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tryingmybestpls · 4 years ago

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Liability

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader, platonic!Sam Wilson x Reader, platonic!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: The reader deals with the repercussions of Steve’s actions and death of the three people closest to her.

Rating: R

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Mentions of suicide, mentions of death, feeling alone, depression, you know the vibes

Bucky and Sam had been put in charge of making sure Y/N Stark was okay. Steve had made them promise on his deathbed that they would look after her. Of course they had agreed, not wanting to argue with a dying man. Sam and Y/N were best friends and well, Bucky had nothing else to do and he wasn't going to disobey his best friend's wishes.

Things were okay for the first month after Steve died. Well, as okay as it could be all things considered.

Bucky and Sam moved into the townhouse that Y/N had shared with Steve to make sure she was okay. It was unspoken agreement between the three of them: they were going to move in since they didn't have any other place to go and Y/N had more than enough room. She had just lost her brother, her best friend, and the man she loves so they expected her to be barely holding on, to be extremely upset-but she seemed okay. Sure there was moments were she would suddenly start crying or days were she wouldn't come out of the room she had shared with Steve, but both men had expected this. Y/N was grieving after all.

Then she told them that she was going to stay upstate with her sister-in-law and niece. Y/N missed them and wanted to make sure they were doing okay. Sam and Bucky thought nothing of this-in fact, they were happy that she wanted to see them. Her face seemed to light up when talked about her upcoming trip and both men thought that being away from the city and with her family would greatly benefit her.

Y/N had given them both a hug the day she left, telling them that she would give them a call when she had arrived at Pepper's. Nothing had seemed amiss as they had helped her fill her trunk with bags.Sam had offer to drive her, but she had insisted that she can drive upstate by herself. Y/N had looked so happy, truly happy when she climbed into the car. She had given them a huge smile as she waved, pulling away from the curb. Both men had felt so relieved, thinking that this was the best thing for her. For the first time after Steve has died, they felt like a weight has been lifted off their shoulders.

Y/N called later in the day when she had arrived at Pepper's. She painted a vivid picture of how excited Pepper and Morgan were to see her, how good it felt to be around her family. Y/N had even said that her and Pepper talked about Tony, which Y/N had said made her feel a lot better, made her feel not so alone. Bucky and Sam were happy and content with her situation, making her promise she'd call again.

For the first couple of weeks, she did call. Y/N always had something to tell them too. Sometimes it was her and Morgan had spent the whole day swimming in the lake or her and Pepper attempted to make some vegan sourdough bread. Y/N always sounded happy over the phone, which made Bucky and Sam think that things were looking up, that she was getting better.

And then the calls stopped.

The calls stopping wasn't an immediate cause for concern. Bucky didn't believe that Y/N, -as a grown woman-needed to check in with them every single day or every single week. Sam wasn't as so optimistic. He knew Y/N and he knew that she kept her promises. Even if she had gotten busy or was doing really good, she would have at least sent them a text. It wasn't like her to go completely dark on them. But he also know it wasn't his place to force Y/N to check in. After all, she was an adult.

And then Rhodey had called.

Sam and Rhodey didn't call each other a lot so when his name popped up on Sam's phone, the Falcon knew that this situation was serious. Sam wished for the best, hoped that Rhodey was just calling about a mission or something have to do with the government.

He wasn't so lucky.

"Hey is everything okay with Y/N? She hasn't been answering her phone." Rhodey questioned, immediately making Sam's stomach drop.

"She's upstate with Pepper. She left a month ago. I thought you knew that." Sam replied, which quickly got Bucky's attention. Bucky stood up a little straighter, his eyebrows knitting together.

"Sam, I'm upstate with Pepper and she hasn't seen Y/N since Steve's funeral." Rhodey quickly responded, following by a sigh and some muttered curse words. Sam felt sick to his stomach, bile rising up in his throat.

Rhodey explained that Y/N had been calling Pepper every day, but the calls stopped a few weeks ago. Rhodey had tried to tell her that Y/N was probably just busy, but Pepper knew something was wrong. So Rhodey had called, trying to ease Pepper's worries. Sam told him that Y/N had said she was going up to go see Pepper and Morgan. Her calls to him having stopped around the same time as her calls to Pepper did.

Y/N Stark had just vanished into thin air.

Sam knew they had to work backwards in order to find out some idea of where she was and that had led them to the closed door leading into Y/N's room. Neither of them had been on the other side of the door. It wasn't their place to go into her room, their room. Yet, seeing that no one knew where Y/N was, they didn't have much of choice.

Bucky and Sam didn't know what to expect when they walked through the white door, but they didn't expect everything to seem so...neat. Everything seemed perfect. The bed was made, clothes were neatly put away. One thing that did seem weird is that all of the pictures in the room were all laying picture side face down on the surfaces they were on. Pictures that were hanging on the walls were covered with a multitude of things-a t-shirt, a pillowcase, or a scarf. While it wasn't an immediate cause for concern, it did make both men feel incredibly uneasy. The pictures aside, everything looked normal and incredibly clean. Not a thing was out of place.

Other than her cell phone, resting on the dresser. The same phone that had been calling both Pepper and Sam.

There's one thing that remains completely consistent with the Starks and that's the fact they are both incredibly smart.

Y/N Stark had been on the run with Steve, Sam, Nat, and Wanda. She was good at hiding, amazing at it. Y/N knew that her phone could be tracked and that they would be able to see what location she was calling from. While Sam wanted to just give her the benefit of the doubt and just pretend she was hiding out on a resort somewhere, he knows better. The fact that she had created a system to talk to both Sam and Pepper using prerecorded responses hinted at something much darker-something that he tried not to think about.

After some digging and pulling some strings, Rhodey and Sam find security camera footage of Y/N buying four different bouquets. They're able to follow her car via the footage to three different cemeteries. Upon visiting each one, the three men find that she had left flowers for her parents, Tony, Natasha, and Steve. Using the time stamps on the videos, they learn that she spent almost an hour at each cemetery, with the last one being the cemetery where Steve was buried. After that, the trail went cold and they were back at square one.

Then her car was found by Rhodey, exactly halfway between the city and Pepper's home, hidden on an old stretch of road.

Every piece of luggage was perfectly in its place, exactly where Bucky and Sam had helped her put it. Her shoes that she had been wearing had been left on the passenger seat, her wallet left behind in the glovebox with not a card out of place. There was no signs of a struggle. It just look like she pulled off the the side of the road for a minute. Y/N didn't want to be found and since she didn't want to be found, she had been smart. If someone had taken her, they would have been sloppy and messed up along the way. Not Y/N. She knew better.

The people that she had left behind were at a complete lost. They were all terrified, none of them wanting to think about what might have happened to Y/N or what she was capable of. She had lost three people incredibly close to her-her brother, her best friend, and the man she loves. People have lost a lot less and done a lot worse to others and themselves.

"Is there anywhere the two of them had? Any special place they'd go?" Sam asks Pepper once all of their leads dried up. The woman is clearly distraught, wringing her hands and her eyes rimmed with red. Rhodey hadn't wanted ask Pepper, but they were left with no other option. It doesn't take long for her to answer. She must've been thinking and thinking about where her sister-in-law has gone the couple of weeks they have been looking.

"There was this little farm house an hour outside of the city that Steve kept telling her that they were going to raise a family in. It-It has a big oak tree. You can't miss it." She answers, looking up at Sam and Bucky, "Please, please find her."

Pepper was right. They couldn't miss the house.

It was an aging colonial located in the middle of nowhere, with farmland and forest surrounding it. Its white siding was covered in moss in place, making it look more green than eggshell. The wrap around porch had been ripped off in places, leaving gaps. Some of the emerald green shutters have been torn off completely or were hanging by a single hinge. Most of the windows were broken and Sam was pretty sure it was leaning to the left a little. On the second story, an entire part of the roof has caved in. The best part of the entire place was giant oak tree. It was absolutely massive-probably the biggest that either man had seen. An old tire swing hung from one of the lower branches, the rope fraying but still somehow holding on.

Bucky and Sam glance at each other before getting out of the car and walking up the gravel driveway. It was eerily quiet and everything seemed to be at a standstill out here. The porch steps creaked and felt like it was going to collapse under their feet. The porch itself was warped, some planks missing completely. Sam sighed and carefully knocked on the door, really hoping for the best. There was no response, so he tried again. When there was no answer again, Sam reached for the door knob, finding it unlocked. The door creaked open loudly and both men were prepared to see the absolute worse waiting for them inside.

Yet when Sam and Bucky step inside the house, their eyes immediately land on her.

Y/N was nestled in a nook of one of the windows that still had glass in its panels, knees drawn up into her chest. Old, moldy, and decaying furniture from decades earlier still filled the home. Mementos of someone else's family and life left behind, as if the home's inhabitants had gotten up one day and never came back. Pictures still left in their frames, their photos weathered and abandoned, It reminded Bucky of home, of the life he was ripped away from and he understands why Steve had like the house so much. It was a house that was out of place and out of time, just like the Star Spangled Man With A Plan.

"I was hoping you guys just let me be." Y/N announces, not bothering to turn her head to look at the pair. She rests her head against the window, nails digging into her calves. She was wearing a dress that was once white and the men could see her skin was littered with cuts and bruises.

"We just wanted to make sure you were okay." Sam announces, taking a step forward. The warped wood floors creak under his weight, announcing his movement. Y/N chuckles humorlessly, her breath fogging up the dingy glass.

"He said that we were gonna buy this house. Told me that he was going to marry me and we were going to settle down. Told me that we were going to have a family together. Told me that he wanted a family. Told me that for five years." She tells them unprompted, eyes flicking down to look at her knees, "And he did want all of that. Just not with me. I was just a replacement for her."

Bucky and Sam don't know how to respond. They know that there's nothing they can do, no way that they can defend Steve for his actions. Neither of them were happy with the man abandoning his grieving girlfriend in order to live out a half-baked fantasy. Y/N knows this too, which is why she continues.

"I told him to go. I told him if that's what he wanted that he could go. Told him I was going to be okay. He had already made his mind up at that point. For some reason, I-I didn't think he'd actually leave." Her voice cracks, her cool facade crumbling. Her nails digging deep crescents into her legs, "Why-Why would he leave me? I just lost Nat and Tony and he left-"

Tears roll down her cheeks as she releases her grip on her legs, loosening her hold. Her lower lip quivers, unable to rein her emotions back in. The question wasn't for Bucky or Sam and honestly, Y/N doesn't even know who she is asking.

"My brother-My brother got his family and I-Steve kept telling me that we were going to get married and have a house full of kids." She forces the words out through the emotion, finally turning to look at Bucky and Sam, "Did you know that he and Peggy had three children together, Sam? I don't think he told you that when you got the shield."

Her eyes flick back down to look at her knees, tears rolling down her face. The house has gotten a lot colder, especially as the sky starts to darken outside. Y/N lifts her head, resting it against the frame of the window.

"I bought this house. It was going to be his Christmas present this year. A push in the right direction, if you will. Tony told me not to do it, said it was a bad idea. And he was right. He was always right." Y/N announces, a bitter laugh slipping out of her mouth, "And now I'm stuck with this fucking shithole."

For the past eight years, Y/N has been in a relationship with Steve. He was the man she loved, the man who she saw herself marrying and having children with. Y/N had turned on her brother and gone on the run with Steve, even though she knew that might cut off ties from the only family she has. When Thanos snapped his fingers and made half of the universe disappear, Y/N had clung to her boyfriend. Sure she'd go visit Tony, Pepper, and Morgan and would occasionally see Natasha, but she practically spent every waking moment with Steve. After the Snap, after she saw how happy her brother was, she knew she wanted a family. And Steve-Steve just kept telling her that they would have a family one day.

Y/N had been too distracted to see the cracks in their relationship. She was too in love with Steve to see that he hadn't loved her the same amount. Too in love to see that she was only a replacement for the woman he truly loved. When the cracks started to slip through, Y/N tried her best to fix them by making excuses. She had layered and layered excuses onto of each other in order to hold her relationship together. And while Y/N should've known better, she just didn't want to face the music and see everything for what it was.

That had worked until Natasha died, until her brother snapped his fingers. Until Steve told her that he was going to leave, not taking how she was feeling or what she was going through into consideration. Until he told her that he just didn't love her in that way. Until she had to keep how betrayed she felt to herself as she played the role of the dutiful, mournful girlfriend at his funeral. After that, everything came tumbling down around her and she was thrown back into reality.

"I told him.. told him that I wanted to end it all and he didn't care. Didn't even try to talk to me about it. Tony was the only family I've ever known and Nat was my best friend and he-he should've been there for me and he wasn't. He didn't care because he was already going to be gone. Another dead Stark didn't matter to him." Y/N turns her head and narrows her eyes at them, "That's why you two came here, isn't it? To make sure I didn't off myself?"

"We wanted to make sure you're safe-" Bucky starts, but Y/N quickly cuts him off with another bitter laugh. The super soldier glances at Sam, not knowing what to do in this situation.

"You wanted to? Don't bullshit me. You guys didn't move in with me or come to check on me because you two actually care about me. You two promised Steve that you'd watch over me, like I'm a fucking helpless child." Y/N snaps, glaring daggers at the two of them, "If he cared that much, he'd fucking be here, but he isn't. Steve made his choice and because of that, he doesn't get to have a say in my life anymore."

"Okay fine, we won't bullshit you. Yeah, he did ask us to take care of you, but you act like we weren't friends five years ago, Y/N. I have no idea what you're going through, but don't you dare act like I don't fucking care about you." Sam fires back, tears filling his eyes. More tears stream down her face as he continues, "Before the snap, you and me were thick as thieves. I care about you, Y/N, and you've had Pepper, Rhodey, and me all worried sick. Yeah, we were scared that you'd hurt yourself because we know you and I know how bad you got when we were in hiding, so we have every right to be worried about you."

It's incredibly quiet, quiet enough to hear a mouse sneeze. Bucky felt incredibly awkward standing there. He had only met Y/N a few times before he moved into her home and every time he had been around her, Steve was there. Obviously, he doesn't know Y/N as good as Sam does-hell, he barely knows anything about her-but he knows when someone is doing bad and Y/N is clearly doing bad.

Y/N leans her head forehead, pressing it against her knees for a moment. Her chest felt hollow, almost as if it was going to cave in on itself. She would love to pretend that she was doing completely okay, love to pretend that Sam and her family were wrong in their assumptions of why she had disappeared. Y/N would love to pretend like everything was okay, but she was tired. She was incredibly tired, utterly exhausted. Y/N was done trying to pretend like nothing was wrong, done hiding everything in order to keep up appearances for the people around her. She let a shakily breath slip out of her mouth as she lifts up her head, resting her chin on her knees. As if he could feel the energy in the room shift, Sam turns to look at Bucky, silently asking if he could leave. The super soldier nods and without a word, he walks out the front door, shutting it behind him. Sam knows Y/N and he knows for times like this, she doesn't need an audience. Its already extremely hard for her to share what she is feeling and having Bucky there isn't exactly helping.

"I can't do this anymore, Sam. I can't." Y/N admits quietly once the door is shut, tears steaming down her cheeks. "I tried to stick it out for Pepper and Morgan, but I can't. I-I was going to do it. I had a goodbye message recorded and everything."

Her confession sucks all of the air out of the room, the only noises being her sniffling and the sounds a house as old as this one makes. Sam can feel his heart breaking in his chest makes his way over to her, crossing the room in seconds. He moves to sit on the edge of the nook she's sitting on. Up close, Sam can see how red her eyes are, how dark her under eyes are. He knows she most likely hasn't gotten any actual rest in few days-most likely since she's been gone. Her legs and arms are all cut up and bruised, her white dress covered in dirt and occasionally some sprinkles of deep burgundy. Her cheeks seemed a little less full and Sam wonders when was the last time she ate was.

"And you wanted to do it here?" Sam asks, his voice soft. Y/N just nods in response, unable to look at him. The man clasps his hands together as he continues, treading the waters as carefully as possible, "I-I'm not going to pretend to understand what you're going through okay? I'm not going to bullshit you. All I know is that you're hurting and you have every right to be."

"It just hurts so much, Sam. Everything hurts and I-I don't want to hurt anymore." Y/N manages to get out, not bothering to wipe the tears that keep rolling down her cheeks, "I'm tired. I'm so God damn tired and I want to be with them."

"Do you think that's what Tony wants? Do you think he wants you to join him? Do you think that's what Nat wants you to do?" Sam questions delicately, to which Y/N shakes her 'no' in response, "I know it hurts, but ending it? They don't want that for you. We don't want that for you. You still have so much life to live, kid. And I know it's horrible right now. You're going through pain that is way too much for one person to carry, but you don't have to go through this alone. Sure I'm not Nat or your brother and I'm sure as hell not Steve-but I am here and I want to make sure you're okay."

Y/N raises her head to look at her friend and Sam can see the hurt written all over her face. Her pain is visible and he feels like a shitty friend for not noticing it beforehand. Sam carefully reaches out and rests his hand on top of hers, a tear slipping out of his eyes.

"Just come back with us, okay? It's not going to be easy and it's going to suck, but I can't bury another friend, Y/N." Sam's voice cracks, his throat constricting with emotion. It takes her moment-and for that moment Sam is absolutely petrified, wondering if he said all the wrong things, wondering if he made it all worse-but then she nods the world's tiniest nod before breaking out into full on sobs. It was like all of the pain and hurt had finally broken through and she was finally reacting to it all. Sam wrapped his arms around her tightly, holding her against his chest as she cried and cried over the family she lost.

#steve rogers x reader #sam wilson x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers #sam wilson #bucky barnes

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hamburgerhelpersotherhand · 4 years ago

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Infatuation P10

Joe Goldberg x Reader x Love Quinn

Warnings: At this point, just assume it’s only gonna get worse.

Notes: Did I... really just? Did I really just post an update for Infatuation?? That’s incredible! I’m sorry for the delay, my writing has been on a downward spiral. I’ll be posting some older original works as filler in the future.

After getting home last night, I immediately called Love. I had to tell her something- anything. So I told her you were already gone when I arrived. It was... it was really stupid of me, especially when reminding myself that I did this all for her.

I know it’s awful to lie to your partner, but I... I don’t know how else to put this, but I need to fix what I broke. Judging by what I saw last night, you’re an absolute mess.

And, well, that’s besides the part where you’re literally captive in a glass cage. I need to fix you, for Love.

Now, I’m not a professional but I’m sure reforming a human brain can’t be that difficult.

Whatever was left of the night, I slept very well throughout. I practically went out like a light and woke up the next morning feeling energized.

In the middle of getting dressed, it suddenly dawns on me:

I need to get you something to eat.

You’re not picky, are you? Do you have allergies? I had trouble deciding, but I eventually settled on getting you a plain oatmeal muffin and a simple glass of water. For future reference, I’ll ask for your preference.

When I arrived at the locker and rolled up the door, I noticed you were curled up in the corner with your arms wrapped around yourself. I then realized I should of given you a blanket- or some form of mattress because you look like you hadn’t slept one bit. Do I feel bad? Yeah, maybe a little more than I had expected... but tired is good. You won’t fight back as much.

“Good morning.” I say. Your eyes blink over and over again as you adjust them to the sudden intrusive light.

I crinkle the muffin’s bag as I walk up to a small airtight opening.

“I got you breakfast.” I’m in a good mood, so I find myself yap, yap, yapping. “Now, I don’t know what you like or what your usual breakfast routine is but I can get you something more hearty for dinner.”

There are two doors and a small resting spot between them. When I open the door on my side, you can’t open the door on yours. It’s pretty neat, actually, and was previously used to safely move books in and out. But with that scowl on your face, I doubt you’re even thinking about it.

Let’s start simple. I open my door and place your glass of water down in the compartment.

I close the door and you stay still. You’re seated in your little corner like it’ll protect you from the world, but that’s just a fantasy you’re willingly following. Open your eyes, Y/N. The world changes and you have to stop running from it. Now come get your stupid cup of water.

I begin to slowly walk around the perimeter of the glass.

“I think you’d feel more comfortable if you didn’t purposefully dehydrate yourself.” I state.

You look at me so pitifully. Behind that gaze, you know I’m right. But... you continue to stubbornly stay in place.

“P-please.” You say weakly. I show you to the glass of water and you still don’t budge.

“It’s water.” I finally say. “And I have a muffin for you if you’re hungry too. I’m not sure how you feel about oatmeal, though.”

You’re still hesitant, so I’ll work to break that. I make my way back to the door, look you in the eye, and then open it.

“There’s nothing in the water.” I say as I take the cup in hand. I can’t say I’m entirely surprised you’re hesitant to drink, but I still tilt some into my mouth as an example. Like I said, there’s nothing in the water.

As I place the cup back down, I notice you’ve lightened up a little. To the average eye you’d still seem scared, tense, but I like to think I’ve come to know you better than the average person. And as someone who’s done just that, I strongly believe I’ve noticed the teeniest change in your demeanour.

I close the small door and step back.

It takes you a moment, but you eventually shift from your corner and stand on your feet. You make your way to the door as you watch me with some very judgemental eyes.

It takes you a moment to open the door before you grab the cup and drink to your heart’s content. Or, well, until it’s empty.

You chase after the final drops as I begin to unwrap your muffin.

You look uninterested but grab at the snack after I close the door anyway.

It’s all I can get you before work. But thinking about work now reminds me of Love, Forty, and my responsibilities.

I leave shortly, but not before collecting your trash.

The day goes by so excruciatingly slow.

Love works like nothing happened last night, I can’t tell if this is good or bad, but as I see Forty’s antics being immediately shot down for the millionth time... it’s probably bad. I know the guy’s irritating but Love could’ve been a little kinder about it.

Actually, can I blame her? Staying focused on work when something so upsetting had occurred only hours prior isn’t simple. For one, I can’t stop thinking about what happened and how I’m thankful things didn’t escalate.

Could I have killed you? Your face felt so small in my hand.

My blood ran cold once I remind myself of our one and only witness. Am I sweating? I feel like I’m sweating. I look around the store briefly, kind of also feeling like I’m being watched. I spot Forty looking my way but he doesn’t shoot me his usual smile. Suspicious? I look toward Love and her head cranes up to meet my stare. She almost immediately looks away. Also... suspicious...? Joe, Joe, Joe... when will you learn that not everyone who doesn’t smile your way is suspicious. I mean, Forty just got yelled at by his own sister and Love just had... you know. That thing happen.

Finally, my gaze sets itself on a familiar figure with a casual pair of sunglasses resting atop her head.

Like a deer caught in headlights, I freeze. My eyes widened and I feel my soul leave my person.

That’s...

Candace.

Of all people. Really? Now!?

I thought I lost her in New York but she so happened to walk into the right place to catch right back up.

This isn’t a coincidence.

I drop my notepad on the new stack of books and stealthily, and quickly, begin to make my way to the back room. I don’t want her to spot me, I CAN’T have her spot me.

But to my luck, an older woman grabs my sleeve and pulls be right back into the open.

“Sir— Could you help me?” She asks as sweetly as any other older woman in a hand-knitted sweater.

My heart is hammering in my chest and my ribs feel bruised, but I say yes. If I play it cool, she might’ve not spotted me yet.

The woman holding my sleeve continues to talk. She mentions a particular book she’s looking for, one I hadn’t yet brought out of storage. But honestly? I’d rather she get the book early than stay out here any longer, so I kindly tell her to wait.

Out the corner of my eye, I notice Candace easily start a conversation with Forty. I’m anxious, very nervous, but I make my way to the back room regardless.

As I take my time looking through a box, I find a familiar book perched on the rack. It’s coloured a sickly yellow with the title “The Sign of Four” printed at the top. It was the book you had requested for me to order— or more specifically the book I had offered to special order for you.

I hesitate to take it, but I tell myself it’ll be a good gift to hand to you. Maybe it’ll brighten your spirit.

Before reluctantly leaving the room, I snatch a copy of the book the old woman was looking for.

I tried to take my time on my way out of storage. I really don’t need this right now— I really don’t need Candace. At this very moment, she is nothing but a thorn in my side. She’s, like, obsessed with me or something.

I peek my head around the corner and observe the scene. Candace is nowhere in sight, I think. And so is Forty. They’re both missing, to my not-so-immediate relief.

I’m still tense, ringing up the old woman and giving her early access to the book she had requested. This’ll get me in trouble, but I can’t imagine thinking straight at this very moment.

#joe goldberg #joe goldberg x reader #love quinn x reader #love Quinn #forty quinn x reader #forty quinn #fanfiction #fanfic #you #yandere x reader #yandere

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holyjareau · 4 years ago

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imo, the show was often unilaterally focused on Piper, but only on what she could do for others (Piper the wife and Piper the mother) rather than who she was as a person. Piper's individual characterization was lost sometime around s5 as soon as she got pregnant, and being a mother and wife pretty much became her sole defining characteristic for the rest of the series. I would be very interested to hear what you define as Piper's mental issues/trauma, bc as you say it doesn't get said enough

this has been in my inbox forever and i’m just getting around to it so my apologies.

but okay. so. yes. i think a lot of tv shows fall into this weird place where like. all of their characters begin with these kinda vague personalities because you’re just getting to know them. and as the show goes on, you pick up more pieces and stuff . and that’s great. that’s interesting and entertaining and it takes you on a journey and all. but often what happens is many shows fall into this pit where writers either get lazy, they change, or whatever, and the actors are tired of playing the part or whatever . and like. the characters become like. caricatures of themselves. and it just gets exhausting to watch because they’re not like. real people anymore.

Piper's individual characterization

so now for the charmed thing. so from the beginning. i have loved piper. like she’s the middle sister, overlooked, quiet, reserved, pessimistic but also realistic, gentle, thoughtful, all that. we see right away that she loves to cook .. she’s so happy her family is back together. she kept in touch with phoebe behind prue’s back. but she’s loyal to the both of them. her first idea was to have a reunion dinner when phoebe came home. she’s literally so cute n she deserves a hug. but no like. as we go on, we see that she wants to be good, she wants a stable life with no more loss, she Loves Love !! like. she wants to just be happy , open her own restaurant n just cook. she’s also so shy .. definitely panicky and anxious. and she doesn’t trust herself. she’s skeptical of everything, and she’s very thoughtful when it comes to big situations. even in the early days with leo and into season 2, she mentioned a few things about like “i’ve been thinking a lot about this...” and you can see she’s good at communicating with people. she’s also got these other dimensions to her like . she is interested in lots of cuisine types, she loves to read (and is a camus fan !!) , she drives a jeep (which i wanna know how she got bc i have questions), when she found out she was a witch her first thought was just . i need to go and see if i am still a good person . and she went to church. prue was surprised to learn that piper enjoys knitting. in the early seasons (especially mid-late season 3) we saw her with her plants and all. she’s just this natural peacekeeper. but like. we literally got a crying scene in the second episode because she was so conflicted about this. and she’s such a deep and complex character that i fell in love with so fast . and like . literally my favourite fictional character to exist . genuinely holly breathed so much life into piper . anyway . so. here’s the thing.

being a mother and wife pretty much became her sole defining characteristic for the rest of the series

like. piper was who i described above. and like . i kinda think . a bit. that like . the writers . especially in s4 . were like . hmm well . she’s just lost prue, she’s gonna be grieving . and like we need more for her. so. she’s been married to leo for the better part of a year, been with him for like . 3 years. so. let’s maybe consider giving them a kid but not just yet . just Content kinda stuff. so anyway they drop little hints in here and there starting in like . 4x07 i think? which . brain drain really paid the rent . fully just. holly did so well. but like. that ep was just. a neat way of looking into her mind and seeing the horrors of manipulation and gaslighting and everything . and of course holly knocked it out of the park. but at that point, they were kinda like . hmm . kids ? and they started toying with the idea, having piper and leo consider it, talk about it, they had paige and phoebe ask about it , all of that good stuff. as you do. made for some funny tv at some points. and like . i really, really Get It . when piper’s like . ahh the baby wouldn’t be safe around here !!!! like. Girl, Valid . your sister just died and like . you went on forever about how she was The Most Powerful One . The Strongest One . and yet she still died . so she’s like ??? am i next ?? and like obv it doesn’t make sense for her to jump on this train of like . i’m gonna have a kid !!!! so she’s really valid in her thought process there. and like. after having wyatt . i think the writers really . idk. couldn’t do waaay too much with her character anymore because i feel like . to an extent, anything she does will be scrutinized bc i’m not just . saying this . i rlly feel like sometimes piper’s the easiest to hate. like idk why but i loved her. but anyway. if she stays at home with wyatt and doesn’t wanna fight demons n all . then she’s selfish towards her sisters n she’s awful n prue wouldn’t have let her do that !!!! etc . but if she fought demons it’s like . uh sweetie you have a child . really ??? why put yourself in a situation that might have you ending up like patty 2.0 ... bc i could do a Whole post on how patty’s situation messed piper up the most. but anyway.

it’s the way i’m fully rambling so if you’re reading this . i love you . anyway okay . so . i think in a tv show you’ve gotta kinda check boxes. the best tv shows have characters you see yourself in . you relate to them. you hear them and understand their decisions and actions and thoughts. the things they do just makes sense 2 you. so like. with prue, anyone married to their job could relate to her. any oldest sibling could see themselves in her, you know ? she was hard-working, committed, logical, protective. and with phoebe, anyone who couldn’t “settle down” in their early 20s related 2 her, anyone who felt like the outcast of the family, the “screw-up” .. right. makes sense. she was so kind, caring, had-your-back kinda girl. we all love those. paige was like . the new kid, trying to fit in, creative, curious, and definitely a lifelong learner. and then there’s piper who was shy, resistant, really just wanted to be normal. and loved. and i think everyone could kinda identify with at least one of the sisters regardless of where you stood in your own family. so as the show went on, it’s like . they still want you to keep watching and keep being able to identify with them because it’s not like they’re humans with normal lives so they’ve already kinda lowkey got that going against them . so their more “human” and normal lives... we’ve gotta be able to identify with them to be able to invest time. so they had prue always working, having trouble balancing love and work, looking out for her family. we had phoebe kinda living her life, getting her career going, then kinda wanting a family. we had paige learning magic and being super interested and involved and then getting married. and we had piper who had her career pretty early on, got married, and had kids. like. i think the big thing is the marriage and kids. and when you’re a mother . the only mother really in the show, the show lowkey centres around you . like. for starters, the show usually is in the manor, and if you’re a mother, you’re very likely at home, esp with young kids. so i think that alone kinda was like . huh yeah . won’t see piper out waaay too much anymore i guess !!! but no like . there’s That. that’s kinda. the thing that really can’t change with the show . like. piper’s got kids now and a husband and very, very likely . her life will be centred around her home. which. listen she’s wanted that i think - the stability . she’s wanted that forever. and this is the form it came in. but i should stop rambling here and cut to the point .

Piper's mental issues/trauma

disclaimer: i’m not diagnosing her, i’m just speculating based off of my own experiences with mental health

so. okay. very early on. we saw that anxiety. like. yes . she was nervous about like a whole new life experience . or whatever we’re gonna call it when you figure out you’re a witch . but like she was Anxious . like. crying in the attic over being a bad person . needing phoebe to talk her down by telling her she’s such a caring person, she’s always doing things for other people . and then there’s the whole anxiety that comes with. my family’s falling apart because my sisters are fighting so i use really awkward methods of getting out of things . like using humour as a coping mechanism !!! which. gave us some iconic one-liners. but that’s beside the point . anyway. point is. early on, that anxiety was there. there’s an ep in season 1 where she’s literally entering a panic attack in her kitchen and phoebe’s using a menu to cool her down. like. Yikes! and then she’s just. her awkward self around everyone but that’s endearing and is just part of her personality . and i think a lot of the anxiety stemmed from childhood. we heard a few times about how prue and phoebe had boyfriends growing up, were always pretty and popular and all. phoebe was popular, too, just, in the other crowd. but nonetheless, piper faded into the background, doing well in math - well enough to go off and be a banker . and like. she sacrificed a lot for grams. she stayed in san francisco ... we all know the girl had the marks for stanford or something . like. though . still, i think she liked the stability of home and prob would’ve stayed . but in 3x17 she’s all !!! grams !!! the doctor said no caffeine !!! and when grams was taking the pic of them outside and she had an episode , piper was all !!!! shallow breaths !!! like. it was clear piper was the one taking her to the appointments and footing the bill. like. she literally became a banker just bc it had benefits n stuff. like. poor girl really thought . anyway that’s a whole spiral. but no. like she really sacrificed The Most for her family and everyone still thought she was selfish for wanting to move out . when like back then grams was literally ... sick ... and prue was out here moving out and phoebe was nowhere to be found . so. that . definitely would have added to her anxiety about even wanting to do anything for herself because she’ll be perceived as selfish in a heartbeat. even if it’s not Mean . it’s just. she’d never risk it. but there’s the anxiety. there are a few lil things here n there about how she gets nervous n stuff, she represses things (3x07 i think was where phoebe said piper represses her anger n just sucks it up n does whatever) . she literally cancelled her doctor’s appointment Twice . anyway. it still angers me. then in season 7 . patty and victor were like . oh she had night terrors that were so bad we took her to the doctor ! and i just ... honey . baby. she thought she caused the divorce. at 4? 5? she watched victor leave on her 5th birthday, watched a demon attack her, grams, and victor. prue said she didn’t cry at patty’s funeral and i’ll make a safe bet that piper did. and i think growing up without patty was strange for sure. prue had more memories and phoebe had none. and piper had fragments of this person everyone loved . and she was stuck between knowing her and not knowing her. and when patty was sent to her for her wedding day, (as well as in 1x17) . both times when patty hugged them . prue and phoebe hugged her, eyes closed n all. while piper was on the outside, eyes open . looking numb as all hell . and you know. i rlly think she was Giving Them That because phoebe didn’t get her and prue kinda . in a way. lost more of her . if that makes sense ?? and i just. patty really was like . they sent me to You. and 5 seconds later . piper’s like . they sent mom to Us !!! and it’s that idea of sacrifice and never having anything for yourself because she was never just . given anything for herself . everything in her life has been a sacrifice and as a mother, that’s perpetuated. she can assume that role with more of a purpose . like. people won’t really feel sorry for her now as the “forgotten” sister, they won’t try and coddle her or anything. and another thing. control. piper craved stability and control. i think while cooking was something she loved, it also gave her a lot of control . she could control her whole kitchen . even in season 8 .. maybe vaya con leos actually . leo mentioned how much piper craves control. and the control motif makes sense with her powers too. like. piper craved control so much that her powers allowed her to control things down to the atom. so there’s the whole anxiety and needing to control things to ease her anxiety and all. there’s That whole thing.

and then we get to the infamous season 5 fearless spell . ms girl really sat in the attic just writing everything on the wall and it’s the way i screenshotted it and like . zoomed in and tried deciphering it . and like . there’s words like “stop” and i think “sister” is in there a few times, so is “loss” or “lost”. when i watch it next i’ll grab a cap because it’s . disturbing. girl was so scared . literally was writing a spell to get rid of her fears . she also writes Fear . as in. capital F . and like. yeah that’s deep but i do it too like i emphasize words with a capital letter . and like holly marie combs might just have quirky n fun writing but like ... capital F . for Fear. for real . that’s . trauma !!! and she also was having panic attacks at the beginning of season 5. let’s not forget those. which ... we should’ve gotten more of an explanation for . i hope that girl is getting help bc she was Going Through It . and in season 7 when zankou reads her diary . firstly. we Knew this girl kept a diary like . for Sure . she did. and just that little excerpt of when prue died . oops. i’d pay big money to see the rest because again i just think she’s got such a complex mind and like. i’d be so interested to read that. and i think everything re: prue is just Awful for her. like . idk if this is just something quirky i noticed but obv we know prue died in may 2001 . but at the end of 4x03, when piper goes 2 paige’s work 2 bring her muffins !! soft !!! the calendar on one of the desks reads july 2001 ... and i really just. ms girl. i Know they prob just filmed the ep in july but it honestly tracks that she’d be so awfully upset about everything and just . barely able to do anything but cook . for 2 months. like. honey. baby. i wanted 2 just cuddle her bc she was so sad. and like. she tells paige she’s having “good hours” and “not so good hours” . she’s going by the Hour . by the Hour . just. need i say more . i’m so . but no like. if anything like i could see her having like . depression where she’s high-functioning and like just . walking depression i guess ?? like . not even after prue. i think in general. like . she definitely has a melancholic temperament and a type 6 enneagram (the skeptic). that’s For Sure . but i think. just. she’s always just had time to think bc she’s always alone, reading, knitting, cooking, tending to her plants, all that. and i just . think. she has issues. and i think prue knew that. of all people. and i think her knowing that . and then dying. destroyed piper. she lost the last person that was truly a constant in her life . like they shared a roof over their heads forever. and then she was just . gone . and piper was suddenly left to pick up the pieces . and become the oldest sister . and i’m So glad she didn’t fully assume her personality. i’m glad she stayed as piper . just. she’s more cynical and snarky and defensive and cold and that’s okay. she’s hurting. she’s always gonna hurt . and i think it makes her human . she’s pessimistic and sad and has a short fuse at times . but just. again. i love her to bits and i think those issues make her more relatable for me. because while many like to say she became selfish and a negative person and just . awful to be around . i’d say the opposite . i won’t sit and apologize or justify things. also i don’t think piper’s done anything wrong . i just think she’s hurt. she’s been wronged so many times. and she’s .... scared. i think she’s scared . and in season 5 “sympathy for the demon” we learn her true biggest fear is her happiness being stolen away. and like . it’s not that she’s scared she won’t be happy. she’s scared all of the good she’s got will be taken from her . and that’s . terrifying . so . i see why she’s so snarky and bitter and tired and all . she’s terrified of things being taken from her like they have been her whole life. and as i watch the show i really like to just keep that in mind as i get further and further in because yes. she did become a mother and a wife and we saw her arguing with leo a lot and their marriage falling apart and That Whole Era . we saw how it kind of took over her life but i think it happens . i think she even said at one point . i’ve been so many things to so many people, i don’t know who i am anymore . and i think it sums her up perfectly. she doesn’t know who she is because she’s someone to everyone . she’s just. nobody to herself except this scared little girl who just wants Something . Anything . to make sense . some Stability . and her babies, her husband, and her sisters . are all she has for that idea of stability to make sense in her mind. and it was an easy hole to fall into - the Mother - but i think she jumped in. because at the Very Least . nobody could take that title away from her . regardless of how hard they tried .

#i really cannot believe i did an entire ted talk #like did anyone actually read this #if you did . wow #piper halliwell deserved better #tw: mental health #tw: depression #tw: anxiety #tw: panic attack #but no listen #she deserved so much better #holly paid rent #ask me #charmed #ramble #💌

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jadethest0ne · 4 years ago

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In need of Refueling, Chapter 6 - Back-up

Summary: “You?! Why would I trust you? You have brought me nothing but failure. Time and time again; nothing but disappointment!”

His father’s words might have been a result of his possession by the White Bone Spirit, but whether or not they were his true thoughts, Red Son vows to prove them wrong. To do so he seeks to attain a power strong enough to destroy his father’s immortal enemy. After all, he’d much rather throw fire at his problems.

Word Count: 1548

Ratings/Warnings: Teen and up; injury, burns, angst and hurt/comfort, toxic thoughts caused by toxic parents, Panic Attacks (this one was just added)

Notes: I'm not sure if it was clear or obvious, but I'm writing this story as if this is all the characters' first in-person encounter with The True Fire of Samadhi - including Wukong. I know many people include The Fire in his backstory, but I'm creating a kind of canon-divergent timeline for this story - both for LMK and JTTW. At the very least, I'm keeping Wukong's backstory ambiguous since we don't know much about how LMK will interpret it.

Credits: Big thanks to @painted-arachnid and @simplyfornardo for helping me bounce ideas off of them. And also thanks to @lemonsqueazie for providing me with “Journey to the West” lore. I don’t know much about the original novel or other iterations, but I still tried to keep some things compliant with the lore. You should check all of them out, since they’re really great content creators with neat ideas!

Read on AO3

———-

MK sees the fire begin to consume the Monkey King. He tries to say something to his mentor. Plead. Shout. Anything. But no words come out. His breath is knocked out of him as Monkey King does some weird motion with his arms, and suddenly MK is thrown through the air at a rapid speed. There’s a ringing in his ears and he feels wetness on his cheeks. The ringing becomes louder, until he realizes that it is his own voice yelling. Another voice breaks through the noise.

“Kid!”

Monkey King? MK thinks; hopeful.

“Kid!” the voice repeats. “MK!”

MK blinks the tears out of his eyes and sees a pink chubby snout cross his vision.

“...Pigsy?”

The noodle shop owner breathes a sigh of relief, but his face is still shadowed with deep concern. “MK! Are you okay?! What happened?!”

Mr. Tang’s bespectacled head pops into view. “We found you in a crater in front of the noodle shop. It’s a wonder you are still alive,” he says pushing his glasses up his nose, reflected light blinking off of them.

“Yeah! It was a pretty epic crash!” MK’s heart lightens a bit further, seeing his best friend, Mei join the other two.

But anxiety once again takes hold of his heart. ‘What happened?’ MK leaps out of what he now recognizes as his bed, nearly butting heads with Pigsy, who was hovering closest to him. He wobbles on his feet, head swimming slightly, having gotten up too fast. Pigsy helps steady him, and MK grasps at the pig’s shirt. “Monkey King! He-he’s in trouble! I gotta- I gotta help! He-- Red Son came! DBK has him-- I -- I think- he’s hurt! He tried to protectmeandI I- gotta- I need to go--.” The words spill out too fast. He’s not sure he’s making sense. Everything seems to spin together and it feels like his whole body is buzzing with energy. His breath hitches and he feels like he’s choking--

“Hey there, MK! Slow down. Breathe!” Mei puts both of her hands on either side of his face and gently pulls his head so only she is in view. She places her hands over his ears, filling them with a soft static sound. Her eyebrows are tilted in concern, but her smile and voice are carefree and calm. He focuses on the muffled white noise and on her.

MK takes a couple of fast, hiccupy breaths, before he begins to breathe deeper, and slowly calms down. Mei waits a few beats before taking away her hands and asking, “Can you tell us what happened, but slower this time? We’re here for you, dude!”

MK blinks a couple of times and pulls in a longer, deeper breath before nodding slightly. He wipes away the wetness under his eyes and begins.

“I- I saw Red Son. He- he was going to Flower Fruit Mountain. And he wanted to get to the Monkey King. He-- he had this weird new power. He said he wanted to defeat Monkey King and bring him to DBK.”

“Beat the Monkey King?!” Pigsy gave an incredulous look. “He couldn’t have been serious!”

MK shivers a bit at the memory. “Yeah, but he was different this time! The fire he had was blue, and was really strong. He-- I-- I got in the way, and Monkey King-- I think he got the Monkey King-- Why would he send me away like that if it weren’t serious!” MK’s breaths come quicker, but before he can start hyperventilating, Mr. Tang puts a grounding hand on his shoulder and squeezes slightly to get MK to focus on him.

MK looks to the scholar who has an unreadable expression. He asks cautiously, “Can you describe the power he had? That blue fire?”

“Um…” MK tries to focus on what it was like and not on his last view of it as it swirled around his mentor. “It-- it was blue,” he repeats. “It lit the beach - the water on fire! The Monkey King could ward it off, but not put it out.”

“What was it called? Did it have a name?” the scholar prods.

MK nods as he recalls Red Son shouting a name out loud. “The True Fire of… somebody…?”

“The True Fire of Samadhi?” Mr. Tang prompts.

MK nods more vigorously. “Yeah! That was it!”

“Hmm…” Mr. Tang puts a hand over his mouth, eyebrows knit together. “That actually may be a real problem.”

“How?” Pigsy asks. “The Monkey King’s immortal, ain’t he? And MK said he could repel it. How could fire hurt someone like dat?”

Mr. Tang sighs, lips pursed as he chooses his words carefully. “The True Fire of Samadhi is not a natural fire. Like MK said, it can’t be extinguished by normal methods. And…” He hesitates with his next words, eyes flicking over to MK and back to Pigsy. “And… it’s one of the few things that could potentially cause harm to an immortal like the Monkey King.”

The silence that follows is almost too much. Or maybe there wasn’t silence and MK had just stopped hearing. So he was right. The Monkey King was in trouble and--

“It’s my fault,” MK whispers. He can feel the other three staring at him. He forces his gaze downward. Tears build up and drip at his feet. “It’s my fault!” he says more loudly. “I let Red Son trick me into leading him there! I distracted Monkey King! I got in the way, and he- he took a hit for me! If it weren’t for me then-”

“Then Red Son would’ve found another way to get to him,” a gruff voice finishes sternly.

MK looks up to Pigsy, tears still dripping. “But- but I got in the way. If I hadn’t been there, if it hadn’t been for me-”

“Then we wouldn’t have this information to help the Monkey King now.” Pigsy again, does not let him finish that train of thought. He gives MK a determined but gentle gaze. “It is NOT your fault MK. And we ARE gonna do somethin’ about this! Together!”

“Right!” Mei chimes in, wrapping an arm lightly around MK’s upper back, not quite grasping, but letting him know it’s there. “If the Monkey King is in trouble, we’re going to help him get out of trouble!”

“Tang, you got any more info on dat fire?” Pigsy turns to the scholar.

“I’ll have to dig out some old books and scrolls, but I’m sure I do,” Mr.Tang affirms.

“Good! We can also get some back-up from Sandy.” Pigsy turns to Mei. “Mei, you stay here with MK, while we get the big guy!”

Mei nods in response.

MK’s nerves settle a bit at the support from his friends, but a pit of fear still bubbles in his stomach. “I can’t let you guys do that! What if the fire gets you, too! I have to--”

“YOU will stay here,” Pigsy points a stern finger at MK, “and wait until we get back. We’ll go together to DBK’s lair.”

MK shrinks a bit under the intense glare of his boss. But Pigsy’s face and voice soften. “We’re not gonna let you do this alone. And I am not gonna let you get hurt by that fire either. Okay?”

MK’s shoulders sag in defeat, but he nods.

“Good! Now sit here until we get back,” Pigsy says, guiding him to sit back on the bed, before leaving with Mr. Tang.

It’s difficult for MK to just stay there and sit down. His body still feels like it is buzzing. He needs to move, to do something. As he watches his two pseudo-caretakers leave, he only becomes more anxious; not only with the worry from before, but with the dread of waiting. The energy bubbles up and he squeezes the edge of his bed with enough strength to cause the wood to crack. But he pays no mind to that. The Monkey King could be in DBK’s clutches already. He needs to go. Now! Seconds before he feels as if he’s going to literally shoot out of his seat, the mattress shifts as the weight of his friend sitting next to him is lifted.

“What are you doing?” MK asks the girl.

Mei simply strolls over to the window, opens it, and puts one foot on the ledge leading out to the fire escape.

“You are obviously going to go after him on your own. So I’m coming with. Duh!” She looks at him like it’s the clearest thing in the world. Which, to be honest, it is.

“I can’t let you do that,” MK attempts, but he knows it is a losing battle.

Mei knows this, too and gives him a smirk. “Come on. Either I make sure you stay here like Pigsy says, or I’m coming with you. And since you’re going to go either way, I’m definitely not leaving your side. Ever.” Mei hardens her gaze, all the while keeping a playful smile around her lips.

MK can’t help but smile back. “All right, let’s do this.” He gets up off of the bed and joins her by the window.

“Together!” Mei holds up a hand.

MK grasps it in his own. “Together!”

They both leap out of the window.

start || <– previous // next –>

#lmk #lego monkie kid #red son #mk #in need of refueling #pigsy #tang #mei #panic attacks #jadethest0ne #jadethestone #fanfiction #my writing

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joonkorre · 4 years ago

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its crazy late but

@drarrymicrofic prompt: blanket fort

(there’s no plot. none. just dudes being guys, guys being pals)

(caution: not very micro, more like a one shot. a whole lot of anecdotes. i’m writing this under a blanket with snow beating at my window, so of course this has to be very soft and warm. you have been warned)

“Hello?” Harry says into the dark. He’s just gotten home and instead of seeing the familiar orange hue of their beetle-shaped lamp (a gift from Luna, of course), there’s a single sliver of moonlight slipping through the curtains. Nothing else seems to exist in the living room but the echo of Harry’s greeting. Tangerine and sage drift into his nose, followed by the bitter tang of smoke. The scent of Draco’s favorite candle, newly extinguished.

Draco just left. Discovered a breakthrough in his research and fled to the Ministry lab, maybe.

Harry sighs. Unlaces his boots and hangs up his coat absentmindedly only for it to crumple onto the floor. Another sigh. He bends and retrieves it, deciding instead to throw it in the laundry bin. Might as well; he’s been trudging around in Dayhound mucus for hours and neither his dragonhide boots nor coat were spared.

Walking into the kitchen, Harry grabs a glass from the drying rack and pours himself water from the pitcher in the fridge. It’s ridiculous how a simple act like this can drain his energy so, but it does. Curse breaking isn’t a walk in the park; even walking hurts, considering the amount of magic he expends on shite like a 500-year-old wailing locket on a day to day basis. Exposure to different kinds of magic - dark, Old Magick, elemental, countlessly and endlessly more- for 8 hours straight more often than not result in a fierce ringing in his temples and pinpricks on his skin.

After years of doing it, he can scarcely tolerate one Portkey trip from wherever he’s assigned to back to the main headquarter before getting uncontrollable shivers. Another 30 minutes on the metro, then a 10-minute walk home. In addition, Harry has to sleep for at least 8 hours every night to replenish his energy. Morning comes, he wakes up, Apparates to the headquarter, and the cycle continues.

Why does he even stick with curse breaking at this point? Right, a wry grin graces Harry’s lips, Draco thinks the uniform is hot. Oh, and can’t forget the job benefits, insurance, whole nine yards.

With the glass now rinsed and settled once more on the drying rack, Harry drags his feet to the bedroom. The clock - an antique Draco stole from his cheating ex - hits 7:18 PM, but getting ready to go to sleep sure sounds like a decent idea. Harry palms the back of his aching neck and winces. He’d go shower, scrub the dirt and tension off his limbs, and maybe heat up the leftovers from two days-

“There you are. I was wondering how much longer drinking water could take.”

Harry looks up from his slippered feet to see Draco. Or, more specifically, Draco’s silhouette. Behind some kind of white cloth. A white cloth that’s conveniently placed where the focus of the bedroom should’ve been.

The relief at seeing his husband evaporates.

“What,” Harry says, “where’s our bed.”

Draco’s silhouette crawls to the opening of the cloth… tent-shaped thing. Pewter grey eyes peer at him behind strands of near-platinum blonde, its icy color soothed by the orange tint of… ah, so he’s brought the bug lamp in here. Neat.

“I,” Draco answers. Pauses. “Might have brought it somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else.”

“Yes.”

Harry shakes his head. An exasperated chuckle escapes his lips.

“Is ‘somewhere else’ the recycling center?”

“Why,” Draco flops down on the floor, appearing tired of holding himself up on his elbows for more than 10 seconds. It’s peculiar to see, the gesture a bit ungraceful for someone like him. Harry is helplessly in love amused. “Do my ears deceive me? Am I being confronted, cornered, accosted for being a good husband? Were the 5 minutes it took to Shrink and Levitate the wretched old thing away from our safe haven worth your condescension, dear lover?”

“I guess I did say I hate-”

“Correct!”

“-the headboard. Nothing but the headboard. Yesterday. While I’m half asleep. Baby.”

“Oh, pish posh, I hate it too! In fact, I’m doing us both a favor disposing of the entire thing altogether.”

“God, however can I thank you? I mean, you did rid us of our bed where we sleep on.”

“You can thank me by taking off those horrid gears faster and come here,” with that, Draco crawls back to where he was sitting before.

“You love these gears,” Harry says, hanging his harnesses and tool belt in the closet and walking into the bathroom for a quick shower, “you love them against your ba-”

“Put a lock on that filthy mouth, Potter, what will the Daily Prophet think?” Draco’s yell almost drowns out the shower spray. Harry laughs, his stomach hurting for the right reason at last.

When he re-enters the bedroom, Draco is leaning out from the tent thing.

“Come, get in, get in,” he beckons with a hasty wave.

Harry points to his wet hair with the hand holding his towel. Draco clicks his tongue and waves his hand more aggressively.

His husband’s level of theatrics is directly proportional to how slow Harry is at doing what he says, so he nods, fondness overflowing, and obeys.

“What’s all this?” He crouches and crawls in, eyeing the collection of pillows and quilts surrounding Draco and what would be Harry’s seat. It seems that he had also lugged in the chairs from their dining room to provide some structural support for the tent.

“A blanket fort, lover,” Draco says, his gaze tender. Harry’s finger tips tingle with every touch of cotton, linen, silk, as he gets situated. It’s been years and years and years and years, and Harry can never get used to, can never take for granted, the weight of his husband’s undivided attention.

“Huh,” he says, sitting down with an ‘oof’, “isn’t this for kids?”

“A blanket fort is a blanket fort,” Draco takes the towel from Harry’s arm and puts the throw pillow Ron knitted in his lap. He hits a button on the laptop in front of them, and Harry’s favorite jazz collection plays. He blinks. He thought Draco would play his questionable atmospheric-white-noise-POV-you’re-having-tea-in-a-gothic-vampire-library playlist, the weirdo.

Velvety smooth sax flows through the air. Harry exhales, easy and content, and lets Draco tilt his head. He towels Harry’s hair, massaging unhurried circles on his scalp and varying the degree of pressure. In no time, his head lolls forward, eyes closed, chin a breath away from his well-worn shirt. A slender, pale hand cups his cheek and holds his head up and steady. Meanwhile, the hand’s owner leans out of the blanket fort to get something.

“Ow.” A grunt. Harry smiles; most likely a cramp from all the leaning.

Then, his husband reseats himself, this time with a smell. A mouth-watering, delicious smell, tickling the back of Harry’s nose. He opens his eyes to see Draco lifting off the lid of a ceramic bowl perched on a tray, steam floating out and fogging Harry’s glasses. It’s purple yam soup, topped with chopped up shrimp and ground beef.

“Your usual order from the Viet place nearby whenever Pepper-up isn’t sufficient,” Draco murmurs, placing a spoon in Harry’s hand, his words warm against Harry’s temple. Huh, he didn’t think Draco would notice. “You said today you’d deal with those disgusting booby traps you showed me, thus I reckoned I should put the yams on our counter into good use.”

Harry stares at the soup, stunned. Draco must have taken his expression as something else.

“Oh, right,” he says, “I heated it up on the stove, but you were taking atrociously long so I casted a Heating charm. Let me take it off, okay?”

Draco flicks his hawthorn wand, a hand squeezing Harry’s shoulder as if he could see the prickling running up Harry’s nape.

He turns to look at his husband. When Harry’s career was starting to take its toll on his magical core, Draco didn’t hesitate to dive headfirst into Muggle living. Easier said than done, and it took months for him to stop frowning at the “absolutely bizarre, Potter, bizarre” appliances, but he got there in the end. Despite his constant bitching about everything, Draco not once raised a word about the drastic switch, effortlessly guiding Narcissa to gossip about the Albescu clan’s abhorrent matriarch when she asks about how he’s faring.

“Gosh, I,” Harry says. Mumbles, really, into Draco’s collarbone, filling his brain with the woodsy aroma of potion making that no amount of expensive body products can mask, “that’s lovely, baby, thank you.”

“Eat,” Draco says, rubbing his chin on the top of Harry still-damp hair and messaging his tense neck. Harry knows he’s breathing him in too. “Or I’ll have to heat it up in the kitchen again, and forgive me but I’d rather stay here for the next 12 hours, at least.”

“Lazy arse.”

Draco laughs, a momentary rumble of his chest, then moves forward to click something on the laptop. Harry’s on his fifth spoonful of pure comfort when the jazz music stops, and on the blank wall opposite from their blanket fort is the title card of a movie. Strange, Harry didn’t even notice the mini projector. He squints.

“Why is there Korean subtitles?”

“Lover,” Draco tosses a napkin at Harry’s crossed legs, “what is watching movies online without the occasional bout of piracy?”

“Pira- piracy,” Harry chokes, the hot soup stinging his palate, “we have a Netflix subscription.”

“You can’t find shite like this on Netflix.”

“Of course we can. Baby, we don’t know anyone who’s good at computer stuff and can deal with the viruses.”

“There’s no virus here, I checked.”

“How,” Harry stresses, “and again, piracy.”

“Sometimes,” Draco says, lowering the speaker volume, “not doing crimes… is worse.”

“What the fuck,” the main character, a square-faced woman with a python around her neck, has a monologue in a completely different language. “What the fuck? Is that Italian?”

“Yes, but I’m French.”

“And?”

“And they’re both Romance languages. I can understand certain words and translate it for you.”

No, he can’t.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Keep eating,” Draco settles amid the pillows, long hair settled on his satin-clad chest, white against emerald. Harry sneers at him - an unfortunate habit he’s gotten from Draco - and turns to watch the movie.

True to his words, Draco translates every dialogue and mimics the characters’ voices with zeal, contradicting his stoic expression and somber, interlaced hands, looking like a cranky judge having to deal with reckless teenagers on their anti-authority phase. Harry can tell that he doesn’t understand a thing, and soon enough he’s woven a story about how the thriller-mystery they’re watching is actually a vicious custody battle over a duck. For each of Harry’s occasional snicker at the absurdity Draco has thought up is a playful kick at his ribs.

Minutes pass. With Harry’s bowl now emptied, he puts it on a chair and goes to wash up.

The moment he sits back down, Draco’s big toe pokes at his spine. Getting the memo, Harry grins and reclines on the pillows. His left side is flushed against Draco’s right, the kinks in his neck eased off from the angle. They, as per usual, gradually get closer to one another, and at some point, Draco lays his head on Harry’s chest and ear on his beating heart. It’s calming to him, Draco had said when Harry asked, on the third night of their honeymoon. With the war long behind them, there was nothing to fear. Only the constellations existed as their witnesses.

“You died, Harry,” he had whispered, full and tipsy. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen, despite all the shite I made you go through.

“You were so far away in Hagrid’s arms, I couldn’t see your face,” the night had been blinding, but his eyes had found Draco’s anyway. “It felt like my heart died with you.”

Harry had kissed his forehead and hugged him close. His heart had always been there for Draco to take.

“What’s up with the blanket fort?”

He has a lapful of Draco, a lungful of peach and cedar scented shampoo, and the sleepy timbre of his husband’s voice against his chest. The Italian movie is the last thing on Harry’s mind.

“I wasn’t aware of its existence growing up,” Draco says. “Having anything other than an immaculate bed when one wasn’t sleeping was uncouth, see, so you could imagine my surprise when Teddy demanded to play in something as messy as a fort so often.”

Harry doesn’t need to imagine it; he had witnessed it himself. Draco, freshly released from a two-year sentence in Azkaban, mellowed and tentative, yet determined to reconnect with his mother’s sister and his nephew. Harry had been wary too, standing in the corner of Teddy’s bedroom, staring at the fuzz of blonde on Draco’s shorn head and his weak gait. Teddy, the darling boy with his clumsy hold on Draco’s thigh, afraid that the haggard man would trip without help, had led him to his play area.

“Fort, fort,” the boy had screamed in Draco’s ear, but he hadn’t flinched. He had nodded and gone along with Teddy’s babbled directions, then sat back on his heels and fixed a wide-eyed stare at the monstrosity Teddy had called a fort (his designing skills were, unsurprisingly, underdeveloped at the mere age of two).

Swiveling his head, he had gawked at Harry, who had still been standing in the corner with his arms crossed, confusion and hysteria in the arch of his aristocratic brows.

It had been the first time he had looked at Harry in the eye for years. In seconds, it was 6th Year all over again, with him watching Draco pushing his food around with a fork from across the room, unable to look away. Obsession, a voice unlike Hermione’s helpfully defined, had slithered up and under his skin. It had remained there for years, stubborn and ardent, an emotion he had tried to leave behind time and time again. He’d never succeeded.

It’s Draco, after all.

“He never let anyone but him enter the fort, remember? Back when he’s still making us build it for him?” Draco’s fingers tap a random rhythm on Harry’s stomach. Harry tightens his arm around him, shifts a bit. “So many forts and I still didn’t know what it’s like to be in one.”

Somebody downs a shot in the movie. Harry doesn’t quite register it. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a proper one either until now. Didn’t have enough space in the cupboard. Plus, the hanging around the beds at Hogwarts felt pretty cozy by themselves.”

Draco hums. “Mhmm, I say. Another ‘first’ for us.”

Harry glances at the crown of his head. The man doesn’t sound surprised; Harry wagers that he already knows and decided to make one for the both of them today.

They continue to watch the movie in silence, whites and blues and purples flooding his sight, until Draco yawns and Harry blinks his eyes shut for far too long.

“Baby.”

“Hmm?”

“Sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Where, then? We have no bed.”

“I still maintain that I made the right choice”

“Jesus Christ, you’re so rash for an academic.”

“Well, in my professional opinion, sleeping in a blanket fort every blue moon does wonders for one’s quality of sleep,” Draco gets up on his elbow to smirk at Harry, “we can look at other beds tomorrow, can’t we? Now hush. Rest.”

“Ha,” Harry says, at least 5 more words to follow up on that just on the tip of his tongue. But then Draco runs a gentle hand through Harry’s hair, taking his time with it, the remaining hints of Harry’s migraine from work fading with every curl of hair carefully unknotted. He mumbles this and that, silly, insignificant things, engrossed in his task, and Harry listens carefully as his eyelids lower.

Draco takes off his gold-rimmed glasses (so sweet and soft Harry can barely feel it), cleans them and puts them on a chair. Through half-lidded eyes, Harry watches him cover them both with a quilt and return to Harry’s chest, curling up like a cat. Draco’s arm is around his midriff, peach and cedar pervading his senses anew, and Harry forgets whatever he was going to say.

Cold ankles pressed against bare calves, Harry is already deep asleep when the credits roll.

#drarry #drarrymicrofic #drarry fic #fanfic #harry potter #draco malfoy #blanket fort #oneshot #3k words #draco would be the type to get mushy mushy in private and call harry shit like lover darling my love #harry would say draco baby and babe everywhere #thats it hes uncreative like that #and draco wouldnt even care #both of their love languages are acts of service so draco doesnt need reassuring when he knows harry would burn cities for him #they love each other very ardently that simple gestures communicate entire sonnets #and theyre cool with that #good for them #joonkorre writes

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vanchlo · 5 years ago

Text

Birdy (Green Eyes / 2)

Read the first part, Green Eyes, here! :-)

Blurb Synopsis: After finally meeting the mysterious Mr. Styles you subbed for, you take a job at the same school, right across the hall from him. You’re unsure how much longer you can hide your feelings for him as you’ve grown to become best friends.

Genre: Teacher Harry, fluff, romance, angst, and a little sad.

Warnings: None

Word Count: Nearly 8k words

Pairing: Harry x Reader

Music Inspo: Blackbird by The Beatles (click to listen)

Your desk was covered in Twix wrappers, multicolored gel pens, and empty cans of Coke. The new school year hadn’t even begun, and your desk already looked like a tornado had come by. Not to mention the fact that school started in almost three weeks and you hardly had any classroom books. You kept telling yourself it’s a high school English classroom, not a third-grade classroom. There’s a library down the hall for a reason, but the classroom barren of books drove you nuts. Your desk wasn’t shy to books though, as favorites of Harry had found a home on the dark wood.

Leaves of Grass.

Catcher in the Rye.

The Sun Also Rises.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Walking into your classroom on this sunny morning, the thought makes the smile on your face grow wider. Finally, you can say that you have your own classroom. The sight of the week-old books leaves the smile there on your lips. A laugh dances off of them at the sight of the Roald Dahl book, bringing you back to the memory when you found it there one morning.

You had asked Harry why he included it in the occasional stack of books he loaned to you. He said it’s required reading, because so few people know the movies are based on a book. You’re just wondering when he’s going to slip The Outsiders or Stuart Little under your door next.

The rows of ancient cream desks stare back at you, and you wonder just how you’re going to command a classroom in a few days. Well, seven of them to be exact. Then you try to remind yourself, for the twentieth time, that you’ve done this before. It won’t be so hard, then. Perhaps you’ll even have some past students, and that should help. Right?

You’ve barely gotten a few steps into your classroom, because of the thoughts muddling your mind. Sighing, you slip off your bag to leave on your chair. One that some days you don’t even sit in, because your legs are walking miles around your classroom, setting up. Thumbtacks are scattered across the expanse of your desk, reminding you of the unfinished walls. Before you can think about the posters sitting in the corner, a flash of pink catches your eye. Furrowing your brow, your eyes flit back to the flash of color.

It’s a hot pink Post-It note with messy handwriting in black ink.

Should I get us burgers or subs for the meeting we have today?

PS: You’re officially a teacher now with your own pad of Post-Its ;)

You’re sure that the insane happiness painting your face would look more at home on that of a teenager. Nonetheless, you can’t get rid of it, and you wouldn’t want to. This rings even more true when you see the note is stuck to a copy of Matilda. A warmth blossoms in your chest as you pick it up, running your thumb along the weathered edges. Ones you haven’t touched in ages, it seems. Within seconds you’re stepping into the hallway, thoughts knitting together in your mind. They’re from the love you have deep down for this story, a favorite book, and movie of yours as a child. The elation budding in your mind stops when you find his door closed, just as you had minutes ago. Unable to hide your disappointment, a pout tugs at your lips as you turn around.

“Ya gotta verdict already? Dat was quick,” a voice drawls from behind you. Your pout is a thing of the past, and a grin is making its way to replace it. Spinning around, your summery dress follows your twirling body.

A couple paces away, Harry stands at the top step of the staircase. His trademark brown leather backpack is slung over one shoulder. A black Fleetwood Mac t-shirt hugs his upper half, a black and blue flannel covering his arms. His old skool Vans echo down the hallway as he walks towards you.

“Well, I’ve already read it,” you inform him, observing his content smile turn into a confused one. “A couple of times actually. Once when I was 8, then some other times through the years.”

“Ah, so I got lucky and happened upon a lifetime favourite, have I?” he smirks, only a few steps away now.

“Mmmhmm,” you nod, your growing hair tickling your chin before you move it away. “When are you going to tell me what your favorite book is?”

“When ya finally guess it right,” he quips, stopping in front of you. A dimple falls into his left cheek as he shows off his sparkling teeth. Okay, sir, it is too early in the morning to be looking this attractive.

“I’m going to have to ask you to stop being so chipper when it’s only nine in the morning,” you tell him firmly, but it’s all for show. Poking his chest, your finger just hits pure muscle. Swoon.

“Then maybe wake up, already, birdy,” he chirps, the Raybans in his hair moving when his head goes from side to side. Chuckling, he grabs hold of your finger and tries to bite it, but you pull away in time. The mention of the recent pet name slows you down, but you haven’t gotten bitten yet. “Ya betta not fall asleep in today’s meetin’ like ya did last week.”

“I didn’t fall asleep, I was just resting my eyes!” you exclaim, throwing your hands into the air. His amused giggle greets your ears as he unclips his ring of keys from his blue jeans.

“Yes ya did, ya don’t getta lie t’ me, love,” he responds in between laughs, seemingly finding this more amusing than it really is.

“Oh, so John can fall asleep at meetings, but I can’t?” you ask, your voice raising with laughter and faux annoyance.

You watch Harry pluck his sunglasses from his head as you walk into his dark classroom. The streams of sunlight speckle desks and pictures donning his walls. As you flick on the light, the smell of oranges wafts over you again. The red bowl sat upon his desk filled with the citrus makes you feel at home, albeit his mere presence does that without fail.

“No, ya can’t. Sorry, love. I don’t make tha rules ‘round here.”

“Lame,” you sigh, paging through the book mindlessly as you fall into his new chair. He finally splurged and bought a comfy leather one that you steal every chance you can get.

“Want a Bit-O-Honey, honey?” Harry offers, pulling your eyes away from the familiar pictures. Grinning, you take the wrapped candy from his outstretched hand, trying to ignore the pet name. You find it hard to forget as you half look through the book and half watch him peel off his flannel. A sight, indeed.

“Wait, how’d you put this in my room if the door was locked? The other books you sneaked in when I stepped out,” you ask suddenly, working on the piece of hard candy in your mouth.

“I tol’ Marty tha janitor I forgot sumthin’ in yer room.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice even though his back is to you. A broad one at that. When he turns just the slightest to peek at you, you find crinkles around his glimmering eyes.

“Harry!” you scoff, your jaw falling to your chest, although not quite.

“Oh stop it, ya know ya like it.”

Groaning, you cross your arms over your chest in annoyance, but it doesn’t last very long.

“I don’t like all of these meetings,” you complain, throwing your head back onto the headrest. You flip to a page that makes you smile at the sight of cartoon Matilda.

“Get used t’ it, ‘s one o’ tha big differences between bein’ a sub an’ a salaried teacher. Shoulda just stayed a sub then,” he jokes, driving you to pick up a Bit-O-Honey and throw it at his head. Turning away from the things he’s unloading from his backpack, he whines. “Heeey! Watch dat arm o’ yers, ‘s a scary one. Maybe ya should be teachin’ gym class instead.”

“Sports are ew,” you reply, ducking when he throws it back at you. “Harry Styles, you stop it!” you manage in between giggles, finally closing the book.

“Oh ya, and what’re ya gonna do ‘bout it in t’ose heels, huh?” he teases, his hands leaving the pockets of his oversized backpack. “Ya gonna fly over t’ me, li’l birdy?”

Huffing, you set down the book on his neat desk. Placing his hands on his hips, he turns to you and sticks out his tongue.

“Oh, that’s it! You’re going to get it!” you threaten, standing from the chair as his laughter fills the room.

“‘m soooo scared, boohoo,” he teases with a fake sob, his fists mimicking wiping tears from his cheeks. Snickering, he returns to his backpack. “Go hang up yer posters in yer room and leave me be fer once.”

“You’re no fun,” you proclaim with a final whimper. Grabbing the book, you come up from behind him, softly hitting him with it on the shoulder.

“I warned you,” he retorts. Before you know it, he gently grabs your wrist and pulls you over to stand in front of him.

“Warned me about what?” you jest, a giggle wedging its way into your sentence as you drop the book onto a desk. You know that you’re getting on his nerves now. It’s the only time you’ve heard his teacher voice come out, but hey, you’re not complaining.

His thick eyebrows above those eyes raise, wrinkling his forehead tan from your days at the beach the last few months. Harry pushing you off a rope swing into the water, him bitching about doing all of the paddling during your canoe trip, not so accidentally drenching your back with water from his paddle, and head dunking competitions while swimming. The tan looks far better on him, you think, as you admire the sun-kissed freckles peppering his face.

“I told ya one time dat yer good at pushin’ me buttons, and here ya are doin’ it. I know I shoulda neva told ya dat,” he mutters, the curls atop his head dancing as his head rocks back and forth. The nervous laughter bubbling inside of you finds its escape, and you know that you’ve done it now. “But I guess ya jus’ don’t listen, do ya, bird?”

You can’t stop yourself, and there you are poking his dimple with your finger. This time, you squeal when it finds its way between his nibbling teeth. His name leaves your lips in a near shout which only grows worse as his fingers dance along your ribs.

“Stop, stop!” you cry out, but with no avail. His other arm comes around your middle to trap you with your back against a desk, despite your squirming. His other fingers dig into your sides before finding the soft flesh of your tummy.

“Stop bloody screamin’, yer gonna make e’rybody think ‘m murderin’ ya or sumthin’,” he titters. You almost give in at the sight of his crinkly eyes and the smile stretching across his face.

“And what if I don’t?”

“Then I might jus’ hafta find a way t’ shut ya up, my li’l bird,” he coos from above you, a brunette brow raising.

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really,” he hums, the tips of his fingers ghosting over your side now.

His bubblegum lips relax, falling into a knowing smirk. The laughs disappear from the both of you as his fingers still, resting on your side. The seconds tick by as your heart hammers in your chest, because his face is closer than it was a second ago. You gulp, suddenly finding the gold flecks in his eyes you didn’t know were there. Or the smattering of tiny freckles along his nose. That all becomes a thought of the past when his lips become the only thing you can think about as they near you. “Shall I?” Harry says in a breathy whisper, and you’re nodding even before his last syllable hits the air.

Your skin feels hot and prickly all over as your eyes fall closed, waiting for what happens next. The very thing you’ve dreamed of since that day you dropped the books in front of him. When he took off his shirt at the beach, revealing his toned chest covered in black tattoos. The charisma and kindness he carried at your very first meeting after you were hired, the beginning of you two being joined at the hip.

His lips are soft when he presses them against yours, and warm. He surrounds your lips with his slowly, as excitement rushes through you. A woodsy smell engulfs you when your nose brushes against his prickly cheek. His lips feel like velvet against yours with the slightest taste of Carmex chapstick. You’re sure he can feel the smile hiding on yours as his top lip fits between yours like a puzzle piece. His thin beard you’ve never seen him without tickles at your skin as your lips mold together. You can still feel the tingle on your lips after he’s pulled away. As well as the one that spreads across your body when those green eyes look into yours.

“See, I was right. It did get you t’ shuddup,” he mumbles, the blissed-out smirk on his face covering every inch of his skin. You’ve seen his nervous smiles and everything in between, but you’re certain you’ve never seen that smile before. Not that your face is any better, because right now it’s a competition between whose smile is bigger. It might just be a tie, and you wish there could be a tie-breaker.

“You should do that more often,” you smile, an uneasy laugh bringing an end to your risky words.

“I think ‘d be happy with dat.”

You try to tell yourself you’re glad his hands didn’t stray to your face, because he would’ve felt the heat of your tomato likened cheeks. There’s no use, because you want them there, but on your sides, as they are is better than nothing. It fills your stomach with multitudes of butterflies just to have your hands on each other.

His hands draw shapes into your back when you wrap him in a hug. The fresh smell of his citrus body wash fills your nose, your skin touching the fabric of his shirt.

“Ya gonna get all soft on me now, are ya?” he whispers above you, his cheek against the side of your head.

“Mmmhmm,” is all you can muster as you find yourself dragging the tips of your fingers along his side.

Raising your head to peek up at him, his eyes drop to you. “Good, I like ya dat way,” he murmurs, running his thumb along the roundness of your cheek. His tongue peeks out of his lips, held between his teeth. “Verdict?” he almost laughs, causing the butterflies inside of you to stir.

“I don’t know. I think I might need um, another sample,” you smirk, watching a corner of his mouth meet his cheek.

“Tha’s fair,” he agrees before dipping to plant another kiss to your lips. His lips are even more decadent a second time, and you quickly realize how addicting this could become. You realize it’s the only addiction you’d be okay with having as the tip of his nose caresses your cheek.

Your lips part with a soft smack, much too soon for your liking. “We should prolly get back t’ work,” Harry snickers, his breath against your face sweet from the caramel candy.

“Yeah,” you agree aloud, much to your dismay. “I’d give it an A, by the way.”

“Hmmm,” he thinks aloud, quirking his eyebrows in response.

“A long overdue one.”

“‘d say yer right there,” he echos, pinching your cheek between his fingers. Giggling, you pull away as your laughs mix with each other’s.

“Hey, Harry!” a voice calls, sounding far away.

You separate quickly, like two magnets repelling each other. It saddens you, but when a colleague steps into Harry’s classroom a moment later, you’re met with relief as you grab the book off the desk.

“Hi, Trent. Ya ready t’ see who falls asleep first in t’day’s meetin’?” he quips, stuffing his hands in his pockets, nonchalantly leaning against a desk.

“My money’s on John, for sure,” Trent jokes, pressing his red glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Oh hi, Y/N,” he says, greeting you. You wave with a small ‘hi’ as you stand at the edge of the classroom near the windows uneasily.

“I dunno, my money feels pretty good on her,” Harry teases, pointing a finger at you before winking.

“Whatever. I better go take my nap now that you reminded me,” you return, sauntering out of the room and into the hall.

Out of his presence, the butterflies take flight inside of you. A warmth fills your body all over when you reach the safety of your classroom. Closing the door, you fall against it with happiness jumping from the smile on your lips. Squealing with your hands held to your chest, you soon sigh at the thought of his lips. His lips soon being on yours again, and again, and again.

Exhaling, you step down from the chair and stare at your hard work. Nodding in approval, you straighten the skirt of your patterned mustard dress. The happy face of Anne Frank looks back at you from the enlarged poster of her autobiography. Dragging your feet over to your desk, you plop onto your brown spinny chair, ignoring your heels forgotten on the floor. You bask in the new ambiance of your classroom, feeling the pleasure from the new posters donning your walls.

The Diary of Anne Frank.

Ross from F.R.I.E.N.D.S saying ‘you’re means y-o-u a-r-e.’

The quote, ‘Never forget what you are, the rest of the world will not’ - Tyrion Lannister.

A funny grammar poster that makes you feel like an even bigger English nerd.

Frowning, the last poster in the corner sits there begging to be shown off, but you need help with it. After the events of earlier, you’re nervous to approach Harry. A sweet kind of nervousness, but nonetheless it’s there. Huffing, you grab the edge of the desk to pull you closer. Pressing play, the Queen song crawls from your laptop’s speakers, slowly filling the room. Clicking through your open windows, you finally find the unit plan you’ve been working on.

Voices carry down the hallway outside your door, but you can’t make out what they’re saying. Squinting, as if it will help your hearing, you then tilt your head to look out your half-opened door. Jackson from the nearby history wing walks by, laughing at something somebody said.

“Dis betta not be a bloody heavy desk, Jack,” somebody responds, amusement laced in their voice.

“Hey, I know that voice,” you softly whisper to yourself, your lips curling at its sound.

“You’re the one who agreed to help me! You can’t get out of helping me bring it in now, Harry!”

You hear the melodic sound of his laugh, perhaps one of your favorite sounds. The butterflies return when you let yourself think about getting to hear it as much as you’d like in these walls. 5 days a week for 9 months out of the year- well, something like that.

A couple seconds later, Harry zooms past your door saying, “Get t’ work!” in a mocking deep voice, winking.

“You!” you shout back, giggling to yourself with hot cheeks. You attempt to return your attention to the document open on your screen. It’s difficult, you find, because the thing consuming your mind is how nice Harry’s bum looked in those jeans.

Chatter pecks at your ears as you swivel in your chair, watching your new colleagues converse around the table. Your new boss laughs with somebody standing at the room’s front by the projector screen. Reaching forward, you pluck another carrot from your plate to nibble on nervously. Once again, you pull out your phone to busy yourself, only making you feel guiltier for not mingling. You’ve already said at least a ‘hi’ to everyone in this room already, and you have the rest of your career to get to know them, you tell yourself. Bouncing your leg, your eyes drift to the clock on the wall. Impatience spreads like a hot wave throughout your limbs, bringing your eyes yet again to the back door to the conference room. When is he going to get here, you guess fervently, counting down the minutes until the meeting starts.

A thud! surprises you when a white paper bag lands on the table in front of you.

“Hmm, I didn’t know ya were a jumpa,” a voice snickers, its owner soon coming into view in front of you. Harry. “Why ya lookin’ like a lost puppy, bird?” he coos, pushing out his bottom lip as he pulls out the chair to your right.

“I’m not,” you retort, continuing to scroll through Instagram, stopping when you see a picture of a Goldendoodle puppy.

“Yes, ya do. What, were ya wonderin’ what’d ya do if I didn’t show? Can’t have ya missin’ yer security blanket now,” he teases, poking you in the ribs with a glint in his eye.

“Stop,” you giggle, placing your phone face down on the table. Sitting up and eyeing the food, you pinch his thigh for good measure.

“Hey, watch those fingas, missy. They keep gettin’ ya into trouble lately,” he warns, tsking as his head goes from side to side. Opening the bag, he pulls out a familiar wrapped burger to hand to you.

“Thank you, I’ll pay you back.”

“Shhhh, ya can pay next time. Sound good?” Harry hums, flitting his eyes to you with an eyebrow raise.

You give him his answer with a nod before taking a bite of the cheeseburger. Your boss starts to tell everybody to find a seat so they can begin the meeting. Out of the corner of your eye, Harry sets a packet of fries in front of you. Shooting him a smile, he returns it as he feeds one between his happy lips. Chairs squeak and whine as they’re moved and sat in around the long table. Somebody nudges your foot, and to no surprise, you find it’s Harry. He holds out a covered paper cup, a red straw poking from the top. A ‘thank you’ is held in your smile and he just nods, slipping off his sunglasses to set down. Your attention is stolen by his fingers raking through his curls to put them back in place.

A thought pops into your head unwarranted, and consumes your attention as the principal speaks. I wonder if this means now I get to run my fingers through those curls, you ponder as you grab a fry. At the most inconvenient time possible, your mind starts to dig around. Doubts soon fill your thoughts, along with questions about what this will be with him. You try to push them away and lock them in a box, but they’ve done their job. Any smile left on your lips is gone now, and you continue to eat your burger quietly.

“Ya eat jus’ like a bird with t’ose li’l bites,” Harry whispers, scooting closer to the table to retrieve the packets of ketchup from the bag.

Turning to look at him, he holds a glowing smile in his eyes for you. His shoe knocks into yours and he leaves it sitting on top of yours. Take that, stupid brain, you announce to your thoughts as you affectionately bump your knee against Harry’s.

Reverting your thoughts to the towering figure speaking at the front of the room, a smile buds on your lips at the feeling of Harry rubbing his knee against yours.

Rubbing your hands across your eyes, you feel the breath leave you in a whoosh. Tapping the board with your electronic marker that’s a pen, highlighter, and an eraser in one, you drag it in zig zags. The scribbles on the board disappear in a flash. Suddenly, it falls from your hands when you feel a pair of arms surround your waist.

“Hiya, bird,” a voice says, pressing a kiss to your cheek. Their warm breath tickles the nape of your neck, and so does the collar of their shirt. Spinning around, you find Harry standing there, a pout forming on his face. The adorable Starry Night tie you bought for him hangs loosely over his cornflower blue button-down. “What, why won’t ya lemme hug you?”

“Harry, anybody could walk in,” you insist, prying his arms from your waist. Bending down, you pick up the pen and place it back in its holder with a click.

“All tha students are gone by now, babe. ‘s half past 3, and any dat are around are at practice. Tha last place they’d wanna be ‘s back t’ a classroom afta their first day o’ school,” he murmurs, wedging his way back into your good graces as he pulls you back into his arms. “I wanted t’ see how me birdy’s first day went. Sooooo, wha’s tha verdict?”

“It was good. A little overwhelming, though,” you hum in return, letting your head fall backward to fit against his cheek.

“It ‘s fer e’rybody, love, so don’t worry. It’ll get betta, jus’ hang in there. Tha first month ‘s nothin’, that’s tha honeymoon period befo’ e’rythin’ goes wild.” His lips brush against your cheek with every word, the feeling of his ticklish stubble something you’re not yet used to.

“Harry!” you scoff, turning your head to find his hairy cheeks creased with a devilish smile behind you.

“‘m kiddin’, well not really, but hey, ya got me t’ help ya through it all. Don’t fret, love,” he tries to assure you, brushing the back of his fingers along your side. “What was yer favourite part o’ yer day, hmm?”

“Seeing some familiar students from when I used to sub. It was nice to catch up with them and hear stories,” you reveal, looking down as you cover his hands settled on your tummy with your own.

“Mmm, that’s good. Familiar faces are always nice,” Harry mumbles, the point of his nose dragging along the expanse of your cheek. “Did I tell ya yet ya look really pretty in yer new dress?”

“Yes, you did. About three times, but thank you again.”

“Welcome, bird. I hope no teenage boys are crushin’ on ya now,” he jests, planting a loud kiss on your temple. The remnants of his minty piece of gum cover your face in a silent cloud as he laughs at his own joke.

“Yuck! Oh and like there aren’t dozens of girls fawning over you in your classes?” you chuckle, bringing a whine to his lips when you squirm in his arms. “Put that lip away.”

“Or what? Hmm, what’re ya gonna do ‘bout it? Ya can kiss it away like all tha girls in me classes wanna do, if ya want,” Harry smirks, wiggling his eyebrows at you once you turn around. Lifting a hand from his arm, it lifts to brush back the brown ringlets falling onto his forehead.

“You’re gross sometimes. It makes me wonder how I can kiss that potty mouth.”

“Well ya do, and ya sure seem t’ like it,” he winks, dramatically licking his lips with a loud slurp.

“Stop!” you exclaim, collapsing into laughter, your head returning to his chest. His hands clasp over your back, his thumb brushing your skin through the jade dress you wear. You’re grateful for your face hidden away in his chest for when you feel his lips pepper kisses from your temple to your neck. He leaves your skin tingling from his magical touch, and his growing curls leave a trail down your neck.

“I think dis year’s gonna be a good one,” he coos against your ear, letting his smooth nose brush against its lobe. “I got tha reason right here.”

“Can we do this though?” The words jump from your lips without a chance to catch them and shove them back in their safety.

“Do what, love? Kiss? ‘Course, ya jus’ take yer lips and my lips, and put ‘em togetha’ like dis,” he wisecracks, lifting your head to show you the humor painting his face. Puckering his flushed lips, he closes the space between you to press a peck to your waiting lips. Pulling away, he quirks an eyebrow at you in silent questioning.

“That’s not what I meant, Harry,” you continue, your words falling short of the thoughts buzzing around in your skull.

“Then what’d ya mean?”

“Can we, I don’t know . . ,” you begin, but you lose your footing. Leaving his arms regrettably, you almost lose your footing quite literally when he tries to hold on. A sound leaves his lips at your departure, but you try to ignore it. That’s easier said than done, you realize as you fight with yourself, wondering if you should say that word or not. “Date . . as colleagues?”

They they are, free to the wind. It feels like coming home and your heavy book bag leaving your shoulders, although this time it’s far less trivial. The similarity doesn’t ease your anxious mind as you stop in front of your desk, fingering at the note that greeted you this morning. A pink Post-It note smattered with his sometimes unreadable handwriting, resting on top of a box of novels he gifted to you for your classroom.

To my favorite teacher - I know you’ve been dreading this day for months, and looking forward to it, too. You’re going to do great. They’re going to love you. You’re not going to mess anything up. You got this, bird. Remember that. Take it easy on yourself. Remember, you have to take care of yourself, so then you can take care of them. You’ll learn from each other too. Just keep remembering pizza at the beach with me tonight to celebrate your first day.

Harry xoxooxoxoxo

“‘Course we can, as long as it doesn’t bleed into our work life. What d’ya mean?” Harry says, trying to inject lightheartedness into his words. You both can hear the failed effect they have, and they only make his words sound sadder.

“I don’t know, I don’t want to like, get in trouble, or something. I just started this job.”

“Oh,” is all he mumbles. Mumbled or not, you hear the finality in his one word. As well as all that it says with that single syllable.

Looking over your shoulder at him, you find the confirmation you needed knitting together his features. “Harry,” you say, turning the rest of your body to face him. He takes a step back, and now you know you’ve done it. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Then how’d ya mean it?” he retorts, coolness playing in his voice. He knows he’s done it, too. “Hmmm, bird? Ya only care ‘bout dat part o’ it - if we get caught and what people would think? Only wanna keep me a secret?” His words bite as he spits them into the air. They hit your face with a sting, but nothing compares to how he threw your nickname into the mud. The nickname you love, that happened all because of the first meal you shared together.

“Harry, don’t. You know that’s not what I meant- Y-you’re being ridiculous,” you press, stepping forward. It’s like one step forward and two steps back, because he continues to walk away from you. Quickly, your hands grow shaky as the feeling consumes the rest of your body.

“No, I know what ya meant. Or ‘s there mo’ ya want t’ say? Want t’ say dat ‘Oh, ‘s too risky, so maybe we shouldn’t do dis anymo’, even tho’ it makes us happy,’” Harry persists, his right hand lifting in question, before it falls with a slap to his thigh.

“We never even said what this was,” you try to say, but before you get any further, you know you’re just making it worse. You know that he’ll read into your words incorrectly and assume the worst, despite your true meaning. At the realization, your heart pounds harder in your chest. The look on his face like you just slapped him tells you all you need to know. “Harry, wait.”

“No, yer right. We neva said what dis was, but apparently ‘s nuthin’ worth labelin’ or takin’ risks fer,” he grumbles. His head falls with a spiteful smile, but when it lifts again something shatters in your chest. With wet eyes, he continues in a croaky voice, “Then why’d ya take tha job knowin’ I was mad ‘bout ya?”

Your lips wobble with his name dangling from them. When you try to walk over to him, you’re only two steps in when he holds a hand up. “No, don’t. ‘m glad ya told me early on. ‘m happy I didn’t already start fallin’ fer ya or anythin’. That’d be real shitty, wouldn’t it?” he wheezes, a strange smile tugging at his lips dealing failed sarcasm. Sniffling, a tear falls down his tanned skin and he brushes it away. With a shake of his head, he turns to walk out of the door. You know that you shouldn’t, but you let him, because you know you have to.

Collapsing at your desk, your head falls into your hands. Tears splash into your palms as your chest shakes, wondering just how you turned the best first day into the worst first day.

You know that a note won’t be there, but you continue to wish as your heels clack down the halls of lockers. You know that you’ll see his face no matter how hard you try to avoid him, and that it’ll hurt more than you thought it would. Although you prepared yourself, unlocking the door to your classroom and finding no notes from him hurts more than you suspected. The hurt only stings worse when you pass each other in the halls with your students trailing behind, eyes falling away instantly. The spark in the air is lost when he huffs, passing you on the way to the vending machine in the lounge, leaving as soon as he came. Although the hurt grew as the attacks came and went, nothing could prepare you for the absence of his notes that week. That was an eventuality you had dreaded thinking of since the day you found the first one, back in his classroom.

You tried at the very least, albeit an understatement. Notes dropped into his mailbox went unanswered, as well as texts and phone calls. Even the bag of Bit O Honeys failed at their messages of apology. A few times you thought about trudging into his classroom after the bell rang, and hashing it out. Each time you mustered just enough courage to do so, a staff meeting got in the way. Or, within 5 minutes of the bell, his door was locked and he was gone. Speaking of staff meetings, you suffered even worse at those. No longer was he your security blanket at your side, because he no longer saved you a seat. Slowly, the young and pretty visual arts teacher grew to get on your nerves as you watched her be a little too nice to him. He didn’t entertain her taunts and turn to you with a smirk to rub it in your face. No, he was a good guy, and you had to go and ruin it, or what was becoming of it.

He ignored you - at staff meetings, in the copy room, in the staff lounge, in the halls, when both of your classes were in the library - basically everywhere and anywhere. It was an understatement to say you suffered because of it. You had to buddy up with Jen, the poetry teacher. She took the brunt of your questions, whether technology-related or English related. You became fast friends, but unlike the easiness with Harry, you quickly felt you were a nuisance. That was something he never made you feel like, well, until now that is.

You made the mistake of getting your hopes up when you found a bag of Bit O Honeys in your mailbox one morning. That is until the white note on it told you in his writing to stop plugging his box with them. Instead, you tossed them on the counter in the staff lounge to share, never wanting to see those yellow and red wrappers again. Quickly, what you thought had become your dream job morphed into a nightmare. His face filled your thoughts day after day, and it especially distracted you when your mind chose the tear-stricken memory. It bled into your lectures and although it stung less when you saw him, without fail every day, it was messing with your mind. It didn’t help when you were beginning a unit on Romeo and Juliet and a student joked you could play Juliet and Mr. Styles could play Romeo, quite literally.

You had been staying after school every day to finish lesson plans, grade tests, reflect on teaching, and plan for the next day. The October chill that arrived this week only made you want to stay in your cozy classroom with the Autumn decorations you hung up. Soon, it would be Halloween and costumes would fill the halls. The thought pours memories into your mind, but a particular one sours the enjoyment for you. The memory of planning a matching costume with Harry. Jay and Daisy from The Great Gatbsy, like the English teacher nerds you are. Were.

Swallowing past the lump in your throat, you reach for your water bottle. A groan finds its way past your lips when you pick it up, only to find it's empty. Standing with it in your hands, you cross the room to your door. After a few steps into the hallway, your movements freeze at the sight of his open door. Biting back any hesitations, your hand shakes when it presses against the wood.

Something thrilling washes over you when you find his head bent over his desk. His left hand covered with varying rings props his head up as he marks the page with his favorite red pen. A Micron pen, but only you would know that. Pausing, he fiddles with the tan braces strapping his shoulders clad in a handsome white and gray checkered button-down. Words stick together inside of your mouth, and when you hear the click of your shoe, regret surges inside of you.

“I made a mistake,” you say, testing the waters, although you know they’re stormy. Clearing your throat, you hope the subsequent ones will come out louder and stronger, before he can stop you. Your galloping heart jumps when he lifts his head to look at you, a question painting his face. “I fucked up, and I could never say how sorry I am. I said the wrong things, and I didn’t mean them that way- that’s not the point . . . I miss you, Harry. You’re all I think about, even when I’m thinking of other things, or when I’m teaching. That’s how I know it’s bad, because even though it’s only been a month, it still hurts like it was yesterday,” your voice screeches to a halt. You take one step at a time as he watches you.

A curl tickles his bearded cheek, making you want to tuck it back into place, but you can’t. A crumb from a chip sits on his chin, making you want to brush it away, but you know you can’t. And neither can you whisk away the worry lines forming around his eyes.

“I need you, not just to help me figure out how to use a projector or what a conjunction is again. But I need to tell you about the good parts of my day, and even the bad parts. Because even though we haven’t talked for like a month, my mind still goes to you when something good happens, or even bad. Even my students tease that we should be together, so that says something,” you try your hand at joking, but he turns his attention back to his desk. “Harry, please. I’m sorry,” you plead with him, tears catching the last of your words.

“Sorry doesn’t jus’ make it all go away, bird,” he returns cooly. His head lifts ever so slightly, only to fall. As if he changed his mind a few seconds into a decision.

“I know, but I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll buy you Bit-O-Honeys for the rest of your life, grade your papers, check your mailbox, or buy the next meals for a month. Anything.” The apologies run off of your lips, but he doesn’t say anything, nor do his actions. An exhale whooshes over your pursed lips as your nails dig into your clenched palms. Defeat covers your body as you turn to leave.

“None o’ dat takes away what ya said,” he announces painfully, the new fabric of his chair squeaking with his movements.

“I know,” you say automatically, a battle waging its way inside of you of whether to look at him. As if his words laced with hurt didn’t already leave you breathless. “So tell me what I have to do.”

“I can’t do dat, bird. Ya should know,” he sighs, clucking his tongue in disbelief.

Your eyes fall shut and your jaw clenches in anger, but the sweet smell of oranges brings you back to the moment. “I’m sorry that I made it seem like it wasn’t worth being with you, because it was, and I realized that even more after . . what happened. I’m sorry that it didn’t seem like I was dedicated enough, but I want to be a- I want to show you that I can be, and I want to be that to you. I’m sorry that I care too much about what other people think, because I only care what you think. It’s ripped me apart lately knowing that you hate me, and how you can’t even be around me, and . . ,” your string of words breaks off, stolen away by your onset of tears. They rumble through your chest with tremors, and the embarrassment brings your hands to your face streaked with them.

The howling of the wind hugs the windows, masking any other sounds. If there were, you can’t hear them, but you do feel something. His fingers wrapping around yours, pulling your hands away from your face.

“Ya gonna stop now befo’ ya make me cry too?” he hums, one corner of his lips turned up ever so slightly. With raised eyebrows, they pose the question to you. Nodding fast with hiccups stealing your words, he kneads your hands between his own. “Are ya gonna shuddup or am I gonna hafta make you?” Harry softly laughs.

“You’re going to have to make me,” you return, stumbling over your sobbed words.

“Good, was hopin’ ya’d say dat.”

Smirking playfully, he steps forward to cup your face in his hands. The callused tips of his fingers make quick work of the tears staining your face, as well as his lips. “Don’t cry, and don’t ever say dat I hate you,” he coos in between pecks to your wet skin singing with his kisses. “Don’t want me pretty birdy t’ cry no mo’.”

“Your bird doesn’t want to cry and be sad, and miss you anymore,” you whimper, trying to hold it all in, but it comes pouring out.

“Baby bird,” he pouts sadly, his rose lips round and extended. His brow presses into a sad line as the same emotion carries his words. “Lemme make it all betta.”

Nodding, you hiccup again as you cover his hands with yours. His subsequent smile warms your insides cold and aching from the long days without him. His lips bring a respite when they touch yours, ending the harsh drought. Kissing him back, you revel in the feeling of his unkempt scratchy beard against your face. Just one more thing you missed. Severing the kiss, you mumble an ‘I’m sorry’ against his chapped lips.

“Shhh, ‘s okay, love. I know ya are,” he tells you before bringing his lips back against yours. They move together slowly, welcoming the return of the other.

Your mouth falls to envelope his bottom lip in between yours, his facial hair feathery against your mouth. Hungrily, you kiss him and savor his familiar taste and smell. Fingers drifting to his hair, they return home to his buttery curls. His lips pull away only to plant another kiss against your mouth. Too soon, he breaks the kiss with a breathy laugh against your lips.

“My goodness, lemme breathe, love.”

“Sorry . . I missed you.”

“Ya sure did, bird. Think I missed ya a li’l more, though,” Harry chuckles as your hands fall from his locks. His thumb steals the last hint of a tear from under your eye. The amusement creasing his features disappears swiftly. “‘m sorry too, y’know. I overreacted, and I shouldn’t have put meself over yer job. It wasn’t fair o’ me t’ do dat. D’ya think I can have those Bit-O-Honeys back, or were ya serious ‘bout buyin’ me a lifetime supply?”

Groaning, you playfully shove at his chest, only to have him wrap you up in his arms. “I guess I was serious.”

“Hmm, ya don’t sound too serious ‘bout it, bird. But that’s okay, I got all tha honey I need right here,” he replies, planting a kiss atop your head nuzzled into his neck, swaying you back and forth. Nodding, you finally let yourself relax for the first time in weeks at the greeting of his sweet smell. One that feels like home to you. “Wait, yer students said we should be togetha? That’s funny, cuz so did mine.”

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captain-yeet · 5 years ago

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Don't You Knock? (Felix Volturi x Reader One-shot)

Summary: Finding out that vampires and soulmates existing in a single day is exhausting, let alone discovering you're the mate of one. The night after the Newborns came to Forks, you get a surprise visitor in the dead of night.

Pairing: Felix x Reader

Word count: 2.8k

A little something I’ve been working on this past week and also to celebrate a wee follower milestone. Come get y’all JUICE, enjoy!

Slamming the door to your apartment with accidental unnecessary force, you shrug out of your frozen jacket and tossed it to the floor. Today had been eventful, to say the least. It began with helping out your supervisor with paperwork down at the police station and ended with a vampire practically starting a riot over you.

Oh, and vampires exist now. Neat.

You were only a few years older than Chief Swan's daughter and he had asked something rather odd of you a few months back after she returned from disappearing to Italy; "Keep an eye out for her, will ya?"

So, you found a way to insert yourself into Bella's life, like a friend with older sister vibes. She was none the wiser, and so were you in terms of what kind of shit the silly girl had gotten herself into.

Shrugging out of your pants, you let out a content sigh. "Right, relax time," you breathed. No vampires, no pyres of burning bodies. Just me and some pasta.

You were just planning on tailing her and the gaggle of pale friends of hers to see what exactly they were up to. You'd seen them while out on a hike and immediately your suspicion grew when you saw Bella being carried down the hillside by her boyfriend Edward Cullen, accompanied by the largest wolf you'd ever seen.

Following them at a distance, the sight you stumbled across made you let out a very loud "What the fuck is going on here!?"

Bodies burning but with no horrid stench. One of the Cullen boys ripping apart a corpse with his bare hands and tossing it into the pyre. A naked boy on the ground writhing in pain, being lifted and carried off by more shirtless guys and one woman. A teenager curled up into a ball on the ground.

"Y/N what are you doing here?" Bella cried.

"What am I doing here? What the shit are you doing here, what exactly have these people roped you into?" You had snarled the last part, backing away from the two approaching Cullens.

The doctor's wife had whispered a quick explanation to you. They weren't human, but vampires. Vampires existed what the actual heck. Bella was in danger but isn't any more.

And the Volturi, the "vampire police" were arriving soon, and you had no time to leave before they did.

An hour passed and you hummed a song to yourself while you washed up the plates after having a quick dinner. The day had turned to custard and you just wanted to forget about it for a moment and go to bed.

The buzzing of your phone made you jump. Picking it up, you saw the name on the screen and sighed heavily.

Caller ID: Bella

"What now?" You groaned, leaning against the counter. You pressed the answer key and held the phone gingerly up to your ear. "Hello?"

"Y/N, are you home?" came Bella's voice through the speaker. There was a hint of urgency in her tone that had you immediately tense.

"I am, why? Has something happened?"

"Listen to me," she urged, "you need to leave, Alice has a vision that -"

Your brows knitted together in confusion. Bella had given you some information about her boyfriend having some kind of mind reading gift but you didn't realise that extended to the rest of the Cullens being gifted too. "She had a what now?"

A short sigh. "Someone is coming for you! Please just trust me and go!"

Pushing yourself off the counter, you paced in your kitchen. "Who?" you deadpanned, fear growing in your heart.

"Y/N go!"

Suddenly you heard the creak of that one rickety window in your living room shutting. You grabbed the closest thing to you; a pan. "If I don't call you back by tomorrow morning assume the worst," you murmured in a hushed voice before hanging up.

Placing your phone down, you grasped the pan firmly and stalked to the corner leading into the living room. You couldn't hear anything but the sound of a dog barking outside and the steady rain that had begun as you drove home. Taking a deep breath, you rounded the corner and entered the room.

Nothing. No one was in sight.

"You know that pan isn't going to do much," a deep voice commented from behind you.

Yelping in shock and fear, you instinctively turned and swung the pan with just the one hand at whoever it was behind you. An ice-cold hand gripped your wrist, stopping your attack.

The tall intruder raised his eyebrows at your clumsy attack, red eyes boring into your own with intensity. You were caught off guard by how ridiculously handsome, tall and muscular he was, which you knew was probably the last thing you should be thinking about right now. You swung at him with your free hand and he caught that too. Now you were pinned.

"Easy, I mean you no harm," he said firmly, his tone ringing with authority. He began walking forward, still with you firmly in his iron grip making you step backward till your back hit a wall. "If I let you go, will you calm down?"

"You broke into my apartment and you want me to be calm?" you hissed, the last word turning into a screech.

"Please, I -" the man struggled with his words for a moment. "I just want to talk. About what happened today, if you'll give me a chance."

You glared at him for a little. He could end you very quickly if that was what he wanted to do. You knew that after what you saw of him today. He was a killer, through and through.

So, you conceded with a solemn nod.

The man was pleased with your cooperation, releasing your wrists and stepping back away from you. You set your poor choice of a weapon down on a table and leaned against the wall, quickly wiping away a stray tear that began trailing down your cheek before crossing your arms and staring him down with a hard glare.

Red eyes traveled up and down your figure, at first with curiosity that dissolved into something else, something more akin to fleeting lust and you suddenly remembered your lack of pants. "Don't you vampires know how to knock? It would have given me time to make myself more decent."

A low chuckle came from the man. "That would have been a politer choice, but I guess I miscalculated things." With a pause, he added, "not that I'm complaining, it's a nice view."

He winked and you cursed yourself for the impulsive flush of heat to your cheeks. It really should be illegal to be that good looking and that infuriatingly forward.

Padding over to the couch, making sure to have the front of your body facing him and not your rear end, you made yourself at home and placed a blanket over your lower half. Resting your hands in your lap, you sheepishly looked up at him. "I'd feel more comfortable if you sat down."

Moving slowly, you assumed so he wouldn't frighten you, he sat next to you on the couch on the furthest end, giving you some space. "Where would you like me to begin? I'll answer any questions you have if you'll also grant me the same privilege."

You thought for a moment. Many pressing questions came to your mind at once. You weren't sure where to begin. "Okay," you agreed with a heavy exhale. "Well, the first question I have to start with is who are you?"

"Fair," he smiled and again your heart skipped a beat. "My name is Felix, as you know already, I'm a member of the Volturi who are tasked with enforcing the secrecy of our kind."

Your brain took a moment to process the information. "So... you're essentially the vampire police?" you concluded with a raised brow, earning another chuckle from Felix.

"I guess you could say that although we're closer to being a governing force, now let me ask the same of you."

Glancing away briefly, you let your eyes roam around your apartment before meeting his curious red ones again. "My name is Y/N and uh, I work down at the local police station here in Forks - a cadet, got in thanks to my okay-ish GPA." You felt yourself rambling so you quickly shut up before you embarrassed yourself further.

"You don't strike me as a woman who'd aspire to be a cop," he mused, his head cocking to the side.

You shrugged meekly. "Maybe so, but I've always wanted to try making a small difference and I figured why not try and work towards becoming an officer?"

"That's admirable."

Heat flushed to your face. You racked your brain for more questions. "Well, if you're a vampire, how old are you?"

"About 2,000 years old, give or take."

A strangled hysteric laugh caught itself in your throat, making him purse his lips and stare at you like you'd grown another head. "I'm sorry," you said quickly, "it's just... wow that's a... long time to be alive." Taking a moment to compose yourself, you gave him a small smile. "You look amazing for your age, I gotta say."

A grin spread across his handsome face, and again your heart skipped a beat. You couldn't deny he was incredibly handsome - ridiculously so. "Immortality does wonders," he replied with a wink, clearly enjoying making you flustered.

A question popped into your mind at that moment, one that had been plaguing your thoughts since you left that clearing "... What is a mate? Why is it so significant for, your kind?"

You recalled the moment the two of you locked eyes for the first time. You remembered Edward Cullen's hiss of anger and shock and the way this man before you stared at you. It was like he was a deer in headlights and time itself had stopped. The pyre had disappeared, every confusing new thing that had surrounded you in a matter of minutes gone.

In that finite moment, it was just you and this tall strange man who gazed at you like a blind man seeing colour for the first time.

"Straight to the point, aren't you?" He murmured, chuckling to himself. Eyes downcast, he paused to think about how he wanted to answer. "My kind lives for a very long time," he began, lifting his gaze back to you. "Some of us will find another that we connect with so intimately that nothing else compares. A mate is a life partner, someone who feels as if they were made for you."

Resting your chin on your hand, you listened to his explanation earnestly. The idea of soulmates felt like a silly girl's fantasy, but you couldn't help but feel a tug at your heartstrings at his words. "And me?" You asked softly, scooting a little closer to really lock eyes with him. "Edward said I was your mate."

Mate. The term felt so foreign to you, it rolled off your tongue strangely.

With that announcement, the clearing had become chaos. Angry snarls from both Volturi and Cullen alike sounded through the area, you'd been pulled behind a blonde golden-eyed woman.

And many protests.

"Impossible!"

"That's absurd, Felix would never become attached to a human."

The voice of reason had come from Doctor Cullen. "It isn't impossible - look at Edward and Bella. If this is true then it's up to them to decide their fates."

Felix's reaction was the one that stuck out to you the most "You seemed so angry, back in the clearing..."

During the outcry, Felix's face was the one you focused on. After moments of staring at you with thunderstruck wonder in his eyes, he balked and you could have sworn you saw him say "No," to himself, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose like he'd suddenly gotten a bad migraine.

He sighed. “It was more shock than anger. Of all the things I had prepared myself for dealing with when we arrived, meeting my mate was not one of them.” Shaking his head, he offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry that the way we met wasn’t under better circumstances. Having you see me like that on our first meeting...”

“I wish the circumstances had been better too.”

Another memory flickered in your mind. The young girl on the ground. Her screams as she cried out in pain, Felix stalking toward her with a stoic expression. There was no doubt in your mind that even if this ‘soulmate bond’ thing was true - and a tug at your heartstrings swayed you to believe that maybe it was - the man before you was dangerous.

“You killed that girl,” you stated bluntly.

“I had orders,” he retorted, the stoic mask returning. “I had no choice.”

You were shaking your head before he finished speaking. “That doesn’t mean that what you did was right!” Exasperated, you raised your hands. “Just because someone orders you to do something doesn’t mean that it’s the correct course to take! Don’t you have a mind of your own?”

Felix opened his mouth to say something but quickly closed it, jaw clenched.

Okay, maybe don’t try to aggravate the vampire, Y/N, you cautioned yourself. Hands falling with a slap on your exposed thighs, you sighed. “Shit, I didn’t mean to go off like that.”

Silence followed. You watched him carefully and he watched you, neither making a single move for a while.

“You’re afraid of me.” The words left his lips calmly, not phrased as a question but rather a statement.

Lips parting slightly, you felt your face turn into a grimace. Your emotions were all over the place at this point in time and you didn’t know what to do about it or how to feel. Maybe you were scared of him - he did break into your home after all. And a rational part of your conscious knew that being afraid was probably a good thing. But at the same time? You felt a sense of hope - hope that this whole vampire mate thing may be true and that he really wasn’t here to kill you or worse.

"I guess I can’t blame you for feeling that way,” he sighed. “Do you still want an answer to your original question?”

Biting your tongue for a moment, you nodded. “Yes, tell me.”

“Meeting you was a shock, that is true. It’s just...” A pause for a moment, and in a more gentle voice he spoke once more. “I have been around for a long, long time. Centuries. In that time I thought I wouldn’t ever find my mate as I watched others find theirs - I even became somewhat promiscuous, because if I was never going to find the one, what was the point? Why not fool around with whomever? And then you appear before me and I’m shaken to my core.”

The room was silent save for the frantic beating of your heart, the patter of rainfall and the distant sounds of life around your apartment building.

“I fear I’ve ruined my chances of you accepting me as yours,” Felix confessed.

“I... may be willing to accept you - or at the very least give you, us, a chance. But you must do something for me first if you’re willing?” Is this a bad idea? A great idea? Maybe both, you concluded.

Felix’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What do you want me to do?”

You pointed at the door. “Leave my apartment and knock on the door.”

Suspicion turned into amusement. “You want me to leave and then come back in?” he repeated, playful sarcasm in his tone.

You felt your lips twitch up into a smirk. “Yes, that is indeed what I want. If we’re doing this I want to give it a real shot with a proper beginning - no attacking anyone with a pan and preferably with pants on.”

The two of you eyes each other a moment before you broke out into a fit of giggles. Felix shook his head muttering something along the lines of “Strange human” before taking your hand gently in his own, pressing his lips against your knuckles in a feather-light kiss, sending your heart beating overtime. "As you wish."

Letting your hand fall from his grasp he rose to his feet and walked away from you. Opening the door to your apartment wide, Felix faced you and stepped backward with a smirk, closing the door behind him.

When he closed the door, you stood up and rushed to find a pair of pants. Luckily you’d conveniently left some unfolded laundry out in the living room after a late-night trip to the laundromat. Shimmying into some comfy leggings, you murmured to yourself, "Feel free to knock now, big guy."

Not even five seconds later, and there was a short knock at your door. What, they have super hearing too? you chuckled to yourself.

Taking what felt like the millionth deep intake of breath for tonight, you opened the door for your “unexpected” visitor.

Pursing his lips trying not to laugh, Felix nodded in greeting. The man towered over you and for a brief moment, one of his hands running through the dark shaggy locks of hair, you wondered how his head didn’t hit the doorframe. And also how soft his hair was to touch. “Hello, may I come in?”

“Since you’re so polite, of course you may,” you greeted him, stepping back to allow him to enter.

“Does this mean you’ll give this a chance?” he took a hesitant step forward, watching you for any sign of discomfort, “you want to give a future with me a chance?”

You nodded. “It’s not every day a vampire comes to my door asking to be my lover,” you replied teasingly, winking at him as he had done to you earlier in the night. And besides... if you're serious about me being your mate, then I want to give this a go."

An earnest, genuinely happy smile lit up Felix’s face. You’d never seen a more beautiful man in your life. Beaming back at him as he entered your apartment, you knew from this night onward your life would never be the same. Were you ready for that? You weren’t quite sure.

But for now, you were certain in your feelings; if soulmates were real, you’d feel like a fool to pass up your own. Whatever the future held, you’ll face it.

You’ll face it with him.

#trying to break the writers block!#hope y'all like it #my fics #volturi #volturi imagines #felix volturi #felix volturi x reader #twilight saga #twilight saga fanfiction #volturi fanfic #the volturi

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thesvenqueen · 4 years ago

Text

With All My Love

Rating: M Pairing: Kristanna (as if it would be anything else)

Also on AO3 Previous Chapters

{Chapter 11}

“Have you named them?”

Kristoff chuckles, “No I haven’t.”

“And why not?”

He shrugs, “No reason to really.”

Anna pokes his side, “There is a reason, they need names.”

“I know,” He says, looking down at her, “You’ve told me once before.”

She pauses her antics, looking up at him slightly confused, “I have?”

He nods, “In a letter, once before. I mentioned I had a few chickens and your first question was if I’d named them.” He smirks at her, “You said nearly the same thing when I said I hadn’t.”

Anna blushes as she looks away, embarrassed by the thought that she didn’t remember such a conversation. Would he be hurt to know she couldn’t remember? “I’m sorry...I don’t..”

“Hey,” He squeezes her hand, willing her to look back to him, and she does, finding his eyes soft, always so soft when he looks at her, “It’s ok. It was a long time ago.”

She returns the smile sheepishly, remembering the kiss they’d shared just moments ago and with him looking at her with his lopsided grin, how much she wanted to steal another.

Before she can even think to make a move, he nods over to the barn, “Come on then.”

“Can I still name them?”

“Only if you want to.”

She does, much to Kristoff’s teasing, and they were simple enough. Sunny for the yellow hen, Autumn for the brown one, Olaf for the smallest of the bunch, a fluffy, white hen, and Grumps for the Rooster.

“Grumps?”

“He tried to peck me.”

“Anna, you had seed in your hand.”

She shrugs, “He charged at me and tried to peck me, he’s a grump so he will be named Grump.”

Anna swears that the rooster glares at her as she leaves.

~.~

“He’ll try to get you to brush him longer, but he only needs a quick rub down. Nothing else. He just likes the attention, the big ham.”

Sven looks up at that, seeming to be offended by the name calling. He snorts at Kristoff, which sends a few bits of hay and slobber his way. Anna giggles as Kristoff groans while he wipes away the bit of muck, Sven shaking his head as though he was laughing along with her.

“Nothing wrong with a little attention, is there Sven?” She says, scratching behind the creature's ears. The creature looks to her, smiling appreciatively.

“You say that now, just watch, he’ll keep you here all day if you’re not careful.”

Anna hums, “I wouldn’t mind.”

“I would.” Kristoff says, teasing.

“And why is that?”

“Keeps you away from me.”

Anna blushes, watching as he takes the two steps towards her and wraps his arms around her waist loosely. She doesn’t wait then, standing on her tiptoes and leaning in. He meets her half way with another soft, tender kiss that makes Anna feel like she’s flying, soaring above the clouds.

Sven doesn’t seem to enjoy the moment as much, as a loud grunt comes minutes (was it minutes?) later.

~.~

“Have you ever thought about a goat? Or a sheep? Oh, or a cat?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It would be another animal to feed and take care of plus,” Kristoff says, “Sven gets easily jealous.”

“But the goat could eat the weeds and give him company. And a cat could keep the mice away!”

“True but…”

“And a sheep could give you wool! I can knit, a bit at least, Gerda taught me as much as she could and I can make you a sweater or OH! A blanket or even a hat, a new one.”

“I like my hat just fine, thank you.”

“How long have you had it?”

He shrugs.

“See! I could make a new one, a really soft one if there was a sheep.”

“Maybe,” Kristoff says, closing the barn door. “It’s not a bad idea.”

Anna smiles, raising up to kiss him on the cheek. “See, I have good ideas.”

“Never said you didn’t.” He teases.

“Still, I have the best ideas.”

“That...remains to be seen.”

She giggles, leaning her head against his arm as they move towards the back of the cabin hand in hand. Another idea pops in her head, “Oh, how bout a pig?”

“Absolutely not.”

~.~

The garden, much like everything else here, is fairly simple. It sits behind the cabin, a neat little square with a few vegetables growing, some spices, and some flowers that Anna thinks may be weeds.

Still, it’s perfect.

“I’ve always wanted a garden.” Anna says, running her hand along the tops of a few waist high crops that Kristoff said were corn.

“You didn’t have one at the castle?”

Anna shakes her head, “Not like this. Our garden was more just the castle grounds. Some flowers planted around. All our food we bought from the village. It’s fine, of course, helped the village and the people but I always loved the idea of growing it myself.”

There had been a few times Anna had mentioned such an idea to Gerda. Unfortunately, it would fall on deaf ears. Gerda, of course, had loved the idea but no one within the castle was as keen to it. It was another duty, another chore that no one wanted to do. Anna had nearly suggested she herself could tend it to, but again, it would be more teaching and learning before she could fully handle it on her own.

Something that she knew no one would really want to assist with either. Still, the thought of getting her hands dirty, to tend to it during the day, to feel accomplished at the fact that she had achieved something was something she’d longed for. Would make her feel as thought she’d accomplished something for once.

Kristoff crosses his arms along the top of the hoe he’d brought along, laying his head on top of it as he eyes her, “Well, is there anything specific you want to grow?”

Anna shrugs, “I’m willing to grow anything really…”

“But?”

“...but I’ve always wanted to grow flowers.”

“Not surprised.”

Anna rolls her eyes at him, smirking, “Not a lot. Just...a few. Or one really.”

“Which one?”

“A sunflower.” Anna smiles, looking back to the small, sprouting cabbages. “We never had them growing at the castle, not often anyways. But Gerda always managed to snag one or two when she’d make trips to the village in the summer, bring them when she could for me. They’re my favorites.”

Kristoff smiles at her, tilting his head, “They’re not the easiest to come by but...maybe next time I make a delivery, I can try to see what I can find. I’m sure someone in the village is selling seeds.”

Anna looks at him, smiling at the thought of her own sunflowers growing. Though the idea of him returning to Arendelle sparks a feel of dread deep within her.

~.~

There’s not much laundry, but they decide to do it all the same. Something for Anna to learn, she says, to burn more time.

So they walk to the nearby river, Kristoff carrying the tub & washboard.

There is a silence between them that’s comfortable, one that Anna feels no desire to break. Normally, any bit of silence has her on edge, uncomfortable by the stillness. At the moment, however, it’s nice. Nothing but the sound of the birds, the slight breeze rustingly the trees, the sound of rushing water in the distance.

When they do arrive at the river, after showing Anna how to use the waterboard, they talk.

It’s as though they’ve known each other for years, which in hindsight they have, but the easiness of their conversation does not go unnoticed by her.

The awkwardness between them has left, completely evaporated and leaving behind an air of ease and contentment. No, not content, happiness, joy.

They talk of his week, what news Kristoff has heard in the village and the latest gossip.

She shares, now that she’s able, what she can about the castle. He doesn’t have many questions, though Anna suspects he is holding some back out of respect, but it’s nice to finally be able to speak about it all the same.

“How did you get the job at the castle anyways?”

“Bit of luck really.” Kristoff says, taking a shirt from her to wring out. “I’d just started, the new guy you could say and one of the older harvesters mentioned how a delivery was needed to the castle. He usually did it but he was too busy to make it. I overheard and volunteered.”

“Wanted to see the castle, huh?” She teased.

He chuckled, “That and the money was good. Really good actually, better than most sales I make in the square.”

“And you just kept going.”

Kristoff shrugged, wringing the shirt once more, “After that, I kept getting the requests and handling it so it became my job. The guy didn’t seem to care, took a duty off his plate I think, and I was glad to do so.”

“Me too,” Anna says with a smile, glancing up at him as he blushed just so, “Don’t know what I’d done without you honestly.” Anna said, scrubbing her dress against the washboard. “Was always nice to talk to someone outside the castle for a change.”

He pauses after she answers, a turn from the ease and flow they’d had for a while now. It makes Anna look up, seeing him stare into the water, shirt still in his hand.

“Kristoff?”

“You said you were lonely.” He says, keeping his eyes to the river, “I knew it had to be hard, but now, knowing you were in that huge castle alone like that for so long…I had no idea...”

Anna pauses her own work, going to him and taking the shirt gently from his hands. She places it in the bucket before taking the shirts place, having his arms wrapped around her, her hands on his chest.

“It’s ok,” She murmurs, smiling gently at him, “I’m ok.”

Kristoff smiles meekly at her, a storm in his eyes that Anna has not seen before but one that does not bring her much concern. It’s not one of turmoil or anger, but hurt and sadness. His hands clutch her dress, his arms growing tighter around her so she is as close as she can be to him now, his head leaning against her own. “You’ll never have to live like that, ever again Anna.” He whispers, a secret made between them, “I swear it.”

Another promise, one that Anna knows he will keep as he’s already kept many before. She bites her lip before nodding her head, words escaping her. She lets her kiss speak for her, pouring as much love into it as she can. His hand moves to the back of her head, fingers tangling into her hair as his other hand squeezes her hip. Her own hands find the nape of his neck, nails grazing softly along his scalp.

She could do this forever, she thinks, kissing him, being with him. With all she has, she hopes she can.

#kristanna #kristoff #anna #with all my love #jessica writes

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conaionaru · 4 years ago

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Honor and Blood (Ivar the Boneless)

The first letter

Synopsis: Some more fluff, and an ominous message.

Warnings: fluff, Ivar, angst, toxic family, mentions of murder, mentions of child murder, prophecy

Tags:

@xbellaxcarolinax @youbloodymadgenius @shannygoatgruff @lol-haha-joke @queenbeeta @heavenly1927 @didiintheblog

P.S. I will be using some Norwegian endearments from here so shout out to the autor @jeglaerenorsk for her great work <3. I will also put the meaning behind the words to make it clearer, cause I am gonna forget the meaning right after I post this and will be too lazy to research it for future reference.

I don’t own the gifs. Also, thank you for your support. I really appreciate it.

"I get that you want attention, my Little Venn, but your mother is sleeping." Vanya smiled at the raspy voice of her husband as a hand rubbed her five-month bump. She trailed her hand up Ivar's bare chest and looking into his sheepish blue eyes.

"She would be if somebody didn't wake her up. But you are forgiven." The young princess smiled sleepily, kissing her handsome husband on the lips. Ivar drew back and looking at her, her red hair shone thanks to the sunlight hitting it from the window, her eyes were droopy and her tired smile contagious.

"Lucky me then."

Vanya chuckled at his remark and kissed his brow, her lips lingering there, too tired to move just yet. Ivar pulled her closer to his side with an arm around her shoulders; his other trailed to her hand on his chest. Vanya intertwined their fingers together and played with his worn hand from years of dragging himself around.

The child inside her moved around gingerly, too awake to let Vanya rest. She felt quite comfortable like this even though the babe was restless, the redhead felt at peace in Ivar's arms, safe and sound from any dangers to come. She had it all wrong in the beginning; Ivar's rage and mood swings aren't a danger to her; they are a danger to others. To those who wish to harm her or their Little Venn, and she drew strength from him.

Vanya sighed in content as she drew her Ivar's intertwined hands up into the ray of sunlight above them. She watched the light dance on their skin as they both slowly woke up. The princess felt Ivar's eyes on her, so she met his gaze to see love and adoration in them. So soft and vulnerable as they always were when they were alone, and he didn't have to be guarded and mean. "I love you, Hjertet mitt (My heart)."

Ivar's face lit up in happiness at her confession as he cupped her face in his hand and gazed into her lovely eyes. "Min dyrebare (My precious)." The two slowly rolled out of bed and got ready against their will, which pleaded them to stay in bed and enjoy the presence of each other for the rest of the day. Vanya put on a blue dress with dark teal long sleeves. While Ivar put on his clothes and tied his legs, the princess braided her hair into a crown.

The two made their way to the Great Hall, where Hvitserk, Ubbe, and Sigurd sat together talking about something. By the heated looks Hvitserk sent towards the thralls, Vanya suspected they were talking about Margrethe. And by the girl's nervous and bashful looks, the Saxon was right. "Look who is finally up. How is the child?"

Vanya smiled at Ubbe's question and put a hand on her stomach. "Were restless this morning. I hope it will calm down soon. Otherwise, I will have to spend the whole day in bed again."

"Oh, I am sure Ivar wouldn't mind at all." Hvitserk teased; in exchange, Vanya threw a piece of bread at him that he caught in his mouth and grinned in victory. Ubbe chuckled at their antics and pointed at Ivar. "If it is like Ivar, then you won't get any rest at all. He moved around a lot too when Mother was pregnant."

"At least I know who to blame now." Vanya sighed, giving Ivar a halfhearted glare that he paid back with a kiss to her knuckles. He always held her hand at the table now, especially whenever Sigurd opened his mouth.

"Morning." Aslaug greeted them, sitting down and ordered the thralls to pour her ale. Something was bothering her by the pinched look on her face, and when Bjorn came in later looking agitated, the others wanted answers.

Bjorn sat down on Vanya's left and gave her a letter. "This came by raven at dawn. It has Slegia's seal on it." Vanya's hands froze as soon as the words left the Ragnarsson's mouth. Under her index finger was a bumpy surface. When she turned the letter over, she could see the red wax seal of Slegia - a sun. It has been the sigil of their kingdom for over a hundred years since her ancestor won the property in a tourney and named himself king. Her ancestor Slegc, the First King, laid the last stone of his kingdom during a sunset that painted the sky red, so he put the red sun on a black cloth and named it his sigil.

Now that simple sigil fills Vanya with dread, if Silas is writing to her, it must be something dire. Imagines of her dead mother or kingdom at war flashed in her mind while her hands shook. "Vanya, you don't have to read it." Sigurd's voice cut her from her thoughts; she looked at the concerned faces of her new family and smiled at them reassuringly.

"A letter can't harm me." It was more of a reminder for her than for them. She broke the seal and opened the letter to reveal her brother's neat handwriting. "Dear sister, I write to you in hopes that you are alright. Not a day has passed that I didn't think of you and your wellbeing."

Sigurd and Ivar snorted at the blatant lie Silas wrote, yet Vanya continued reading, fearing if she dared to stop, she wouldn't find the courage to start again. "Mother's array of visitors has allowed us to strengthen our forces. You might also be happy to know that King Ecbert offers us support if any of the other opposing kingdoms dares to attack us. We were all very worried about you since there has been no news from you since your wedding five months ago. So we were all delighted to hear that you are not only well, but also with child. I wish you and your husband a healthy child and a happy marriage. To reassure myself and Mother of your wellbeing, I will visit you when time allows it." Vanya swallowed the foul taste on her tongue as her hands trembled.

"With all my love, King Silas of Slegia, son of Kind Osmond, first of his name." Vanya slowly set the letter back down at the table and looked at the Ragnarssons and Aslaug in worry.

"How does he know you are with child?" Ivar asked his brows knitted together in anger. Vanya shrugged as she squeezed his hand in fear, her face as pale as snow with her eyes glassy.

Bjorn slammed his cup down on the table and glared at his plate. "There must be a spy here. That's the only way; we never announced the pregnancy to anyone outside Kattegat."

"It could have been merchants as well. They could have mentioned it in England, and words travel fast. It may have reached Silas within a week." Aslaug pointed out, ordering Margrethe to refill her empty cup.

"It doesn't matter how they know; what matters is that he wants to come here. I don't get why. What are his intentions?" Sigurd asked, staring at the letter like it personally offended him. He heard enough about Silas to know the man was no good.

Ivar slammed his hand against the wood and snarled like an angry beast. "He means to make sure it is mine, of course. He chose me because I am a cripple, now that Vanya is with child, he is in danger. But if it is a bastard, it would benefit him."

"Why should he care about that?" Hvitserk asked curiously, not understanding the point. How could an unborn child endanger a king a land away?

Something clicked in Vanya's mind, connecting Ivar's statement to what she knew of her brother. "A girl wouldn't, but a son might. If I bear a son, he would have a claim to Slegia's throne. Silas has no child yet, and with his disinterest in finding a wife, there might never be one. But his nephew would have a claim to the throne, and if he wished to, he could take the crown from him and any heirs he might have."

"That's why he mentions the armies and King Ecbert; it's a threat. And now that he knows his plan of choosing Ivar didn't work, he wants to make sure if the child is a danger to him or not." Bjorn agreed, sighing in anger and exhaustion. Silas showing up to snoop around with an army would delay his journey to the Meditteranean greatly.

Ivar scoffed and crumbled the offending letter throwing it to the ground while Vanya sat there unmoving, looking at the empty space. All her earlier illusions of safety were pitiful; she thought that she was safe with Silas so far away. But he kept on destroying her life even now. "We will keep all warriors and shieldmaidens here; I can aks Mother for support if we need it. She will be happy to help us when it comes to a pregnant woman. The question is, when will he come?" Bjorn uttered thinking of ways to protect Kattegat, the people, Vanya, and his nephew all at once.

"Well, that's a good question. But Silas offers no answer. /I will visit you when time allows it./ What does that mean?" Ubbe urged, pointing at the crumpled letter on the ground.

"It means he wants us to worry, which is what we mustn't do. Especially you Love, it is bad for your child. Let us take care of all that." Aslaug reassures Vanya smiling at the scared ginger, but Vanya shook in disagreement.

"Silas is my brother; he is threatening my child and me." The Saxon explained thinking of her brother's sneer and her bruises and foul words she received from him over the years.

Hvitserk shrugged his shoulders, trying to find a silver lining in the whole thing to reassure his brother and sister in law. "What if it isn't a threat at all?"

"And what would it be then, Hvitserk? What do you think he will do if the child is a boy? Do you think he will ignore it and sail away? Killing my child would put an end to any problems that the child might cause for him!" Vanya hated the way it sounded, but Ivar was right. Silas won't ignore any threats to his crown; he killed people for less. An unborn child or a babe at his mother's breast wouldn't be that hard to kill. She shuddered at the image and leaned against Ivar for support while laying her hands on her belly.

Ivar pulled his wife closer and rubbed her sides to calm her frantic heartbeat. He was terrified for them both, which made him angry. How was he supposed to protect them? He couldn't fight and kill Silas; he was no good on the battlefield without any legs.

"They will ride under a red sun painted with the blood of the Forest King," Vanya said sullenly, remembering the prophecy that sometimes haunted her dreams. "The red sun is Slegia's sigil."

"Does that make Silas the King of the Forest?" Sigurd questioned, amused by the irony if it was true.

Vanya nodded to their surprise as she looked at them with newfound hope. "Silas means forest! It was never about a King of the forest; it was about the meaning."

"That's nice and all, but does the prophecy say anything about how we kill him?" Bjorn insisted not that satisfied with the reveal.

Ubbe groaned at the lack of answers and looked at his mother. She has the gift of foresight; maybe she saw something. But Aslaug shook her head, noting to pray to the Gods for answers later on. "We know that the snake that the child holds in its hand is Silas. And the Seer said that the price for greatness is Vanya's blood. Silas is Vanya's blood as well. The prophecy is about him, and it ends in victory that much is certain."

Vanya exhaled slowly to steady; her nerves shook her head. "He said that I need to endure, not that I will win. Or that Silas is the asked prize." The room was quiet and solemn as they tried to think of answers for the oncoming danger.

"Whatever it is... We will protect you." Ubbe promised as the others agreed. But it did little to reassure her, Silas was a risk she didn't want to take. But one thing was sure; he needed to die, or she would never be free.

#vikings #ivar x oc #ivar lothbrok #ivar the boneless #original character #original female character

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thisisthehardestthing · 5 years ago

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This Is The Hardest Thing - 2

CHAPTER 2

Synopsis: A exchange student from the US in enrolled into UA when her father has to move to help with the increased crime rates in Japan. The final year of high school is a lot to handle, adding on top the class of 3-A and the trouble they get into will make for a wild ride.

Author’s note: Switches to third person in the middle. I hope it’s not complicated lol. I have been reading this chapter over and over and over again trying to tweak it but I think this is the best I’m going to get it. After this chapter, the plot is going to get a jumpstart in a new direction.

Triggers: swearing

Word count: 3.4k

@whats-her-quirk , @aizawascumslut

CHAPTER 1 , MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 2 - BUTTERFLIES

Sun’s setting earlier, you mused. Different to what you were used to. The cool breeze of this morning was back. In a few days, it would officially be autumn. Your chest rose as you took a deep inhale. The scent of sweet grass lingered in the air as though it was recently mowed. There was a sigh of content that escaped your lips.

You walked to the dorms that you were to live in. Large doors loomed in front of you as you dragged your purple suitcase over the stoned walkway. The 3-A was hanging above the entrance painted in white on the red brick.

During the last class of the day, you were called to the reception to fill in some forms about the living arrangements, and received the key to your bedroom and front door. You recalled the amenities mentioned by the smiling receptionist; a full gym, kitchen, laundry and bath area’s. Your suitcase had also arrived, being couriered directly from the airport. You had only one that wasn’t even full, so it had felt like a waste to not have waited for it yourself.

As you stood in front of the large doors to the dorm house of Heights Alliance, the butterflies in your belly managed to start up again, wings fluttering and getting caught in your intestines. There you stood in front of the closed front door, not knowing what to expect on the other side. It almost felt as if you were supposed to knock before entering, even though you now lived there too. Your eyelids shut as you took a breath before gripping the handle with white knuckles.

The floor was wooden. A light birchwood that bent and bounced under your weight as you walked across it. Inside the large front room, the lights were bright and gave the room a warm glow. Some of your new classmates were sprawled in the lounge area, watching T.V. It was a collection of arms on the back of the chairs, legs thrown over the top of pillows. Mineta was sitting on the floor near the tv as an actress was jumping off a building, almost as if he could look up her skirt from his angle.

There were dishes clattering in the kitchen, it was carrying voices arguing about who is cooking and who is washing up. Kirishima wants barbecue meat, Momo wants a green salad with plently of fried sides to share. You heard them come to a decision of a mixture of both. Todoroki was standing in front of sink, filling up empty ice cube trays with water. It was as if the house was both the eye and the storm at once. They were working together in a neat chaos and you took it all in as you walked in.

The sounds of your footsteps and the bag wheeling behind you caught the girls’ attention and they all rushed to you. Mina and Uraraka gave you a welcoming hug. Your intestines unwound and you forgot why you were nervous in the first place.

“Finally! We were wondering if you were going to be living with us in the dorms or not!” Mina gestured, linking her arms with you like when you first met. She was extremely friendly and put you at ease with how natural it felt to talk to her.

“Yeah, I am. I had to go fill some stuff out before I got here.” You replied, smiling back at her.

“Awesome,” She said with a thumbs up, catching you off-guard because it was in English, and your smile widened. You pulled your arm out of hers and fumbled for your room key in your pocket.

“What room is 2-3?” You ask, showing the girls the yellow tag.

Mina, Tsuyu, Momo and Uraraka said they would accompany you up to your room.

“Do you mind if we help you unpack?” Uraraka asked, footsteps lightly padding on the floor as you made your way to the staircase, past the kitchen. “We want to get to know you! There are so many boy’s in our class, it’s nice to have another girl to talk to.” You heard a laugh that bordered on a bark.

“HA! As if she’s a girl.” Bakugo roared out, still bitter that you had the upper hand for a few seconds during the short fight. Kirishima grabbed him in a headlock, pulling him down low. Your eyebrows shot up as he was able to keep a firm hold on the neck, not faltering under the strength of Bakugo’s threats and tugs. He had a grey gym tank on that had wide armholes. The movement had shifted one so that half of a dark brown nipple was on display.

“Ignore him,” He flashed a toothy smile. “He just needs to get used to you. Kind of like a dog.” You gave Kirishima a small grin in return. Your eyes snapped back to Bakugo who had set off an explosion against Kiri’s side to free himself. The girls dragged you up the stairs as they rolled their eyes.

“See what we mean?” They all giggled.

Your bedroom was on the second floor, the third to the right of the split hallway. You unlocked the door. It swung open with ease, as if welcoming you home.

There was a simple bed with light grey covers folded neatly on the end. A dark wood desk and chair to do your work on, a set of drawers and a single closet, that already had some school uniforms hanging, courtesy of dad. The mini-fridge and microwave was snugly against a marble counter that had storage space both above and below it. There was an attached bathroom with a toilet and a sink. It was a bare room, which was fine because it meant you could decorate it throughout the year with things you come across.

Your bag fell heavily on your bed and Mina jumped on after it, giddy with excitement. Uraraka explained that they wanted to see what kind of clothes you wore in the USA.

“Well, I don’t want to disappoint you, but it’s pretty normal stuff.” You laughed. They were acting like you came from another planet. “I also don’t actually own a lot of things, so I’m sorry if it’s not up to your expectations.” The purple trolley bag was now unzipped and open. Tsuyu peered over your shoulder as everyone looked at the items. They watched as you hung up your clothes and they chatted animatedly among themselves, handing you some of the shirts and jeans.

It felt good to be talking to other girls your age. Ever since your mom left, it had been you and your dad. The people in your old school had started to shun you after a particularly bad incident with your quirk, which is why you didn’t want to bring it up for as long as possible. And the girls were fine to not talk about what it was, instead bringing up other topics. They’d seen how you’d danced around the questions about yourself from Midoriya’s examination during lunch. He’d been scribbling a notebook about your father but you had changed the topic as soon as he asked about you.

“Oh my!” Momo interrupted as she saw your underwear. It was a rather large collection of thongs, some lacey, most plain. Yet you only owned three bra’s in total. “So skimpy!” She lifted one up by the waist band and stretched it out gently, blushing red. You grabbed it from her, your own face and ears going pink, burning hot.

The girls fell down in their laughter. You quickly gathered it all up and stuffed it into a dresser, deciding to sort it out later.

“I like nice things” you shrugged, closing the drawer quickly.

“What else can we expect from the land of Victoria’s Secret?” Mina wiggled her eyebrows.

They soon left you to your own devices to sort out the rest of your room, welcoming you to UA as they closed the door.

It was 1 in the morning when you were finally ready to climb into bed, having just changed into your red night dress. Everything was meticulously packed away, and you were happy with the way the day turned out. Three framed photograph’s of your family sat atop the dresser. You were about 10, gap toothed smile on display with your parents staring lovingly at each other behind you. The other two were more recent pictures of you with each of your parents after their divorce.

But then your stomach rumbled and you moaned as you realized you had never eaten dinner. You raked your fingers through your thick hair, pulling it against your scalp. How could you have completely missed it? That’s also when you realized that you had not looked at your phone the entire day, and had no one’s numbers. Which was a shock. Your body was still not used to the time difference, so you convinced yourself to head downstairs since you wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway.

Maybe there are leftovers? You thought to yourself as you shrugged on a thin, white cotton bathrobe and padded quietly down the hall with your bare-feet to make your way to the kitchen. The nerves in your feet hummed in response as your quirk begged to be used.

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

Bakugo was definitely not expecting to see anyone. He’d went to the gym after dinner, training until late and was once again hungry. He’d just finished a shower, drops were dripping down his neck. Fingers combing through the blonde hair to fluff it back to its usual points as he made his way to the kitchen, stopping when he saw the light was already on.

Who else could be awake at this time? He thought to himself, eyebrows knitting together as the corners of his mouth turned down.

He really did not feel like talking to anyone and he was exhausted from the extra hours of exercise, so he had every plan of ignoring who else was in there until he saw her. The sight of Rei’s back to him made his blood boil, white-hot heat exploding in his body. It was a melting pot of hormonal lust, embarrassment and knowing there was an unfinished fight. It was made worse by the red nightdress hanging on her body. It dipped into a slight V, showing half of her back. She was fit and muscular, it was obviously the kind of body only achieved by intense training. He found her insanely attractive, which pissed himself off even more. He was 100% focused on being the top hero when graduating at the end of the year. He did not have time for feelings. Especially when it was only normal hormonal lust. So he redirected the anger onto other things: the punching bag in the gym, the sponge he scrubbed himself with and at Rei.

He watched in the shadows as she opened the fridge, bending forward slightly to scan the contents. Her short nightdress rode up, dangerously close to the fold of her ass and he felt his hands begin to sweat. His frown deepened. It felt stifling hot in the dark common area and if he wasn’t already shirtless, he would’ve been pulling at the neck to try and get some air. She straightened up, not finding anything that would satisfy the midnight cravings, and her dress dropped again to a somewhat respectable length.

What an idiot. Dressing like this in a common area. He thought to himself, then he saw the bathrobe on the table that had been taken off when she thought no one was going to be there. He wondered if she was as warm as he in that moment.

He heard a huff and she put one hand on her hip, the contours of her shoulders muscled reflecting in the warm glow of the kitchen and moved the hair that was over her shoulder to the back, thick strands covering smooth skin. It bounced with the movement, natural highlights glinting from the hours she would spend in the sun. It was almost mocking Bakugo for staring so intently.

He watched as she moved to inspect the cupboards and scowled when his designated doors in the corner were opened. Rei’s hands lifted up above her head as she reached for a cookie tin that was just out of reach, her dress lifting up one again. Part of him wished for it ride a little higher, the other part of him wished she would crawl back to the hole she’d come from. It was his cookies that he saved for whenever he wanted a treat. There was no way he was letting her take some. They were his.

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The cookie tin kept shifting away from your fingertips as you made a grab for it, pushing it back a little further each time. Your bottom lip was caught between your teeth as you stretched up onto your toes. You huffed as it scooted all the way back and you dropped back down onto your heels. Someone tall must be their owner to store it up so high, or someone wanting to keep it hidden. Your stomach grumbled again, egging you on for the sweet snack.

Fine. You grumbled, stretching your arm out, hand open. To an outsider, it seemed as if an invisible string was connected to the tin, dragging it from the shelf as it flew into your hand. But what you felt on the inside was pure bliss. It was the first time you used your quirk, in weeks. You loved the rush of endorphins it gave you to have control over the object and you smiled. The cool metal of the tin vibrated against your palms, double chocolate chip goodness gripped firmly.

“Oi, new girl!” A gruff voice cut through the silence of the kitchen and you froze, painfully aware that you were naked underneath the dress. Pivoting on your heels, you saw Bakugo standing across from you, leaning against the counter top with his arms crossed across his bare chest. His biceps and shoulders bulged, nostrils flared.

How long has he been standing there? You wondered. Usually nothing could sneak past you, especially when your feet could feel the vibrations of everything.

Then you realised he saw you. It was nothing impressive, just moving a small object to you, but it wouldn’t be long until the rush of power it gave you would call out to be used again.

“Is that your quirk?” He sneered, with an eyebrow raised, “controlling cookie tins? That’s so shitty.”

You frowned. It was anything but that, but you learnt your lesson a few months ago when people challenged you and it went horribly wrong, and so you bit your tongue.

“Whatever, I’m not trying to impress anyone.” You retort back, opening the lid. You saw his eyes dart to the cookie tin, pupils narrowing.

“I don’t think you can impress anyone even if you tried.” He snapped, his hands dropping to the counter behind him as he leaned back. The pose was relaxed, inviting you to prove him wrong.

“Oh yeah?” you challenged, slamming the tin on the countertop, taking a few steps forward. If he wanted to fight, you wouldn’t back down. You were now a meter away from him, and you puffed your chest up to show that you weren’t going to take any of his shit.

“Yeah, dumbass. You fight like a girl, can’t even punch right.” You had to look up to him. Even though you were tall, he was still a few centimeters above you. His eyes glanced down at your chest before glaring at your eyes again. It was so fast that if you weren’t paying attention, you most probably would’ve missed it. The purple bruise on your sternum that he gave you was bright against the skin of your chest, perfectly in between the sun and moon tattoos underneath both your collarbones. His eyes glinted wickedly.

Your body moved before you knew what you were doing. You stuck right your hand out diagonally, a few centimeters away from touching him. He didn’t flinch, eyes traveling to look at your outstretched hand, raising an eyebrow.

“What’re you going to do? Throw the cookie tin at me? Hah.” He barked, laughing at his own joke.

You held your tongue and just dragged your hand horizontally through the air. Your toes pressed into the floor, feeling for the vibration you wanted. His eyes followed your hand and before he knew what was going on, the cupboard door behind him opened and smacked into the side of his head. He grunted and you turned on your heel, walking back across the kitchen. You were no longer hungry, angry at a man that taunted like a child.

“What the fuck!” Bakugo shouted, his voice echoing in the empty space.

“What are you going to do? Swear at me?” You spat back his own ‘insult’. Your comeback felt sour on your tongue. It wasn’t any good, but you were pissed off and anything you said seemed to make him angrier, which was fine with you. “I was going easy on you during training today.”

His nostrils seemed to flare at that last sentence. The palms of his hands began to steam and spark. There was nothing he hated more than people not giving their all when fighting, people thinking they had to hold themselves back when fighting him.

“YOU WERE WHAT!?” He bellowed, his fists clenched. “I’M GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS BACK TO AMERICA!”

If you weren’t already used to intimidating men in New York, you probably would’ve flinched at his shouting, but instead you squared your shoulders and started walking back towards him, your own fist closing. You both pulled back to launch punches at the same time. Then, the air got freezing cold and Bakugo’s fists came crashing down as two thick balls of ice wrapped around them. If he weren’t as strong as he was, he would’ve fallen to the floor. Instead, they dropped to his sides, making his shoulder droop down with the weight. A look of complete shock came across both of your faces and your heads snapped to look at the source.

Shouto Todoroki was standing behind the dining room table, looking extremely pissed off in his beige pyjama set. His half-white, half-red hair messy and shadowing his eyes.

“Can you guys please just shut up and go to bed. You’ve woken up the entire building.” He said, voice dripping with contempt. A slew of curse words erupted from Bakugo’s mouth as he lifted up the ice to bang them against each other, trying to crack them open.

You felt your nipples harden in the now cold room and grumbled, once more aware of just how bare you were. You grabbed your dressing gown that was on the dining table. Wrapping it around yourself as you walked back to the cookie tin to put it away. Bakugo seemed to ignore what Todoroki said, instead calling out to taunt you again. There was no way he was going to let this go.

“What, don’t want to eat the cookies anymore? Fine with me, you were pretty fucking heavy.”

You froze. Through the vibrations, you felt Bakugo adjust his weight to lean back, pleased that it granted a response from you. With the cookie jar away, you strode back up to face him for the final time that night. Shouto tensed up, ready to interject once more. It was a low blow, Bakugo knew it too but his chin was raised indignantly.

You said nothing as you stood in front of him. Your eyes searching one another for a hint that either one of you would back down. The balls of ice were already melting and forming puddles by his feet, the cold water spreading to tickling your toes, so you twisted them out. The cupboard door that you had opened next to his head slammed shut. The loud noise echoed in the kitchen and you turned away from the irritating man.

“Sorry, Todoroki. Good night.” You nodded to him and walked back to the stairs, fuming with anger. You could just hear Todoroki mumble about the time to Bakugo and a scoff in reply, but you couldn’t care enough to pay attention anymore, his insult replaying over and over in your mind.

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Thanks so much for reading Chapter 2! <3 Hope you liked it.

#bnha #bnha fanfic #bnha x oc #fanfic #TITHT #chapter 2 #swearing tw #bakugo #bakugo katsuki #mha #writing #mine #this is the hardest thing

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mulanxiaojie · 4 years ago

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“Mulan” inadvertently reveals why it’s so difficult to create multicultural content with global appeal in 2020. It highlights the vast disconnect between Asian Americans in Hollywood and Chinese nationals in China, as well as the extent to which Hollywood fails to acknowledge the difference between their aesthetics, tastes and politics. It also underscores the limits of the American conversation on representation in a global world.

In conversations with several Asian-American creatives, Variety found that many feel caught between fighting against underrepresentation in Hollywood and being accidentally complicit in China’s authoritarian politics, with no easy answers for how to deal with the moral questions “Mulan” poses.

“When do we care about representation versus fundamental civil rights? This is not a simple question,” says Bing Chen, co-founder of Gold House, a collective that mobilizes the Asian American community to help diverse films, including “Mulan,” achieve opening weekend box office success via its #GoldOpen movement. “An impossible duality faces us. We absolutely acknowledge the terrible and unacceptable nature of what’s going on over there [in China] politically, but we also understand what’s at stake on the industry side.”

The film leaves the Asian American community at “the intersection of choosing between surface-level representation — faces that look like ours — versus values and other cultural nuances that don’t reflect ours,” says Lulu Wang, director of “The Farewell.”

In a business in which past box office success determines what future projects are bankrolled, those with their eyes squarely on the prize of increasing opportunities for Asian Americans say they feel a responsibility to support “Mulan” no matter what. That support is often very personal amid the industry’s close-knit community of Asian Americans, where people don’t want to tear down the hard work of peers and friends.

“‘Mulan’ is actually the first film where the Asian American community is really split,” says sociologist Nancy Wang Yuen, who examines racism in Hollywood. “For people who are more global and consume more global news, maybe they’re thinking, ‘We shouldn’t sell our soul in order to get affirmation from Hollywood.’ But we have this scarcity mentality.

“I felt like I couldn’t completely lambast ‘Mulan’ because I personally felt solidarity with the Asian American actors,” Yuen continues. “I wanted to see them do well. But at what cost?”

This scarcity mentality is particularly acute for Asian American actors, who find roles few and far between. Lulu Wang notes that many “have built their career on a film like ‘Mulan’ and other crossovers, because they might not speak the native language — Japanese, Chinese, Korean or Hindi — to actually do a role overseas, but there’s no role being written for them in America.”

Certainly, the actors in “Mulan,” who have seen major career breakthroughs tainted by the film’s political backlash, feel this acutely. “You have to understand the tough position that we are in here as the cast, and that Disney is in too,” says actor Chen Tang, who plays Mulan’s army buddy Yao.

There’s not much he can do except keep trying to nail the roles he lands in hopes of paving the way for others. “The more I can do great work, the more likely there’s going to be somebody like me [for kids to look at and say], ‘Maybe someday that could be me.’”

Part of the problem is that what’s happening in China feels very distant to Americans. “The Chinese-speaking market is impenetrable to people in the West; they don’t know what’s going on or what those people are saying,” says Daniel York Loh of British East Asians and South East Asians in Theatre and Screen (BEATS), a U.K. nonprofit seeking greater on-screen Asian representation.

Some of the disconnect is understandable: With information overload at home, it’s hard to muster the energy to care about faraway problems. But part of it is a broader failure to grasp the real lack of overlap between issues that matter to the mainland’s majority Han Chinese versus minority Chinese Americans. They may look similar, but they have been shaped in diametrically different political and social contexts.

“China’s nationalist pride is very different from the Asian American pride, which is one of overcoming racism and inequality. It’s hard for Chinese to relate to that,” Yuen says.

Beijing-born Wang points out she often has more in common with first-generation Muslim Americans, Jamaican Americans or other immigrants than with Chinese nationals who’ve always lived in China and never left.

If the “Mulan” debacle has taught us anything, in a world where we’re still too quick to equate “American” with “white,” it’s that “we definitely have to separate out the Asian American perspective from the Asian one,” says Wang. “We have to separate race, nationality and culture. We have to talk about these things separately. True representation is about capturing specificities.”

She ran up against the industry’s inability to make these distinctions while creating “The Farewell.” Americans felt it was a Chinese film because of its subtitles, Chinese cast and location, while Chinese producers considered it an American film because it wasn’t fully Chinese. The endeavor to simply tell a personal family story became a “political fight to claim a space that doesn’t yet exist.”

In the search for authentic storytelling, “the key is to lean into the in-betweenness,” she said. “More and more, people won’t fit into these neat boxes, so in-betweenness is exactly what we need.”

However, it may prove harder for Chinese Americans to carve out a space for their “in-betweenness” than for other minority groups, given China’s growing economic clout.

Notes author and writer-producer Charles Yu, whose latest novel about Asian representation in Hollywood, “Interior Chinatown,” is a National Book Award finalist, “As Asian Americans continue on what I feel is a little bit of an island over here, the world is changing over in Asia; in some ways the center of gravity is shifting over there and away from here, economically and culturally.”

With the Chinese film market set to surpass the US as the world’s largest this year, the question thus arises: “Will the cumulative impact of Asian American audiences be such a small drop in the bucket compared to the China market that it’ll just be overwhelmed, in terms of what gets made or financed?”

As with “Mulan,” more parochial, American conversations on race will inevitably run up against other global issues as U.S. studios continue to target China. Some say Asian American creators should be prepared to meet the challenge by broadening their outlook.

“Most people in this industry think, ‘I’d love for there to be Hollywood-China co-productions if it meant a job for me. I believe in free speech, and censorship is terrible, but it’s not my battle. I just want to get my pilot sold,’” says actor-producer Brian Yang (“Hawaii Five-0,” “Linsanity”), who’s worked for more than a decade between the two countries. “But the world’s getting smaller. Streamers make shows for the world now. For anyone that works in this business, it would behoove them to study and understand the challenges that are happening in and [among] other countries.”

Gold House’s Chen agrees. “We need to speak even more thoughtfully and try to understand how the world does not function as it does in our zip code,” he says. “We still have so much soft power coming from the U.S. What we say matters. This is not the problem and burden any of us as Asian Americans asked for, but this is on us, unfortunately. We just have to fight harder. And every step we take, we’re going to be right and we’re going to be wrong.”

#mulan #disney #article #asian pasian

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thatonechicken · 4 years ago

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Soooooooooo I did a thing

I’ve been wanting to post some of my writing on here for awhile, but it’s been kind of difficult because majority of my writing has been and always will be on my Wattpad account.

So, here I am, with a Christmas Sanders Sides one shot! Yes, I’m aware that Thanksgiving was two days ago. I just had the idea, so I ran with it.

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Word count: 2001

Ships: Romantic Royality, platonic/family Moxiety, and platonic/family Prinxiety

This is an angsty one shot, with some fluff here and there, and a fluffy ending.

Human AU.

Warnings: Profanity, crying, unsympathetic Virgil (he’s better at the end, I promise), Virgil is Patton’s son. If I missed anything, I am so sorry, please let me know.

Finally, I’m posting this partially to celebrate the fact that I am now accepting one shot requests! Send me a request, and I’ll see what I can do!

Merry Christmas

"Merry Christmas, fairest of them all!" Roman greeted as soon as Patton opened the door, leaning in and kissing his boyfriend’s lips.

“Merry Christmas!” Patton giggled in return, gesturing for him to come inside. One of the things Roman particularly enjoyed about Florida was that it never got terrifyingly cold outside, like it did in some other places.

He sniffed the air, noticing how it smelled deliciously like tomato sauce. “What’s cooking? It smells awfully good in…” Roman’s voice trailed off when he noticed a purple and black blur hurrying out of sight. Seconds later, he could hear a door closing at the end of the hallway.

“Hey.” Patton wrapped an arm around his shoulders, “Why don’t you help me in the kitchen? The lasagna’s already in the oven, but I need someone to wash and peel the carrots for the salad.”

“R-right.” Roman shook his head, focusing on the man holding him close. “Let’s go.” Despite how hard he tried to keep himself busy in the kitchen with the numerous tasks Patton gave him, his thoughts always roamed back to the teenager shut away in his room down the hall.

It was Patton’s son, Virgil Sanders. He was only fourteen years old, and already about the biggest pain in his ass that Roman had ever met. He had been dating Patton for roughly four years now, and Virgil insisted on fighting him every step of the way.

When they were first introduced, he welcomed Roman with a cold glare. Patton reassured him that “he’s always like this with new people,” and “he’ll come around, don’t worry,” but Roman wasn’t so sure. He was right, in fact, because Virgil only seemed to dislike him more from there.

The worst part? Roman never really understood why the kid hated him so much. He tried his hardest to get along with the emo, maybe just be friends, but the teen wouldn’t have any of it.

Now, standing in the kitchen and watching Patton half-mindedly, he couldn't help but fidget with the small box in his pocket. Gazing affectionately at the man before him, Roman repeated the name for what must’ve been the thousandth time. Patton Sanders-Princeton.

He loved the way the name sounded, almost as much as he loved thinking of Patton as his fiancé, or husband. The only person standing in his way was Virgil. Well, maybe he wasn’t in the way, exactly. Roman wanted more than almost anything to love him as his own, but he was finding it increasingly difficult as Virgil shied further and further away from him.

Roman also refused to propose to his boyfriend without his son’s consent. He knew what it was like to not have any control over what happens in your life. He’d experienced that when his father married a homophobic bitch named Karen.

“Ro? Babe?” Patton asked suddenly, and Roman’s train of thought quickly dove straight into the abyss. Okay, not straight. It dove gay into the abyss. His eyes fell onto his boyfriend, who was now standing directly in front of him. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, of course!” Roman replied, but his gaze shifted to the door at the end of the hallway. “I’ll… I’ll be right back.” Patton was concerned about his behavior, but tried to think nothing of it as he left the room.

Roman knocked gently on the white door, biting his lip. When he heard no response, he cracked it open slightly. “Virge…?” he asked when he noticed the purple and black heap facing the wall.

“Virgil.” was the muffled response he got, “Only people I like are allowed to call me Virge.” Roman’s heart sank slightly at that, but he kept up his confident front anyway. He couldn’t afford to let it drop, not now.

He leaned against the door frame with a small sigh, once again fidgeting with the little box. “I, um… I love your dad very much.” Virgil scoffed, but otherwise remained silent.

“I- I want to propose to him, Virgil.” Oh did Roman regret saying those words as soon as they slipped past his lips. If he could’ve taken them back, he would’ve.

“I’m sorry, what?” Virgil hissed defensively, sitting upright and facing Roman with a murderous look in his eyes, and a scowl on his face. “I want to marry him.” Roman murmured softly, nervously.

Virgil laughed dryly at that. “No! Fucking hell, Roman! I didn’t ask for the two of you to meet! I didn’t ask for you to get together! I didn’t ask for you to come over here every other day! I didn’t ask for you to be near me, and I didn’t ask you to try to get to know me! I didn’t ask for you to ‘love’ dad, and I most certainly didn’t ask for you to be my new father, because you never will be!” the angsty teenager got off his bed, shoving Roman out of the room before slamming the door in his face.

Roman’s heart in that moment was like a small pebble being tossed into the ocean. It was sinking down, and showed no signs of stopping. As soon as he was away from the door, thunder cracked, lightning flashed, and tears poured down his cheeks.

“Roman!” Patton cried, immediately rushing to his side. Virgil sat in front of his closed door, quietly listening to the conversation beyond.

“What happened?!” Pat asked, and at first, Roman wanted to answer, but his mouth was the texture of sandpaper, rough and dry.

“H-h-he said-” Roman shuttered in his boyfriend’s arms, now wishing that life had an undo button.

“Shhhhhhh,” Patton rocked him back and forth, “What’d he say?” “H-he said th-that I’ll n-n-never be h-his f-f-f-father!” Roman whimpered, burying his face in Patton’s neck. It shouldn’t hurt this much. Virgil isn’t even his kid, he’s Patton’s. He wasn’t supposed to grow this attached, and yet he did.

Hearing Roman say those words made Virgil falter slightly. He had said so much to Roman in the brief time that he had been in the room, and yet… he was most upset that Virgil had told him that he would never be Virgil’s father. Not that Virgil didn’t want him to marry his dad.

“Oh, Roman…” Patton whispered, kissing his forehead. “I don’t know why he’d… I’m so sorry!” he led Roman to the couch, sitting down with him in his lap. “I knew that you guys don’t get along, but I didn’t realize he would say something like that…” what Patton said only caused Roman to cry harder.

“I don’t understand what I did!” Roman sobbed, “I-I just want to know, so I can apologize, and Virgil will like me!” Ever since Virgil decided that he didn't like Roman, he’d forced his heart to remain stone cold. Just… an emotionless rock that kept blood pumping through his veins. And yet, the tiniest crack was starting to wedge it’s way into the outer shell.

Patton sat there with Roman in his arms, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do. For the first time ever, he wasn’t sure how to help the one who needed it most.

After what felt like forever, Roman’s broken sobs slowly began to fade into quiet sniffles. Patton hugged him tightly, and they were both too focused on each other to hear the door creak open. “We’ll figure this out, okay? I promise.” Patton continued whispering sweet nothings in his ear, hoping it would help. He only stopped when he felt another hand on his.

Virgil carefully and cautiously climbed on the couch with them, wrapping his arms around Roman. If Patton hadn’t been watching him, he would’ve never noticed how glassy Virgil’s eyes were.

“I’m sorry.” was all he said, but it was enough to set Roman off and suddenly, he was crying all over again, hugging Virgil tightly. Roman felt as if the moment he let the kid go, he would immediately go back to hating him.

“You can ask him.” Virgil whispered, and Roman hugged him tighter. Patton didn’t understand, but he didn’t need to. His son and his boyfriend were making up, and that’s all he cared about.

“How about opening presents before dinner?” Virgil suggested, and Roman offered him a watery smile. “Sounds perfect.” Patton hurried off after that, grabbing the two packages he had wrapped earlier. None of them had ever really been into the whole gift giving tradition on Christmas, so they settled on getting each other one present only.

“Here!” Patton chirped excitedly, tossing both Roman and Virgil similarly shaped squishy packages. They tore through the snowflake paper at the same time, each grinning at its contents.

“Patton, this is amazing!” Roman lifted up the beautifully knit white sweater. It had red sleeves, along with a bright red sash covered in snowflakes that traveled diagonally across. What looked to be golden braids stretched straight across in neat rows.

“This is pretty chill, dad.” Virgil breathed, gazing at his. Unlike Roman’s, it had a big purple thunder cloud at the top, with gorgeous purple and black patterns covering the rest of it.

Patton’s eyes were shining as he tugged on his own sweater. “Really? I’d say mine is rather toasty.” Roman smiled lovingly at the pun, laughing as Virgil cringed.

“Me next!” Virgil decided, handing one gift to both of them. He glanced down guiltily. “I know it’s not a lot, and I only have one, but I-” Patton cut him off. “Whatever it is, you know I’m gonna love it!” Roman nodded enthusiastically as he began ripping through the plain red paper.

Patton gasped at the picture frame in his lap, glancing at Virgil with wide eyes. “You drew this?” Roman was just as awestruck, if not more so. This entire time, Virgil always at least seemed like he hated him, and yet… he’d drawn a beautiful portrait of himself and Patton. It looked so alive that Roman could hardly believe it was a drawing in the first place.

“You’re turn, Ro!” Patton kissed his cheek, and Roman tried to force the uneasy feelings away. Nothing was going to go wrong. Virgil supported him now. It would be fine. Right?

“Uh- here.” Virgil accepted the present gratefully, quickly ripping it open. “What. The. Hell.” Virgil lifted a midnight black MCR sweatshirt out of the box, along with two tickets for their next concert.

“You… you…” Roman laughed at that. “When your father told me that you liked My Chemical Romance, I decided I wanted to do something special.”

“Thank you.” Virgil threw his arms around his neck. Roman forced a smile in return. There were so many butterflies in his stomach that he wasn’t sure whether to laugh, or cry.

“You got this.” he whispered in Roman’s ear, and he nodded. Roman took a deep breath before reaching out for his hopefully soon fiancé’s hands. “Patton,” he began, gazing into those chocolatey brown eyes that had enchanted him right from the moment they met. “We’ve been dating for four years now, and honestly? I’ve spent some of the happiest moments of my life with you. I’ve loved you way more than I thought any human was capable of loving, and I don’t want to ever stop. You and Virgil light up my world, and together you’ve made me the happiest man alive.

“Most importantly, you’re the best boyfriend I could’ve asked for in a million years. So Patton,” Roman got off of the couch and leaned down on one knee, “Will you marry me?”

“Yes, yes, yes, one million times, YES!” Patton cried, jumping into Roman’s arms. “I love you so much,” he murmured as Virgil joined the hug. “I love you too, Snowflake.” Roman carefully slid the diamond ring onto his finger, kissing him passionately.

“Merry Christmas.” Roman said to no one in particular as he leaned down to kiss his now fiancé’s lips again. To his surprise, Virgil was the one who replied. “Merry Christmas, Dad.”

#Sanders Sides #Angst #One shot #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Roman Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Patton Sanders #Christmas #Human AU

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monstersandmaw · 5 years ago

Text

Scarred male fae (Winter) x female character (sfw)

- Part One of ?

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Another 'free' story on Patreon this month? Call it a bonus and a thank you for being great patrons. Here it is on Tumblr now after being on early release on Patreon.

Winter is a Fae from gnoll boy Brenn's story, and he has his own reader insert with Violet, Brenn's adopted daughter.

@fangedscribe here on Tumblr suggested this and I just couldn't get over it, so here's Chapter One. It's a bit different from my usual style (in that it's a kind of 'murder mystery/detective thing'), and it's third person. His 'love interest' will still be Violet, but I've given her a new incarnation this time. She's not the daughter of a wealthy noblewoman this time :).

Content: murder/mild gore (briefly mentioned/not described in too much detail), self-imposed social isolation (Winter), and a meet-cute involving whisky... Word count: 2936

___

“Oi, Winter!” Ghorbak yelled across the station. “Get your pretty ass in gear! Let’s move!”

Scowling - though the expression was hardly different from his usual one - the fae looked up. “What?” he asked softly. “Another one?”

The massive orc’s brows knitted briefly in confusion but he shook his head. “No, you big dingus!” he laughed. “It’s not work. It’s Garrett’s birthday - drinks at Three-Legged Chair and we’re all invited, remember?” He even gestured at the fact that he’d already changed into civvies and was ready to go out.

Looking back down at the stack of case notes and papers on the desk, Winter tucked a wayward strand of his long, silver blond hair behind his tapered ear and shook his head. “I want to finish this up.”

Well used to his colleague’s unhealthy working habits, the orc was having none of it this time. Striding back over to the sergeant’s desk, he planted his big green palms on the surface and leaned down. “You’re going to work yourself to the bone,” he growled. “Come out with us. Let loose a bit. It’ll be good for you.”

“If I agree to come,” he said quietly but firmly, staring unflinchingly up at his colleague, “You must agree not to harass me about socialising for at least a month.”

“What is it with you fae and making deals, huh?” he laughed. “Two weeks.”

“Three.”

“Done,” the orc laughed, swatting his hand affectionately in Winter’s direction and backing off. “Come on.”

Sighing, Winter stood and pulled on his jacket. He tidied and locked away the files on his desk and then strode over to the others gathered at the doorway. Garrett was there and the werewolf grinned broadly at him, though he hardly knew why; Winter wasn’t exactly the most gregarious member of their team. Garrett was still in his human form, but there was something notably lupin about his features. Winter only nodded mutely in greeting and the three of them headed out into the autumnal night, hurrying along to the pub with hands stuffed in pockets against the chill.

The bar was lively when they got there, and as Garrett moved inside a cheer went up from the back of the room, and he started laughing when he saw the group of gathered friends waiting for him. A gnoll barrelled over and hugged him, already three sheets to the wind, and then flung herself at Ghorbak, and even risked the Fae’s displeasure by hugging him as well. Winter went rigid at the touch, but endured it until she removed herself without apology and dragged Garrett over to down a disgusting concoction in a pint glass.

Winter looked away in disgust as the werewolf downed it and then howled. With a sigh, he walked to the bar on his right and ordered a neat whisky. The elf behind the bar smiled at him but he didn’t reciprocate, even as he handed over the cash to pay for his drink. He didn’t see the point.

It was as he stood at the polished copper surface of the bar that he noticed a woman sitting alone, staring into the depths of an apparently untouched drink. She was beautiful, in a very human way, he supposed. Wavy dark hair, sensuous body, dark eyes… Quite deliberately quelling his initial flare of curiosity, he waited for the bartender to slide his whisky tumbler towards him, but the emotions she was exuding were so tangible that he could taste the misery that hung around her shoulders in a deep cloud.

She glanced up at him when she felt him staring, and although his heart juddered to a halt for a moment at the striking beauty of her face, he turned away before her sad eyes could take in the extensive scarring across his once-flawless face. The pain of the fae-hounds’ attack as they had finally caught him flared anew, their phantom teeth sinking into his arms and hands all over again as he recalled fruitlessly trying to defend his face from their lashing claws, as if the old scar tissue pulsed at the recollection. Grinding his teeth, he stalked away from the bar and rejoined his co-workers.

Ghorbak and a few others were dancing and clowning around, Garrett had pulled one of his human friends into his lap and the two were laughing, finally sharing a kiss that was met with whoops and cheers and catcalls. Something intangible - magic, Winter realised - spiked through the room and he glanced behind to see the beautiful woman leaving. The other patrons unconsciously cleared a path for her, stepping aside as if repelled on a primal level by the sadness in her features.

He watched her go and frowned. No one should be that lonely. But what could he do? A fae with almost no magic of his own, with access only to the collective magic of the fae through bargains; he was better off not interfering. He was always better off not interfering - with human affairs, certainly.

One of Garrett’s friends, and someone Winter only half recognised, perhaps from another social occasion, sidled up to him a little while later and grinned at him. “You look like you couldn’t be having any less fun…” she commented.

“Apologies,” he said. “I have that effect on a lot of social gatherings.”

Instead of being put off by his frosty manner, she laughed. Something twisted inside him at the sound of it, but his expression remained unmoved.

“You want another whisky?” she asked, eyeing his glass which held only fumes now. She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder and said, “I’m heading up for another one myself…”

His eyebrows twitched in mild surprise.

“What?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those men who think women can’t appreciate a decent single malt?”

“Absolutely not,” he replied flatly. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

She softened slightly at the honesty of his response and laughed. “What can I get you?”

“This was a Glenlivet,” he said, “And not very good. I’m open to something else.”

She nodded. “Right, duly noted.” And with that, she strode away.

His pale blue eyes clinically took in her lean, almost hard figure as she left. Five foot four or five, with straight brown hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing a dark, close-fitting, scruffy t-shirt with a logo he hadn’t recognised, and skinny jeans that showed she had wiry, muscular legs; she seemed tough but otherwise relatively nondescript. The lonely woman at the bar had been more classically beautiful by far, but he found himself admiring the way this woman leaned on the bar and shared a joke with the elf as if they’d known each other for decades.

When a man who was also waiting for his drink grabbed her backside, Winter was two strides across the room before he realised she’d put the guy in an arm-lock and slammed his wrist down on the copper top of the bar. “Keep your filthy paws to yourself,” she snarled at the man who’s eyes watered and pride smarted, picking up the two whiskies from the bar and stalking away with a face like thunder.

Her sharp expression softened when she saw that Winter had not only made a move to help her out, but had stopped when he’d seen that she had it all under control. “You alright?” he still asked as she rejoined him.

“Jackass,” she growled, proffering one of the glasses and chinking it against her own once he’d taken it. The fiery liquid sloshed, glinting in the low light of the bar.

It went against the grain for almost all Fae to utter the words ‘thank you’, since it indicated some obligation to the giver, so he just bowed his head and sniffed the glass. A sharp rush of the whisky’s heady nose filled his senses and made his eyes water a little.

He quirked an eyebrow quizzically at her but she shook her head. “Guess.”

“Am I allowed to sample it before I guess?” he asked and she nodded.

“Sure you are. Unless you’re really confident you can identify it…”

Winter had become very familiar with a lot of whiskies over the years, and he was fairly certain he knew what this was. “It’s fruity,” he said. “Sweet, but… sharp still…” Resisting the urge to check the bottles on display behind the bar, he went with his gut and said, “Scapa.”

Her grin was lopsided and surprisingly attractive. “You do know your shit,” she laughed. “I thought you were just pretending.”

“Fae…” he said. “I cannot lie.”

Her face darkened visibly at his admission, and she took a mouthful of whisky that was more of a gulp than a sip. “Yeah, but you lot can bend the truth til the cows come home.” Then she made a sound of surprise and chuckled. “Talking of Fae-related things, what should I call you?”

Winter had to admit to himself that he was intrigued, perplexed, and amused by her in equal parts. Something of that must have shown on his scarred face because she softened a bit more and raised her eyebrows expectantly. “You can call me Winter,” he said. “Everyone does.”

She flicked her gaze to his long, icy blond hair and her grin widened. “I can see why. Well, you can call me Violet. Or V,” she added with a shrug.

“You would just give your true name to me like that?” he asked, surprised. Most people gave him their true names, but that was because they assumed he was an elf at first sight. Her mood had darkened considerably - however briefly - when she had learned that he was Fae, and yet the power of her name had struck him like an iron bell the moment she’d uttered it. “Knowing what I am?”

Her dark eyes glittered playfully. “Sure,” and she plucked playfully at a pocket on his uniform, “Officer…”

He felt his thickly-corded scars stretch as he smiled again, a true smile this time. “You’re one of Garrett’s friends, aren’t you?” he asked.

She nodded, but before he could follow up with another question, someone outside the bar screamed. The sound went on and on and didn’t stop.

The three police officers - two in plain clothes and one in uniform - reacted instantly. “Stay here,” Winter barked at her, shoving his half-empty glass at her and bolting for the door.

Garrett was a bit drunk so he stayed back on the main street once they were outside, but it took more than a couple of pints for the orc to feel anything at all, and Winter’s alcohol tolerance was pretty good. A human woman was standing on the pavement outside the pub, screaming and pointing down the service alley that ran alongside the bar. Garrett went to her and ushered her away from the mouth of the alley while the other two hurried into the shadows.

“Ghor,” Winter barked as he rounded the building and saw a slumped and bloodied figure in the alleyway, her back resting against the brickwork of the pub. It was the melancholy woman from the bar and his chest twisted violently at the sight of her. “Lock this area down. Call it in.”

Winter approached the body cautiously, not wanting to contaminate or disturb the scene for the on-duty officers who would arrive shortly, along with the coroner. He stared at the face of the woman who sat half-slumped against the dumpster, her bare legs twisted at an awkward angle beneath her. Her expression was passive, melancholy, and betrayed nothing of the horror that must have befallen her in her final moments. Her throat had been slit, staining her chest and burgundy dress with dark liquid that he could smell and taste, even from that distance. There was also the lingering trace of magic in the air.

Ghorbak stalked down the alley towards him a moment later. “Fuck,” he said. “Just like the last two.” He paused, watching Winter’s face carefully, and added, “Magic?”

Winter nodded grimly, his long ponytail sliding over his shoulder as he stared unblinkingly down at her. “It’s fading, but there were…” he paused, tilting his head to one side and closing his eyes to concentrate on the remnants of magic in the air, “Two Fae here,” he said. “The traces will vanish soon. They’ve not long ago left.”

“It’s only just happened?” Ghorbak snarled, looking around the rooftops that overlooked alley as if the killers would be peeking over the guttering above like children who’d played a gruesome prank.

Winter nodded again. “It sickens me that Fae are involved in this. And I want to know what’s going on.”

“You and half the city, mate,” Ghor rumbled. “Three bodies makes this a serial killer, no doubt…”

At the flashing of blue lights, the two off-duty officers turned to greet their colleagues. It was grim, but once they’d handed over Winter and Ghorbak headed inside to reassure the remaining customers, and the owner of the pub.

Someone appeared at Winter’s right elbow and he jumped slightly, still lost in his dark thoughts. “Here,” and a full whisky glass was offered to him.

He looked around and found V standing there, her eyes full of concern. He took it from her with only a little less of his usual grace, pale fingers trembling slightly, but this time he murmured, “Thank you.”

V had clearly had some dealing with Fae before, because surprise showed in her expression.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head, her ponytail swishing. “Is… Is it the Throatcutter?” she asked in a small voice, sipping her own whisky.

Winter swallowed, bile threatening to rise in his gullet at the mention of the name the press had given the murderer after the last two. “I can’t discuss police matters with a civilian,” he said, but when she cocked an eyebrow at him, he added, “But… it seems that way at first glance.”

“There’s a rumour that it’s ritualistic,” she went on. “Some kind of… uh… Fae magic… thing…”

Winter’s grip on the tumbler bordered on shatteringly tight, and with an effort he forced himself to ease up a little. “I can’t…” he hissed.

“It’s ok,” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to prod you for answers; I’m just… talking…” She puffed out her cheeks as she blew out a sigh and said, “Garrett’s birthday kinda got rained on…”

Winter looked across the room at where the werewolf was sitting on a battered old couch, a third pint in hand and talking quietly with the human whom he’d been kissing so passionately earlier.

“I should go,” Winter remarked.

Her head whipped round to look at him again. “Really?”

Grinding his teeth, he nodded. “There’s work to be done.”

“I thought you were off-duty?”

Very deliberately not looking her in the eyes, he sighed. “Yes,” he said, staring at his ever-diminishing whisky. “But… I… I can’t just…”

“What time do you officially start tomorrow?” she asked, turning more to face him.

As she stood there, staring up at him with that earnest, intense expression on her face, the urge to flinch away from her suddenly surged in him in a way that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He was used to his scars now, though he would frequently shield others from the raw impact of them; he rarely felt truly self-conscious about them anymore, except when people blurted things like ‘what the hell happened to you?’ out of the blue.

“I’m usually in by eight,” he said, finishing the remainder of his drink in one. “Excuse me. You enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Wait,” she almost yipped as he turned away and headed to return his glass to the bar on his way out.

Against all instincts, he paused and looked over his shoulder at her.

“I work just around the corner from the station - it’s how I know Garrett. You… You want to get breakfast or something? I’m teaching a five-thirty class, so I’ll be there already…”

“Five-thirty?” he asked, turning back to look at her properly again.

She smiled prettily and he felt his lungs tighten a little. “Fitness instructor,” she added bashfully. “I’m on the early shifts this week while Charlotte’s away. Sucks, but…” she shrugged. “So… how about it?”

“How about what?”

“Breakfast,” V said with a slight giggle.

“Oh. I…” Everything screamed at him to say no. Relationships with humans ended in pain, and as if to remind him of that, his scars throbbed again. “I…” But instead of turning her down, he found himself saying, “I would like that. What time shall I come to the gym? We can go from there.”

“Seven too early for you?” she said.

Winter was not an early morning creature by nature, but he nodded once.

“It��s Falcon Fitness,” she said. “There’s another one just across the road, so I wouldn’t want you to go to the wrong one.”

“Worried I’d take someone else to breakfast instead?” he asked with just the tiniest hint of flirtatiousness in his voice.

She grinned. “I’ll see you at seven.”

Astonished by his own lifting spirits, despite the grisly happenings that night, Winter strode away without looking back and felt oddly as if his feet weren’t touching the ground for the entire journey back to his humble apartment in the elven quarter of the city. He didn’t even realise that he hadn’t gone back to the police station until he was unlocking his apartment door.

—

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

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#fae #winter #male fae #character with scars #fae x female character #fae romance story #exophilia #fantasy #modern fantasy #modern fantasy setting #au of my own story #haha #look at me posting at 9am UK time instead of peak times but I don't care I'm too sick to give a shit

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