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princesscolumbia · 1 year ago

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New Session | Archive of Our Own

Lil' bit of drunk blogging tonight, happy Labor day eve! Be like m'boy O'brien's grampa, he was a union man!

Working on Fission again, and I got the outline out and feeling good about it! This is my oldest, most venerable fanfic with the greatest number of followers...on Fanfiction.net. Welp, I've kinda abandoned that ship a LONG time ago, so I'm posting to AO3 now (see link for this post). I was so glad that it all came back so readily after I started typing again, and so far I'm REALLY excited for the new chapter I'm working on. So, with that in mind, I'll be posting a chapter a day here, giving myself a deadline of... (*gets out calculator, uses sextant, asks Enterprise computer*) ...9 more days after today to get the current chapter done.

Dustjacket Summary:

Ranma is having A Day. The usual wacky relationship hijinks wind up with him tripping while running from his self-declared love interests (it has to do with martial arts, several foreign laws, and an okonomiyaki cart...long story) and falling off a roof (...again, long story) to pass through a stream of water from a broken pipe, triggering the magic that cursed him to turn into a girl with a splash of cold water. But today the wacky cranked right up into the weird when he DIDN'T collide with the other person who also happens to be standing in the spray of water.

Usagi is having a pleasant day, actually. She's spending time with her boyfriend, taking in parts of Tokyo she doesn't normally get to, and in all enjoying herself when she gets a call about a monster attack. She ducks into an alley and starts to transform into Sailor Moon when a pipe bursts and sprays her with water right as someone...doesn't collide with her falling from the roof above.

The destiny of both Ranma and Usagi has been altered by a random accident that nobody could have planned for or anticipated.

Nobody around them is even remotely prepared.

Time gets away from you.

This was ever apparent to Sailor Pluto, for whom time had done its level best to impersonate Houdini for over 3,000 years.

Contrary to the views of those she worked closely with (and completely beyond the ken of those she didn't), her job was not to force the timeline to her whimsy and lock every possible contingency away. In fact, contingency locking was one of the very LAST things she considered as a sort of ��Scorched Earth” policy. Up until that point, she did her best to...nudge the course of things in the general direction of Crystal Tokyo. Her girls (as she sometimes referred to the other Senshi) would handle the rest. Terrible things, like World War II, tended to happen when she had to cap off a contingency timeline to keep the world from going Bad (with a capital 'B'). Very bad indeed.

The simple fact of the matter was that there was “Real” time, wherein things happened to most everyday mortals, and subjective time, something which Setsuna -a.k.a.- Sailor Pluto, had an over-abundance of. Subjective time was a screwy thing. One could literally spend YEARS idly dining with Ford Prefect at Millyways, then return to one's own “Real” time to have less than a second pass. Conversely, one could chase an errant mouse that had somehow made it's way into Pluto Palace through the time gates on accident and dart back through after a mere second of realizing one's error, only to return approximately 30 years later, having one's friends all graduate, go to college, graduate from THAT, pursue careers and love, not necessarily in that order, have kids, raise them, and have THOSE kids start pursue careers and love, again not necessarily in that order.

Of course, being the Senshi of Time had its advantages. One of those was that she could indiscriminately bounce through time at will. The chief difficulty in this was finding the right moment to jump back to. Schrodinger's Cat haunted Sailor Pluto like, well, ANY cat haunted Ranma Saotome. No matter where she went, if she jumped blindly, she would affect the timestream in some way. Viewing or not viewing the course of time had it's consequences, as she had to watch how events played out, all the way out, before she could decide on whether or not to change things around, and even then she had to explore loads of other branches of time, other contingencies, to see what affects her interference might have. It was rather akin to watching a very long, very boring Gilligan's Island marathon where every episode was a repeat with only tiny variations, like Gilligan's hat being blue, and every episode being produced without a laugh track, score, and filmed in real time. Oh, and not being allowed to use the fast forward button, 'cause you might MISS something.

And her associates wondered why she seemed so humorless.

One can understand how, after years of that kind of monotony, Sailor Pluto would choose to take a vacation, just get away from it all for a while.

She had used the odd quirks of her profession (that being, naturally, Guardian of Time) to hop out for a bit. Take a few days off, go to Disneyworld, play with the micro-raptors...

...did we mention that she could take a vacation to literally any possible version of Earth conceivable?

Anyway, she strode into the gate room, popped off the silly mouse ears, and checked the “real” time clock.

Bugger, six months had passed. She checked the Crystal Tokyo map; still there and holding strong at 98%...

Wait.

When did the Imperium Palace get eight cannons the size of skyscrapers, one for each point on the compass? And what was with the red and black sub-tower in the Nerima district?

Sighing, Sailor Pluto grabbed a bag of Doritos, yanked the time staff out of her “stuffspace” pocket, sat down on the couch she had set up just for this purpose, and hit the magical staff equivalent of a rewind button.

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imafivestarkpopstan · 3 years ago

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Harry Potter x Reader

There he was. Your boyfriend, Harry James Potter, and Ginny Weasley, snogging. You ran away, not letting your tears fall, and you ran straight into your best friend, Hermione Granger. She took one look at your face and her face fell.

"Y/N? What's wrong" She asked worriedly.

"Harry - Ginny - kiss" was all you could say. She swore at the top of her voice. She grabbed your hand and ran off. Tears were now flowing freely down your face and she was now muttering bizzare curse combinations under her breath.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER!" She shouted. Harry broke off the kiss with Ginny and looked dazedly at Hermione.

"Go 'way, 'Mione. Can't you see I'm doing something?" He said harshly, his eyes unfocu - wait, unfocused? You tugged on Hermione's sleeve and pointed to his eyes. She looked at him, confused, and then the realization hit her.

"GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY!"

"Yes, Hermione?"

"A LOVE POTION, SERIOUSLY?"

"I had to get him to love me somehow." Ginevra said.

I seethed. I dragged Harry to Slughorn.

"Professor Slughorn, sorry to bother you, but do you have the antidote to Armortentia?"

"Ooh, Harry m'boy, what did you do?" Professor Slughorn tutted and bustled off. "Aha! HEre's the scallywag. Drink up Harry, makes you look good for your girl, you know?"

Harry drank it eagerly and then frowned.

"Y/N? Why am I here?" He asked. I grimaced. This was going to be a long afternoon. I explained it to him and his expression slowly contorted from confused, to realization, to anger, and then finally fury.

"That cow!" He hissed. " A love potion, I ask you! Come to think of it, my breakfast water tasted weird. Y/N i'm sorry, please forgive me!"

"There's nothing to forgive, love. It was a love potion, you didn't know, nor could you fight it."

"I love you" Harry grinned. I grinned back.

"Come on, Ginny should be getting her punishment soon, we've to go to Dumbledore's office."

#harry potter #harry potter x reader #armortentia #ginny weasley #ginny easley x harry potter

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beoneofus · 3 years ago

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𝖉wayne's 𝖉ate 𝖍eadcanons

a/n: gender neutral <3, requested by @oceansrose2002 because their a slut for m'boy. I don't know specifically what they were looking for, but I did what I thought would make sense.. which is basically just the whole experience. let me know how it is :).

4.29.22

first date experience - I stated on a different headcanon about how dwayne would usually be the kind of guy to be into more romantic, yet quiet themed dates; also ones that most humans do. his options are always open, but these seemed, in my opinion, the type of set ups he'd prefer. drive in movies, a special made dinner date in a secluded wooded area, a picnic in a meadow, etc. with a first date, that's most likely how it'd be - of course though, they can vary as time goes on and if he sees the relationship is getting serious enough/more comfortable to explore more things.

first and foremost, I don't think this vampire would ask someone out a date for a while. not wait months on end, that'd be more david's thing, but I do think he'd wait a few weeks; study you from a distance to possibly take in a few of your interests, to note some of your likes and dislikes. he'd want to ask you himself, as well, but a little spying never hurt anybody. after maybe three, four weeks, I do indeed think dwayne would push the waiting aside and straight up ask you. even though he's more off kept than the others', he was just as bold; if not more.

on a first date, I see dwayne taking his partner, or the person he's currently interested in, to the drive in movies. it's a classic way to get to know each other, jokes and laughs can be shared, he can spot what exactly would disinterest you in the movie you're watching, and he can even put in mind if horror movies aren't your forte ( if that's the genre you guys are watching ). most likely, he'd take in your beauty throughout the movie, but that's only because he likes to be sly; loves when you'd look over and catch him staring, that way he can give you an innocent grin while you either smile back, shyly look away, or maybe even both. you're reaction alone is interesting.

probably would ask questions during certain scenes. If it's comedy based and you laugh at a joke, he'd probably question what you found funny; if no answer can really explain it, that's fine, but he'd take mental notes if possible, on how to entertain you in the future. if it's a scary film, that can go with two different ways - asking why a certain thing scared you, if anything does, or asking what exactly interested you in the killing scene that you take interest in. I can see him even getting into a discussion of it too, after the movie, if you're into that. ps; he wouldn't be annoying about the questioning, simply curious. if you asked him to stop, he would.

I can see the date ending off with you both discussing certain parts of the film. You would mainly talk about what the segments you really enjoyed, while he'd listen; occasionally tossing his input in on those scenes, while stating which cuts he liked himself. he'd drop you off at home in the end, and plant a kiss onto your cheek, before shooting you a famous breath-taking grin and speeding off.

more comfortable dates - dwayne would let you, later on, throw your thoughts into the mix of which dates you preferred. he'd also ask if a certain setting or place he picked, or even event, was okay; your opinion mattered to him. if you didn't agree on some ideas, that's okay; depending on the context though, he'd either suggest something else or convince you to at least try a new thing.

the cheesy, classic outings would continue for some time. eventually, after you reassuring him over and over you'd be okay, dwayne would take your dates' to more extreme levels. once, when paul was explaining a date he took a girl on, it really peaked your interest - street racing. you had never done anything like that before, so you voiced to brunette that you wanted to try something like so. after some hesitation, he said fine, but don't complain if anything goes wrong. his words, too.

you end up going zip lining in the woods, some place far off. it was crazy, very thrilling, and completely new to you.. but it was in fact a rush. you never thought feeling the wind whip through your hair or straining your arm and/or shoulder muscles could feel so good, but it did! your excited screaming and playful kicking at dwayne showed him that.

he took a mental image on how your face broke into the widest grin he's ever seen, and how your eyes were lit joyfully. truly, even if it hadn't been too long, dwayne never had seen you so happy. he loved it, and bookmarked the experience into the back of his mind. he'd definitely take you on more dates like that if he got to see you that excited.

after every date, if not while on it, he'd definitely get you both food. mainly for your benefit though, because he knows how cranky humans can get without food - especially foodie's. it could be your size of choice, or choice of meal too. he's okay with whatever, as long as you don't want the entire menu. you'd just be another paul. it wouldn't be a bad thing, but he would have no idea what to do if you pull stunts like his coven brother did.

I can see him getting you gifts on certain dated months, whether it be big or small. he's never had a serious relationship, or romantic encounter, so as the time goes on he's wanting to spoil you more and more. he couldn't, though; he knew it'd be too much. plus, you'd probably lecture him, just because you're so selfless ( if you aren't.. oh well lmao ). every three months, however, seems like the right time for him, so expect presents - the majority being hand crafted items.

overall, i think dates with dwayne would be really enjoyable! there could be much more things to say, and stuff he'd do, but I'll leave that up to everyone's imagination <3.

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1987 #dwayne the lost boys #dwayne tlb #dwayne tlb headcanons #dwayne's headcanons #dwayne's date headcanons #the lost boys imagines #the lost boys headcanon

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cryptidkeepp · 3 months ago

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"it's a bed. if you're meaning because some teenager slept on it, you're not going to scare me away, eddie m'boy. i've slept on much worse and the floor can always do the back wonders should i need it." he winked at the other man and mirrored his smirk. wyatt grabbed a piece of bacon from his plate and held it between two fingers to take a bite. "i have to ask though, do you sleep with the chickens? are you really that lonely, my friend?"

@cryptidkeepp

Eddie looked over the table at his lodger as he stabbed the bacon on his plate a couple of times before chewing on it. "So, how's the bed?" He hid a smirk behind the food knowing that the mattress belonged to his kid so it was super soft and not really very good when you were a grown adult.

#wyatt.interactions #wyatt&eddie001.

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poetrythathurtsmysoul · 3 years ago

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Some more of my fic

"LITTLE BLACK!!!!!, YOUR BACK!!" Shouted Carson Nott.

Carson was captain of the quidditch team and obviously happy to have his star seeker back in play.

Upon the shout all eyes averted to the awkward boy slowly making his way to the slytherin table. Barty stood with the biggest grin on his face and jogged over to regulus.

Professor slughorn chuckled to himself quietly before leaving the two boys to go and enjoy his lunch.

As barty let out a slight gasp and his grin dropped everyone got a proper look at the boy who'd been missing for all of 6 weeks. Many had to crane their necks to do so.

My, was he a sight for saw eyes. Barty gave reg a hug that was quickly cut short when regulus winced at the contact.

Even sirius black was worried now.

Reg had a cut on his lip and his nose looked like it had been broken and mended rather hastily. He sported a black eye and deep bags that made him nearly unrecognisable. His face was sunken in (almost as if he had lost rather a lot of wait in a really short time) making his cheekbones ever more prominent. He looked pale and sickly, Regulus and Barty made quite the couple.

The two made their way to the table and barty started to pile food onto reggie's plate. Narcissa took one look at her cousin before sighing deeply and bringing him into a side hug. He leant into her and spoke in barely a whisper but the silent hall heard everyword.

"It hurts cissy"

Silent tears tracked down cissy face and she held the boy. The hall broke out in whispers conversations, the topic of each one: what happened to regulus black?

It was the final class of the day before regulus spoke again. Potions with Professor slughorn.

" what time is your party tonight, sir?" Asked the boy tiredly.

"Starts at 6 m'boy. I'll look forward to seeing you there. Don't forget a plus one" he let out a hearty chuckle before moving away to correct Adeline Patil's potion.

Barty looked at Reg in concern. "You don't have to go."

"I want to. Come with me?"

And the boys silently agreed to meet in the common room at half five.

Other than the stares at his bruised face, regulus had a peaceful rest of the day. Its a shame nothing peaceful could ever last.

Hope you like it. Let me know

#sirius and regulus #regulus black #marauders fanfiction #sirius black #barty x regulus #marauders era #regulus arcturus black #regulus x barty #timothee chalamet #sirius orion black #regulus deserved better #regulus headcanon

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jj-babebank · 3 years ago

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Camp Willowdale / JJ Maybank AU / PART 2

Synopsis: Camp Willowdale is buzzing with new campers. It’s Caroline Windsor’s first year as a camp counsellor after attending the camp as a camper for ten years. Little does she know that this year Willowdale Lake is going to be a little different from what she is used to it being…

Warnings: future chapters may include curse words, mentions of drugs, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sexual activities, mentions of death.

Pairings: JJ Maybank x fem OC

Part 1 can be found here. xxx

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

Part 2 -

Lunch was over and Pricilla organised the boys to go set up the objects for tomorrow night's scavenger hunt around the camp grounds. The boys had drawn the groups their pairs would be in charge of before leaving and JJ and Caroline had gotten Teens 2, whereas Sarah and John B had gotten Teens 1, which meant that, for better or worse, their groups would be partaking in a lot of activities together, seeing as they were both in the same age group.

The girls were given the job to set up the seating area where the bonfire was going to be, so Sarah and Caroline stuck together as they made their way towards the clearance where it was going to be held.

"Can you believe I got paired up with JJ Maybank?" Caroline sighed.

"Beats Routledge by a thousand, I can promise you that," said Sarah, still extremely disappointed, "At least Maybank looks like he takes care of himself."

Caroline chuckled at her comment. John B had also grown his hair out over the years and it was now down to his shoulders.

"He does seem like he is... in touch with nature," Caroline remarked and Sarah laughed genuinely for the first time since drawing the boy’s name out, "Maybe they won't be that bad to work with, besides, it's only nine weeks, what could go wrong?"

Sarah seemed to think for a second before her lips curled into a devious smirk, "Hey, didn't you used to have, like, the biggest crush on Maybank?"

Caroline's cheeks turned red immediately, "I don't know what you're talking about," she mumbled quickly.

Sarah started laughing, "You totally did! You lucky, lucky bitch! I wish I got paired up with my childhood crush! Instead I get to spend my last summer before moving away with snot-nosed, bug-eating Routledge... Why was the Universe on your side and not on mine?"

They walked behind the rest of the girl counsellors towards the bonfire area. When they arrived, the logs that Pricilla had informed them would be stacked up in a convenient for them to move around way, were all scattered across the ground. The pillows that were meant to go on top of them were also in disarray. All the girls looked around in confusion.

"Surely this couldn't have been the wind?" one of them said.

"Surely this was the boys." said Sarah matter-of-factly, "I'd bet 50 bucks that Routledge had something to do with this."

All the girls turned to look at her in confusion.

"What?" she protested, shrugging her shoulders, "You know I'm right."

Caroline rolled her eyes, "Boys or not, we better sort this mess out before sundown, we have cabins to set up as well."

The girls agreed, Sarah being skeptical but also finally giving in, and little by little, they set up the bonfire area. It took them a little over two hours before they started making their way back to the cabins, which they were supposed to decorate with welcome signs for the arriving campers.

Since Sarah and Caroline were both in charge of the oldest groups, their campers were meant to be sharing two cabins - one for the boys and one for the girls.

"Let's split up, I'll do the boys and you do the girls," Sarah offered, nearly shocking Caroline, "Try being as quick as you can. Meet me back out here in 15 minutes tops." she ordered before scurrying up the steps into the boys’ cabin.

Caroline rushed into the cabin next door, pleasantly surprised by Sarah's sudden determination to get work done. As she was arranging the banners and posters on the walls and ceiling, she couldn't help but think that Sarah must have had some sort of ulterior motive to being this enthusiastic about working. Sure enough, she was right.

She had barely taken a step out of the girls' cabin when Sarah spoke up, "Took you long enough. Now let's go find those stupid guys."

The sun was setting and the woods had gotten a bit chilly as Sarah lead Caroline towards where the male counsellors were supposed to be. After setting up the scavenger hunt objects, they were supposed to set up the archery area. As they were getting closer to the archery grounds, the two girls could hear the laughter of the boys in the nearby distance. Sarah pretended to gag yet again.

"Quick, around here," Caroline pulled Sarah behind the small hut where they kept all of the camp's archery supplies. From their spot they could see the guys quite clearly and could hear everything they were saying, "Remind me again why we're doing this?" Caroline whisper-yelled at Sarah.

"Because I'm still furious about their little prank," Sarah explained, "Which is why I want to prank them back."

"How are we gonna do that exactly?" asked Caroline, "By eavesdropping?"

"A good villain is one that knows the enemy's weaknesses," said Sarah, "First we listen for a bit, and then we make a plan."

Caroline couldn't help but smirk at this new side of Sarah she was seeing. She much preferred this Sarah to the constantly whining, gloating Sarah she had gotten used to over the years. Plus, being somewhat of a daredevil herself, Caroline couldn't help but find the idea of pranking the boys back exciting.

"Can you believe I got paired with Jenna Kinley?" one of the boys, Kelce, said, "Not only are we supposed to work together, but we're also meant to be taking care of babies..." he face palmed himself.

The other boys laughed.

"C'mon, Johnson, 10 year olds are hardly babies," said another one of the boys, Topper, "Besides, working with Kinley will not be nearly as scandalous as working with Hague!"

JJ spoke up next, "Aw, don't be like that, Top," he said, "Madison's not that bad!"

Topper scoffed at JJ, "Easy for you to say! You and Routledge got paired with the best girls out of the bunch! And you got the teens groups!"

Sarah and Caroline smirked at the remark.

"Boys, boys, boys," came John B's voice suddenly, "Let's put this topic behind us, I'm sure you'll all be glad to hear about what I managed to sneak into our cabin." all the boys were now staring at John B in anticipation, "16 bottles of pure, fine whiskey, m'boys. Safe to say, tonight will be a ball."

"Bingo..." Sarah and Caroline smiled mischievously at each other, the perfect prank idea forming in both of their heads.

They quietly made their way back to where all the cabins were and sat at one of the patios.

"So here's the plan," said Sarah, "We sneak into their cabin, raid Routledge's luggage and steal his bottles of whiskey. Let's go now!"

Caroline stopped her, "No, no, not now!" she hissed, "They're gonna go to their cabin before dinner and Routledge's gonna want to show them his stash! We'll sneak out during dinner. Oh, and, I suggest we throw a party of our own to this occasion."

Sarah smirked at Caroline, "I like where you're going with this, Carrie," she said, patting Caroline's shoulder before standing up to go into their cabin, "Not bad for a nerd."

Caroline sighed, there was the old Sarah again.

~~~~~~~~

“Windsor!” Caroline heard a voice behind her call out, “Been paired up for a whole day now and we still haven’t the chance to talk!”

Caroline turned around to find a beaming JJ smiling at her. Had he come over from the boys table specifically for her? She could feel her cheeks beginning to burn slightly.

“We can talk,” she said quickly.

JJ took a seat next to her on the long bench. She could feel the heat in her cheeks become even hotter. JJ didn’t seem to notice her nervousness, or awkwardness.

“How’s life been then?” he asked.

Caroline took a deep breath to soothe her nerves, looking up, only to find a smirking Sarah crossing her arms across from her at the table.

“Just the regular, nothing too special,” she said, frowning quickly at Sarah before turning to face JJ again, hoping he hadn’t noticed Sarah’s behavior.

JJ jokingly frowned, “Nothing too special? I heard you got accepted into Charleston University, that’s like super special.”

Caroline cringed internally, “Did you happen to hear anything else by any chance?”

JJ smirked, “Not sure what you’re talking about,”

Caroline wasn’t sure if he was being serious or not but she pretended to not be bothered.

“Well I hear you’re throwing a party tonight,” Caroline crossed her arms in front of her.

JJ smirked even more, “Where’d you hear that from?”

“Why?” she tempted, “Is my source wrong?”

“Hardly,” JJ bit back, standing up, “So perhaps I’ll see you there.”

With that he walked back to where the other male counsellors were sat, giving one last look at Caroline, smirk never leaving his face.

Sarah started laughing loudly, “Looks like someone’s got their eye on little Carrie,” she teased, “Lucky, lucky bitch.”

Caroline rolled her eyes at her, “Bullshit,”

Sarah leaned over the table to whisper to Caroline, “I like the way you handled the situation, we’re definitely going to be there, on more occasions than one.”

Caroline looked at her watch, “Shit, it’s getting late, we better go now!”

And with that, they snuck their way out of the Wildcat Lodge and towards the boys’ cabin.

“Crap, the door’s locked!” Sarah cursed.

Caroline looked around. One of the upper windows seemed to be open. This gave her an idea.

“Sarah, do you still do cheerleading?” she looked at the girl, a plan forming in her brain.

Sarah raised an eyebrow, “What’s that got to do with anything? And duh, how else would my legs look this good?”

Caroline’s lips turned into a grin, “Give me a lift.”

Sarah’s eyes widened, “Excuse me?”

Caroline nodded her head towards the upper window and Sarah whined, “Why’s it always me?”

Silently, they rushed into position. Sarah took her stance, her hands ready to lift up Caroline’s body. Caroline balanced herself on Sarah’s shoulders as Sarah readied her hands to push her up. In one swift motion, Caroline had pulled herself in through the upper window and was now inside the cabin. She immediately went to the door to unlock the handle from the inside so that Sarah could let herself in.

The two girls looked around the space. It was dark and the only light penetrating into it was the one from the lamps outside. Three pairs of bunk beds were sitting there, covered in unpacked suitcases, boxes and bags.

“Great,” sighed Caroline in annoyance, “How are we ever going to figure out which one’s Routledge’s?”

Sarah took a better look at all of the bunk beds again, her eyes landing on one with a particularly large suitcase with a Green Peace sign on it, “My guess is that it’s that one.”

They went over to the suitcase and Sarah nervously leaned over it, “Eurgh, bug eating Routledge better not have live animals in there,” she said as she quickly ripped open the zipper, flinching away as soon as it came undone.

“That’s it!” Caroline excitedly said, “Help me pick it up!”

The suitcase contained three changes of clothes and a large box filled with unopened bottles of whiskey, just like they had heard John B brag about by the archery area. The two girls combined all of their strength to lift the heavy box off the bed and made their way towards the door, when they heard a loud thumping sound from the back of the cabin. Something heavy had fallen in the corner of the cabin that was unlit by the outdoor lamps, making both girls slightly jump and nearly tip over the box full of alcohol. They squinted their eyes in the direction where the sound came from, however they couldn’t make out anything in the thick darkness.

“What was that?” Sarah said nervously.

“Whatever it was,” Caroline said, leading them out of the door, “We can’t wait around to find out.”

With that they were out of the cabin, closing the door behind them and making their way back to their own cabin quickly.

They hid the box inside the storage room and decided to sneak back into the Wildcat Lodge, so that nobody would question their whereabouts.

There was half an hour left until the end of dinner service as Sarah and Caroline sat back at their designated table, trying to draw as little attention to themselves as they could.

“Do you think someone saw us in there?” whispered Sarah so that only Caroline could hear.

Caroline shrugged her shoulders, “I really hope not, but I did get the weird feeling that we were being watched once we heard that noise,”

Sarah shuddered, “Yeah, major heebie jeebies in there. Glad the boys got that cabin and not us.”

Caroline rolled her eyes, “Relax, Sarah, worst case scenario is it was just one of the guys and he saw us stealing tonight’s party supplies.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow, “I swear to God if it was Routledge -”

“If it was Routledge, he wouldn’t have let us get away with it,”

“Shit, Carrie, you’re totally right!” Sarah unwillingly raised her voice, “Who do you think it was?”

Caroline shrugged again, “Honestly? I don’t think it was anyone, I just think something happened to fall down on its own.”

“Hmm… You’re probably right again.” Sarah turned to look at the big clock on the wall, “We’d better get going, we’ve got to get ready for that party you got invited to!” she winked at Caroline, smirking.

Caroline looked towards the boys table where JJ was already looking back at her, a smile dancing on his thin lips. She met his eyes and a faint blush appeared on her cheeks. She decided to give him a little wave to which he happily waved back.

“Hello?” Sarah’s annoyed voice broke Caroline’s focus from JJ, “Are you coming or what? I want us to look good for when we see the guys’ disappointed faces tonight!”

Caroline sighed and followed Sarah out of the Lodge. Tonight was going to be interesting.

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

A/N: I know I only just uploaded the first part, but I want to establish the Camp Willowdale universe as fast as possible so that the actual story can take off and it does in the next part. I'm going to create a taglist for people who have shown interest in the story thus far, so if you want to be included, make sure to leave a reply so that I can include you in the next part.

Also if you haven't noticed so far, this story, aside from fun and romantic, will be quite campy so I hope you're into that. We've also got quite the mystery coming up so stay tuned for that as well x

Alsoooo please give me some inspiration on who I can base Caroline off, I'm kind of leaving her up to the reader's imagination so that you can just imagine yourself as her, but ideally I'd like to have someone who's picture I can use for future photos. I've got my mind set on Maia Mitchel, but feel free to drop recommendations too.

Anyways, let me know what you think this far and feel free to check out the rest of my works in my masterlist. xxx

Part 3 here

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jentrevellan · 4 years ago

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I'm so happy to finally share my fic for @dasmutquisition! I had so much fun with this one, it's unreal. I hope you enjoyed @sumiIong

Rating: Explicit

Category: F/M

Fandoms: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins

Relationship: Alistair/Female Cousland (Dragon Age)

Characters: Alistair (Dragon Age), Female Cousland (Dragon Age), Teagan Guerrin

Additional Tags: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Banter, Cuddling & Snuggling, Happy Ending, Making Love, trapped together (sort of), strong woman, anxious Alistair, generic Cousland, King Alistair and Queen Cousland, newlyweds, Morning Sex, D in the V, Porn With Plot, Dorks in Love

Language: English

Collections: Nobody Expects the Dragon Age Smutquisition

Summary: Alistair and the Warden spend the first night not only as husband and wife but as King and Queen.

Notes: Thank you @curiousthimble for being my beta!

Read on Ao3

Doin' the Fondue

The great hall in Denerim Castle was loud and filled to the rafters with people. Nobles, elves, dwarves and peasants alike were squeezed in, all clamouring to see the newly married couple. Up on the dais, overlooking the crowd that was slowly getting rowdier and rowdier with the ale and wine that continued to flow, Alistair - now King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden - slouched in his throne and took a gulp of wine.

He was terrified.

Oh, the ceremony had been a delight, and he had adored proclaiming his love in front of the Maker and the witnesses in the Chantry. But as soon as he had stepped into the hall for their wedding feast, his gut started churning. Because he knew what must come next after the merriment had ended.

He glanced at his wife beside him. His wife! Despite his anxiety, he couldn’t help but grin like a fool at the thought of his Grey Warden companion, Lady Cousland, now being his wife. It didn’t seem wholly real. Indeed, most of his life the past year hadn’t seemed real. So much had changed, and now he was married.

Alistair took another sip of wine from his goblet and his new wife glanced at him, a small frown on her brow. She already knows me so well, he thought. No one else would be able to tell that anything was amiss, but she had always seen straight through him and knew when even the smallest thing was bothering him. One of the many traits he loved about her. Although it did mean that it was impossible to keep any sort of secret from her. Even the good kind of secrets.

As he picked at his food, his new wife and Queen accepted many gracious gifts from guests. All curtsied or bowed and she was most eloquent in her response. Truly, she was more prepared for this life as a monarch than him. Her noble upbringing was a far cry from how he was raised. But wherever his trepidation lay about ruling, he knew that with this woman beside him as his Queen, that he could do anything.

She laughed heartily at a joke Teagan was telling her, and he watched as she wiped away a tear. Alistair glowered at his uncle and reached out for his wife’s hand. She turned to him, a wide smile on her face, her cheeks flushed and her lips rosy from the wine.

“Everything alright?” she asked.

He nodded his head to Teagan. “Just wondering what was so funny…?”

She blushed prettily, and a jealous hand gripped his gut. He would not easily forget his uncle’s flirtations when he had first met them in Redcliffe, and ever since, a fit of strange jealousy and need to claim her as he always came about when he was in the presence of both her and Tegan.

Waving a jewelled hand, she shook her head. “It was nothing. Rather crude, actually, so I told him off for lowering the tone of our conversation at our wedding feast,” she replied, taking a sip of wine. “Now what’s the matter with you?”

“Me?” he repeated. “Nothing. Nothing is the matter with me at all. Absolutely nought.”

“Alistair,” she said seriously, leaning in close. Her tone made him want to listen, but her golden gown with its tight bodice had pressed her breasts pleasantly together and were well within his eye line that he couldn’t help but glance down. A treacherous blaze of desire coursed through him, and with her puckered lips, her brow furrowed in concern, he wanted nothing more than to crush her to him and -

A chill went through him. He wanted her, oh yes, most desperately, but Tegan caught his eye and winked, and a shudder of repulsion went through him as he turned his head to see half of the court watching their interaction. He pulled away from his wife abruptly and reached for his goblet of wine, again and took a huge mouthful.

Ever the gracious lady, his wife smiled faintly and pretended that nothing had happened. But the look she quietly gave him as he peered at her over the rim of his goblet made his gut clench with guilt. There was a flash of hurt in her eyes, and he felt rotten about being the cause.

The dinner continued and as the servants were generous with topping up his wine, Alistair kept emptying his goblet. His wife, on the other hand, declined and stuck to watery lemonade and with dread, he realised that she was not drinking the same as him because it was expected that she needed to stay sober to conceive.

It was like a weight was pressing down on his chest, and he struggled to breathe, and it was getting worse as the evening wore on. Soon he stopped eating and drinking and just watched everybody that approached the dais to offer their congratulations or present gifts to the newlyweds. One item that was given to the new Queen was a selection of herbs which, as the kindly elderly noble had explained “would help the womb quicken”. Alistair had almost retched at her words, and instead began a small coughing fit, which required his wife to smack him firmly on the back a few times harder than she would’ve done normally.

At one point, a small child approached, dressed in a simple cotton tunic, as white as a cloud. Her hair was braided down her back and entwined with flowers. She stood before the queen who rose from her throne and leant over the table to adjust a flower in the girl’s hair. Alistair watched as his wife’s face lit up with warmth as she listened and spoke to the child. He wanted to give that to her. But… but…

“Let us bed them!” Tegan suddenly announced, and there was a scramble as the court got to their feet hurriedly, to be one of the select few to follow them to their chambers. The women reached the queen and she shot Alistair one swift look of alarm before resigning herself to their insistent tugs as they all but pushed her out of the room. Alistair followed with a group of noblemen, including his uncle.

“I bet you’re looking forward to this, m'boy,” Tegan grinned, falling into step beside Alistair, as they made their way through the halls of the castle.

“I don't know what you mean,” he replied flatly, his face feeling warm not just from the wine.

Tegan clapped him on the back. “You are one lucky man, my boy,” he said with a sigh, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ve never seen you so quiet in all the time I’ve known you. Your mind has been elsewhere this evening - and I’m not the only one to notice.”

Dread tugged at him as he climbed the stairs. “Yes, you’re right and I’m sorry, but-”

“Sorry!” Tegan repeated with a snort. “You’ve no need to be sorry. Most men are as quiet as a mouse in anticipation of their wedding night. And one can’t certainly blame you: your wife is simply lovely.”

“Yes, thank you, Tegan,” Alistair ground out, shrugging his shoulder lose of his grip. But rather than be offended, the man laughed and Alistair clenched his fists. Never before had he been so tempted to knock his uncle around the head.

They arrived at his chamber door and inside more nobles awaited eagerly. The king’s bed had been arranged neatly, but there was no expectation for him to sleep there tonight. Instead, he eyed the connecting door where he knew his wife would be waiting for him, surrounded by the noblewomen.

“Are you going to leave?” he asked, looking around the room, but the men just laughed, and chatted, some making obscene gestures. He grimaced, hating the sheer manliness in the room. His manservant came forward to help him undress from his finery and removed his crown. Once he had been disrobed save for his smalls, he threw on his white cotton nightshirt and ran his hands through his hair, wiping the sweat from his brow.

There was a faint knock at the connecting door, and one of the servants hurried forward and exchanged whispers with the servant on the other side. Alistair paced anxiously and took a very keen interest in a loose thread on the sleeve of his shirt. The men around him were talking about absolute filth, and he squeezed his eye tight shut, in the vain hope that his ears would squeeze shut too.

Finally, the connecting door swung open and the servant stood aside. Alistair was rooted to the spot, fear coursing through him. Are these people… going to watch ? He thought with horror.

He was quite content with where he was until Tegan elbowed him in the ribs. “Nervous?” he said with a wink.

“Yes. No! I mean, no !” he said hurriedly, his face burning.

“There’s nothing to be scared about. She’s going to be a wonderful wife to you in so many ways…”

“Shut up,” Alistair groaned, rubbing his hand down his face. Honestly, he was this close to hurling Tegan out the window.

But before he could entertain that thought further, the men in his room were pressing him through the door and - oh Maker no - were also following him. He entered the queen's bed-chamber to find a gaggle of ladies with rosy cheeks flutter their lashes and lick their lips seductively at the men. But Alistair was anything but aroused when he finally turned to the large, four-poster bed, to see his wife and queen.

She was a perfect painting of innocence and virginity in crisp white sheets with a matching white nightdress. Her hair had been unbound and combed neatly and she sat as still as a statue, her back and posture absolutely perfect for a queen. The covers were pulled up to her lap, and her hands rested delicately entwined: her sparkling wedding ring the only jewellery that remained.

He refused to meet her eyes as he slowly walked around to the other side of the bed. He pulled the covers down amidst the chatting of the court and when he finally sat beside her, a good arms-length away from her, the court finally - finally - turned to leave. Several clapped, the women exchanged knowing looks with the queen, who smiled politely in return, and the men, now incredibly drunk, ambled from the room, wishing Alastair luck and reminding him of how lucky he was.

Finally, blessedly, the last person left the room and closed the door with a gentle click .

☆☆☆☆☆

To the new queen’s dismay, the first thing her new husband did as soon as the door had shut, was leap out of the bed as if he had been scalded. She frowned as he strode towards the door, and for an awful moment, she thought he was going to leave. But no: he reached to a small side table and found a key and locked the big oak door to her chambers, followed by locking the conjoining door from the king’s bedroom.

Still not saying anything, Alistar strode around the room, pulling open curtains and wardrobes, trunks and cabinets.

“What in the world are you doing?” she finally asked, her patience running thin. The man had barely spoken to her since their vows in the Chantry in the morning, and now he was examining every nook and cranny of her chambers?

He paused by her bookshelf and flicked her a glance over his shoulder. “Checking,” he replied, before shifting a few books.

“Whatever for?”

He sighed in exasperation. “To make sure that we are alone! Andraste’s arse, I thought they were going to stay at one point and watch to make sure we… we… erm…” he coughed and busied himself by peering under a chaise lounge.

She got out of bed and dropped to her hands and knees and looked under the bed. Thankfully, there was no one there, but she had to admit that the same fear had crossed her mind. Even though she knew that wasn’t the common practice, sometimes nobility did take things a bit too literally…

“We’re safe,” she sighed, placing her hands on her hips.”There’s no spy, no peephole, no nothing but us.”

Alistair finally stopped his fidgeting and turned to her from across the room. For the first time in a long time, they were utterly alone. Normally, they would’ve fallen into each other’s arms by now, but something was stopping her, and she could tell that something was also stopping him. They stood on opposite sides of her room, the bed imposing and glaring at them, whilst the distance between them felt as vast a chasm. And that was something neither of them had experienced before.

“Everything is different now, isn’t it?” she said quietly, looking down at her hands clasped before her.

Alistair also seemed to be studying his fingernails. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

She played with the hem of her pure white night-dress and frowned. Conversation with her now-husband had never been this stilted. So she switched tactic to one he would hopefully relax with: humour.

“You know, for a good ten minutes, I honestly thought they were all going to stay and watch,” she said with a wry smile. She knew they wouldn't - being brought up as a noble lady had earnt her some education in these things - but Alistair needed not to know that. For it worked:

“Maker! You did too?” he exclaimed, letting out a bark of laughter. “I didn’t think they would, but I began to doubt myself.”

She took a step towards him. “Hence your paranoia about spies?”

He nodded. “Yes, hence the… paranoia ,” he rolled his eyes at her choice of words, but there was a smirk on his lips, which made her heart soar.

The man she knew was peeking through, so she took another step closer. “It’s an archaic tradition anyway,” she said. “I know for a fact that they do not practice it in Orlais.”

Alistair snorted. “Perhaps the only redeeming factor of the Orlesians.”

“Hmm, that and the cheese,” she smiled and finally, finally , her new husband met her eyes.

They both burst into laughter and she saw his shoulders sag. She bit her lip and placed a hand on his cheek. “We don’t have to do anything if you don't want to,” she said earnestly.

His face reddened. “But I do! I do want to! With you, that is! I just… it’s just…” he trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut as he sought out the right words.

“The pressure of it all?” she supplied.

“Yes!” he gasped, relieved. “To know that we cannot come together unless it’s for a purpose. That purpose,” he mumbled, pointing to her stomach.

He was going inside himself again, so she took his hands in hers and gave a gentle squeeze. “Think of it this way… it’s for the good of the country that you fuck me senseless any time of day and night.”

Alistair spluttered at her bluntness but she just laughed as she slipped her hands from his and moved past him. There was a small table laden with food - to help keep up their energy for their excursions, no doubt - so she helped herself to a goblet of wine and poured one for her new husband. “You’re probably one of the only men in the world who can use that excuse,” she smiled, popping a grape in her mouth.

“You…” he grinned, walking over and taking the other goblet from her hand. “You are a minx.”

She pretended to be shocked. “You’ve only just realised? And here I thought you only married me because you knew I was.”

He put an arm around her shoulder and pulled him to her, kissing the top of her head. “One of many, many many reasons,” he replied.

They stood content in silence, their thoughts elsewhere when she finally spoke again. “I meant what I said. We don’t have to do anything we’re expected to do tonight.”

He gulped but nodded. “I… I know. And I appreciate that, but please don’t think it’s because I don’t want... need you,” he said quietly, his grip on her tightening.

“It’s not like we’ve not done it before,” she said, taking another sip of wine. “Even if this gown pretends to be evidence to the contrary.”

“Yes, and we have done it, many, many times…”

“And we will many more,” she confirmed, popping another grape in her mouth, the sweetness washing over her tongue. She turned to him: “but not tonight.”

“Thank the Maker I married you,” he murmured, downing the rest of his wine.

“But I do have a wicked idea…”

He glanced at her, eyebrows raised.

“We should take all of this food and eat it… in bed.”

He laughed, so genuine and delightful that her gut warmed pleasantly. Suddenly, in one swift motion, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, his other hand grabbing the cheese board and marched over to the bed. He threw her down, and she tried to not be too aroused by the action, but her pert nipples through her night-dress gave her away. Determined to make sure Alistair was as happy as could be, she reached forward and pulled him onto the bed and instead of kissing him, grabbed a handful of cheese and squashed it into his mouth.

The King of Ferelden snorted with laughter as he tried to eat the cheese, before doing the same back at his new queen. He pecked her on the nose and rose to collect more food and wine, and soon they were sitting leaning against the headboard, a delectable spread of food between them. And they gorged.

☆☆☆☆☆

The sun peered through the lattice windows of the queen’s chamber. The light was white and bright and brought Alistair blinking out of his deep slumber, momentarily confused at his location. He looked up at the canopy above him and duly noted the olive green drapes of the Queen’s bed. He’d never slept in here and was momentarily disoriented until he remembered the day before.

In his arms, still and sound asleep, was his wife. Her hair was splayed on the pillow and tickled his nose. He couldn’t see her face, but today it felt more real: this woman who had become his friend and companion, lover and hero of Ferelden, was now his wife… his queen . He gently propped himself onto his elbow, so as not to wake her, and gazed down at her face, noting the way the sunlight accentuated her high cheekbones. This wonderful, beautiful and exquisite woman is my wife , he thought with quiet awe. His chest flipped with uncontained joy and gone was the trepidation of the night before.

He studied her face as she slept, her nostrils flaring slightly as she sighed contently in her sleep. He lay back down and pulled her close to him, tightening his grip on her, and burying his face in her neck, inhaling her intoxicatingly sweet scent. The silk nightdress was so smooth and thin, and his hands couldn’t help but wander up and down, his fingers gently brushing the material over her skin, like water. Without realising it, he found himself rutting against her arse, which was tucked up cosily to his groin. He tried to still himself, she's still asleep ! But his wandering hands could not be stopped as one slowly crept up her torso and cupped a breast. The shift was so thin, that he felt her nipple harden with the barest of touches and that’s when he realised that her hips were moving too.

He pushed himself up to an elbow again, and her eyes, dark and hooded with desire stared back at him. Her lips parted with a hitched breath and he flicked her nipple with his thumb. Moving his hand downwards, he swallowed her breathy moan as his fingers teased the hem of her smalls, mouth crashing down on hers in simple, uncontained desire.

They had not so much as kissed since they had said their wedding vows in the Chantry, he realised. And as his tongue licked her upper lip, he swore to himself that he would never leave it so long to kiss her again. Her mouth opened with a sigh and their tongues danced as he continued to rut, and she squirmed against him as his hand finally slipped into her smalls in search of her bud.

He stifled a groan as he found her hand already there, gently touching herself. His fingers joined hers whilst they moved their hips and she guided him with her hand. He slipped a digit inside of her and she gasped, squirming against his erection, straining against his smalls, and he pictured feeling her growing wetness around his cock. With impatience, he slid her nightdress up so she was exposed and he pulled his cock out and rubbed it blissfully between her cheeks. Her soft skin was as smooth as silk as he rocked his hips, gaining pleasant friction with her arse.

“More…” she whispered, as her fingers joined his, pumping inside her. And with his control waning, he obliged eagerly.

Alistair rolled her onto her back and pulled her hands over her head as he pinned her down. Her legs fell open for him, and as much as he wanted - no needed - to be inside her, Alistair knew what his lady wife needed more was to be spoiled. If it were up to him, the king would love to stay buried between his wife’s legs for the rest of his days, as her taste was so sweet. He trailed kisses down her neck, and her hips lifted up to meet his, and his resolve almost broke as her core was teased against his cock. But being a Warden had one excellent perk: incomparable stamina.

He continued down, kissing her heaving breasts as they rose and fell erratically with her breathing. Playing with one in his hand, he took her other nipple in his mouth and sucked lightly, her perfect bud hard and round in his mouth. With his hand, he squeezed her other one tight, and had her gasping: but he was nowhere near done. He let go of her breast in his mouth with a pop and glanced up at her to see her mouth open and delicious, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. He grinned and kissed her stomach, then pulled back and positioned himself on his elbows, taking in the sight of her splayed out on the bed, rosy cheeks and breathy moans all for him. He pressed his lips to her knee, then with each kiss, his stubble tickled the inside of her thigh as he moved up her legs, finally reaching that gloriously warm and wet apex in between that was just begging for him to taste.

Desire surged through him and without wasting any more time, he pulled her legs over his shoulders and licked her dripping wet folds. She cried out in pleasure as he rolled his tongue over her, and her fingers grabbed his head, nails digging into his scalp as he worked his mouth. She tasted as good as she smelt, and her hips rose up to meet his mouth, jittering as she climbed higher to her peak. He wanted to spoil her because she deserved it and more. So he reached up with one hand and squeezed a breast and flicked a nipple again, loving the way her hips bucked in response. Her nails dug deeper into his scalp and raked his chestnut hair as his other hand kneaded her arse, lifting her up so he had the best angle to eat her out.

He teased and tortured her with his mouth, and finally sucked on her clit.

“Ah...ah...Alist-ah!” she cried out, her thighs clamping around his head as she came. He tasted her orgasm on his tongue and without missing a beat, rose and positioned himself at her entrance. Her eyes flicked open to look at him as she felt him move, and a tiny smile pulled at the corner of her exquisite mouth. That was all he needed.

So tormentingly slowly, Alistair finally entered her, the warmth and wetness so indescribably perfect that he couldn’t help but let out a moan. He fit her perfectly and when sheathed completely, he paused and stared into her eyes. Her breathing was still fast from her orgasm and he captured her mouth with his, letting her taste herself. Then he rolled his hips and started to slowly make love to her, not once tearing his gaze from her face. He noticed every single expression that flickered before him as he thrust and teased: a hand on her hip and another once more on her breasts.

She wrapped her legs around him and he plunged unbelievably deeper inside of her, making them gasp and moan in unison as they moved together in a rhythm as old as time. As they moved, the pleasure and pressure mounted, but Alistair had much more control than a boy still wet behind the ears - he wanted to give her so much more before he -

“Ah!” he gasped, as she took him by surprise. She had crossed her ankles behind his back and with her strong legs, twisted so that he was forced to roll and let her sit on top of him. Incredibly, they did not lose touch, and the angle was different but just as pleasurable. She smirked down at him as she pressed her hands to his chest and began to slowly roll her hips, her breasts rising and falling beautifully as she took him. Alistair was entranced as he watched his love move quicker with a growing need and he held her hips tightly to control her pace. But she didn’t need any assistance, as she moved faster and faster, his thrusts coming up to meet hers, flesh slapping flesh. Her moans crescendoed, and the erotic sight before him of his wife move above him with a wonton need to claim her pleasure...well he could feel his control slipping. He wanted to spill himself inside of her, and see his seed drip down her legs…

“Fuck!” she cried, reaching her second orgasm, as Alistair dug his fingers into her thighs to stop himself from joining her peak of pleasure. She fell back and Alistair seized his moment to regain control and topped her again.

Fully sheathed once more, he deliberately moved slowly, as he knew that if he picked up the pace then he wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. But she caught his eye and licked her lips.

“Please, Alistair,” she panted, her hands digging into his hips, urging him to move faster.

“Mmmm?” he replied, biting her earlobe and slipping out of her, making her whimper.

“What do you want?” he teased, stroking himself as she looked up at him with uncloaked desire.

“It’s more than what I want ...it’s what I need ,” she whispered, sitting up to meet her lips with his, her hand trailing down his chest and abdomen, making his muscles tense in anticipation.

They kissed delicately, fervently, noses touching, breath mingling. “And what do you need?”

She pulled away and lay back down on the bed, her legs falling open. She traced one finger down the length of her, and his eyes followed.

“Take me, my king,” she begged, touching herself in front of him.

Almost roughly, because he couldn't bear to not be in her again, he flipped her over, brought her to her knees and lined himself up to her entrance. He kissed her salty back, sleek with sweat and breathed in her ear. “As my queen commands.”

He thrusted inside, and she took all of him. She threw her head back and he grabbed her neck, pulling her up to him for a searing kiss, their tongues dancing as he thrusted fiercely, the globe of her ass bouncing against his abdomen. She moaned in his mouth as she touched herself; legs shaking as he pounded into her over and over; sweat mingling, with moans loud and needy, filling the chamber. He pumped with such animalistic need and she cried in pleasure and she gripped the bedsheets for support as he took her, unrelenting in his passion.

With a shaking arm, he reached around and touched her pearl and she cried out, her orgasm sudden and huge.

“Fill me!” she pleaded as she continued to come.

He snapped and finally, wonderfully, he reached his peak too and exploded inside of her, his vision blurred and black at the edges, as he emptied his seed inside of her - for the first time. And Maker, did it feel incredible to finish like this; in a union of bodies so perfect and natural.

Alistair, as breathless as if he had just swam the length of the Waking Sea, collapsed on top of her, laughing with joy.

“I...I love...you,” he panted, their legs entwined and he wasn't sure where his body ended and hers began.

They stayed like that for some time, and Alistair was tempted to fall asleep just like this, but she wiggled underneath him.

“Mmmm, as much as I love you inside of me,” she murmured;” you are crushing me somewhat.”

He reluctantly slipped out of her, trailing kisses all down her back and arse, making her hairs stand on end and her toes curl. He gathered her into his arms, the sheets around them a total mess, but he was loath to care as she lightly ran her fingers over him. His limbs felt like jelly, all loose and relaxed.

“Hey, Alistair?”

“Hmm?” he replied, barely opening his eyes.

“There’s some cheese leftover from last night.”

He sat up suddenly and looked over to where she pointed.

“Cheese for breakfast?” he asked.

She smiled and nodded. “Cheese for breakfast,” she confirmed.

fin

#dasmutquisition2021 #jen writes #my writing #alistair theirin #queen cousland #alistair x cousland #wedding night #lemon #lemony goodness #shameless smut #smut #dragon age #dragon age origins #da: origins #da fanfic

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sailtoafarawayland · 3 years ago

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Entwined: Family Outtakes Ch. 3

Summary: A little bit of Wish Captain Cobra bonding from early on in the Entwined universe.

Rating: G

AO3 - FF

Chapter Three: An Unexpected Emergency

Henry lunged forward, nearly leaving his seat on the couch as he slammed the joystick home and button mashed to gain the last kill of the round, letting out a whoop of victory. He scrolled through the stats while his friends went for another bag of chips, pausing when he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket.

Pulling it free and glancing at the screen, he saw the house number pop up under his mom's name. That was weird – as far as he knew she was at work with Killian, and Hook didn't typically call him. He frowned, immediately worried. They did live in Storybrooke after all, and even though things had been peaceful since the Black Fairy, there was always that lingering worry that any day the other shoe would drop.

“Hello?” he asked, raising the phone to his ear and moving from the couch to the window, pushing aside the curtain and glancing down the quiet street to make sure there were no signs of strange colored clouds billowing.

“I'm glad you answered, lad,” Hook's voice came through the speaker, his discomfort clear in the heavy exhale that followed. “I've a bit of an emergency at the house.”

“Have you called Mom?” Henry was already moving back through the living room, motioning to his friends that he had to head out as he grabbed his bag and shoved his feet into his sneakers. “Are you okay?”

“Perhaps emergency was a tad overzealous, but I – I didn't want to disturb your mother or Killian at work. Is there any chance you could stop back in?”

“I'm already on my way,” Henry reassured, wondering what could have gotten his...well, not his dad, and maybe not quite his stepdad yet, but Hook had certainly slipped easily into a space above 'his mom's boyfriend', and Henry knew one day he'd care for him the same way he did Killian, the man who had become a father figure to him. “Can you tell me what happened? This isn't like a curse thing or something, right? Because if it is, we should really – ”

“Not unless you consider this bloody machine accursed,” Hook spat on the other end of the line, several more curses that Henry was pretty sure his mom would not appreciate him hearing following alongside the sound of something clanging against metal.

“I'll be home in five minutes, okay?”

“Aye,” Hook sighed, “You've my thanks, lad.

Henry nodded and smiled even though Hook couldn't see him.

“Just try to keep everything in one piece until I get there. See you in five.”

Henry took the steps to the front door two at a time, the handle leaping out of his reach as Hook yanked it open, the muscle in his jaw ticking wildly as he ran his hand through his hair.

That was what made Henry notice the bubbles – clumps of frothy bubbles clinging to Hook's ear and streaks of them dissipating along the edges of his jaw and between the strands of his hair.

“The bloody washer box is possessed,” Hook growled, stepping back and letting Henry inside to shoulder his bag onto the floor, his eyes widening as he took in the steady stream of suds pouring out of the laundry room and into the hallway. “I thought I'd help with some of the laundering, and I've seen your mother do it often enough – put them in the front, pour the lye into the box, push the buttons, and then they come out clean.”

“Yeah,” Henry hesitated, stepping gingerly across the damp floor and peeking around the corner into the laundry room. “I guess you could say that's about how it works...how much soap did you use?”

“Your mother just pours it in, so I did the same – and all seemed to be going well until I came back down to this. I've pushed every button on the bloody thing, but it won't stop.”

The lights across the top of the washer were a steady blue, the drum still churning out an ungodly amount of suds that bubbled and fell from around the door seal, making their way across the floor. Stepping carefully, the tile slick beneath his sneakers, Henry made his way to the machine and held the power button, hoping that would solve the issue, but the washer ignored him, all of the lights staying stubbornly lit.

“I guess we'll have to unplug it,” he grimaced, glad that the cord was at least accessible above the unit.

“Unplug it?” Hook questioned, standing in the doorway, the bottom of his jeans damp from wading through the bubbles.

“Yeah,” Henry, muttered, heaving himself out of the water and entirely on top of the machine, making sure his sneakers weren't touching anything wet. “You might want to back up, so you're not in the water – and just, don't touch anything with your hook, okay?”

“Aye, that sounds simple enough,” Hook agreed, glad to be relieved of the burden modern technology presented. He backed across the hall and dropped to the bench seat, hook in his lap.

Henry carefully gripped the edge of the large plug and – after a tense moment of quiet prayer that he wouldn't get shocked – the rhythmic shushing of the machine came to a sudden halt, the bubbles crackling meekly from around the door as it stopped agitating.

“Well done, lad!” Hook called, getting up from his seat and peering into the laundry room, his hand running wearily through his hair and dislodging a few more bubbles. “I was beginning to think not even magic could have ceased its destruction.”

“No magic here,” Henry smiled, waving the gray cord in his hand. “Machines don't work in this world without being plugged in – this thing's kind of like its heart, so when you take it out, it – ”

Henry stopped as Hook's smile faltered and disappeared, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, gaze dropping to the floor and fingers tightening against his palm.

“Hook, I'm sorry,” he rushed, dropping the plug to the top of the washer and sliding back to his feet, feeling like the biggest idiot in the world. It wasn't as if he didn't know Killian's history, and he knew that Hook shared almost all of it – including the thing that had cost him his hand and turned him into a revenge-obsessed pirate for hundreds of years. “I shouldn't have...that was stupid, I – ”

“It's quite alright, m'boy,” Hook sighed, the tension slipping away from him as quickly as Henry's words had brought it on. “I've lost many things in my life,” he said, stepping forward and clapping Henry on the shoulder, “but I've gained much as well.”

He couldn't help but smile at the weight of Hook's hand and the way the sadness in his eyes was tempered by joy – it was the same look he'd seen so many times in his own mom's eyes, and Killian's as well.

“We're gonna find her, I know it,” he promised, lips tightening with determination. “My mom won't stop until we figure out how to fix your heart, and neither will Killian – it's kind of what our family does, we always find each other – and we've never let a curse stop us before. We are going to get her back.”

“I hope so – I think you'd love Alice. She has an imagination just as big as yours, and a love for books as well, though you'll have to explain the – what are they again, video games?”

“Yup, and I bet she'll love them too. I can't wait to meet her.”

Hook nodded, stepping back into the hall and surveying the mess around their feet once more.

“Well, I suppose I should see to cleaning this up, and you're free to return to your day off, lad – I can't thank you enough. Learning everything there is to know of this realm, it's not been easy, and I hate to be a burden.”

“You're not, you should have seen Killian and...well, a lot of other people too when they first got here. Maybe next time just, use less soap – like way less soap.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Hook saluted, eyes narrowing as he stared down the washing machine. “I certainly never imagined I would lose a battle with the bloody washing box. I think perhaps I'll leave the laundering to either Killian or your mother in the future.”

“At least the floors will be clean,” Henry shrugged, grinning as he headed back toward the front door, Hook's dry chuckle following him as he picked up his bag and headed back out. “I'm gonna check in with Regina, but I'll be back for dinner...it's not fish, right?”

“I think by the time I'm finished righting this mess, it's likely to be pizza.”

“Perfect!” Henry called back, shutting the door and skipping down the steps.

There were no curses clouding the horizon, no Leroy running down the street screaming, no Black Fairy plotting to tear apart his family – life was good. It was better than good, and even though they'd yet to find a solution to Hook's cursed heart, Henry knew it wouldn't be long – he just believed.

END

Tagging: @justanother-unluckysoul @kmomof4 @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever @alifeofdreams @superchocovian @donteattheappleshook @hollyethecurious @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop @karlyfr13s @elizabeethan @rkrbirdgirl @batana54

#Captain Swan #CS fic #cs fanfic #entwined #sailtoafarawayland #wish hook #henry mills #wish captain cobra #captain cobra

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years ago

Text

Written In The Stars CXLVII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: Plot?? After weeks of drama teen only? That’s right, now we have the normal kind of drama too -Danny

Words: 3,688

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Prim’ -by Little Image

Chapter Nine: Emotions.

Potions had always been her least favourite subject, but that was mostly because of Snape.

She was curious about how different it'd be with a new teacher.

"Guys," Ernie shook their hands, "didn't get a chance to speak in Defense Against the Dark Arts this morning. Good lesson, I thought, but Shield Charms are old hat, of course, for us old D.A. lags... And how are you, Ron — Hermione?"

Mel looked down at the potion in front of her. A stream of familiar scents hit her, she could barely make out what they were.

"Now then, now then, now then," Slughorn said happily. "Scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don't forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making..."

"Sir?" said Harry.

"Harry, m'boy?"

"I haven't got a book or scales or anything — nor's Ron — we didn't realize we'd be able to do the N.E.W.T., you see —"

"Ah, yes, Professor McGonagall did mention... not to worry, my dear boy, not to worry at all. You can use ingredients from the store cupboard today, and I'm sure we can lend you some scales, and we've got a small stock of old books here, they'll do until you can write to Flourish and Blotts..."

He walked up to a closet and pulled out two battered books from it, once he handed them to Ron and Harry, he continued.

"Now then, I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know. These are the kind of thing you ought to be able to make after completing your N.E.W.T.s. You ought to have heard of 'em, even if you haven't made 'em yet. Anyone tell me what this one is?"

Naturally, Hermione's hand rose right away.

"It's Veritaserum, a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth."

"Very good, very good! Now, this one here is pretty well known... Featured in a few Ministry leaflets lately too... Who can — ?"

Mel and Hermione's hands rose once more, no one was surprised about this, and this time Hermione lowered hers and allowed Mel to answer.

"Polyjuice Potion," She replied.

"Excellent, excellent! Now, this one here... yes, my dear?" Slughorn blinked, shocked at the speed Hermione had lifted her hand again.

"It's Amortentia!"

Mel's foot slipped from the stool, she was blushing.

"It is indeed," Slughorn raised his eyebrows. "It seems almost foolish to ask, but I assume you know what it does?"

"It's the most powerful love potion in the world!"

"Quite right! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"

"And the steam rising in characteristic spirals, and it's supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and —"

Hermione stopped talking but Mel didn't notice, she was trying to cover her nose and look away so she could avoid smelling the liquid.

"May I ask your name, my dear?" said Slughorn.

"Hermione Granger, sir."

"Granger? Granger? Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"

"No, I don't think so, sir. I'm Muggle-born, you see."

"Oho!" Slughorn exclaimed, he turned to Harry. "'One of our best friends is Muggle-born, and she's the best in our year!' I'm assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Harry?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger," said Slughorn. "And five for Miss Dumbledore! She answered correctly as well, after all..."

"Did you really tell him I'm the best in the year? Oh, Harry!" Hermione melted.

"Well, what's so impressive about that? You are the best in the year — I'd've told him so if he'd asked me!" Ron said in annoyance.

Hermione hushed him with a smile, Ron looked away pouting.

"Ronnie," Mel whispered, her hand still covering her nose. "You reek of jealousy..."

"How can you smell if you've got your nose all hidden?" He snapped. "What's the matter? Afraid you might smell Harry's stinking socks?"

Mel stepped on his foot, Ron grunted lowly.

"Amortentia doesn't really create love, of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room — oh yes — When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love..."

"He must've heard you talking about Krum," Mel teased, Ron elbowed her.

"And now, it is time for us to start work."

"Sir, you haven't told us what's in this one," said Ernie, pointing at a small black cauldron.

"Oho! Yes. That. Well, that one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis," Hermione gasped. "I take it that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?"

"It's liquid luck! It makes you lucky!"

"Who would've guessed?" Ron whispered, Mel snorted.

"Quite right, take another ten points for Gryffindor. Yes, it's a funny little potion, Felix Felicis. Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, if brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavours tend to succeed... at least until the effects wear off."

"Why don't people drink it all the time, sir?" said Terry Boot.

"Because if taken in excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence. Too much of a good thing, you know... highly toxic in large quantities. But taken sparingly, and very occasionally..."

"Are you sure your mother didn't feed you that when you were a baby, Mellow?" Ron smirked.

Mel stopped covering her nose to punch him on the arm, then the amortentia finally reached her.

The smells were exactly as expected, unfortunately for her: Freshly washed sheets like the ones at home, butterbeer... Harry's unmistakable scent (she melted at the thought of her hands running through his hair, the times she'd kissed him...), a minty smell, and the very distinct aroma of summer early mornings.

"Shit," She muttered.

"Have you ever taken it, sir?" asked Michael Corner, talking about the liquid luck.

"Twice in my life. Once when I was twenty-four, once when I was fifty-seven. Two tablespoonfuls taken with breakfast. Two perfect days. And that is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson. One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis! Enough for twelve hours' luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt."

Mel felt the air in the room shift into hungry need, she looked around and didn't know whether Malfoy was good enough to win it, but she would do her best to keep him away from the potion.

"...So, how are you to win my fabulous prize? Well, by turning to page ten of Advanced Potion-Making. We have a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death. I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!"

She was so entranced that she didn't notice the way Harry was blatantly changing the method, only saw it when she heard Hermione's interrogatory.

"How are you doing that?"

"Add a clockwise stir —"

"No, no, the book says counterclockwise!"

Harry shrugged and noticed Mel was looking as well, he raised his eyebrows silently asking if she was going to follow his advice. Mel considered it, she could follow the book, which was clearly not working for Hermione, or she could follow her friend, who appeared to be at ease for the first time since he'd started studying potions.

"Spill," She said quietly, Harry smiled.

"Seven stirs counterclockwise, one clockwise, pause," He whispered, doing the movements as he spoke.

She did everything Harry did, he was elated to be the one giving her tips this time.

"And time's... up! Stop stirring, please!"

Harry and Mel stood still waiting for their turn, when Slughorn reached their cauldron's his eyes widened almost comically.

"I can't believe it!" He exclaimed. "It's a tie! Excellent, excellent, children! Good lord, it's clear you've inherited your parents' talent. Well, the rules I set were very clear — Here you are, then, here you are — one bottle each of Felix Felicis as promised, and use it well!"

They took the bottles in silence, fearing that even the shortest reply could give them away. Not that they'd cheated or anything, but since they'd spent years being almost terrible at potions (Harry, at least), this almost felt like lying.

"How did you do that?" Ron demanded.

"Got lucky, I suppose," Harry glanced back at Malfoy, who was walking behind them.

Once at the Gryffindor table Harry and Mel decided to be honest.

"I s'pose you think we cheated?" Harry asked knowingly, staring at Hermione.

"Well, it wasn't exactly your own work, was it?"

"Mine was already halfway done when I followed Harry's directions!" Mel said defensively.

"They only followed different instructions," Ron agreed. "Could've been a catastrophe, couldn't it? But they took a risk and it paid off. Slughorn could've handed me that book, but no, I get the one no one's ever written on. Puked on, by the look of page fifty-two, but —" Ron gestured vaguely, Mel patted his shoulder.

"Hang on," Ginny said, picking up a bit of their discussion. "Did I hear right? You've been taking orders from something someone wrote in a book?"

"It's nothing," Harry said. "It's not like, you know, Riddle's diary. It's just an old textbook someone's scribbled on."

"But you're doing what it says?"

"It didn't say anything weird," Mel replied. "Unless you count as weird adding an extra stir when you're mixing stuff..."

"We just tried a few of the tips written in the margins, honestly, Ginny, there's nothing funny —"

"You don't mind if I work with your book as well instead of mine, do you, Glasses?" Mel asked sweetly.

"Only," He gave her a sly smile, "if you lend me your Transfiguration notes for the rest of the term."

"Deal," She grinned, shaking hands with the boy.

"Ginny's got a point," Hermione shook her head. "We ought to check that there's nothing odd about it. I mean, all these funny instructions, who knows?"

"Good evening!" Erick walked up to them, Mel perceived that minty smell from the amortentia and her stomach instantly dropped. "Mind if I join you? My whole table stinks of dung — must be because it's full of it..."

Harry made an attempt to move but Mel held onto his wrist and kept him in place. Ron made room for Erick while Harry stared at her, but she just smiled and continued dining without explaining her actions.

"What about — you know..." Hermione leaned closer. "All the students that had joined the D.A.?"

"They're alright," Erick seemed a bit down. "They have to be careful, though, just like I was. They can't be nice to me."

"They didn't pick on you, did they?" Mel asked.

"Not much," He shrugged carelessly. "They nearly set my charms book on fire during the break, if it hadn't been because of Hagrid..."

"Pricks," Ron scoffed.

"I don't mind it," He responded promptly. "I kind of deserve it... I've been a prat for years, even if it was all fake."

"Don't talk like that," Mel frowned. "You're wonderful."

"Thanks," The boy smiled at her.

"Hey!" Hermione summoned Harry's book while he was distracted and caught it mid-air.

"Dear Merlin," Erick grimaced. "What did you do to that book, Harry?"

"It was already looking like that when I got it!" He argued.

"Specialis Revelio!"

Nothing happened.

"Finished?" Harry scowled. "Or d'you want to wait and see if it does a few backflips?"

"It seems all right... I mean, it really does seem to be... just a textbook."

"Good. Then I'll have it back," He snatched the book with such force he threw it off the table.

Mel tried to reach for it at the same time as him, both noticed the thin words scribbled at the very end of the back cover.

This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince.

Harry looked at her, he mouthed the word 'Prince' and she knew what he was implying. She straightened up and turned to Erick.

"You didn't, by any chance, left your potions book in the classroom last year?"

"I left all my books back in my parent's house, you know that," The Slytherin, a little confused by her question.

"Of course," She looked down to her plate, dropping the subject.

"Do you think there's something wrong about the book?"

"I think 'Mione doesn't like to lose," She replied.

"I think so too," Harry grinned, then he looked down at his bag. "I want to know... exactly how friendly we are?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you trust me enough to..." The boy absently ran his fingers over the marks on his hand. "I want to talk about what I smelled in the amortentia."

Harry had pushed all the words out before he could regret it, his eyes remained on Mel, expectant.

"Ah," Mel answered quietly, "do you think it's a good idea?"

"I don't..." He cleared his throat. "Do you?"

Mel looked around the common room, they were at the same table where Neville had called them a couple two years ago, she let out a bitter chuckle, thinking how optimistic she'd been about the future back then.

"I could tell you what I smelled," She sighed. "But what difference would it make, Glasses?"

"All the difference," He insisted.

"Harry —"

"Would it be okay if I perceived someone else?"

Mel was taken by surprise, she wasn't expecting him to ask that.

"Did you?" She blurted out. "You didn't get my scent?"

"You really want me to answer that?" He raised a brow.

"Not that I want that! We just... we're not exactly... oh well, you know what I mean," She grumbled. "Who did you smell, then?"

Harry looked at her for a moment, he'd lost all his courage.

"Doesn't matter... not like you would care, would you? I mean, we're not supposed to... to feel things."

"Fine," She said, eyebrows knitting together. "But just so you know... I got someone else too."

"Fine," He replied, guessing who Mel's crush could be. "I... I don't mind it."

"Fine," She said, her voice weak.

The next day Mel received a note from her great-uncle telling her to meet him after dinner. Feeling slightly confused about it since he'd already asked her to go with Harry, she sensed that maybe this was a secret. Mel made up an excuse about Erick asking her to meet him in private and left her friends in the common room.

Dumbledore waited until she was seated in front of him and then started talking.

"You may be wondering what happened to my hand, but that's not the important part... I must be blunt, Mel. I may not have much time left."

Mel stopped moving, perhaps even stopped breathing, her eyes scanned the old man's face looking for something that would confirm this as a lie.

"How long till it happens?" Her voice sounded distant.

"A year, maybe less," Dumbledore replied vaguely. "But we can't take things for granted. How have you been dealing with your bursts of magic?"

"Wait," Mel blinked, falling back on the chair. "You can't just — You have to — Can't you do anything to avoid it?"

"My dear, even skilled wizards have their limits," He replied. "My time has come."

"But.. but..." Mel stammered, her hands started to shake. "We need you."

"You're wrong," He replied. "What you need is the knowledge I have, which is exactly what I'm planning to give you and Harry this year. My person, however, is as replaceable as anyone else's. Especially now that you'll be of age."

"I'm not—" Mel stood up, her hands went up to her hair and tangled on it, she pulled at the strands in distress. "I–I have so much to learn..."

"You have to remain calm, it is imperative you continue your life as normal —"

"We already had to endure Sirius' death!" The girl exclaimed, she was spiralling into panic. "You're asking me to do it again with you? Have you forgotten what my boggart was? I'm not ready to take your place!"

"Death is common and natural," The man replied. "I lived long enough to realize this, and I have been forewarned about my passing — I don't ask you to be present when it happens, what I'm asking from you is to accept it and start planning for the future. You can't fear death when you're headed to war."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asked in anger. "Why are you letting yourself die? I can't be you —!"

She stopped at that, perhaps if she told Dumbledore her suspicions he would rethink this.

"But I could be the chosen one," Mel started carefully. "Harry doesn't have to go through it alone..."

She explained her idea to the Headmaster, waiting for it to sound less like a child's imagining and more like a real possibility.

"Please tell me I'm not crazy," Mel finished, her voice begging.

"You're not crazy," Dumbledore said after a long pause. "The thing is, that while Harry holds the power Voldemort lacks, I think that, perhaps, you've got too much."

"What?" Mel frowned. "What's that about?"

"Do you know what an Obscurus is?"

She stared at him blankly.

"What does that have to do with this?"

"Sit down."

"I'm not —"

"If you continue this way, Harry will feel your distress and he'll think you need him. It's best to have this conversation in private."

"He won't come unless I ask him to," She said confidently. "We talked, we want to keep the lifeline."

"Then you must listen to what I have to say."

Mel gathered all willpower she had left and dragged her feet back to the chair where she'd been seated.

"An Obscurus," He started, "is the corrupt energy of a young witch or wizard. It's a parasite that creates itself when the kid has gone through grave trauma. It's capable of killing more than just the child that holds it, it has no mind, no heart... nothing but the most hurtful emotions a human can feel, therefore, it seeks only how to destroy."

"Why are you..." Mel started, but she finished with a completely different sentence. "'A force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death'... You think I'm more likely than Harry to lose control?"

Dumbledore didn't respond, she lowered her voice to a growl.

"I've never hurt anyone that didn't deserve it —"

"How can you tell if someone deserves to be hurt? Is it your own judgement?" Dumbledore asked severely. "Do you think that's enough? This all started because you wanted to protect, but tell me, how is attacking younger students a way to keep your loved ones safe?"

"I wasn't attacking them —"

"You hexed them and used the excuse of acting on behalf of those who couldn't defend themselves. How is a thirteen-year-old able to protect themselves from you, Mel?"

Mel clenched her jaw and looked away. Dumbledore had a very good point, but she still didn't understand what that had to do with anything.

"I know I've made mistakes," She said through gritted teeth. "I apologized for them, I've learned my lesson."

Dumbledore stared at her silently for a few seconds, then he continued.

"Ariana Dumbledore was as strong and intelligent as you are, and just as caring as well — But after the attack, she created an obscurial. She had to stay home because of it, she couldn't study and refused to accept her magic. Because of that, my father attacked the muggles that had mistreated her. He was sent to Azkaban... My family gained the reputation of being ill-blooded, and my mother had to lock herself up in the house to watch after my sister."

Mel tried to make sense of what he was saying.

"I know I've gone out of control a few times, but I don't think I..."

"You're too old to create an Obscurial," Dumbledore nodded. "They can only be formed while the witch or wizard are still children, and I daresay you're almost a woman by now... But there's more than one way to taint souls."

She scoffed.

"You remember what happened," Dumbledore continued, unbothered, "when Sirius died?"

"We were fighting, many things happened —"

"I mean right after he was gone," He interrupted. "What did you do to the men that were still standing?"

She tried to remember, but nothing came.

"Your bursts aren't Obscurial, but it doesn't mean your stress can't develop into a grudge that could twist your thoughts," He stated, "your most terrible experiences are recent, and it's only a matter of time until you get tired of holding things in the way you've been doing these last few months."

She supported her elbows on the desk, hiding her face with both hands.

"Did I kill someone last June?"

"I controlled the situation before you could. However, I worry that once I'm gone you won't have the power to restrain yourself, so if you and Harry are thinking about keeping the lifeline and using it to defeat Voldemort, I think I should tell you my story."

All this time her friends and family thought she was really lucky to be this powerful... what would they think of her now? She felt rotten, sick...

"Will it affect Harry in any way?" She asked weakly.

"It could if you keep bottling up all of your emotions," He lowered his gaze, "I understand why you want to share Harry's burden, him being your dearest friend... but you have to know the difference between your ambitions, and your duty."

"Very well," Mel said tiredly. "Tell me your story."

Next Chapter —>

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ianthedisastrous · 3 years ago

Text

In my Father's Eyes

People assumed Edward doesn't recall his father, perhaps thought of him only in the sense of another story. Truly, shouldn't the author who penned that tale be Edward's parent? His creator? The thought had puzzled him, from time to time, but always he returned back to several certainties.

His father was a fair man, one who listened to the pleas of his people; the sort of king that Edward wished to be, if he were to ever be given the chance. Many boys idolize their fathers as much as they adore their mothers, with childishly blind eyes; but Edward had always known the image his father held in his eyes as true for more than only himself; a man who earned the praise of his kingdom.

"A good king," his father's voice comes back to him sometimes, with warmth in the memory of being very small and sitting before him with expression filled with wonder at what he might learn, "must be kind."

"As kindness is stronger than any terrible deed, stronger than evil men and frightening beasts; kindness can give hope and that is the most important gift that can ever be given.

You hold the faith of your kingdom in your hands and you must always take care with it."

And Edward believed, with a strength of conviction that could not waver, believed every word spoken was the guidance of a wise man.

His father taught him to wield a sword, another memory upon the pages, a young boy with palms sore from gripping too tightly the hilt of the blade that was both exciting and frightening. A weapon that felt so much more unforgiving than he knew how to carry.

"Steady your arm higher m'boy, lift your chin, for if you must be the one to bring harm to another you must carry the burden of meeting their eyes, their pain you too must see; this is the weight of the blade you hold.

This is the responsibility of a just man, if he must spill blood. You must remember them, for they too have fought for their cause."

It was a truth Edward never forgot, a memory that gripped him each time he drew his blade, knowing that it was never to be done in jest. And never once did he walk away in victory without solemn respect given to the loss.

Yet, the lesson that pained him the most, filled him with an indescribable peace, was the hardest to learn.

A brave man stricken with grave wounds and tired, hands grasped weakly around the firm grip of his trembling son, a smile spared for his lovely wife and her soft tears, for the sleeping infant cradled in her arms.

A man Edward thought neither sickness nor time could touch, that no injury might slow; in the end was simply just a man.

"A good king sees his legacy grow brighter in those he leaves behind when his time is spent. There is no shame in weeping only a short while, do not be afraid of giving your grief a voice; it lives in you the same as every happiness and with just as much to teach you.

But you will be a good king one day, as you are a good man grown from the eager child who once begged for bedtime stories of dragons and knights.

Love, m'boy, is what makes a man the best he can be; for his family, his kingdom, and himself. You and your sister are my proudest moments, Edward."

The words had never left him, not in the days that followed with eyes wet from the ache of that grief, nor ones beyond it when pain gave way to joy at the recollection of good times and gratitude.

What did it mean then when those memories were penned to the pages of a story? Chapters in a novel that held a past truly real to him? Edward returned to them now and then, fingers swept over the words with an indulgent smile.

Because it was not only a story, it was his story.

That is what his father taught him, and what he faced with his head held high; his had a legacy to carry with pride.

Slightly's life, however, had never been a fairytale.

Kindness had never been the litany of the world they resided within, but their father had urged them to never lower their eyes in spite of the snarl and snap of the darkness; even fairytales have monsters. And monsters have purpose, if only for how they craft it from their own darkness. They were brilliant, they were strong, they would survive.

He was proud of his brood.

"You should never forget where you belong, why you were born with claws rather than lofty ambitions.

I expect you to do great things, things that you must do in places others are afraid to walk."

Perhaps the most loving thing their father had ever uttered was how high those expectations were; he believed in a child many would not have. In those early days the words sounded like a demand ushered unfairly upon the child who had no want of it, but with time the purpose unraveled into truth better understood.

Slightly knew more of being a father than they did of their own; the chores of the Mountain Prince were never finished, they cannot recall ever seeing him at peace. Never remember a moment at rest, no more than a fleeting encounter before the call of the Court drew him away. A shadow of a figure that would with time grow fuzzy at the edges of their memories.

But what other way was there aside from necessity?

"Is father angry, because of me?" So small, Sorrel was only a child filled with foolish questions, dangerous questions, questions Slightly was old enough to know better than speak out loud and settle doubt in the air around them. Doubt could wound far too deeply. Eyes as blue as still waters begged to know, eyes that did not belong to the Mountains.

"No, he isn't. He's mad at other people for arguing about differences," Slightly had shushed the boy and drew him close with claws laced with Sorrel's own, tiny creature nestled in the spot against their side. Secrets carried a burden one so young did not fully understand. "Because no amount of difference means more to him than you do."

And it was a truth Slightly saw and knew, each time their father gathered up in his arms the boy who was not his own but he would accept as no less. Each time he stepped between him and some threat, the vicious ferocity the Mountain Fey protected their young with fueling an inhuman anger.

Their father never spoke it in so many words, but he taught that lesson well; those who are your own simply were, no matter where the world's opinions might fall.

The crueler lesson came too soon; what loss can do and what sacrifices are worth.

Day by day Slightly saw their father fade to a terrifying emptiness in his voice, the horrors of giving too much of himself to the pain of having his eldest ripped away from him.

He gave up, hour by hour, until the light was all gone away into a stillness that lay glassy and hollow in his once fire-bright eyes and Slightly was left choking on the rage of being abandoned.

How dare he choose to mourn one child so intensely that he left the others behind. To make the decision to fade away rather than fight after all his demands that his children must always do so.

"Keep your eyes open, you must always be ready."

The words of the one who had not been able to do the same, the one who Slightly trusted and found themselves suffocating in the wake of what they could not understand.

Slightly locked away the memories; his voice, his lessons, every moment buried deep and soaked with a bitter pain. They had no choice; Sorrel needed to be looked after and mother was taxed with a role meant for two.

Their father taught a poignant truth with his death; leaving those behind to fend for themselves was the cost of some choices.

But even so, Slightly could not bear to truly hate him, not when they missed him so very, very much. Children do not simply forget the ones who were their world.

It took long years to find the truth in the pain, to shift through and see that all joy has a shred of sorrow within it, that all love carries a bitter core of fear in the loss; that sometimes a sacrifice is not written so much in blood as it is in a broken heart.

Slightly learned to grieve from the one they called father, to value those near more than anything that could be won, and most importantly; that sometimes loving someone means you cannot save them from their own demons. That you must accept, and forgive, that they may fail you.

But shadowy creatures and skies filled with unfamiliar stars never crossed Ian's mind much as a child; he couldn't concern himself with storybook monsters when he knew far too many real ones waited for him in the cold gazes of his classmates. People who didn't understand him, people who were taught to never dare to understand.

And his mom tried so hard; every day it seemed like she came home just a little more exhausted than the one before. Her soft smile might not have wavered but Ian knew her heart was still just a little too broken to tell her why he was afraid of the world.

She needed him to be brave, but he could only pretend to and hope it was enough. She urged him to speak but he remained as silent as he dared; it was her tired eyes that hurt him at the thought of asking too much of her.

But his dad always listened. Whenever he needed him, even if he never answered.

As a child, barely tall enough to reach the desk where his mother kept her glossy albums, Ian believed that somehow his late night conversations, hands tightly gripping the only photo he had of the man, did not go unheard.

"Please come back. Mom is sad all the time and I don't know how to make it better," he would speak in no more than a breath of sound, eyes dropped and half shut to hold back the tears. "I know they're wrong at school. That...that you didn't leave because you wanted to, not because we're...different from everybody else. But if you could just come back? Nobody could say those things anymore."

Some places, his mom explained, people could not come back from, as she kissed his forehead one day. It was a day he could barely recall later his age or the other details, only the words she spoke when he voiced what he had really wanted for his birthday.

Children so young still believe that magic could do a great deal more than it ever should.

"He wanted so badly just to meet you," and with the words Ian saw a gravity in her eyes that he never had before, "He loved you boys more than anything in this world, but he just didn't have the chance to stay."

Ian learned that love was powerful, but sometimes it was very unfair, and it was why a person had to be strong for those who needed them the most. The world was scary, it always would be, but people had to try.

He didn't ask his mom again, he couldn't stand to see that sorrow.

His dad always was there; never judgemental in that silence. And as a child it had been too easy to overlook that silence could only exist without judgement and find the best in that. It felt safe, so much safer than risking speaking the doubts to anyone else. Silence was patient, and so too then was Ian's dad in his memories of a man who could not be there.

"We have to leave soon,'' quiet moments in his room had long since given way to rooftop vigil under the sprawling skies; maybe somewhere in that expanse of forever his father resided just beyond his reach. "I..I thought I'd be happy to leave this place but I'm just scared. I'm always scared; I wish-" He sighed and drew his knees up with the tired words. "-I wish I were like you, not afraid of anything."

But Wilden had been afraid; of the sickness that stole his life in small measures, of the world moving on without him, of missing so much of it, and most of all of his boys never knowing who he was.

Ian had been surprised when he discovered that, as his mom reassured him that it was okay to be afraid sometimes, but just as often she spoke of his bravery in the face of those fears and that it rooted itself down deeply into Ian's mind.

The man he had never had a chance to hear speak taught him that everyone was afraid sometimes, that everyone fights their battles, and the best a person can do is to find a reason to.

But it wasn't right to let that fear turn a person cruel; time and again he heard of his dad's forgiving nature. And bit by bit Ian learned what parts of himself he wanted to be so much like the man, and what parts he had to let go, for his own sake.

"I don't want to have to be you, dad. I'm sorry." Ian whispered to the darkness as the morning crept so steadily closer; every star in Swynlake glittered in watchful attention to that conversation from the balcony. Twenty years to his life that very day. "I don't know what I want to do from here but you won't be mad if it's not what you expected me to, right?"

The night could not speak, ghosts belonged in days and years behind him, but it did not mean their presence was any less wanted. Ian could not think in the past tense, not when he still felt there was too much more left to learn.

He knew what his dad had already taught him, how many times that memory had held vigil to his unsteady words, and he was not nearly done yet. His dad had never been there, not so much the way other people could have claimed, but he had done what any good father strived to; he had listened.

"I miss you."

#bdrp task #death tw #suicide mentions tw #featuring Edward #Ian #and Ren #because I can

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