Before you lose more than just your jump shot.”

They walked off, leaving Paige alone on the bench, heart pounding under all that stillness.

She missed Blake. Missed who she was when she was with her. And all the flings, the silence, the bravado—it hadn’t made her forget. It had just made her numb.

And now she was stuck between who she used to be and who she didn’t recognize anymore.

Later that night, Paige sat in the corner of her apartment, lights dimmed, the glow from the muted TV painting her face in shifting colors. Another game playing. Another distraction that didn’t work.

Her phone was facedown on the coffee table. She hadn’t picked it up in hours.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the way Blake looked at her—sharp, tired, like she didn’t even recognize her anymore. Like Paige had become everything she used to be afraid of.

She wasn’t wrong.

A soft ping broke the silence. A message from Lou.

Lou: Just checking in. Don’t ghost us. We care, even when you act like a jackass.

Paige let out a slow breath, thumb hovering over her screen. She didn’t reply.

She didn’t know how to say thank you without lying. And she didn’t want to lie anymore.

There was a knock on the door a few minutes later. It was Lou.

Paige opened it in a hoodie and shorts, eyes rimmed red. Lou didn’t comment. She just walked in like she always had, dropped a bag of takeout on the table, and flopped onto the couch.

“I brought the spicy noodles,” she said. “Because I know you only cry over those when it’s really bad.”

Paige sat across from her, fingers curled under her sleeves. She didn’t speak right away.

Lou didn’t push. She just cracked open a drink and waited.

“It’s not just Blake,” Paige finally said, voice low, almost raw. “It’s everything.”

Lou nodded slowly, setting her drink down.

“Tell me.”

“I’ve been trying to convince myself I’m fine. That none of it matters. That I don’t care,” Paige continued, her voice wavering now. “And every time I hook up with someone or leave without saying goodbye, I feel worse. Like I’m erasing myself piece by piece.”

Lou’s eyes softened. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

Paige let out a bitter laugh. “Because I’m Paige Bueckers. People expect me to have it together. And if I don’t, they stare like I’m breaking the rules.”

“But you’re human,” Lou said simply. “You get to hurt. You get to be a mess. But you don’t get to shut everyone out and pretend it’s strength.”

Paige stared at the floor. “She was the only one who saw me like that. Like really saw me. And now she won’t even look at me like she used to.”

“Do you blame her?” Lou asked gently.

“No.” Paige’s voice cracked. “I’d walk away from me, too.”

Lou moved over to sit beside her, shoulder to shoulder. “So stop giving her reasons to.”

Paige closed her eyes. Her chest felt like it was caving in, but also—just barely—like she could breathe again.

She didn’t know how to fix everything. Or if she even could. But she was tired of pretending she didn’t want to.

Paige wasn’t sure what she expected, but when she walked into the smoothie shop and saw Kate standing behind the counter, her arms folded, a smirk playing at her lips, she realized she’d probably walked right into the lion’s den.

Kate was busy cleaning the counter, but the second she noticed Paige standing there, she didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Well, well. If it isn’t Paige Bueckers. To what do I owe this... unexpected honor?”

Paige hesitated, her nerves climbing up her spine. “Hey, Kate,” she said, forcing a casualness she didn’t feel. “I... I just wanted to talk.”

Kate didn’t look surprised. In fact, she looked like she’d been expecting this. “About what? How you messed Blake’s life for the hundredth time?”

Paige’s chest tightened, but she didn’t flinch. “I’m trying to fix it. I just need to talk to her.”

Kate raised an eyebrow, wiping her hands on a towel. “Yeah, sure. You think Blake’s gonna let you come back in after everything you did?”

Paige bit her lip, pushing down the sting of her words. “No. I know I messed up. I’ve been an idiot, and I’ve hurt her. I get that.”

Kate finally leaned against the counter, her eyes sharp but not unkind. “Look, Paige, Blake’s one of my closest friends. I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I don’t know how much she still cares about you. But if you think you can just show up and make everything right like that,” she snapped her fingers, “you’re wrong. It doesn’t work that way.”

Paige swallowed. “I know it doesn’t. But I’m trying. I’m... I’m just trying to figure out how to fix this.”

Kate’s expression softened a fraction, though her tone was still direct. “You want to know the truth? You should’ve been more honest with her. From the start. You ran away, and you kept running. And you think you can come back now with some half-assed apology and expect everything to magically fix itself? That’s not how it works.”

Paige opened her mouth to protest, but Kate held up a hand, cutting her off.

“No. Listen. I’m not saying Blake’s perfect. She’s been a mess in her own right, too. But you know what she deserves? Someone who’s gonna be straight with her. Someone who won’t just disappear when things get tough. And if you want her back? You need to be that person.”

Paige stood still, her heart heavy in her chest. She could feel the weight of Kate’s words. The truth of them. She’d never been honest with Blake—not like she should’ve been. She’d hidden behind her mistakes, her fears, her pride. And now?

Now it felt like she was too late.

“You’re right,” Paige said quietly, her voice a little hoarse. “I’ve been running. I thought I could... forget about it. About her. But I can’t. I can’t just walk away anymore.”

Kate didn’t smile or soften the way Paige had hoped. She just gave a small nod, as if she already knew that.

“Good,” Kate said, her voice low but firm. “Now do something about it. You want her back? Then stop running. Stop hiding behind excuses and start being real. Or she’ll never look at you the same way again.”

Paige nodded, a mixture of determination and defeat swirling in her chest. She didn’t know if she could fix everything, but at least now she knew what she had to do.

“I will,” she promised.

Kate finally gave her a pointed look, but this time it was almost warm, as though she was letting her guard down just enough. “You better. For both of your sakes.”

Paige turned to leave, but just before she reached the door, she glanced back at Kate.

“Thanks.”

Kate gave a half-smile, shrugging. “Yeah, yeah. Go get your shit together, Bueckers. You’ve got one shot at this. Don’t blow it.”

Paige stepped out into the cool air, her mind a whirlwind of everything Kate had said. She wasn’t sure if she could pull this off. She wasn’t even sure if Blake would let her. But she had to try.

Because Kate was right. If she didn’t try now, she might never get the chance again.

Paige sat in the quiet of her apartment, the light from her phone screen casting a faint glow on her face. She scrolled through her messages, her finger hovering over names she’d let linger too long. Girls she’d met at bars. Girls who didn’t know her—didn’t know the real her.

Her thumb hovered over one name, then another. She stared at the screen, wondering why she was even doing this. It wasn’t just about her anymore. It wasn’t even about her career, her image, or how the world saw her.

It was Blake.

She needed to fix this, fix herself, not for anyone else but for Blake. For them.

She hit the first name—blocked. Then

another. And another.

The satisfying click of each name disappearing from her screen made her stomach twist, though it wasn’t out of relief. It felt more like a hollow victory, one that wouldn’t fix anything.

Couldn’t fix anything.

She had spent so long hiding behind distractions—hookups, one-night stands, empty promises. She thought it would help numb the weight of everything she had done. But all it did was push her further into herself, further away from the person she wanted to be.

The person she used to be. The person Blakelyn had loved.

But now?

Now Blake probably didn’t even care. Or worse, she probably thought Paige had completely lost herself in the chaos. Paige couldn’t blame her. She’d been selfish, running from her feelings, pushing Blake away the second things got too real.

Her phone buzzed, pulling her out of the haze. A message from Lou.

Lou: How’s the soul-searching going?

Paige stared at the message for a moment before she typed back.

Paige: Not sure if I even know who I am anymore.

She sighed, setting the phone down. For the first time in a long time, she felt something—something raw and unguarded. She had pushed so much away, thinking it would make things easier. But the harder she tried to outrun her feelings, the more they just came rushing back.

And Blake? She was out there—somewhere, living her life. Probably better off without Paige. No messy past. No painful memories. No girl who still couldn’t figure out how to love the way she was supposed to.

The thought of Blake, of how her smile used to make everything feel like it might actually be okay, made Paige’s chest tighten. Could Blake even look at her now? Could she see past all the mistakes and wanther again?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Paige closed her eyes, letting the weight of it all settle into her bones. She didn’t know if Blake would ever let her back in. But she had to try. She had to. Even if it was just for herself. Even if it was just so she could finally be the person Blake deserved.

She picked up her phone again, stared at the screen, and then pressed send on her reply to Lou.

Paige: I’m gonna make it right. For me. And for her.

The words didn’t fix anything, didn’t make her feel better. But for the first time in

months, they felt like the start of something.

A small step. A decision.

And that was all she had for now.

Blake hadn’t expected Kate to say that.

“Paige asked about you,” Kate said casually, like she didn’t just set fire to the calm Blake had worked so hard to build.

Blakelyn blinked. “Paige?” Blushing slightly.

“Blakelyn Cove Harper! Are you blushing?” Kate teases

Blake hits show her slightly

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Why do you sound surprised?”

Blake’s laugh was short, dry. “Because the last I heard, Paige was… everywhere. With everyone. Not exactly asking about me.”

She hated how bitter it sounded. Like she hadn’t moved on. Like she hadn’t told herself a hundred times that Paige was just a memory now. A very hot, messy memory, but still.

Kate didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.

Blake leaned back in her seat, her fingers tightening around her cup. “She promised she’d carry me with her,” she murmured.

It wasn’t like she stopped loving her. That was the problem. Blake had tried. Lord knows she’d tried. But love didn’t just leave because someone hurt you. It lingered. It echoed.

“She’s different now,” Kate said quietly. “Not out partying. Not hooking up. She’s… working on herself.”

Blake looked away, the war in her chest tightening. She wanted to believe that. Part of her did believe it. But belief didn’t mean trust. And trust? That was something Paige had shattered.

“I don’t know if I’m willing,” Blake whispered, more to herself than anyone. “I don’t know if I can be.”

Blake kept things steady.

Wake up. Coffee. Work. Laugh at Kate’s awful playlist choices. Go home. Sleep.

Repeat.

It was easier that way—predictable. Clean. No room for what-ifs or ghosts from the past. She’d built this quiet rhythm to keep herself sane. To keep herself safe.

But of course, Paige had a way of slipping into cracks Blake didn’t know were still open.

It started small—just a name lingering in the back of her mind. Paige. Then it grew. A memory here. A laugh there. That stupid grin that always came after Paige said something reckless and charming and impossible to ignore. She even caught herself watching Paige’s games sometimes.

Blake shook her head one morning while she buttered her toast, like she could physically shove the thought out. But it stayed. God, it lingered.

All because Kate had said one thing.

“She asked about you.”

That was it. No details. No context. Just enough to plant the seed and leave Blake wondering.

Why?

Why now?

Was she supposed to believe Paige cared again? After all the mess? After leaving her behind like she hadn’t mattered?

Was she really willing to walk toward that same girl who once promised to carry her, only to drop her in the middle of her storm?

Blake rubbed at her temple and let out a breath.

No, she thought.

Maybe.

She didn’t know. And that? That was the worst part.

Because everything else in her life was steady.

Except Paige.

Paige was still the one thing that made her heart feel anything but.

Blake knew she needed a distraction.

So, when Kate dragged her out one Friday night, she went—mostly because Kate’s relentless enthusiasm made it impossible to say no. And because, at this point, sitting at home alone with her thoughts was becoming unbearable.

The bar was crowded, the music loud, the chatter all around her a dull hum. Blake felt that familiar pull to hide away in her own little corner, but Kate was already leading her toward the group, dragging her into the mix.

“Come on! You’ve gotta meet Grayson,” Kate said, practically bouncing with excitement.

Blake raised an eyebrow. “Grayson?”

“He’s been in town for a few weeks. Really nice guy. Funny, too.” Kate’s smile was knowing. “I think you’ll like him.”

Grayson was cute. Not exactly her type—but cute enough. He had dark hair, a smile that came easily, and a laugh that made people want to be around him. Blake found herself smiling a little more than usual. He was easy to talk to, lighthearted, the kind of guy who didn’t try too hard but still made you feel like he cared.

“You’re quiet,” Grayson said, handing her a drink. “Are you sure you’re enjoying this?”

Blake chuckled, taking a sip. “I’m just a little out of practice with the whole social thing.”

“I get that,” he said with a grin. “I’m kind of the same way. I can’t do the whole ‘over-the-top’ party thing. I’d rather just—” He paused, looking around, and leaned in a little closer. “—talk. Actually connect, you know?”

She looked at him. Maybe she could let herself get distracted, let herself enjoy this moment. Grayson was kind. He was warm. And he made her feel like she wasn’t the only one who sometimes wanted more than just noise and chaos.

But still.

As she listened to him talk, laughed at his jokes, she couldn’t help but feel it. That lingering ache. That pull. That hollow space where Paige used to be.

Grayson wasn’t her. He wasn’t the girl who made her heart race with a single glance. He wasn’t the one who’d promised, only to break her heart wide open.

And no matter how easy Grayson was to talk to, how cute he was, how much fun they had—he wasn’t Paige.

He couldn’t fill the emptiness she still carried around.

The night dragged on, and Blake found herself distracted by the way Grayson’s hand brushed against hers, the way he laughed, the way he seemed genuinely interested in her. But every time she looked away—at the lights, at the crowd, or even just in a moment of silence—her mind drifted right back to that one name: Paige.

And Blake knew she wasn’t ready. Not for this. Not for anyone else.

Because she wasn’t done with Paige yet. Even if she was trying to be.

Blake wasn’t used to this—her life feeling alive again, like it had a spark she hadn’t seen in years. Between work, hanging out with Kate, and her odd but growing connection to Grayson, she found herself smiling more. Laughing more. Talking more, even.

But there was still a quiet, stubborn part of her heart that wouldn’t let go. And that part of her heart had a name: Paige.

It started with a text. It was simple, just a reminder of how small the world really was.

Kate had forwarded her a message one morning. It was a group text, part of a casual thread from some mutual friends.

They were planning a weekend hangout, something low-key, just a few people meeting at a park for a barbecue.

Blake didn’t think much of it at first—until she saw the name in the list of attendees.

Paige.

It took her a full minute to let the name settle in, to ignore the sudden thudding in her chest. Paige. She hadn’t heard from her in months. Not since she left. Not since everything fell apart.

The text didn’t say much. Just the usual details—time, place, maybe a few jokes about who was bringing what. But there it was, hidden between the words: Paige would be there.

Blake stared at the screen. Her first instinct was to delete it, ignore it, pretend like it wasn’t even there. But then her thumb hovered over the message.

She couldn’t erase it. Not yet. Not when it felt like the universe was nudging her back toward something she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

“You okay?” Kate’s voice broke through her thoughts.

Blake glanced up, locking eyes with her. She didn’t know how to explain what she was feeling. She didn’t even know what she was feeling.

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Is it about the barbecue thing?”

Blake nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond. “Yeah. Paige’s name is on the list.”

Kate’s lips parted, probably about to say something comforting or logical. But then she paused. “Do you think you’re ready for that?”

Blake bit her lip. "I don’t know. But... it’s not like I can just pretend she doesn’t exist."

"No," Kate agreed softly. “But you don’t have to rush into anything. If you want to go, go. If not... well, you’ve got options. You’ve got time.”

Blake nodded. Time. She had time. She always had time to do things on her terms. But when it came to Paige, time felt like a slow burn. A ticking clock she didn’t quite know how to reset.

Grayson, who’d been quiet for the last few minutes, looked at Blake curiously. “Everything alright Blakers?”

Blakers.

It didn’t sound right coming from his mouth. Everyone else has always called her Blake or Blakelyn. Besides when Paige would jokingly call her that. In correlation to the lakers of course. Of course they both had to be basketball fans.

Blake turned to him, realizing he had been

quietly watching the whole exchange. She smiled faintly. “Yeah. Just... thinking.”

Grayson’s eyes softened. “If you need to talk or distract yourself, you know I’m here.”

His words were kind, and part of her appreciated the gesture, the quiet offer of a distraction. But the pull, that ache she couldn’t shake—it wasn’t something

Grayson could fix. He didn’t know Paige. He didn’t know the history, the weight of everything that still hung between them.

Blake took a deep breath, trying to shake off the tension that was starting to build.

"Thanks, Grayson," she said quietly. "I’m just... figuring things out.”

And deep down, she knew the truth: she wasn’t just figuring things out. She was trying to decide if she was finally ready to face what had been left unresolved.

The question wasn’t if she could go on with her life without Paige. It was whether she was brave enough to let the past and the future coexist, even if it meant getting closer to a pain she hadn’t been ready to face.

Paige wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she saw the barbecue invite, but it definitely wasn’t this. She thought she’d moved past this—past seeing Blake at events like these, past the weight of what was still unresolved between them. But here she was, sitting on a picnic bench in the warm late afternoon sun, trying to pretend she wasn’t dying inside.

She was supposed to be here to reconnect with friends, to prove she was getting her life back together. And yet, as soon as she arrived, her gaze found Blake like a magnet pulling her in. She looked... different. But good. Her presence was quieter now, more collected. She was smiling at something a guy had just said, the type of smile that Paige remembered well—the one that had always been so effortless, yet so completely genuine.

Blake was laughing. Not at Paige’s expense. Not in a way that made Paige feel small. It was a real laugh, the kind that reminded Paige of who Blake had been to her before everything shattered.

Paige’s heart twisted in her chest. She tried to ignore it, tried to focus on the plate of food in front of her, but it wasn’t working. That nagging feeling—the one she’d learned to bury so many times before—was back. She hated seeing Blake with someone else. She hated it more than she’d ever admit.

“Who’s the guy?” Paige asked Kate, sitting next to her on the bench, sipping from her drink. She had followed Kate’s gaze and was looking at Blake, too.

Paige’s stomach churned.

“Grayson.” Kate said. “Blake’s been hanging out with him for a while now.”

Paige felt a sharp pang in her chest. Grayson. She didn’t even know why it bothered her this much, but it did. The thought of someone else making Blake laugh the way she used to—it felt like a punch.

When Blake finally looked up and caught Paige’s eye, something flickered between them. It was brief, but Paige felt it, like a silent acknowledgment of everything they hadn’t said to each other.

Blake walked over after a few moments, Grayson following close behind. The air between them was thick, charged. Paige couldn’t shake the feeling that Blake’s eyes were searching hers, looking for something, maybe expecting something. But Paige didn’t know what to say. What could she say after everything?

“Hey,” Blake said, her voice a little quieter than usual. “Paige.”

Paige swallowed, trying to keep her cool. “Hey.”

Grayson, looking a little unsure of the tension, gave a small wave. “I’ll grab us some drinks,” he said, turning to head toward the cooler.

Blake watched him go, then turned back to Paige. The silence between them felt heavy.

“So… how’ve you been?”

Paige wanted to laugh at the question. How had she been? A mess, really. But she didn’t say that. Instead, she just nodded, forcing a smile. “Good. Getting there.”

“Yeah?” Blake raised an eyebrow, like she wasn’t sure if she believed it. “You don’t look like it.”

The words stung more than Paige expected. She didn’t know why they did, but they did. It was like Blake saw right through her, like she always had.

“I’ve been… figuring things out,” Paige said, trying to sound casual.

Blake nodded, her expression unreadable. Then, her gaze drifted to Grayson, who was chatting with some friends. “Who’s the guy? Boyfriend?”

Paige felt a sharp edge to the question, something pointed that she couldn’t quite place. She knew she wasn’t asking because she was genuinely curious. It was something else. Something deeper.

“Not my boyfriend,” Kate said, her voice colder than she meant it to be. She almost regretted it the second it left her mouth. Not my boyfriend. Why did that sound so defensive?

Blake’s eyes flashed for a split second, a flicker of something—hurt, maybe?—before she masked it with a neutral expression.

“Right.”

The conversation didn’t go anywhere after that. Neither of them seemed to know how to bridge the gap that had been left between them. Eventually, Blake excused herself, saying something about needing to catch up with Kate, and walked off.

Paige felt a heaviness settle over her. She hadn’t meant to make it awkward, but somehow, everything between them felt awkward now. She had hurt Blake. She knew that. She’d been the one to end things. She’d been the one to walk away, telling herself it was for the best, that long distance was too hard, that it was easier to move on.

But now... now she wasn’t sure about any of it. Not anymore.

The rest of the evening blurred. People talked, laughed, drank. Paige tried to keep herself busy, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that every time she looked up, Blake was somewhere else in her line of sight.

Every time their gazes met across the crowd, it was like the whole world stopped for a split second.

Paige couldn’t ignore it. That ache in her chest, that constant, gnawing feeling that she still loved Blake. That she never stopped loving Blake.

But she’d messed up.

She had.

She had broken up with Blake because she couldn’t handle the thought of long-distance. She’d told herself it was better this way. Easier. But now, as she watched Blake interact with Grayson, she realized how hollow that excuse had been. How stupid it had been to think breaking up would make it easier.

Paige’s head swam with those old memories, of promises made and broken. Of her lying to herself, telling herself she was fine, that she didn’t need Blake, that it wasn’t worth fighting for anymore.

But it was.

She reached for another drink, feeling the sting of the alcohol burn her throat. She needed something to dull the ache, to shut up that part of her brain that kept begging her to fix everything.

“Paige, hey, you good?”

She looked up to see Kate standing in front of her, looking concerned. Paige tried to smile but failed. The room was spinning. She was already tipsy, but she didn’t care.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, reaching for another drink. “I just need a little more... distraction.”

Kate frowned, but didn’t argue. “If you say so. But don’t go overboard, okay?”

But Paige wasn’t listening anymore. She was too deep in it. Too deep in the mess she’d made.

The night wore on, and Paige found herself leaning against the side of the house, a bit unsteady on her feet. She was drunker than she’d intended to be, but the numbness felt better than the heartache. She was just about to grab another drink when she realized she couldn’t stand for much longer.

She stumbled, and suddenly—like it was fate—Blake was there, standing in front of her, concern in her eyes.

“I think you’ve had enough,” Blake said, her voice soft but firm.

Paige tried to steady herself, but the world tilted again. She felt the alcohol creeping into her bloodstream, making everything hazy. “I’m fine,” Paige slurred. “Just need to... be alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Blake said quietly, her hand reaching out to steady Paige. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Paige opened her mouth to protest, but it wasn’t even a real protest. This wasn’t a good idea. She didn’t know if she could be around Blake without saying things. She was too drunk. Too lost in the moment.

Blake’s hand was warm on her arm, guiding her gently. Paige felt like her heart was beating out of her chest—more than it had all night. More than it had in years.

“Blake,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I... I messed up. I—"

But Blake just shook her head, guiding her toward the car. "We’ll talk later, okay? You need to rest."

But they both knew. This wasn’t about just needing rest. This was about everything Paige had been running from for so long.

And now, maybe, for the first time, Paige wasn’t sure she could keep running anymore.

Paige’s head throbbed as she slowly woke up, the remnants of the night still swirling in her mind, fuzzy and disorienting. Her mouth was dry, her body sluggish as she tried to sit up. She winced, feeling the sharp ache of a hangover, the kind that made her wonder if she’d made a mistake not stopping after the first drink.

The room was dim, the sunlight creeping in through the blinds, but it didn’t feel like morning yet. It felt like she was still stuck in the haze of the night before, still trying to sort through the mess she’d created.

And then, as her blurry eyes cleared, she saw it.

A note. Tucked beneath the edge of a coffee cup on the counter. It was familiar. Too familiar.

Paige’s heart skipped a beat as she reached for the note, the handwriting instantly recognizable. Blake’s. Even though she hadn’t seen her in what felt like forever, Blake’s words still felt like a balm to her soul. Like a piece of home she’d lost and didn’t know how badly she’d missed until right now.

She unfolded the note carefully:

“We’ll talk. Take some medicine, that hangover is gonna kill you! - Blakers”

Blakers.

It was simple. A little too simple for what was hanging between them. But still, just seeing her nickname on the paper—Blakers—had a rush of emotion flooding over Paige. Her chest tightened. That familiar pang of longing gripped her, and for a moment, she could almost hear Blake’s voice in her head, teasing her as she had done when they were together.

It had been so long since Blake had left her little encouragement notes. Back then, before big games, before important moments, she’d always leave Paige something—words of support, always just enough to remind Paige she was there, rooting for her. Always just enough to make her feel like she was someone worth believing in.

Back then, Blake had been her rock. Her girl. Her Blakelyn.

Paige let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. God, she missed her. She missed everything about her. Blake was still the one who had known her better than anyone else. She could feel it in her bones, even now. That ache in her chest was proof. That deep, gnawing feeling that she had let go of something that was too important, something that she hadn’t been willing to fully commit to when she had the chance.

Blake had always been there—always the constant in Paige’s life, even when Paige hadn’t deserved it. Blake had stood by her through thick and thin, believed in her when she hadn’t even believed in herself. She was everything Paige had ever wanted, even if Paige had tried so hard to convince herself otherwise.

And now?

Now, Paige couldn’t pretend she didn’t need her.

But the question was: Could she get Blake back? Was it even possible after everything she’d done?

Her eyes drifted to the note again, the words hanging in the air. We’ll talk. That little promise. That tiny thread of hope.

She felt herself holding onto it like a lifeline. Blake hadn’t closed the door entirely. There was still something left between them. Maybe it was fragile, maybe it was broken, but it was there.

Paige took a deep breath, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter as the weight of everything settled over her.

She had to get Blake back.

She couldn’t let go of her—of them—so easily. Not when every part of her was still so desperately in love with her.

But what would it take? Could she really make things right? Was Blake still willing to take the risk after everything Paige had done?

She closed her eyes, letting the throbbing in her head mix with the rawness in her chest. She wasn’t sure what to do, or how to fix this. But she knew one thing: she wasn’t going to give up on Blake. Not now. Not when there was a chance—however slim—that she could get her back.

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers fic

51 notes · View notes

skyward-floored · 9 days ago

Text

Part three to the hdw au Link poisoning and kidnapping fic! I didn’t realize it had been literal months since the last part I’m very sorry about that shdsdjfndjkjh

This was supposed to be the last part, but it once again got super long and so I split it up, and now there will be a fourth part at some point 😅 But I'm hoping I can finish that one up quick so y’all don’t have to wait too long for it. In the meantime, enjoy!

(previous warnings apply, as well as a brief medical use of a needle)

Previous (part two)

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

The sky is pink by the time Volga grows near the army’s camp, the glow of dawn making his scales shine as he lands, feet stumbling a little when he transforms back to two legs.

His arm aches where the plant monster grazed him, and he has bruises and scrapes from the icy monsters he fought, as well as injuries from the initial rescue of Link. It’s barely noticeable compared to everything else that’s happened this terrible night, but it’s certainly annoying.

Volga ignores the tiredness buzzing at the edges of his mind, aches in his body, and instead grabs the nearest soldier, demanding they show him where Impa is.

The man nervously points him in the right direction, and Volga bolts, nearly exploding into the tent when he reaches it.

Inside things are on the crowded side, and most of the occupants jump at his abrupt appearance, shouts of his name, a few faces turning pale. But Volga only has eyes for the boy lying limp on the cot in the center of the room, shirt removed so they can see the jagged lines of purplish green spreading across his skin. They’re alarmingly close to his heart, and Volga rushes forward, out of breath and limping slightly.

Link doesn’t look like he’s breathing.

“Is he—”

“He’s hanging on. Barely,” Impa answers for him at her place directly beside Link, looking as haggard as Volga feels. Volga for his part nearly drops to his knees in relief at her words, hope sparking in his chest.

I’m not too late.

“Did you find it?” Impa asks almost desperately, and Volga holds out the bag, filled with his prize.

“Yes. He will need to ingest these,” he pants, nearly shoving the bag at her. “The juice will do at first if he cannot swallow. But if you can, the whole berry. As many as he can manage.”

“Just these berries?” the blue sorceress asks from her place nearby, and Volga gives her a curt nod.

“Yes. They’re very potent, but they don’t work when they’re dried. I’d keep a store around otherwise,” he mutters, and watches as Impa carefully pulls a few precious pale yellow berries out.

“This is shineberry, I know it,” she says in surprise. “These will really do it?”

“It counteracts the poison. I do not know how, but I’ve seen it work myself,” Volga assures her impatiently. “We should hurry.”

Impa nods, and one of the medics in the room moves forward and sits Link up, Volga steadying his head when it lolls (he feels so frail—). The little blue fairy that follows Link around flutters her way up and sits on his head, wings trembling with anxiety, and once Link is upright enough, Impa carefully opens his mouth, crushing a berry between her fingers and dripping the juice inside.

Link near immediately chokes on it, juice speckling his lips, and his eyes flutter as he weakly coughs. Volga frowns as Link faintly jerks in his hold, and Impa waits until he stops coughing to carefully try again, even more slowly.

It’s the same result, juice spattering out, Link letting out a cough so weak it barely counts as one.

“Please Link, you need to swallow this,” Impa mutters tensely, and Volga tilts his head a bit differently as she tries once again, rubbing a finger on his throat.

Link chokes on the juice the same as last time, and weakly gags in addition, too weak even to properly vomit.

Someone wipes the bit of sick that dribbles from his lips, and Link falls limp again with a shudder, skin as pale as the bandages that have been placed on his face. A brief silence falls over the tent as they lay him back down, and Volga curses under his breath. How can they get Link to eat the only thing that will save him if he’s too weak to take it?

“What now? He can’t swallow!” the fairy cries, sounding near hysterical, and Volga sees the princess take a steadying breath before giving her a sympathetic look.

“We’ll figure it out Proxi,” she reassures, and the fairy moves to her shoulder with a tiny sniff. “There must be a way.”

“We should force it down,” Volga says immediately. Impa frowns at him.

“He’d only choke again,” she rebuts. “I doubt he’d be able to keep enough down to matter even if we forced it, and the last thing he needs is to keep vomiting. We’ll have to get it in him some other way.”

“Well if you’ve got any brilliant ideas, then do tell,” Volga snaps. “He’s dying, Impa, he needs these berries.”

Her eyes narrow.

“You think I don’t know that?” she says back with a venom he doesn’t often hear from her. And even though Volga should take it for the warning that it is, he keeps speaking.

“You’re not acting like it,” he shoots back. “If he has to choke to take them then so be it. I will not sit here while the cure is in our hands and watch him die because you were afraid of him throwing up—”

Impa is suddenly inches from his nose.

“His heart stopped twice while you were gone,” she hisses, in a very dangerous voice. “I know he’s dying, I’ve nearly watched him die twice today and I don’t want to risk a third that he might not come back from!” she nearly shouts in return, and Volga swallows, his body aching, mind exhausted, fists shaking at his sides from too many accursed emotions he doesn’t know what to do with.

He opens his mouth to snap back, and then someone shoves their way between him and Impa.

“Enough,” Princess Zelda commands, glaring at them both. “If you two are merely going to yell at each other and make arguments that only serve to enrage, then for Link’s sake you can’t be in here. Calm down or leave. We will figure this out.”

Volga glares for another few moments, then snorts an angry breath and turns away from her and Impa, fuming. A prickle of regret crosses the emotions buzzing in his head when he catches a glimpse of Impa’s face, but he ignores it. Why can’t she see?

Link has to get these berries in him.

Volga glares silently at the floor, shoulders tense. He can tell the other Hylians in the tent are trying not to stare as the silence stretches out, and he crosses his arms, wishing they’d leave. Why are so many of them in here anyway?

He doesn’t want an audience when Link dies.

“Um... I think I have an idea,” the blue sorceress suddenly speaks up, her voice quiet, and everyone turns to look at her.

“Do tell,” Impa replies, and Volga turns to see the blue sorceress better. She has a determined look on her face, if anxious, and she looks down at Link with an expression Volga isn’t sure he likes.

“Well... perhaps we could inject him with the juice,” she suggests. “We’re pretty sure that’s how the poison entered him. Maybe the cure will work the same way?”

A beat goes by, and Impa looks at Volga. Volga shrugs. He hasn’t ever heard of such a thing, but that’s not too surprising, and he’s about willing to try anything at this point, even if it comes from Cia's relation. Link looks like he could succumb to the poison at any moment.

“We don’t have anything to lose. Let’s try it,” Impa decides, and Lana nods, taking a handful of the berries.

She and the medics do something to them, mashing them and heating them up or something like that, but Volga’s attention is on Link, his chest moving almost imperceptibly with each shallow breath, Impa’s knuckles white where they hold his hand. He feels... not the best for having snapped at her, but their squabbling doesn’t matter right now. Link does.

He looks at his son again, and swallows.

Please.

...

He doesn’t know how long it’s been when the sorceress turns back around with the medics, a syringe in hand with a shiny yellowish liquid inside. Looks are exchanged, and the first medic carefully lifts Link’s arm, pressing the needle into his inner elbow.

Link doesn’t react at all, and the medic wraps the injection site before leaning back.

“Now we wait and see,” he says, looking tired.

“How will we know if it worked?” Zelda asks worriedly, and Volga snorts bitterly as they all stare at Link.

“If he dies or not, I suppose.”

Impa gives him a sharp look, but Volga easily ignores it. He doesn’t particularly want to get his hopes up, and Impa is well aware this is how he copes with things of this scale.

...But for her sake, he tacks on some more info.

“If we’d given it to him by way of mouth, we would see improvement in only a few minutes,” Volga admits, tapping a finger on his arm. “I don’t know if this will be faster or not.”

“I suppose we’ll find out,” the princess says, looking at least as weary as Impa. “Though if it doesn’t work...”

“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it,” Impa replies quietly. “Let’s give it a few minutes.”

And they settle in to wait.

The medics begin talking among themselves, debating something Volga doesn’t catch. The princess sits beside Impa, saying something quietly to her and the blue sorceress as the fairy anxiously bats her wings. Volga finds himself unable to sit still, and begins to pace around the tent despite the ache in his leg, ignoring the quiet conversation.

If this doesn’t work... he doesn’t know what else they can try. As much as he hates to admit it, Impa is probably right about Link being too weak to handle them shoving berries down his throat, which means this is their best bet to save him. Only bet.

Volga glances over at his son. Link still looks the same, pale and still, no visible change yet, and Volga paces faster.

What do we do if he dies?

His eyes narrow as the answer finally comes to him, his hands clenching into fists.

Hunt down the scum who did this.

He knows some of them escaped, but he’d been too focused on Link to try and to stop them. And regardless if Link makes it or not, he has a lot of questions for the men that did this. He wants to know how on earth they knew of such a devastating poison when so few people even know of the plant it’s made from, how they knew of his and Link’s shared blood. Someone must have told them, someone who knows more than they should, and Volga wants to know who it is so he can gut them.

He’ll have to ask Impa if she has any thoughts about leaks in information. Guesses on who it might be, or a course of action to take. Assuming of course, that she doesn’t hate him after all of this. If Link dies, he wouldn't blame her.

He glances over at his mate as he paces, and sees her watching Link, expression distant.

A bit of hair is coming out of its neat style, the braids tightly woven into her bun coming loose. A few strands hang errant in her face, and Volga can’t help staring at her, wondering what she’s thinking.

Is she having the same thoughts as he is? Is she thinking about who did this to their son, how they’ll exact vengeance upon them?

Or perhaps...

Her hand rests over Link’s again, expression pained, and Volga turns away as he continues to pace.

...Perhaps she’s wondering if she has the right to mourn.

The minutes tick on, conversation floating softly around the tent, worried glances cast at Link. A medic gets up and stretches. Link’s fairy chimes a quiet little song to herself. The princess murmurs something under her breath that sounds like a prayer.

And right as Volga is losing what little hope he had left, he abruptly stops pacing, a noise catching his ear.

He stops dead in his tracks, and whirls around, his gaze zeroing in on Link. The action catches Impa’s attention, and he strides over to Link in a few quick steps, looking at his son intensely.

“What? What is it?” the princess asks in alarm as he leans over Link, and Volga is silent for a few moments as he presses his ear to his chest and makes sure he’s correct.

“Listen.”

They all go silent as he leans back, doing as he says, and Volga sees the exact moment they realize the change, eyes widening. The medic who’d given Link the shot leans over him when Volga moves, lightly prodding his sides and checking his pulse, then listens to his chest as well.

“He’s breathing deeper now,” he says in a disbelieving voice. “Those berries worked.”

The other medics break into excited cheers, the blue sorceress letting out an almost giddy laugh, and Zelda puts her hand on her arm with a relieved smile. The fairy cheers as she spins in excited circles around their heads, and Volga can’t find it in himself to be annoyed at the squealing sound. Impa is more quiet in her relief, but Volga sees her close her eyes and breathe out, squeezing Link’s hand.

The antidote worked.

Pure relief sweeps over Volga as well, a heady, breathless feeling that makes his head spin. He wasn’t too late.

Link isn’t going to die.

The medics shoo everyone except the blue sorceress back so they can do a more thorough look over of Link, and Volga reluctantly moves with the rest, finding himself standing beside Impa. Relief and exhaustion paint her face in equal measure, and Volga’s arm is halfway up to pull her close before he remembers himself, and he drops it again, instead crossing his arms as he looks at Link.

Link who’s breathing is steadying. Link who’s face already looks less grey.

Link who is going to live.

Volga feels suddenly lightheaded, and someone catches his arm when he sways, the adrenaline finally draining away, the long night taking its toll. Someone says something, and it takes him a moment to tune into it as he blinks black spots from his vision.

“—you’re injured, sit down,” Impa says in an exasperated voice. Volga distantly realizes she’s the one holding him up. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I am not,” he replies in a voice that does not waver, his legs definitely still holding his weight.

“Right. And you’re a water dragon. Don’t think I didn’t notice what a mess you are,” Impa says, and pushes him down onto a stool. “Sit. I’ll wrap your arm.”

“There is no need for that,” he replies brusquely, but Impa ignores him, grabbing some of the supplies the medics hadn’t needed.

“We can’t do anything more for Link at the moment, and you’ve looked like you were going to fall over from the moment you stormed in here, sit,” she stresses when he tries to get up again.

He sits.

“Take your shoulder armor off. If nothing else I need to clean the wound. Then you can go wrap it yourself if you really want,” Impa continues. “But you won’t be able to reach it very well by yourself.”

Impa is annoyingly right as always, and so Volga slowly begins to shuck off his wrappings and armor from his bloody arm, pulling the torn sleeve of his undershirt out of the way with a hiss of pain. Apparently the plant monster had gotten him worse than he thought. The teeth marks underneath aren’t a pleasant sight, red and a little swollen, dried blood crusted around them. The princess winces in sympathy from where she’s standing nearby, and Impa sits beside Volga, her face creased.

“I’m not even going to ask how you got these,” she says as she takes his arm and starts to clean, and Volga hisses through his teeth at the sting.

“Deku Baba. They were in my way.”

“Multiple?” Zelda says in surprise, and Volga huffs.

“Yes. Six or so,” he explains with half a shrug. “They were in my way.”

“Remind me never to get in your way,” Impa huffs, but her tone is impressed, and Volga preens just a little at the compliment he finds buried inside the words. “You have a great deal of injuries... what happened when you went to save Link?”

Volga’s smile dips. “...Later.”

He doesn’t want to dwell on it right now. It’ll only crack open those bothersome emotions he’s finally gotten a handle on, and he doesn’t want to spend the rest of the night agonizing over his son and what exactly he should feel towards him.

Impa nods, and keeps on cleaning his arm, taking a look at his leg as well when she’s finished. She helps him patch up his wounds in silence, the princess lightly dozing nearby. He feels like he should say something as they sit together, a heavy feeling of lingering worry and relief for their son clouding the air, but he doesn't even know what he would say.

So he stays quiet, and lets her work, feeling every feather-light touch on his skin like a shard of ice.

He does his best to stuff away the part of him that misses her touch when she finally finishes, and he carefully stretches, rolling his shoulders and sighing. Wrapping up his injuries made him feel more awake, at least.

He notices then that Impa hasn’t entirely pulled away from him, even though she’s finished with her work. Volga raises a brow, watching as she rests her hands on her knees, fingers lightly tapping. She looks like she might want to say something, but then a medic comes forward, catching their attention.

He smiles as he informs them that Link is indeed stable, and only getting better, and all of them slump in relief. Zelda gets up to speak with him, but Impa stays, catching Volga’s eyes, her own looking just a little damp.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, and Volga nods as he glances back at their son, too exhausted to say or do anything in reply.

Link is going to live.

#in which I take medical liberties in order to make a better story lol #hdw au #hyrule Warriors #legend of Zelda au #loz Volga #legend of zelda #legend of zelda fic #fic #writing from the floor #I took allergy medicine right before editing this so please tell me if there’s typos ty #Volga: stupid hero. who cares if he lives anyway #also Volga: *fretting fretting fretting literally almost faints with relief when he hears he’s okay*#Impa: if I were a more emotional woman I’d consider kissing him. but I won’t.#Volga: if I were a more emotional man I’d consider kissing her. but I won’t.#Zelda watching all this: *losing her heckin MIND*

43 notes · View notes

lalune9x · 7 months ago

Text

S-Classes ‘Side Story’ chapter 124 spoilers under the cut…

god I love this novel so much, it’s so funny and ridiculously endearing lmaooo 😭 (sorry I’m on mobile and don’t know how to format indented text)

—-

“Normally, I shouldn’t interfere. But since my partner has requested it…”

With those words, Sung Hyunje appeared.

“I have no choice but to comply.”

He was tiny, small enough to fit in the palm of my hand, and had fairy wings. It was a form I had seen once before, but still…

“…Why are you in this state again?”

Aren’t you about to turn forty? Actually, at this point, aren’t you already in your mid-forties? A man nearing fifty was fluttering around with shiny wings, claiming ‘I’m the Sesung Guild Leader~’ If he were a complete stranger, I would’ve said that people in this world had all sorts of preferences and left it at that. But unfortunately, this person happened to be my partner.

Amidst everyone’s gaze, Sung Hyunje-ssi landed on my palm. For a moment, I had the urge to clench my fist and shake it. Would sparks fly if I grabbed him?

[…]

“So that’s why you came with wings,” I said.

“The wings are because I felt Han Yoojin-gun’s interest in me has been waning a bit. I just spruced myself up a little.”

… What nonsense. When people said they wanted to spruce up, they usually changed their hairstyle, put on nice clothes, or added accessories. Why on earth would you suddenly add wings?

“… Anyway, we can explain publicly that the Sesung Guildmaster shrank due to a curse. As long as we get cooperation from the current Sesung Guildmaster, Hunter Kang Soyoung, it shouldn’t be too hard to bring Sesung Guild in line with its current state.”

“Um, excuse me.”

At that moment, Soyoung-ssi raised one arm with a serious expression. She glanced between the tiny Sung Hyunje in my palm and me before speaking.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but… in the end, the person who was a mermaid, then a captain, and now a fairy—is my boss?”

“Uh… yes? I suppose so.”

“And that thing… I mean, this person, needs to become the Sesung Guildmaster? No, wait, the original Guildmaster was… Why did I even join Sesung Guild under this person in the first place? Director Han Yoojin raised my dragon, didn’t he? And more importantly… Is that person really the Sesung Guildmaster?”

Soyoung-ssi clutched her head, looking confused. It seemed like her gradually returning memories were clashing with her current reality. Or maybe she just couldn’t accept that Sung Hyunje was her boss.

“Kang Soyoung-gun,” Sung Hyunje spoke softly to the bewildered Soyoung.

Since he was the guildmaster, maybe he would give some comforting advice to his young guild member…

“I’m a fairy dragon,” he said.

But no—he lied without even batting an eye. Had he lost his mind?

Kang Soyoung’s eyes widened as she stared at him. “You’re a dragon? For real?”

“Yes. Gyeol was born due to my influence as a fairy dragon. Don’t we even look alike?”

The self-proclaimed fairy dragon spun slowly once in my palm to display himself. Appearance-wise… he clearly did look like Gyeol. I felt sorry for Gyeol, but what Sung Hyunje-ssi said wasn’t entirely wrong. And now that he had fairy wings, his nonsense actually sounded somewhat plausible.

“So that’s…!”

Kang Soyoung cried out in awe and astonishment. Her expression went through a number of complex changes for a moment, but then she quickly calmed down and nodded firmly.

“I understand everything now.”

…Really? That was all it took?

“It all makes sense. It’s perfect. Yes! I love Sesung Guild and our Guildmaster!” Soyoung-ssi shouted with eyes full of guild pride…

Was this really okay? Sung Hyunje-ssi, didn’t you feel guilty at all? We did need to finish this mission and get out quickly, but this seemed too shameless.

#just posting my reactions to excerpts as I read #sctir side story #sctir #sctir spoilers #s classes that i raised #jinjae #jinje #hjyj #i love soyoung’s enthusiasm for her special interest

106 notes · View notes

esther-dot · 1 year ago

Text

The poor thing in the road, it's eyes still glistening 17k by @eruherdiriel

Hooves are not what wake Jon in the middle of the night, pulse racing and hands clammy with sweat. It’s fire. Orange and angry, eating away at houses and shops and shacks in his dream. Even now that he is awake, Jon can still taste burnt flesh on the back of his tongue. The wounds from his brother’s mutiny and Drogon’s gouge, frozen only hours ago, burn white. War leaves everyone broken, Jon perhaps most of all. Sansa finds even peacetime requires letting go.

the sky is big enough 15k @hopetorun

The war is over, except all the ways it isn't, and Sansa isn't alone, except for all the ways she is.

O Voyagers 28k WIP

Jon’s eyes are fixed on the floor at her feet. To a stranger it might look like respect, the proper deference shown to a queen, but Sansa knows better. If he wished to look at her, he would. He has not forgiven me, she thinks, her heart a stone in her chest. He likely never will.

daughters and queens bleed alone 4k

They crown Sansa with a rope of twisted steel, two wolves arching across her brow in a delicate embrace. No stags upon this crown—no branching antlers, no gleaming manes, no blooming hearts of southern roses. No fire, no blood, no graceful sweep of scales and wings, or the silver bite of dragon’s teeth. The Queen in the North stands before them, and Winter has come.

old wounds 2k by @jonsaslove

Jon left King's Landing and never returned. Sansa became Queen in the North and weathered the storm. When they see each other again, there is not much left to say.

stories to tell our children 1k by @jonsaslove

“You said that Old Nan used to tell you stories so scary you couldn’t sleep for a fortnight! That was a baby story!” Duncan nods, agreeing with his sister. Her father interrupts. “Well, Old Nan was a very good story teller. She could tell you a story about fairies and princesses and make it seem terrifying with just her voice and a menacing stare.” Or; Jon and Sansa tell their children bedtime stories.

Where the Shadow Ends 245k (I'm sure y'all have read this one, but it is THE post canon fic, so it must be mentioned!)

For years Sansa has ruled the North, wisely, justly, capably--and utterly alone. Everyone tells her she needs an heir; all she wants is a family. But after everything she’s suffered, there’s only one man she trusts won’t use her for her claim. Only one she trusts with her body. Unfortunately, she trusts him in no other way--especially not with her heart. For years Jon’s hidden in the far north, choosing solitude over the people he loves, choosing self-exile as punishment rather than atoning. But then Tormund tires of his moping and drags Jon back to Winterfell where guilt and consequences and a tempting offer await him. accompanying gifset by @thewindsofwolves

We Set Fire in the Snow 7k by @framboise-fics

Three days was long enough for moments of tenderness, for soft touches and gentle murmurs alongside the violence of their passions, but it was not long enough to burn this fire between them down to ashes, to put out the flames, he thinks ruefully, bitterly, achingly, as he rides out and looks back at her standing on the ramparts as he remembered her, her hair a curtain of fire, her body rigid like she has been sculpted from ice. He will take that fire back North, to warm him through frigid nights, he thinks; to burn inside of him so that he shall never find any peace; and let her feel the same, he thinks, let him not be alone in his agony. If he loved her he should surely wish her peace, so does he love her? Or is this how a wicked man loves, painfully, cruelly, selfishly? Is he her punishment just as she is his?

An Affair in Stages 13k by @justadram (not tagged post canon but works as one which is interesting as the first chapter was posted way back in 2013!)

It begins with a proposition, but where it will end neither of them knows.

Please Speak Well of Me 17k

A queen isn’t supposed to cry. So she’s learned to turn her tears to frost before they ever reach her cheeks. “Sansa,” Jon says to her, and the ice within shifts, weakens. Brackish water begins to leak through the cracks. She can barely remember how to speak, and it doesn’t come as much of a comfort that he seems to be fumbling as well. Over the foolish moons, Sansa had imagined that, if the time came that Jon ever returned, the mere sight of him would unwind the tangles of conflict inside of her. There would be something in his eyes, something she had forgotten about his face, something that would remind her what was real and what was not between the two of them.

breathe me in, taste my words 2k

Much to her surprise, marriage has only made Sansa less of a lady, not more. She doesn’t mind terribly, but maybe that’s because Jon doesn’t either.

Stone by Stone 8k

Finally, her words came in a rush. “But I seem to have built my own wall. Stone by stone, little by little, after each of them disappointed me, hurt me. And now that they are dead, I sometimes fear I may die behind my wall that no one can can walk thru.”

fire in exile 2k by @princemills

The thoughts of the others he’d lost were too unpleasant, and the thoughts of those who survived made him want to keel over like a babe, knowing he’d left them behind. It wasn’t really a choice, but it didn’t stop him from pondering his choices. From King in the North to bending the knee to Daenerys to stabbing her with a dagger beneath white ash borne from burning flesh, he’s never made the correct choice, and now he’ll burn in hell for it. Or, as Westeros deems hell: he’ll freeze his balls off at the wall, or Tormund will cut them off. Whichever comes first. - a quick study of jon and the choices he makes in exile.

watch me run right back to you 16k

Three times Jon and Sansa almost kiss…and three times they actually do.

come out of hiding (i'm right here beside you) 36k @noqueenbutthequeeninthenorth

AU after 8.05. After the death of Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow chooses to live beyond the Wall, while Sansa Stark, the newly-crowned Queen in the North, marries a Dornish prince. Three years later, when Jon finally gathers the courage to return to Winterfell, he finds that while many things have changed, one hasn't: he's still in love with Sansa. (Featuring widow!Sansa, contrite!Jon, and a cute baby.)

Homecoming 31k @theoriginalsuki

Halfway to him, she broke composure; she flew at him, an arrow from a bow, and he opened to receive her, lifting her, clutching her to the soft, neglected animal of his body. Sansa has one request of Jon, and then he can leave her forever: help her to find a husband.

Gifsets: Jonsa and Their Three Children by @kingbuckley , Together We Build Our Empire by @aureliacamargo, Future Jonsa with Children by @amandapeetshusband, In Which They Live a Long and Happy Life Together by @baelerion, To See Him Once Again by @theirwinterfell, Maybe We'll Meet Again by @thatmansplayinggalaga

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALE - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6 - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE - SALTY TEENS

#jonsa #jonsa fic #post canon #dot fic list

230 notes · View notes

beebee3832 · 6 months ago

Text

Sweet Fae

Bear shifter!Price x Fairy!(fem)Reader (whose wings are paralyzed)

Tags: Predator/prey dynamic, size difference, just a bit scary, gore, death, shy reader, kinda awkward Price, a little fluff, building into fluff and smut (in future parts), CRINGE

This one is in Price's perspective!!

Note: Fairies in this fic are just really short, not super small like in Tinkerbell or something. Also, I made slight changes to this fic from the last time I posted it. Sorry for not uploading in a while!! I was pretty busy with life stuff.

Thanks for reading!! <3

I stood there, tears resting on my cheeks, and watched her walk away without a word. No response to my quiet plea, just a slight turn of her beautiful face to look back at me. Though not a word was said, our locked gaze held a meaning that couldn’t be shaken.

We would meet again.

…

With swift motions, I swung my axe over and over again. Even though the sun was going to set soon, the temperature remained just as warm as it was in its peak. Sweat beaded on my forehead and slid down to drop on the forest floor.

My day was filled with constant attempts to get my mind off of her. Her small frame, her doe-like eyes, the way she held my face like we’d known each other for years…

No! My thought scolded me as I shook my head. These feelings were just the byproduct of living on one’s own for too long, which is how it would stay. I didn’t need anyone messing up what I had built for myself. I was better off being left to my own devices. Who knows what I was capable of? Well, I guess I know even more based off of last night.

That last thought made my chest sink. How could I be so out of control? How could I let myself stay out so late? I was lucky that the moon wasn’t full or else that poor girl’s fate would’ve been much different.

“Damn it!” My yell echoed throughout the crowded forest, causing birds to shoot straight up from the trees and fly away.

I looked up and saw that dusk had already settled in, making me realize that I needed to head back to the house. I didn’t even need to chop up more wood today; I already had enough wood for the next couple of weeks, but I was running out of things to do to distract my thoughts from that sweet faery. That sweet fairy I almost devoured. “Fuck,” I muttered, my self loathing starting to consume me.

I gathered up my tools and two of the logs I cut and started to make my way back. The rest of the wood could be collected tomorrow.

I took long strides to make it back in time before nightfall. My feet ached by the time I eventually made it back, which made me wince with every step I took. I dropped the logs and my tools somewhere near the front of the house; I was too tired to care or notice. Nothing and no one would steal from me anyways. Most of the forest knew what I was, so they chose not to come near me. No people were around either, unless you count the very few others like me that live here. We all had our respective territories though, and usually one does not cross them.

Just as I was about to enter the house, I heard a slight rustle from behind me. Then I noticed a familiar…smell that piqued my interest. That smell…I knew that smell. I was ruminating on that smell for the whole fucking day. I eagerly glanced behind me, something my mind didn’t approve of. I shouldn’t have been that excited. I was supposed to be okay with being alone. Company was unwelcome.

Those thoughts were interrupted when I saw her. Everything was interrupted when I saw her.

She was just a couple feet away. I could smell her so clearly. Soft rain paired with some kind of flower. My chest tightened with the urge to reach out and envelop her in my arms, but I couldn’t. All I could do was stare down at her with the same wide eyes she was giving me.

Was she scared of me? Of course she is.

Then why would she come back here? Was my mind toying with me? Did my loneliness finally grab hold of my sanity?

She walked up to me and spoke in a soft and cautious tone.

“Hello.”

Hello. Hello.

“Hello,” I muttered back awkwardly, unsure of what to say. Where was all my charm from the night before?

She spoke again. “Can I come in?”

Come in?

I cleared my throat. “Yeah, sure, of course sweetheart. Come in,” I said, putting a warm smile on my face. I held the door open for her as she slowly walked inside. I noticed her scan my house like she did last night, searching for every possible escape I assumed. Smart girl. Still, it brought my smile down just a bit.

I shut the door behind me and offered her a seat at my table. I already had a meal cooking before I went out on my useless attempts to distract myself.

I gave her a portion and then sat down across from her, which once again reminded me of how small she was. Each wing of hers was smaller than my arms. She had to be at least a foot shorter than me, maybe more. I was definitely much stockier than her too. Such a perfect little thing compared to a monster like me. The bear in me was a little too excited over that.

The sound of her voice startled me out of my trance.

“You’re staring.” She looked at me with an almost fearful expression, which made me feel like shit. I was sure she was expecting me to kill her by then.

“I-I’m sorry. I was just lost in thought, that’s all. Do you like the food?” I sputtered out.

“It’s good,” she said with a slight smile on her face. Is she making fun of me or is she smiling because she likes it?

She looked at me with thoughtful eyes. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here again, aren’t you?”

Actually I’m wondering why I’m so obsessed with you.

“You could say that, yes,” I said with a breathy laugh.

She hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath. I could tell that she was nervous to say it. My mind could only think of the worst things.

“I wanted to see you again.”

My eyes went wide for just a second. My heart exploded for just a second. She wanted to see me again? After I almost slaughtered her? After I had to save her from myself? After crying to her like a pathetic little boy?

“You intrigue me. I’ve…I’ve never seen anything like you before,” she admitted shyly.

I wished she’d never seen me in the first place. I wasn’t meant for sweet things like her and she most definitely wasn’t made for a savage thing like me.

“You shouldn’t have had to,” I murmured, barely looking into her eyes now.

She stood up from her seat and walked over to me. Even though she was standing, I was still a bit taller while sitting down. She looked up at me with those pretty eyes of hers, seemingly studying me.

“I have a question,” I said.

“What is it?”

She was a forearms length away, which was too close for comfort. I could almost feel her breath on me. My heart skipped a beat.

“Why?”

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Why, what?”

“Why would you want to see me again?” My voice was quiet.

She smiled and let out a soft sigh. “I…I really don’t know.”

Disappointment twinged inside me. Why was I disappointed? I should’ve wanted nothing to do with this fairy, but my heart wanted her to at least be a little glad about seeing me again.

“I suppose I was just intrigued by you,” she said sheepishly.

Just then, the hairs on my body stood up. My eyes widened and my body as I felt an unfamiliar presence close by, something that didn’t go unnoticed by the fairy in front of me.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Her voice wavered.

I ignored her. Something wasn’t right, and I needed to find out what. I quickly stood up and rushed to open the curtains to my window just a sliver, noticing that the sky was dark once again. Shit.

I quickly closed the curtain in fear of my bear coming out in front of her. The moon’s light touching my face would become a disaster for her if I wasn’t careful. I didn’t even want to think about it.

Suddenly, I heard it. Something was circling too close to my house. Something was ignoring the boundaries of my territory. The thought enraged my bear. Usually, I would kill a creature–or even a person–for this, but with her here, I couldn’t bring myself to. For some reason, I wanted her to know that she could be safe with me, even when that was far from the truth.

I took a second to hone my senses to focus on what was outside…

A shifter. The realization made my bear even more upset.

I heard it sniffing the door, no doubt trying to find a way to get in. I glanced over to the pretty fairy and saw her eyes jolt open when she heard it too. My first instinct was to kill, but instead, I made my way over to her. I could see her shake from fear, making me even more angry at the stupid thing in my territory.

“Sweethear–”

Her eyes shot up at me. “Wh-what is that?” She said in a whisper that I could barely hear. I needed to do something fast. This stupid creature was ruining my chances at ever having some sort of connection with her. That very thought made my heart beat fast in my chest with panic. I had to do something to get it away from here without scaring her, but that was going to be very difficult to do.

I gingerly held her hands in mine, looking into her wide teary eyes. “Listen to me. You’re gonna be alright sweetie, but you need to hide somewhere away from any windows alright?” I kept my voice low and steady. She nodded frantically and then went to hide under the kitchen table. Good enough.

I returned my focus to the outside. That shifter would pay. My bear was already aching to turn and protect what’s ours. I decided that I’d have to sneak through one of the windows. The moon’s light would make me automatically shift but hopefully she wouldn’t see it. I ran to the back window, opened it, and jumped out.

Fuck! I could feel the sharp pain all throughout my entire body as soon as the night’s air touched my skin. My bones broke and creaked and stretched in unimaginable ways. I could feel tufts of fur painfully shoot out from my body. I couldn’t even hear my grunts through the ringing in my ears.

My vision blurred with tears until it became even clearer than ever before. The night wasn’t so dark anymore, signaling that I had fully turned. I would never get used to that feeling, no matter how many times I shifted.

I wanted to take a breather like I normally did after my intense shifts, but I had no time. My bear was in control now and there was only one thought in his head.

Protect what’s mine.

My bear let out a roar, not thinking about how I was just trying not to scare the cute little fairy hiding in my house.

The sudden thought of her suddenly turned my bear and I into a furious frenzy. Protect.

I took quick and heavy steps toward the threat, making sure to make enough noise to distract it from getting in. When I finally saw it, my blood boiled even more. It was a wolf shifter. It had a long and droopy snout with saliva dripping from its mouth. Its dark fur would’ve made it almost impossible to see for the normal eye, but I could see it quite clearly. I could see every disgusting thing about it. Its hand, fit with long claws, had penetrated through the door, no doubt trying to unlock the door from the inside.

Panic surged through me. This ends now.

I charged over to it and shoved it down to the ground. I heard it let out a yelp, and then I felt claws slash through my back. The searing pain weakened me, making it easier for the wolf to gain the upper hand.

It flipped me over with impossible strength, making my bear groan. I hurriedly hauled myself up before it could make another attack. He may have been strong, but he was no match for me. A bear was bigger than a wolf.

He swiftly made his way back over to me to deliver another slash, but I caught his leg in my mouth and bit. Hard. The crunch echoed throughout the forest, as well as his pained howls. I stood to my full bear height, making him dangle from my mouth. I could taste blood starting to overflow in my mouth.

The wolf continued to thrash and snarl in pain, making it harder to hold it up. The rest of its claws continued to slit through my skin, making me wince. Fuck.

I whipped my head to the right to launch him toward a tree. Surprisingly, he got back up rather quickly.

I went back down on all fours and stalked over to him, making sure to make my steps heavy. The ground almost shook below me. I looked down on him.

Go. My bear said to it.

The shifter just continued to bear its teeth at me, getting ready to throw another blow.

I growled deep and thunderous. Go!

Even a wolf of its size couldn’t help but be scared. It was stubborn, but not stupid. With one last snap of its teeth, it turned to limp away.

The bear inside me huffed in amusement. What a stupid wolf, thinking it could invade my territory and survive. I jumped forward and crushed it below me. It howled and whined and shook until I opened my mouth wide and tore its neck open. The sound of bones shattering and tendons snapping filled me with a deep sense of satisfaction. I stayed there holding it in my jaws until he stopped moving completely.

Once I knew the shifter was dead, my bear’s mind went back to the faery in my house. I walked back to the house and shifted back. The pain was almost dulled by the exhaustion that had taken over me, and I fell to the floor, naked and unconscious.

…

When I finally woke up, I heard a pretty voice humming. I opened my eyes and saw that it was my fairy. My heart swelled when I saw that she was tending to my wounds.

“Hello sweetheart.”

She jumped a bit, but then gave me a worried smile. “How are you feeling?”

Wonderful with you here. “I’m alright.”

She let out a sigh of relief. Such a caring girl. She should’ve been gone by now, but she was here, taking care of someone who didn’t deserve it.

When she was done tending to my various lacerations, she turned away. “Let me go make you something to–” I interrupted her with a firm grip on her arm.

“Stay.”

She looked back at me confused. Cautious. Understandably so, because I didn't even know why I said that.

“Lay next to me sweetheart.” When she still didn’t move, I gave her a playful pout. “It’ll help me feel better.” When she rolled her eyes and sighed, I knew I had won.

We laid together in silence for a few minutes. It was unlike any silence I had ever known in my decades of solitude. It was warm. Comfortable. It was a silence that set my heart at ease. If I could, I would lay in it forever.

“What’s your name?”

Her pretty voice made my thoughts scatter away. I turned to her and saw her bright eyes gazing at me expectedly.

“John. John Price.”

A soft smile showed on her face. “John. I like that. It’s a sturdy name.”

“Sturdy?” I let out a loud and genuine laugh. “I’ve never heard that before, sweetheart.” What a strange girl. I loved it.

She looked almost embarrassed with that shy smile of hers. Adorable. “Well, you know, it just sounds like it would belong to a reliable person? I don’t know!” A small giggle from her filled the room and my heart.

“What’s your name, little fairy?”

She said her name.

“Pretty.” Like her. I wanted to know everything about her. Every nook and cranny of her mind. I was going insane. My loneliness had taken a toll on me, I realized. What happened to leaving her alone?

That one question opened up to hours of conversation. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. But there was something on my mind; something that I had been thinking about ever since I met her.

“What happened to your wings?” I questioned in between a dip of silence in the conversation. That took her by surprise.

“My–what?” She averted her eyes away from me, and I could tell she was growing nervous.

Shit. Why did I say that? Am I a child? Why can’t I just hold my tongue? Stupid stupid stupid. “I-nevermind. It’s none of my business, I-I’m sorry–”

She put a finger on my lips, silencing me. That one fraction of a touch made my mind go quiet. It seemed to have the same effect on her because she suddenly retracted her hand back. My bear whined.

“No, no it’s,” she sighed, “it's okay. I get that question a lot.” The defeated look on her face made my heart ache.

She took a deep breath. “My wings have always been like this. Paralyzed since birth. It’s extremely rare but I guess I got lucky.” She let out a bitter laugh. “Flying is such an important thing to the fairies. It’s sacred to us. It hurts when I can’t participate in our traditions. It hurts that they always look at me with that stupid pity of theirs. As if I’m not capable. As if I’m some sort of wilting flower.

“It’s just hard being…different. Being the odd one out. Always.”

“I know,” I said quietly. She looked at me in surprise with those beautiful eyes of hers.

“You do?”

�� “Yes.”

She stared at me with expecting eyes, wanting me to say more. I wanted to. I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted to show her how much I understood. Why couldn’t I just get the words out? Why couldn’t I just open up?

Because she would run. She would never want to spend her precious time with a savage like you.

My mind was right. She would never look at me the same if I told her why. Why I was cast away. Why I had to live alone all these decades. She would run just like the rest–and for good reason.

I looked into her expecting eyes and pulled a stray lock of hair behind her pointed ear. A soft hue of pink painted over her face and ears and I smiled. With a hesitating hand, she pressed my hand to cup her cheek, now smiling back at me.

“Let’s just go to sleep, sweetheart.”

I could see the disappointment flash in her eyes, but I ignored it. It was best to not get too intimate with her. She wanted answers, but she wasn’t going to get any and she’d just have to deal with that.

As I closed my eyes, expecting her to leave, I felt a brush of her hand on my jaw, almost caressing it, before it retracted just as quickly. I almost smiled.

Tag List (Let me know if you want to be added!):

@bumblebeesfromvenus

#captian price #cod mw2 #captain price x female reader #captain price x you #cod x reader #cod #cod x you #john price #john price x reader #call of duty x reader

47 notes · View notes

fooloftheunknownworld · 3 months ago

Text

All details no substance: Why the Deadly Sins are the embodiment of everything wrong with Vivziepop's designs

It's is no secret that Vivziepop as a character designer suffers from many problems; Characters being too samey for no reason (Lucifer, Vox and von Eldritch being the perfect examples), over use of reds, don't tell what the character is (Millie) and are just stuffed with useless detail after detail after detail to the point the design is a complete mess.

If you were to ask me who is the worst offender, it's all 7 Deadly Sins and here's why:

1: Wait, they're suppose to be THE Sins?

Before I make my explain, I wanna point to actual good character designs for reference, two to be exact.

Felicia from Darkstalkers

Judging by the design, you can guess:

-She's energetic judging by her posing

-Is part cat thanks to her arms, legs, tail and ears

-Is agile due to her posing and her lack of cloths

-Hair and face give off a friendly aura, but her claws tell you she's a fighter. Combining all of these traits, it makes her have a wild, kindhearted cat sort of energy

Holly Summers from No More Heroes

Judging by the design, you can guess:

-She has a military theming thanks to her outfit

-Her main weapon are grenades, you can see that by the fact she's carrying some on her body

-Seems to be intelligent and level headed judging by her posing and face

-Something has happened to her right leg, intriguing you as to what happened, and since she uses bombs, you can put 2 and 2 together as to what may have happened

-Outfit is good for mobility and storing weapons

Now let's look at Asmodeus:

-Ahhh, is he a magician?

-Some showrunner?

-Ringleader?

-Main villain?

-What do you mean he's the sin of Lust?

-What do you mean he's suppose to be sexy??!!

-Jesus Christ is this design bad

Next bee:

-Ahh, fairy fox?

-DeviantArt OC from the 2000's

-Guessing she's a party girl

-She's suppose to be a ruler and the sin of Gluttony?! Nani the fuck?!!

Satan:

-Ahh, guessing he's a biker, possibly the gang leader

-I can see the sin of Wrath in him thanks to the colors, body and angry face

-Wait what to you mean he has a job of being a judge?

-And he's a ruler?! In a western themed area to boot?!!

-It's not as bad as the previous examples but still

-He's suppose to be a God to the imps too!!!!!??

-In fact, all of them are suppose to be gods!!!!!!?????????? They don't look like it at all WTF?

2:Complete messy mismatch of themes

A good character design has clear theming and makes sure they match well together.

Let's use Wadanohara as an example. Obviously, she's a witch, but not just a witch, a witch relating to the sea, you can tell that thanks to the anchors in her design, anchors are obviously related to the sea.

Now let's look at Bee again:

-Lava lamp theming

-Is a fox even thou she rules hellhounds

-As fairy wings instead of bee wings

-Is an animal tamer... WUT?

-Wait, what do you mean she's suppose to be an insect?!!

My Buddha, all of this is too much. Only the bug and lava lamp part could relate to being a Glutton (The former is because Beelzebub is often depicted as a fly). Seriously, if you wanna do theming with your characters, stick to one or two things, not like a billion of different things, it's just make the design a mess. not to mention foxes are often related to Greed, not Gluttony.

3: Detail overkill

....Do I have to say anything? Just take a good look at any of them, especially Bee and tell me with a straight face that no animator had massive trouble animating any of these visual clusterfucks.

The fact that both Bee's stomach and hair have two different greenscreens on top of the amount of shit already on her design (four arms, patterns, the large amount of colors she has) is just pure torture for the poor animators who have to work with her.

Runner up is Belphegor, patterns, tons of eyes, gradients... I pray for the animators I tell ya, they need more pray for working with these things.

So yeah, that was my rant on the Deadly Sins, hope you enjoy, and I will go back to my Hellverse critical break after I do one more post for today. See ya.

#helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #vivziepop critical #character design #hellverse critical

31 notes · View notes

storiesofsung · 1 year ago

Text

'Spread Thyn Wings🐉',

Draconia Fam HC: where their wings went

The Draconia Family's real form is said to be that of a dragon (Malleus commenting that it is his true form and him being hatched as an egg AND being a baby dragon) the human version is idk more of an afterthought. That being said, the members (or what we've seen so far) of the Draconia family do like to show (dare I say flaunt) these features, with Malleus and his horns and Mallenoa (Mallenor??) with her thick booty tail:

source: https://thenuitinthenorthernlights.tumblr.com/

Anyways that begs the question... why don't they (esp mama draconia i'll get to that soon) also show off thier magnificent wings? Now you can argue that "o h, it would be inconvenient since everything is human sized" nay I say, nay. This argument does make sense with Malleus since he is attending a school and there are many scenarios wherein a tail could cause hazards, so that I will give him a pass for hiding his glorious tail...However, Mama Draconia has no excuse, she's way past that high school nonsense and look at her, she's stupendous and should flaunt her magnificent wings..yet she doesn't, that's where my hc comes in

I hc that the backstory of Maleficent featured in the live action story (because the trad villains are shown to be more sympathetic in this game) is real and is part of fae history.

To give ygs a summary to catch up Maleficent falls in love w a human and gets her wings chopped off cuz he a greedy ass hole. Now I then hc that since this story is shown to vilify humans and make Maleficent the subject of tragedy, the future generations choose not to show their wings in public as a sign of respect for their gramama.

It's supposed to be a statement of "I will show you child of men that I alone have the power to do what I want with my body. This will prove that though you may try to take away my dignity, I am in control and still as strong as ever. You will never strip me of my right and will to thrive with the rest of the living creatures of this planet" to the humans.

Summary: The Dragon Fae did not pout and wail at their Mistress being disrespected, they held their chin up high. They are reclaiming the act of terrorism done on their queen and using it as self expression (and also as a sign of respect to the Thorn Fairy) to show their strength in spite of all their years of oppression.

But for Malleus the excuse of those wings would get caught in doorways is also lol valid

Am I looking too deep into this? Yes. Definitely.

#disney twst #twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland malleus #malleus draconia #malleus headcanons #maleficia draconia #draconia family #mallenoa draconia #mallenor draconia #draconia twst #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst hc #twisted wonderland hc #twst fandom

72 notes · View notes

fountainpenguin · 6 months ago

Text

"I am everything you want, I am everything you need, I am everything inside of you that you wish you could be..." (x)

New Fairly OddParents 'fic update today!

Frayed Knots - Chapter 40

"The Other Side of Me"

📖 Read on FFN || Read on AO3

☁️ Cloudlands AU

🦇 Ridwork Guide || Chapter Recaps

✨ More Fairly OddParents 'fics

I looked at him, then. And I thought about Fairy World before the fighting split our skies apart. Before Anti-Fairies were chased across the border. Before our fathers bid farewell to one another. Before everything began to change. Few families still followed the traditional lifestyle by the time the war broke out, but such arrangements occurred often enough that most Anti-Fairies still called their host’s family cousin, aunt, or uncle today. Yes, once upon a time, there had been a belief that one’s counterparts would always be their truest partners. Once upon a time, they’d slept in each other’s beds.

In which Anti-Cosmo and Fairy-Cosmo go to dinner in the Autumn of the Flaming Clouds, and Cosmo runs into Wanda Fairywinkle.

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

The Other Side of Me

“I met you once,” Fairy-Cosmo said, shrugging his wings in a way that made them buzz. We sat together on the couch, mostly because my legs still wobbled too much to dare try the portal and search for Wanda. I had a duty to my godchild, I suppose, but if Mandelro had Wanda, he would be all right. And besides… I did deserve this, didn’t I? To stray this close to my very own counterpart? To gaze upon his hand resting on the sofa cushion… To feel his skin touch my knee when he asked if I needed a minute more.

In all my years, I’d never had a burglar break in before. I’d never found myself chained up like that. My hands shook when I gripped my legs. I drew slow and careful flickers of energy through our shared magic pool. Could Fairy-Cosmo sense that? Surely he must. We sat so close. When I inhaled too deeply, it made his crown bob.

I could feel his breathing too. Our emotions overlapped: Sympathy. Concern. If I’d been a mite less shaken, I may have scoffed or gagged. I could not look at him. Cosmo leaned forward, bringing our eyes in brushing contact. His brows scrunched up in a carat on his head. And I did look at him, even though I thought I didn’t want to.

“I met you too,” I said. My voice quailed when it left my tongue. “They arrested me for that kerfuffle with your dragon.”

Cosmo hummed in light response. His eyes flicked across me, peeling back the layers like he saw me to the core. “So, you’re the Anti-Cosmo…”

“And you’re the Fairy one. Your nose is rather different.” It lacked the signs of brownie blood. Small and stubby- Not like mine at all.

“Yeah. I disguise it.”

“Is that legal?” Fairy World had rules that drew lines in the cloud-dust, grouping the highest-ranked subspecies here, the lower ones there. Brownie bites could poison you. The inrita in their spit disabled magic like a plague. Soft hats were not inherently reliable; they liked to see the noses before they came too close. I don't think, looking at him head-on, I would have seen the brownie in him. Perhaps a faint tint to his wings… No, I suppose not.

“No one’s stopped me.”

“Did you ever get my letter?”

“Your letter?”

So he hadn’t, then. Or he played the lie of actor well. His mum might’ve snatched it from the mail. In our brief conversation, he told me he went home to see her every weekend and craved the peace that came with sleeping in the dorms. Smothering, he called her, though he said that in a tactful way I couldn’t quite pierce.

Ah, so she puts the 'mother' in that word, I replied, and he laughed. I shared a few words on mine. Tough love. She pushed me hard. I ran her obstacle course now and then and she whipped me into shape.

“Do you read a lot?” he asked me.

“Oh, not as often as I did. I’m quite busy now with school. I do paint. I studied art history for years.”

“I write.”

“Smashing, that! Are you in godparenting?”

“Ha! Mama would never allow that.” He pressed the badge on his shirt higher with his thumb, showing me the name printed black on white. “I’m a magic key.”

“That must be very interesting.” In a fated way, it made a good deal of sense. Did he and I not exist in parallel? How often had I fallen prey to little traps like this one? Well, perhaps not in this way, but I certainly had a knack for getting into them, whether that trap be a snake’s jaw, a genie's lamp, or the Eros Nest itself. Trouble tailed my shadow like it had debt to pay.

Cosmo did fit the bill of rescuer. Ever since we’d synced our minds properly with adult wings beating bright, he’d kept an eye on me. Much like an elder brother, filtering his magic between Dame Cosmo and myself. Why, even today he’d lurched to my rescue, sealing the portal that Wanda and I had brought to life. He always knew, somehow, when I fell into utmost distress. He’d never left me hanging before; he’d never left me afraid to call out for him, though I very rarely did. And yet, he listens for me. That must be a lot of work.

Cosmo shrugged. I stood then, rubbing my hands in brisk dismissal. “Ta, forgive my gabbing tongue. I won’t keep you any longer. I’ll see you for dinner, then.”

“Yeah, I’ll sure be seeing you.”

We hovered at the apartment door. How exactly did you dismiss your counterpart from conversation? Would a handshake be enough? Fairies shook when they closed a business deal. Pixies too. I didn’t want a hug. After a few wingbeats of pause, I tipped my crown. Cosmo smiled with his lips pressed tight, then tipped his too. I felt the way it tugged the lines that ran through it… for his connection with the energy field would always be my own. Then he drew his wand and poofed away. I closed our apartment door before magic dust could clog my lungs.

Well… Back to business, then. I drank a glass of water, then swept through our Boudacia portal in search of Mandelro. I wouldn’t stay long; I could do very little as a godparent without my wand in hand. Thank the stars the portal had its own transformation spell. I poked my head from the plastic rat dome, whiskers flicking at the air. Once again, a wave of humidity greeted me in Mandelro’s bedroom, but the boy himself wasn’t here. At least, not on his sleeping rock, at his desk, or combing through his closet. Perhaps beyond the divider wall? When I strained my ears, I could hear voices from the hall, but couldn’t make out the words. Hmph.

Well… He was my godchild, and I had a duty, wand or not. I unlatched the cage door, then caught it with my paw before it could slam against the table. Phew. With a few clever leaps, I made my way from cage to desk to bin to floor. Faint dust sparkles signalled Wanda’s presence in the room. The energy field breathed with quiet ticks like the hands of a clock. She must not be around, even invisibly. Still, as I scurried through the substrate on the floor, I kept my eyes open for any signs of pink objects resting on the shelves. No… She must be out in the hall.

Can I fit beneath here? Boudacia’s doorways offered more space between structure and floor than the doors I’d grown up with in the Castle. We kept our doors tight to limit drafts and magic flow from room to room. Perhaps these wider gaps filtered the humidity. I flattened to my stomach. The voices were louder now, and this time, I picked up my godchild’s words.

“… growing up here. Can I go?”

A gruffer voice came back in reply. Critical, I thought, creeping along the crack in the door base. “There are nice girls here, too. If you gave them a chance, you might change your mind. Go get your backpack. The shuttle’s on its way.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

Footsteps scuffled up the hall towards me. Quick, small steps like those of a Boudacian child. I scrambled from the door and leapt to Mandelro’s sleeping rock. I may not be able to poof into anti-fairy form, but at least we could converse without cage bars between us. The door swung open. Mandelro held a pink drinking bottle, which he set on the table by our cage. Wanda. I checked with her, searching for any signal that I should speak up or remain quiet. She poofed back into a rat and very faintly shook her head.

Tell you later, said her eyes. Oh, dear.

📖 Read on FFN || Read on AO3

#Fairly OddParents #FOP Cosmo #Anti-Cosmo #FOP fanfic #FOP Wanda #Frayed Knots #Dragonfly parents #ridwriting #The bat with the hat #FAIRIES!#apparently art #Bat cube and associates #fic announcement

20 notes · View notes

papervenom · 1 month ago

Text

✩ chapter fifteen: the aftermath ✩

summary: you’re a third-year transfer from the states with magic that turns heads — and veela blood that makes it impossible not to be noticed. you didn’t ask to get caught up in their world, but now you’re in it, and nothing is going to play out the way it was supposed to. a slow-burn, character-driven take on prisoner of azkaban, told through your perspective.

word count: 4.2k

INCEPTION MASTERLIST⋆˙⟡

"Shocking business... shocking... miracle none of them died...it was lucky you were there, Severus..."

"Thank you, Minister... Black had bewitched them, I saw it immediately. A Confundus Charm. They seemed to think that he was innocent... I beg you to consider their suspension. Any other student would be suspended for being out-of-bounds, at night, consorting with a werewolf and a murderer— and I have reason to believe Potter has been visiting Hogsmeade illegally too—"

I opened my eyes and everything was blurry.

I recognized quickly that I was lying in the dark hospital wing because of the smells of Madam Pomfrey’s medicinal potions.

When I turned to my right, I noticed that Ron was laying on the bed next to mine.

The moonlight fell upon his serene and sleeping face— his red hair looking vivid in the dark room.

To my left was Harry— who was stirring, and one bed over was Hermione.

Her eyes were wide opened like mine, and she looked petrified.

When she saw that I was awake, she pressed a finger to her lips and we lay still, listening to Snape talk to Minister Fudge.

"...And Black?" Minister Fudge's voice rang loudly in the room.

"Unconscious when I found him. I bound and gagged Black, conjured stretchers, and brought him straight to the castle. He's locked away upstairs. The Dementors will be performing the kiss any moment now—"

Hermione and I immediately sat up.

"Harry!" I hissed at him as he was still groggy and passed out.

"Wha—" He grumbled.

"Sirius has been caught. Snape said that he'll be getting the Dementor's kiss soon" I told him worriedly as I got off the bed.

"WHAT?" Harry jumped up and Hermione and I ran behind him as we followed Snape's and Minister Fudge's voices.

"Harry, what's this?" asked Fudge, looking agitated. "You should all be in bed—"

"Minister, listen!" Harry asserted. "Sirius Black is innocent! Peter Pettigrew faked his death! We saw him tonight! You can't let the Dementors do that thing to Sirius, he's—"

"Harry, Harry, you're very confused, you've been through a dreadful ordeal, lie back down, now, we've got everything under control..."

"YOU HAVEN'T!" Harry shouted. "YOU'VE GOT THE WRONG MAN!"

"Listen to us, please," I urged, rushing to Harry's side "I saw him too. It was Ron's rat, he's an Animagus, Pettigrew, I mean, and—"

"You see, Minister?" said Snape. "Confunded, all of them... Black's done a very good job on them..."

"WE'RE NOT CONFUNDED!" Harry roared.

"Minister! Professor!" Madam Pomfrey rushed towards us angrily. "I must insist that you leave. These children are my patients, and they should not be distressed!"

"I'm not distressed, I'm trying to tell them what happened!" Harry said furiously. "If they'd just listen—"

The door to the hospital wing opened and Dumbledore came in.

I was relieved the moment I saw him because I knew that he would hear what we had to say and set things right.

"For heaven's sake!" shrieked Madam Pomfrey hysterically. "Is this a hospital wing or not? Headmaster, I must insist—"

"My apologies, Poppy, but I need a word with Mr. Potter, Miss (Y/L/N), and Miss Granger," announced Dumbledore calmly. "I have just been talking to Sirius Black—"

"I suppose he's told you the same fairy tale he's planted in these children's minds?" spat Snape.

"That, indeed, is Black's story," replied Dumbledore, surveying Snape closely through his half-moon spectacles.

"And does my evidence count for nothing?" snarled Snape. "Peter Pettigrew was not in the Shrieking Shack, nor did I see any sign of him on the grounds."

"That was because you were knocked out, Professor!" I raised my voice at Snape, squinting my eyes— not forgetting how he yelled at me and knocked me out with the Stupefying Charm. "You didn't arrive in time to hear."

"Miss (Y/L/N), HOLD YOUR TONGUE!"

"Now, Snape," said Fudge, startled, "the young lady is disturbed in her mind, we must make allowances—"

"I would like to speak to Harry, (Y/N), and Hermione alone," said Dumbledore abruptly.

"Cornelius, Severus, Poppy— please leave us. This cannot wait."

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips and walked off to her office at the end of the ward.

"The Dementors should have arrived by now," Fudge announced, looking at his pocketwatch "I'll go and meet them. Dumbledore, I'll see you upstairs."

He crossed to the door and held it open for Snape, but Snape hadn't moved.

"You surely don't believe a word of Black's story?" Snape whispered, his eyes fixed on Dumbledore's face.

"I wish to speak to Harry, (Y/N), and Hermione alone," Dumbledore repeated.

Snape turned on his heel and marched through the doorway that Fudge was still holding open.

It closed behind them, and Dumbledore turned to us.

We all burst into speech at the same time.

"Professor, Black's telling the truth— we saw Pettigrew— he escaped when Professor Lupin turned into a werewolf—"

"—he's a rat—"

"—Pettigrew attacked Ron, it wasn't Sirius—"

"—Professor Snape then Stupefied me so that wasn't Sirius, either—"

But Dumbledore held up his hand to stop our flood of explanations.

"It is your turn to listen, and I beg you will not interrupt me because we have very little time. There is not a shred of proof to support Black's story, except your word— and the word of young wizards will not convince anybody."

"Professor Lupin can tell you—" Harry interrupted.

"Professor Lupin is currently deep in the forest, unable to tell anyone a thing. By the time he is human again, it will be too late, Sirius will be worse than dead"

"But—"

"Listen to me, Harry. It is too late, you understand me? You must see that Professor Snape's version of events is far more convincing than yours"

"He hates Sirius," I said desperately "All because of some stupid trick Sirius played on him—"

"You believe us, Professor, don't you?" Hermione asked Dumbledore with pleading eyes.

"Yes, I do," replied Dumbledore quietly, "But I have no power to overrule the Minister of Magic..."

I always imagined that Dumbledore could fix anything but he was our last hope and now it was gone.

I glanced at Harry and could see the grief in his eyes.

I grabbed his hand and squeezed it consolingly.

"What we need," said Dumbledore slowly, and his light blue eyes moved to Hermione, "is more time."

"But—" Hermione began, then her eyes widened "OH!"

"Now, pay attention," said Dumbledore, speaking very low, and very clearly "Sirius is locked on the seventh floor. The thirteenth window from the right of the West Tower. If all goes well, you will be able to save more than one innocent life tonight. But remember this, all three of you, you must not be seen. Miss Granger, you know the law— you know what is at stake... You— must— not— be—seen."

Harry and I didn't have a clue of what was going on but Hermione clearly did.

Dumbledore then gave us all a wink and turned to leave the room.

"I am going to lock you in. It is five minutes to midnight. Miss Granger, three turns should do it. Good luck."

"Good luck?" I repeated as the door closed behind Dumbledore.

"Three turns? What's he talking about? What are we supposed to do?" Harry asked Hermione, who seemed to be the only one to understand.

But she was fumbling with the neck of her clothes, pulling a very long gold chain from underneath her garments.

"It's called a Time-Turner," Hermione informed us, "I got it from Professor McGonagall on our first day. Remember, (Y/N)? Remember I had something to discuss with her? I've been using it all year to get to all my lessons. Professor McGonagall made me swear I wouldn't tell anyone. I've been turning it back so I could do hours over again, that's how I've been doing several lessons at once, see?"

Suddenly, everything made sense.

Hermione's schedule, her disappearances, her shitload of schoolwork— it was impressive.

And now we depended on the Time-Turner to save Sirius.

"Harry, (Y/N) come here," she said urgently "Quick!"

Harry moved toward her, completely bewildered.

She was holding the chain out for me but I shook my head.

"I'm staying, just go. Don't waste any more time. It'll be easier for the three of us to be seen than you two, and that's dangerous— isn't it?"

Harry frowned but Hermione nodded understandingly.

Hermione turned the hourglass over three times and suddenly they disappeared.

I sighed and walked over to Ron's bed, looking down at him sleeping.

"How's Ron?" I asked Madam Pomfrey once she left her office.

"He'll live," she replied grimly. "Where are your friends?"

"Uh— they left with the Headmaster, they'll be back soon." I lied, but not well enough because Madam Pomfrey seemed unsatisfied with my answer.

"No respect! You children are my patients and I am the matron of this school! It is my job to assure that you are all aided back to health and everyone just barges in and distresses you all and has you walking up and about! Professor Dumbledore will absolutely be hearing from me later..."

I ignored Madam Pomfrey's angry venting and reached for Ron's hand, frowning down at him.

He was definitely in the worst shape of us all.

Harry and Hermione recovered from the Dementor's attack after eating some chocolate, and I already felt back to normal.

Ron's broken leg would take some time to heal.

Madam Pomfrey was still walking around the hospital wing, bellowing out her anger so loudly that it woke Ron up.

His eyes fluttered open and widened like plates when he saw me looking down at him.

"Hey..." I cooed, grinning "How are you feeling?"

"F-fine. I f-feel alright." he scrambled to sit up, wincing when he put too much weight on his leg.

His cheeks went red when he saw that I was holding his hand.

"Where's Harry and Hermione? What's going on?" he asked, his eyes not moving from our intertwined fingers.

I took my hand away, not wanting to make him any more uncomfortable, and explained everything that happened since I woke up.

"That's madness! And all that for some extra classes?" Ron exclaimed incredulously, but then the door to the hospital wing opened and Harry and Hermione stuck their head inside.

"(Y/N)" Hermione whispered, her eyes raking the entire wing for Madam Pomfrey but she already disappeared inside her office again.

I rushed towards the door to meet my friends.

"Is it done? Did you save Sirius?"

"Yes, and Buckbeak. They're out in the Courtyard, we're about to say goodbye, we don't have a lot of time—"

I threw an apologetic look at Ron who couldn't get up because of his injured leg and ducked out of the hospital wing.

We ran towards the Courtyard and sure enough, Sirius was standing there petting Buckbeak's head.

It was impossible to ignore how cheerful Harry's face got whenever he looked at his Godfather.

"I'll be forever indebted for this... How could I ever thank you all...?” Sirius murmured, looking at all of us gratefully.

"I want to go with you," Harry told him, and Sirius pulled him into a tight hug.

"One day, perhaps. You need to be here right now."

"But you're innocent—" Harry mumbled into his shoulder, their embrace never faltering.

Sirius pulled back and met Harry's eyes adoringly.

"And you know it. And for now, that will do."

Hermione started glancing around the hallways skittishly, making sure no one was around to spot us.

"I expect you're tired of hearing this, but you look so much like your father..." Sirius admired "Except your eyes, you have—"

"My mother's eyes." Harry finished Sirius' sentence proudly.

I grinned at the both of them, feeling emotional that Harry finally had someone to call family.

"It's cruel that I got to spend so much time with James and Lily and you so little, but know that the ones we love never leave us. You can always find them, in here..." Sirius patted Harry's chest, over his heart and I had to turn around to hide that I was wiping tears that were threatening to fall from my eyes.

"Sirius, you'd better go, quick," Hermione shrilled. "They'll reach the tower at any moment and find out you're gone."

"What happened to the other boy? Ron?" croaked Sirius as he mounted Buckbeak.

"He's going to be okay, you have to go—" I urged him, looking up at him urgently.

"Harry, you really have made the most wonderful friends—"

"GO!" we all shouted together.

Sirius squeezed Buckbeak's side and they started rising in the air.

"We'll see each other again! You are— truly your father's son, Harry..." Sirius called out as he and Buckbeak became smaller in the sky, then they were gone.

We ran quickly back to the hospital wing and jumped into our beds.

We waited anxiously for a few moments, and then we heard a distant roar of fury echoing from outside in the hall.

"He must have Disapparated, Severus. We should have left somebody in the room with him. When this gets out—"

"HE DIDN'T DISAPPARATE!" Snape roared, "YOU CAN'T APPARATE OR DISAPPARATE INSIDE THIS CASTLE! THIS— HAS— SOMETHING—

TO— DO— WITH— POTTER!"

The Minister's and Snape's voices were getting closer and closer. I turned to Harry to find him smirking, finding this whole situation amusing.

He reached over to grab the chocolate given to him by Madam Pomfrey that was on his nightstand.

"Severus— be reasonable— Harry has been locked up —"

BANG. The door of the hospital wing burst open.

Fudge, Snape, and Dumbledore came striding into the ward.

Dumbledore looked calm.

In fact, he even looked as though he was enjoying himself, just like Harry was.

Fudge appeared angry.

But Snape looked just as deranged as he did in the Shrieking Shack.

"OUT WITH IT, POTTER!" he bellowed. "WHAT DID YOU DO?"

"See here, Snape, be reasonable," said Fudge. "This door's been locked, we just saw—"

"THEY HELPED HIM ESCAPE, I KNOW IT!" Snape snarled, pointing at Harry, Hermione, and me. His spit was flying from his mouth.

Harry broke chunks of his chocolate and passed them to me and Hermione.

We all chewed and looked up at them innocently.

"YOU DON'T KNOW POTTER AND HIS FRIENDS!" shrieked Snape. "THEY DID IT, I KNOW THEY DID IT. EVEN THIS AMERICAN GIRL WHO IS JUST AS MEDDLESOME AS POTTER—"

"That will do, Severus," Dumbledore interrupted quietly.

I glanced over to Ron to see that he was miraculously sleeping through this.

Snape was seething.

His furious eyes darted from Fudge, who looked thoroughly shocked at his behavior, to Dumbledore, whose eyes were twinkling behind his glasses.

Then Snape whirled around, robes swishing behind him, and stormed out of the ward.

༻✦༺

We all slept in the hospital wing that night— to calm Madam Pomfrey's nerves, and were getting ready to leave by noon the next day.

Ron's leg was as good as new and I was in awe at how highly adept Madam Pomfrey was at practicing medicine.

Ron, however, still insisted that he should take all the precautions necessary and was laying on his bed as Harry, Hermione and I were tucking in the Hospital's bedsheets.

Hermione stopped abruptly, her jaw-dropping slightly as she looked at something behind me.

"What's up with you?" I asked her, startled, but when I turned around— I understood why she was astonished.

Rushing towards me was Cedric Diggory, looking as stunning as ever, holding a bouquet of red peonies and valerian.

He seemed worried.

"I came as soon as I heard, how are you feeling? What happened?" He put his hands on my shoulders and my heart did a leap.

"I'm fine, really" I reassured him, "Are these for me?"

"Yes— I took some valerian from Madam Sprout's greenhouse. You can put it in some tea to help you sleep and for anxiety— I'm sorry, I wasn't sure what happened to you. I just heard talk that you and your friends were in the hospital wing."

I took the bouquet from him, sighing at how considerate he was, and shook my head.

"Don't apologize, this is perfect. Thank you. We're fine, really. Ron had it the worst of us all— he broke his leg..."

"And how are you feeling now?" Cedric asked Ron, his grey eyes focused on him.

I turned around to look at Ron to find him staring at us from his bed furiously.

I forgot he had something against Cedric.

"Fine, thanks," Ron replied curtly.

Hermione whipped her head to scowl at him for how rude he was being but I couldn't care less at the moment.

"Listen, everyone's at Hogsmeade right now. I was wondering if maybe you wanted to walk down to the village with me? Only if you're feeling up for it, of course,"

I, of course, accepted and said goodbye to my friends.

Hermione was bouncing on the balls of her feet as I exited the room, showing me just how excited she was for me.

"So, I take it you can't talk about what happened last night?" Cedric asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I can't," I confirmed, shaking my head.

"Yeah... Potter hasn't gone a year here without running into some trouble— yet no one knows exactly what. Someone should've warned you," Cedric laughed softly, shoving his hands in his pockets as we walked.

"He told me himself. It's alright though, it's all worth it. I'm really lucky to have met him, Ron, and Hermione. They're great."

Cedric nodded and was mulling over his next words before speaking again.

"And... are you...dating Ron?" He murmured, his grey eyes reading my face intently.

"N-no. Why?" I asked him, startled by the question.

"I just can't help but notice that he's not too fond of me... always staring at me furiously."

I let out a little laugh, looking down at my feet bashfully.

Ron certainly didn't hide his distaste for Cedric, but I was still embarrassed Cedric noticed.

"'Isn't that common for teenage boys? To act that way when they feel threatened?'" I repeated to Cedric what he said to me the day we sat down to talk and I told him I was getting glares from other girls.

Cedric picked up that I was referencing him and chuckled.

"I only said that to you because you could be quite intimidating. Being the new student that everyone wants to know and all. I, on the other hand, gave Ron no reason to dislike me."

"You could be intimidating. Captain and Seeker of your Quidditch team, charming guy, and you're not exactly horrible to look at. Ron's probably just jealous."

Cedric grinned and looked down at the ground but I noticed the blush creeping on his cheeks.

Panicking that I might've taken it too far, I spoke up again.

"But you must know all of this, of course. You'd have to be really great to pull Cho Chang. She's really gorgeous— you two make a great couple..." I trailed off, not being able to ignore the jealousy I felt but accepted that I had to live with it.

Cedric cleared his throat, looking very uncomfortable.

"Um, me and Cho aren't seeing each other anymore..."

My eyes darted to his and found him staring back at me expectantly.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. It was my idea to break it off. She's into someone else, at the moment— and frankly, I am too. It's not fair to each other to continue anything."

My heart started swelling with hope and I smiled politely at him, trying to play off what I was feeling.

There was a possibility that he was talking about me, right?

I mean, I was holding a bouquet of hand-picked flowers by him.

"You're right, it's not fair... and Cedric, I'm sorry for not saying anything to you before. I'm sure you already heard but Cho was at the Gryffindor party and I didn't know what to think when she was getting close to Harry—"

"(Y/N)—"

"I mean I did have a bad feeling but I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, especially since Harry's my friend. She was also talking about you and that really confused me—"

Cedric cut off my rambling by standing in front of me, stopping me in my track, and putting his hand over my lips.

His eyes crinkled in amusement.

"Can I talk now?" He asked in a soft, velvety voice.

I nodded dumbly, immobilized by how close I was to him right now.

He let his hand fall and instead reached down to hold my hands.

"I couldn't stop thinkin about you from the moment I saw you. And then I met you, and it's like you bewitched me— you're like nobody I've ever met before. Your wit, your compassion, your empathy... I'd just love to get to know you more. Would you like that?"

I felt like I could do cartwheels all the way to Hogsmeade and back.

"Yeah, I'd love that." I gushed, grinning at him brightly.

I saw him sigh in relief as I said this, and I had to bite my cheek to prevent me from audibly cooing at how endearing it was to see him just as nervous as I was.

He asked for my hand and we walked into Hogsmeade with our fingers interlocked.

Everyone who saw us immediately started whispering, paying no mind that we could hear everything they were saying.

I received the usual envious looks from girls but also heard the term 'perfect couple' being used.

I glanced up at Cedric to find him looking down at me, grinning proudly.

We spent hours going in and out of the different shops.

We bought sweets at Honeydukes and shared them while we walked.

Somewhere along the way, I spotted Draco with with Pansy Parkinson.

I smiled at him politely but he just glowered at me and stormed off.

That might've alarmed me in some other occasion but I don't think anything could've ruined my mood at that moment.

Cedric took me into Madam Pudifoot's Tea Shop for the first time.

Everything was pink and frilly and there were couples everywhere.

Among the customers who were sitting down was Cho Chang who was with Roger Davies— Captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team.

When she saw us, I could almost see the steam coming out of her ears.

I knew that Cedric only took me into the tea shop because he thought I'd like it, but he seemed wildly uncomfortable— whether it was because of Cho or the tea shop's decor.

He was relieved when I suggested we go to the Three Broomsticks, and everything was much better there.

We enjoyed our glasses of Butterbeer and headed back to the castle.

As if things couldn't get any more perfect, Cedric walked me to Gryffindor tower.

My face hurt from smiling the whole day.

"I had a really nice time today, Cedric," I said to him genuinely.

"I did too. The best time." He replied tenderly.

My breath hitched when his face got closer to mine, thinking he was going to kiss me, but then he pressed his lips to my cheek.

I blushed as he did this.

"I'll see you later?" He asked.

I nodded at him and watched him walk away with a sigh.

Crookshanks purred around my legs as I walked into the Common Room.

I picked him up, and found my friends all sitting by the fireplace.

"Helloo" I greeted them cheerily, still in a dream-like state after my day with Cedric.

I sunk down on the armchair with Crookshanks in my arms, and Hermione leaned over with a big grin on her face.

"How was it? Tell me everything!" She said eagerly and I did.

From Cedric telling me about Cho to our Hogsmeade visit, Hermione was caught up with all.

I even asked her if she could find a way for me and Cedric to be in touch while I was in America and she promised she would.

The Common Room was quiet apart from the crackling fire because no one else came back from Hogsmeade yet.

This made the silence very loud, and I couldn't help but notice that Ron was still furiously glancing at me every few seconds.

"What's your problem?" I called him out after his fifth time pointing his angry blue eyes at my direction.

"My problem is that while you were out skipping around with your boyfriend— we found out that Lupin resigned his teaching position," Ron replied curtly, pink tinting his cheeks.

My eyebrows shot up in surprise and I glanced at Harry, who was quietly picking his nails.

He looked solemn.

"Shit— did people find out that he..."

"—is a werewolf? Yeah. Snape told all the Slytherins this morning. Lupin was about to be let off if it wasn't for Snape. He's resigning before the school gets any complaints." Harry grumbled.

"He's the best Defense Against The Dark Arts Professor we ever had," Hermione said sorrowfully.

We all agreed glumly.

Ron went upstairs and fetched some spare bottles of Butterbeer from Fred and George's dorm room that were left from the party.

We opened them and raised the bottles in dedication.

"To Lupin."

✩ next chapter: goodbyes ✩

11 notes · View notes

nburkhardt · 2 years ago

Note

My beloved baby Pikachu I bring Pokémon ideas~

Eddie as ghost type gym leader whose gym looks like a metal concert and he has his sweetheart strapped to his back at all times

Steve as a water/fighting type gym leader whose gym is half a pool. Everyone is surprised to find this guy in a soft pastel sweater, tight jeans, and the fluffiest hair is the leader. Until he brings put his nail bat as the battle starts.

Everyone thinks they hate each other because they seem polar opposite but no one notices the skull ring on Steve's left hand nor the soft purple sweater Eddie sometimes wears.

They're married your honor!

The Party is a group of newbie trainers that get taken under their wings of course.

🖤❤️🖤❤️🐼

AHHHHH!!! PANDA I LOVE YOU, I already freaked out in dms with you but I’mma say it again: I LOVE YOUR BRAIN, you get ALLLLL the forehead kisses 🥹🥹🥹 I’m sooo gonna ramble away. Maybe not a full fic but my god I’m obsessed. (It’s a full fic, with a surprise pov!)

We’re going to mix up all the gens together (so if you only know some Pokémon, I’ll include pictures at the bottom of the ones I mentioned)

ALSO: if you have any ideas for anyone else’s Pokémon, let me knowwwww.

Onto my rambling fic under the cut 🥰

Here’s the thing, when Dustin decided to take on the gym challenge, he had no idea what he was going to expect.

He didn’t think picking a grass type to start could both hurt and help him between each gym. But Snivy was a little spitfire and like him; dramatic. She didn’t like any of the nicknames he threw out at her. She also didn’t like her pokeball, instead she preferred to sit on his head.

All of his friends were also doing the challenge but he was getting distracted by figuring out more information on each Pokémon instead of just battling. They’re all ahead of him, which, is okay it’s annoying but’s fine.

Especially when he ran into Steve.

Dustin was supposed to take on the fairy gym next but he heard the leader was ruthless. So, he decided to train up a bit. Maybe even evolve Natu and Trapinch. But instead of that, he was grumbling as he carried his very much knocked out, Trapinch to the Pokémon center instead of battling more.

Servine was walking next to him now, too big for staying on top of him when walking. She was also grumbling in her own way, crossed arms and nose in the air.

“We’re trying to get them to evolve, Servine, not knock them out!” He threw out at her getting closer to the center, “can’t believe I let you get your way all the time”

She apparently didn’t like that information and huffed before walking away, which would normally be fine if they weren’t in a new town. So, instead of reaching the Center like he wanted, he turns around to follow her. Returning Trapinch to his ball for now.

“Come ON, Servine I didn’t mean it like that! You’re so good at everything but-” he immediately knocked into somebody and knocked to the floor, “fuck, ow. Dude!”

Looking up he finds a guy, probably in his early twenties with a Mimikyu sitting on his shoulder while a tiny Pumpkaboo floats next to him. Which is a weird combo with the dude’s outfit choice of a soft looking yellow sweater and light wash jeans. “Not my fault you weren’t looking, dude”

Dustin glares up at him before getting up and dusting his legs off, “hey! I’m only looking for my Pokémon, she ran off from me!” Looking around he can’t tell which direction she actually went in, “by any chance you from around here?”

The guy makes a funny assumed face, both ghost pokémon snicker as well- which is so confusing. But he’s not too concerned for that, more so about the fact that his goddamn starter ran off.

“Yeah, you could say I’m from around here. What’s the Pokémon? A tiny Bidoof? Oh or is it a little Oddish?” He laughs and makes a weird hand movement that clearly both ghosts know and move away, “they got a name? That’d be way easier”

Crossing his arms he looks away, “Servine, and no. She didn’t like anything I came up with, so”

The guy’s laugh dies down and he frowns, “what, were the names lame or-” he shakes his head, “you’re upset, sorry, I’m Steve. Let’s find your Pokémon instead of bickering”

“I’m Dustin, and- SERVINE!” His eyes widen as the tiny Pumpkaboo (seriously how is that Pumpkaboo that small?) leads his Servine towards them, “I’m sorry, seriously, you’re the best and that was uncalled for. Are you okay?”

Servine nods and curls into his arms. He doesn’t bother saying anything else to her, cuddles her close and turns to find Steve picking up Mimikyu and whispering to Pumpkaboo, “Thanks. Seriously”

Steve smiles, “no problem, Oz here is pretty good at finding things.” He looks at his watch before wincing, “I gotta run, we’re gonna be late. You at the fairy gym?”

What the- “how do you know?”

Steve gives another funny look before shrugging, “Got an eye for these things, anyway, next gym is ghost. Be wary of him, he’s a little, hm, much. Yeah?”

All he can do is nod and watch as Steve just walks away.

Fairy gyms are brutal, even with Trapinch evolving into Vibrava. His saving grace was Slugma and that was it still rough since it’s fire isn’t that effective against fairy.

Maybe he should’ve gone with more poison types.

But that was two days ago, and now he’s making his way towards the next town and their gym. He is wary. Not only because of what Steve told him but because of running into Lucas.

(Lucas had decided on a water type, Totodile. Which was a little surprising for Lucas but Dustin didn’t question it, the little Totodile was energetic and lovable.)

He was minding his own business trying to figure out whether or not he could, technically, learn how to speak in the Pokémon’s language. When a blue bundle ran towards him, looking around he spots Lucas trying to catch his breath. “Hey! I thought you would’ve been passed this one”

They play catch up and once it’s all been said and done, Lucas shows him where the gym is. It looks fairly normal on the outside but Lucas swears it’s a whole other world inside.

“It’s like a concert, and there’s an actual audience too! Which was overwhelming at first, but once I got my footing it was like they weren’t there” Lucas explains, stopping only once their in front of a normal looking gym, Lucas laughs and shakes his head, “yeah that was my first expression too. I think you’ll enjoy it. Might have a hard time”

He looks away from the building to raise an eyebrow at him, “what does that mean?”

“Dude you picked a grass type as your starter! And you have no dark types!”

Rolling his eyes, “thanks for the encouragement, I’m sure I could handle it. Even with the disadvantages.”

Lucas looked like he didn’t believe him, but it didn’t bother him. Their whole party looked at him funny when he went with a grass type. Hell, Max made fun of him for it.

It didn’t matter, the gym challenge is turning out to be nothing he wanted to do once he’s able. He wanted to be a professor anyway. This was just temporary, even if he gets beat a bunch of times.

Walking inside the gym, he bypasses the annoying tips guy at right next to the door and makes his way to find the actual battle area. Lucas gave him the directions, it was confusing he said.

Sure enough, there’s a goddamn maze and cords everywhere.

After what feels like hours, he makes it to the end and is faced with a stage. Cords and what looks like vines everywhere, sure enough a small audience is there too. It looks all badass and a mix between rock and metal.

As he opens his mouth the lights go away and he has to immediately cover his ears as a loud beat starts. There’s a guitar being played even louder, clearer too. A spot light hits the stage and now he knows who’s playing.

Standing in the middle of the stage is a man. Long frizzy hair, leather jacket over a t-shirt with a band on it, ripped black jeans and black shoes. His guitar really completes the look, red with black lines all over.

The guy plays for a few minutes before stopping and walking closer, “Welcome to my metal concert, you ready for your ass to be handed to you?”

Right as he’s about to open his mouth a little orange and brown blur pops up behind the gym leader, it looks oddly familiar.

The man follows his gaze and groans, shifting his guitar to his back and focusing on the tiny Pokémon next to him, “Ozzy, we talked about this! Either stay in your ball, off the battle field or at home.”

Dustin blinks, moving closer he finds that the tiny Pokémon is a Pumpkaboo. That’s definitely moving and saying something back, which makes the guy shake his head before glancing around.

“Uh-“

“Hold on, I’m trying to find- HONEY LOVE! Come get your child!”

There’s no movement but he hears a snort, then the tiny Pokémon moves away and he sees the gym leader shake his head again, “sorry, that little guy is only a baby. Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

The guy’s smile is wild and maybe Lucas was right.

An hour later and Dustin is sitting on the edge of the stage freshly beat and definitely ready to call it quits for the day.

“Did Eds give you a rough time?”

His head snaps up, there’s Steve with Mimikyu on his head and a Vaporeon sitting next to him.

“I just need to do some more training.” He doesn’t want to admit that yes, the gym leader, Eddie, definitely gave him a rough time. It was fun, but Eddie was even more brutal than the fairy gym.

Maybe he just needs to catch a dark type.

Steve nods slightly, making Mimikyu squeak. “Doesn’t hurt to train more, V here” he pats the Vaporeon’s head, causing a pur to happen, “wasn’t the greatest battler, we had to do lots of training. Before you do any of that, want to come have dinner with us? You and your Pokémon can all rest for the night”

Dustin can’t figure out how he didn’t put two and two together. He feels like an idiot right now.

“What do you mean you’re also a gym leader? The final one at that?! Why didn’t you tell me?!”

Steve snorts, putting his hands in his pockets as he leads them to a house, “not my fault you didn’t pay attention when the professor talked about the gym challenge to you.”

Crossing his arms he glares at the ground, “yeah well, Professor Owens forgets shit. How is it you’re the water gym leader yet have a ghost type with you?”

There’s an amused smirk on Steve’s face and what sounds like a giggle come from Mimikyu, “I might specialize with water types, I do have a fond experience with ghost types. And dude, it’s okay to try catching other types. I just so happen to work better with water types. Queen here was a gift, basically, my partner found an egg and gave it to me.”

He nods because Steve’s right, it is nice to use all different types. Though if he did only pick one, grass or bug type is where he’d stick with.

“Alright” Steve smiles and comes to a stop, “we’re here, once we get inside you can let your Pokémon out.” He leads them up to a door and Dustin takes in the mixture of aesthetics.

There’s clearly two different personalities living in this house, whoever Steve’s partner is, definitely enjoys the darker aesthetic compared to Steve. Who gives off a more pastel aesthetic. Not that he fully knows, he’s still going off or how Steve is dressed.

“Hey baby, I brought a guest!”

They both hear a crash and then a curse. A Gengar floats out of the kitchen and snickers as it stops in front of Steve, “What did you do?”

“He’s over the moon for beating up a Nin- woah! Honey love, you brought the kid I just beat?”

Blinking hard because there’s no way, Dustin also rubs his eyes before looking over at the kitchen doorway. His vision clears and yep, there’s the gym leader, Eddie, standing there in a pastel purple sweater and black sweats with his Decidueye leaning behind him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, seriously?”

Steve outright laughs and pats his shoulder, “dude, you’re face. Oh man, should’ve taken a picture.” He moves closer to Eddie and presses a kiss to his cheek, “He looked so sad after the defeat, I had to.”

Eddie shakes his head, amusement clear on his face, “Honey, you gotta warn people when you bring them over. Even if they look like a kicked Eevee”

He scruffs and looks away from the couple to find the Pumpkaboo, Ozzy apparently, next to him. It makes him groan, “I’m an idiot, you’re the one who found Servine!”

Ozzy nods excitedly before floating down and nudges his bag, confused he opens it and Ozzy dances around him. He’s curious and looks over at the couple, “uh, what?”

“He’s asking you to let your Pokémon out, they’ll enjoy some play time and food.” Eddie answers and looks at the time, “which is done by the way. Come on, let them out and we’ll give you some tips”

Shrugging, he does just that, all his Pokémon looking around curiously before spotting the backdoor where Ozzy and Steve are now in front of. All of them rush over and Steve laughs before opening the door, letting all of his Pokémon outside.

“Don’t worry, we got a fence and there’s food already out there.”

He can only nod and watch as his Pokémon all play together with Steve’s and Eddie’s Pokémon.

Dustin doesn’t know how he ended up here, honestly, he’s sitting inside a home that belongs to two gym leaders. Who are not only two of the strongest ones but also married to each other. Of all the things he was learning, this might’ve been the most surprising.

————

I’m gonna end it there because if I keep going this post will be stupid long (it already is 😅) BUT!! I decided to make this into a series!! It’ll be a fun one that I could write and post whenever I want. Can switch up povs and everything this way. Please don’t ask me why I went with Dustin’s pov this time around, I don’t even know. I just..kept going.

Anyway! If you enjoyed this let me know what you think and if you have any ideas/suggestions you can totally leave me some!!

Taglist: (sorry if you don’t like Pokémon 😂)

@spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @bookworm0690 @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @strangersteddierthings

Here’s the graphs of the Pokémon I have mentioned and also the full teams of the main three (Dustin, Steve & Eddie) and also Lucas’ totodile (didn’t come up with his full team)

#steddie #pokemon au #steddie fic #dustin henderson fic #Dustin will be a Pokémon professor someday #for now he’s that kid at every start of the games that goes ‘SCIENCE IS AMAZING’#stranger things fic #nburkhardt writes #strangers things and Pokémon au #steve x eddie #tbh idk how to tag this

225 notes · View notes