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chaoticgeminate · 2 years ago

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Blessing of Vision

Part of the Iridescence Fictional Universe Forest Affairs Series Pairing: Din Djarin x f!Reader Rating: T Word Count: 2.4k Notes/Warnings: This takes place after a few chapters into the story of these two, the series as a whole is rated Explicit as there will be adult content.

Power danced through your veins, a storm of energy within your own body that was magnified by the light of the full moon, and you could feel the growing swell of it as you walked through the tree grove behind your cabin. Your feet were bare and the breeze was hardly noticeable, mostly because of your moonspun silk robes, and with each step closer to your altar the voice of the forest around you was growing louder. Every tree, every bush, every flower was responding to your heightened power. In your hands the beskar helmet was cradled reverently, it’s black T-visor like a void in the reflective metal catching the moonlight, and its bearer walked behind you at a sedated pace.

Din had been surprised initially, when you offered to modify and improve the spell work on his armor, so long ago when you’d both first survived the chaos that followed your initial meeting. He’d refused at the time due to distrust, nerves, and general caution to keep his Creed intact; that changed as the two of you learned just how deep the connection between you ran, and, it didn’t take long for his walls to come crashing down. A clan of three, he had told you in a soft and loving tone as he removed his helmet for the first time without your sight being obscured, and now he trusted you with more than his life.

He trusted you with his heart.

Under the glow of the moon your altar was majestic, the natural rock platform and its stacked stone slabs that formed a small table glowing under the silvery light, and the tree that was wrapped around the center most vertical stone was in full bloom to match the moon’s cycle. On the back of your neck you could feel the mark of the Huntress warming, blessing you with her presence and power, and you knew Din felt it too since his gloves creaked from how hard he balled his fists.

Ever since the Moon Goddess had chosen him to be yours, your Consort and your conduit, the power you radiated during the full moon would flow between the both of you. This bond had allowed him to take control of the Dark Saber, to conquer the ancient curse that had once held the blade of raw magic in its clutches, and with each day that he held the blade the malignant energy remaining in the soul of the blade was cleansed more and more. The bloody past of the blade, the scars left upon its inherent self, were healing in his hands.

There was still much to do, more threats working behind the scenes to try and break you both and destroy your Clan, but he had nearly the full support of his people and he had you.

You climbed up onto the raised stone table, sitting with your legs crossed as the skirt of your robes bundled around you hips, his helmet sitting in your lap in the center of your crossed legs, and you felt Din step up against your back. Lurking around the outside of the alter’s reach you could feel Wellyn patrolling, your Familiar was a protective and loving friend, the cat síth blended into the darkness as she continued to set up her own circle of protective magic. While your altar was on your land, which had wards of its own, you weren’t so arrogant as to assume intruders impossible.

“On this night, the Huntress clear and watching from above, I bestow upon you a Blessing of Vision my Consort; to ensure that you will always return to me after a hunt, that we both may continue to serve the Goddess until She deems it time to call us to her arms.” Din looked up from your lap at the sound of footsteps in the brush, hands raising to cover your breasts since the fabric was sheer enough that the sage green glow of your magic made them visible in the dark.

Your protector -Koska- nodded once in greeting but you were already focused on your spell, no fancy words but it was a complex thing to do when the target object was beskar. The metal was known because no magic spells could pierce it, turned into armor since even a little coverage could stop even the most advanced of spell casters from doing severe damage to their target, and in the case of the Forest Hunter Sidhe -the Mandalorians- they had become the enforcers of the Moon Goddess in that they used the metal more than their own magic to ensure that her Priests and Priestesses had the strongest of a defense against their foes.

Adding spellwork to beskar was time consuming, exhausting, but the end result would be beneficial to Din and by extension it would be beneficial to you. Blessing items was not as simple as using an incantation and forcing your magic around or into an object like some people made it seem, it was much more in depth because in order to avoid destroying the targeted object by condensing magic around it the trick was to reach into the smallest molecules of the object and weave your magic into the molecular structure of it. With beskar natural anti-magic properties you had to work the blessing into the very small T-shaped piece of paper-thin kyber crystal that was already loaded with spells.

Which meant navigating the pinpoint small areas where the beskar was folded on and over itself in a way to create the divot for the crystal to sit which allowed the spellwork on the kyber crystals to work.

You were no armorer but the craftsmenship of this particular piece was stunning. You were careful in how much of your hands made contact with the metal, too much magic at once -and on a night with the Goddess’ power so strong in your veins- could lead to your magic being redirected back into you instead. Turning your focus more onto your magic, you could feel the greenery around you pulsing with life and answering the flare of your power as everything danced in a wind that didn’t exist.

He would never not be in awe of you, the sheer power in your frame, and Din kept his eyes on Koska as the other Mandalorian leaned against a tree with her crossbow drawn. He still didn’t trust her, even if she’d denounced her allegiance to Kryze, but he knew that the second she even remotely had a thought of striking you or him down that Wellyn’s spells would activate. For now he protected your modesty, while you weren’t as modest as some Sidhe it was still present with people you weren’t comfortable around and Koska was one of them.

Why the Goddess had chosen her as your protector was something you both understood, the other woman was a Naiad and tied to the moon as intrinsically as one of her Priestesses or Priests, but Koska had neglected her role as your protector for decades in favor of her loyalty to Kryze. It infuriated Din to know that for over a century you’d been forced to weave the strongest protection spells you knew, depend on Wellyn and your plants, because Koska refused to fulfill her oath to the Huntress.

The fact that she’d come crawling back to you after Kryze’s true nature came to light, and that you’d been willing to forgive her, proved to Din that you were a much better person than he was.

Koska’s helmet tilted to look over and watch, Din knew what she was seeing, the bright green glow with traces of silver that reflected off the helmet and cast a colored hue against you and his face and the stones around you. She was seeing the trees and grass and bushes move with life that people forgot they had, no wind to make them dance and tremble, seeing the magnitude of your power with her own eyes. His expression was a warning, a threat, and a reminder that he would protect you but that you could also handle her yourself if she did try anything.

Din had taught you how to fight, insisted on it so you never had to depend on your magic, and Koska had seen you take down golems twice your size without using any spells; Bo Katan’s enforced idea that you couldn’t be a good Priestess if you depended on your physical prowess proven wrong right here and right now.

Wellyn jumped up high to climb into the tree on your altar, flower petals raining down, and the swell of magic began to pull at his own; he could feel you in his veins, feel you in his heart, and feel you in his very soul as your magic tugged at his. The sensation was like a wave, magic pushing and pulling between the two of you with a tide of its own, growing stronger with each pass; he didn’t use magic like you did, he couldn’t case spells and never really would. But this? This was more than enough for him to understand how addicting the feeling of calling so much power could be, he understood how the Dark Saber -a blade of raw magic- had enticed so many to corruption and further darkened the blade, and yet he didn’t understand it.

How anyone, even you, was willing to have this much power at their fingertips freely and not be cautious was baffling; you’d never shown caution or hesitation in your prowess as a Priestess, in your prowess as a spell caster. Feeling this always moving energy, this always growing swell, between the two of you was almost terrifying knowing that one wrong move could lead to you both being hurt if there was any accidental backlash or if you had to cancel your casting out should the altar be attacked.

He knew it was your confidence, your trust that you were safe between Wellyn’s spells and Koska’s presence, and your confidence in the Goddess that she wouldn’t allow anything to harm either one of you. Din respected the Huntress, revered her for giving him a second chance at life and then leading him to you, but his faith was not nearly as strong as yours.

No matter how many times you used him to amplify and to act as a center point for your magic, that you called on this bond the two of you shared, he would never be able to fully adapt to the feeling of it -you- in his very veins.

It took an hour for you to complete the Blessing, the draw on both of you much less between the full moon light and the fact that it was a shared burden, but Din was focused on Koska’s unmoving form. As the last glow finally faded, leaving only the moonlight to illuminate the clearing, he found himself waiting to see what the other Mandalorian had chosen to do. He kept it from you -because he knew you’d be enraged and likely go after Kryze yourself- but Boba Fett’s spies had confirmed her meeting up with Kryze again, given an offer to return to the former Princess’ faction, if she killed you.

But Koska nodded once, now that the spell was done, and walked away; Wellyn jumped down to follow her, the cat síth navigating the dark on silent feet, and Din felt you lean back against his chest before you were shifting so you were on your knees facing him. The height of the stone pedestal made him have to look up at you and he smiled when you leaned down to rub your nose to his.

“Let’s test this out, yea?” Din pulled his hood back and you slid the helmet down, the spells on the kyber activating at the touch of his aura, and he looked around slowly. The shine of colors was almost stunning for a second but he could see the barest outline of green on all the plant life, the green and silver aura that surrounded you, a glance at his hands and he could see the faint crimson red of the fire nature magic he’d never trained.

Even the darksaber had a deep purple and black glow around the hilt.

“You should be able to get dampen of the effect-“ Din wasn’t quite sure how it worked, other than thinking that he didn’t want to see it, but the spell responded to his will and the effect disappeared; he supposed that, as you’d said before, the most important part of spellcasting was the will behind the magic rather than the incantation or ritual process. Which made sense; given that he’d seen Boba’s Priestess cast a seal spell using eye drops for salt, eye pencil for the chalk to draw the circle, and a coin as the item to seal the wayward demonic entity within

“You truly honor me, my Priestess.”

“Because I love you, my Consort, and I want you to always come back to me.”

“Not even the Immortals could keep me from you, cyar’ika.” He helped you down and followed you through the grove, seeing Wellyn waiting at the door to be let into your cabin, and Din smiled as you went to change before he set the kettle to boil and glanced at the scroll from Skywalker again.

“Be safe, I will be cautious around Koska while you’re gone.” This training session he would be doing was going to last for months, to learn how to effectively use the dark saber as it was meant to be used, and while he was happy to get to see Grogu again he would miss you. But Skywalker had been clear, you were forbidden from joining him, your magic was too powerful and would interfere with the natural energy of the small southern township where the psychics who joined the Jedi religion called home.

“Reeves was seen with Kryze again, if there are problems Fennec is willing to stay here or Boba will host you at the palace, be more than cautious.”

“If Kryze tries anything, by her own hand or through others, I will kill her. Mandalorian or not.”

Din nodded, knowing you were serious, and lifted his helmet up enough to kiss you. It would be enough until he was able to come back to you.

All Fics Taglist: @haylzcyon @wordsnwhiskey @pagannightwitch @radiowallet @tauralmie @amneris21 @trickstersp8 @practicalghost @rominaszh @alwaysdjarin @alexxavicry @all-the-way-down-here

Just Pedro Taglist: @maievdenoir @beecastle @littlemisspascal @writeforfandoms @AynsleyWalker @lovesbiggerthanpride @mswarriorbabe80

Alt Taglist: @imtryingmybeskar @fan-of-encouragement @grogusmum @sizzlingcloudmentality @deadhumourist @prostitute-robot-from-the-future

#din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x fem!reader #iridescence fictional universe #forest affairs #mando x fem!reader #mando x f!reader #sidhe mando #sidhe f!reader #fantasy au #mandalorian fantiction #chaoticwrites

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florintradat · 1 year ago

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Lugh: 020 @evicted-oc

020. the dark woods, filled with strange hanging symbols made of sticks .

Flo and Lugh were going on a walk in Flo's favorite forests. They had visited the vampire's graves, leaving some nice flowers and foods for them before just wondering around and enjoying the fresh night air. "You come here often don't you?"

"Yeah, it's one of my favorite places to go to. I was actually thinking of us having a little picnic date here. It has a lot of history." Flo said as they nodded their head and smiled at his boyfriend, holding their hand lightly as they stepped on crunchy leaves. Lugh tilted their head a little at their words and looked at him questioningly.

"History? Like what?" The taller man hummed as he tried to come up with something that they could find before he perked up.

"I'll show you. Let's go this way." He gently tugs them to the left and started walking them through many trees until they got to an area with many rocks. As they got closer Lugh realized that the rocks were formed in symbols. Florin pointed up to some trees and there were other symbols hanging from them made out of sticks. Lugh shivered as he felt a strange energy in the air.

"What is this?" She whispered softly looking at Flo before looking around again. Flo stepped closer to everything and sighed softly as he held Lugh to his side.

"Witches and Warlocks." Was what he simply said before explaining a bit more. "This was a meeting place for a coven. A co-ed one." He snorted at himself as he sadly picked up a crystal and a sage bundle. "They were killed and scared off around the time Salem was happening. I was friends with a warlock, first person I let in before times changed." He shrugged looking around as Lugh looked at him with big eyes. Flo gave him a soft smile as he chuckled and kissed his lips. "It's alright babe. Don't worry that was centuries ago. I've mourned the loses of many people." Lugh just whined clinging onto him as he let out a laugh and hugged her close. "Plus I have you now. I don't need to be sad anymore." He said softly burrying his nose into Lugh's hair, holding her close by her hips.

#. • °⛓✧༺ florin.speaks🍓#. • °⛓✧༺ ask game!

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eatommo · 2 years ago

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Rebuke [h.]{kd6}

Underwear/tentacles

Day 6!

A/N: This is unlike anything I've ever written, I'm also going to add a dead dove tag here, this involves sentient plantlife, and also could be seen as very dubcon or even venture into noncon. There is no active penetration but there is references to it, and there is sex pollen involved, please continue at your own risk. This is also heavily inspired by @beskarberry with her amazing din fic and @absurdthirst for getting me into sex pollen in the first place, and creating this amazingly challenging kinktober lineup!

C.W: Dubcon/noncon, live plants as bondage, sex pollen, firearms, reader fall unconscious and wakes up missing clothes, theres a (poorly written) undertone of horror here, mentions of succubus, some religious references, this man is half demon, keep that in mind.

Working with the B.P.R.D. had its moments, you’ve witnessed exorcisms, dealt with baba yaga on more than one occasion, and now you were dating your closest friend.

Red had sent you down into the historical gardens, in search of a medicinal plant that would help banish the succubus living in a White House bathtub. You were strumming your finger over a flower covered in thin purple dust when your phone starts meowing at you.

“Any luck? Myers is getting his dick sucked in there.” The deep timbre of his voice doesn’t portray a hint of worry, but on the inhale you take he lets out a soft chuckle, “Not literally, but we’re having no luck here.”

Your lips pull into a small laugh, “Nothing I’ve found, Abe is already sending me after something else, but just keep the sage burning for a little while longer.”

“That’s not gonna work, I’ll just have to come to help you.” He sighs into the phone through a smile. He was hard to shake, and since the two of you have confessed your feelings for each other, albeit when you both thought the world was going to end, it's been difficult to spend seconds apart.

“Alright big boy, see you down here.” You smile into the phone. Gods, if the professor was still around you’d both be in for it.

You wonder further into the gardens before coming to a roped-off mausoleum littered with overgrown ivy, and near-rotted caution tape. This has to be the right place, caution tape was typically a beacon in your line of work.

You light a flashlight, only to see a trail of steps leading into a dark abyss, great. You let out an exasperated breath, and let your tired feet carry you down until the light from the garden dissipates.

A few minutes of slow exploration leads you to a giant vine about the width of your arm, it has gatherings of a bright orange flower pearling off of smaller vines like a chain of bells. You bend over, lowering the flashlight to get a better look at the bulbs.

You lift a bundle of delicate petals closer to your face, the bead-shaped flowers have an iridescent quality to them, embracing the first light it has likely seen in ages. A rock a few steps down the hallway startles you as it skids across the hallway and stops with a sharp clack.

Your head on a swivel you bend down to reach for the flashlight in panic, you feel pressure just underneath your ass, and you take a deep breath relieved, “Red, you scared me.”

The silence, and then the tightening around your leg lulls you back into a panic, and you yell a plea a little louder, praying this is some type of sick joke, “Please? You’re scaring me.” A few agonizing beats of your heart, nothing except a loud rustling sound near your other foot.

“Fucking hell.” The two tendrils furl around your legs with astounding strength, as they begin pulling you closer to their source. You strain against the pull of the vines, digging your heels into the cement until you feel your bones grind together.

You scream and scream for the man who had said he was coming to help you, hoping by the small chance he's somewhere close. To your horror, another piece of the plant nudges into your back and the second you lurch away it tightens around your abdomen and pulls you against the stock of the plant with a wet crunch.

A sickeningly sweet yet bitter smell fills your lungs, like over-sweetened coffee. Immediately your skin feels hot, and sweat beads on your brow and you feel the thick tendrils of it snake further up your body, expertly securing you to itself. Offshoots of the plant, a hair thinner than your finger trails up your face and edges itself into your mouth. A rush of the bitter liquid has you blackening out the second it hits your tongue.

You awake to the sound of gunfire, and flashes of an all too familiar muzzle blind you as you attempt to rouse yourself completely. Your man raises the Good Samaritan after a slight pause and a bullet zips past your head and sinks into the stalk with a sizzle.

There's a coolness running down your back, but at first, you are scared it could be blood. Then you realize your shirt is missing, and your pants are being worked down your legs by hair-like fibers.

A piece of your brain screams and thrashes against the bonds, but your muscles are lax, and there's an ebbing pain in between your legs.

With another flash of the muzzle, a chunk of the plant above your head falls free, dripping a wet glob of gelatinous sludge onto your face. Instantly your body is on the precipice of erupting into flames.

You turn into a moaning mess and the commotion stops, two flashlights are shown onto the mangled mess that is your captor.

When his eyes scan over you, it takes everything in him not to smite this place to the ground. The skin of your torso is flushed and bare, the swells of your breast being smothered against your body by the tight grip of this hellish vegetation. Your pants are around your ankles, and he watched with bated breath as these thin fibers toy with the white cotton of your underwear, working the fabric down your hips seductively slow.

He feels like his brain is being rearranged to accommodate nothing but feral and impure thoughts. His fear is replaced with something carnal, and the beautiful sight of his woman strung open and covered in something so potent to make his cock jump out of anticipation? That’s a hard moment to pass on for even a man from hell.

#hellboy #hellboy x reader #ron pearlman #dark horse comics #david harbour #sex pollen #firearms #good samaritan #ive loved this man for too lonog #guillermo del toro

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oumaheroes · 3 years ago

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Timeless

Summary: “Belgium tugged on his arm as the music softened, bringing him back to the well disguised present, ‘Do you still remember how to waltz?’ ‘I am offended that you need to ask the question, madam.’”

Word Count: 1365

Characters: England, Belgium (engbel)

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‘So,�� Belgium tipped her head to look up at England under her eyelashes, ‘What do you think?’

‘Of this?’ He gestured with his head to the gaudily decorated ballroom around them, crystal and glass catching the candle light to make the whole place glitter, ‘Hideous.’

Belgium laughed, ‘Do you know, I thought you would say that.’

‘Did you?’

‘Oh yes,’ She grinned, linking her arm through his and staring back out at the dancers, ‘Very much not your style.’

‘Anything French is far from my style.’

‘Stop it,’ she swatted him gently on the chest with her fan, ‘You have to at least admit that France worked hard to put this all together.’

England matched her to look over across the ballroom, taking in all of the meticulous detail of the room’s decorations. Everything had been gathered from the same late decade in the 18th century to be as historically accurate as possible and England felt as though he’d stepped back through time, despite the weight of his mobile phone in his trouser pocket, ‘He certainly spent far too much time on it for a weekend summer party.’

‘I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get from you.’

‘Better than nothing. I also dressed appropriately, didn’t I?’ He gestured down at himself, cream waistcoat and dark green coat, finely trimmed and cut accordingly along with excessively buckled shoes.

‘Indeed,’ She grinned up at him prettily, ‘Not entirely accurate though, you don’t have a wig.’

‘I have a hat. I made the wig fashion mistake once and I swore never to again, if the frog wants to complain let him do so whilst moulting. Besides, I’m not the only one who isn’t quite right.’

‘No,’ Belgium rolled her eyes and opened her fan to whisper behind it, ‘Did you notice? Poor Ukraine has her stomacher and petticoats from at least three decades before.’

‘The utter gall of some people.’

‘For shame.’ Belgium nodded sagely before breaking to give a light laugh, ‘Oh, but it’s fun though. Nice for everyone to dress up again. These sorts of get togethers were always much more of an event in previous decades than they are now and we rarely do them anymore.’

England huffed, ‘Far too much of an event entirely if you ask me.’

‘Well, you would say that. You cannot lie to me though, dear. I know that you like parties despite what you say and that you’re fond of the 19th century look.’

‘It was elegant,’ England defended immediately, ‘None of this frill and lace nonsense but a lot more refined and dare I say colourful than most of the stuff today.’

‘I oddly do miss corsets,’ she patted her chest, fingers gently brushing the delicate lace trim around her collar, ‘They gave a lot more support.’

‘That I can’t attest to.’

‘You certainly saw a fair share,’ she gave him a warm wink, arm tightening in his.

They watched the dancers for a while in silence, England unconsciously tapping his foot along in time. The smell of fresh flowers in tall vases, melting wax, and the heat of people was heavy, and he could feel the effect mix with the wine he’d drunk earlier to leave him slightly lightheaded. It was not hard to imagine that if he walked out into the night right now, he’d find a carriage waiting for him, ready to take him another candlelit room or to a dock by the open sea. The creak of tall wooden ships under a bursting night sky of stars, roads to a not-yet crumbling ruin of a house bumpy and winding through ancient woods now lost to housing estates.

They were in France, in the south but it made no difference. The past had been bundled up and held tight in this one evening and England couldn’t help but travel to a version of himself he’d almost forgotten.

Belgium tugged on his arm as the music softened, bringing him back to the well disguised present, ‘Do you still remember how to waltz?’

‘I am offended that you need to ask the question, madam.’

‘Well,’ Belgium casually waved her hand outwards towards the dancers, ‘Australia seems a bit… now, how do I say this without accusing you of child neglect?’

England laughed, catching sight of what she was referring to immediately. Australia, with all the grace of a bull in a chin shop, was happily twirling Vietnam about the dance floor in a vague rendition of a waltz. Vietnam looked to be enjoying herself, bearing with the treatment extremely gracefully whilst Wy looked on aghast from their table, ‘I can assure you I taught him much better than that.’

‘I have yet to see proof.’

‘You are goading me, Marie.’

‘Are you goadable?’

‘That’s not a word.’

Belgium gave a very unladylike snort, ‘If you understood it then it served its function.’

‘I cannot argue with that,’ England gave a short bow and held out his hand, ‘Shall we then?’

‘We shall,’ stepping out to the start of a new dance, England placed his hand on the small of Belgium’s back, pulling her close to him and Belgium bumped him with her hip, ‘If you’re good, I might keep you for the rest of the evening.’

England led them off in time to the step of the music, spinning them into the first turn, ‘Alas, I have promised myself to another.’ Belgium had done up her hair in the tight pin curls of the age, most swept back and tucked under a hairpiece and leaving only a few remaining about her face. It made her look younger, nostalgic and new all at once.

‘Oh?’ She raised an eyebrow, gripping his other hand holding hers, ‘And who is my rival of your affections today?’

‘I have given my word to Wy,’ England pushed them as fast as they could go whilst remaining in time to the score, weaving in and out of the other pairs easily. He missed dancing, not the sort of thing that America expected him to do in clubs or bars, or at music events but real dancing, with intricate steps and a conversation held secret in the middle, ‘She lamented to me about Australia in the car ride over and I told her I would fill her dance card to save her from the shame of being stepped on.’

‘He’s not that bad,’ Belgium looked about them, catching Australia’s eye and shooting him a grin as they passed, ‘just enthusiastic. And he wasn’t born yet when we did all this, you can hardly blame him.’

‘Oh, I know. He’s a lot better than he used to be, too. Sadly for him, however, Wy has been watching Bridgerton and now has expectations’.

‘Ah, I see,’ Belgium gave a dramatic sigh, ‘Well, I suppose I’ll have to make do. I’m sure France will be free at points.’

England span them unexpectedly, pressing them closer together to keep her upright and she made small noise of surprise, ‘I’m sure Canada or New Zealand will be happy to take my place for her if you ever feel yourself leaning towards such desperate measures.’

‘You’d break a young girl’s heart, for me?’

‘Wy has been raised to be honourable, she’ll forgive me when she knows what I’d be saving you from.’

‘Honourable? It’s most certainly not you raising her then, is it.’

‘I don’t remember you being so overt with your insults in the 18th Century.’

‘My apologies, I’m out of practise in sly bullshitting.’ She cleared her throat and tried again, ‘Tell her that she has my thanks for being so gracious and that her proper breeding must be all her own doing. How about that?’

‘Perfect. I shall make sure to tell her.’ The dance ended and they slowly moved apart, England kissing her offered hand, ‘You look beautiful, by the way.’

‘Stop it you, you have plenty of time left of the night to charm me.’

‘I thought I’d start early.’

Belgium gave him a searching look, a smile creeping easily into the corners of her mouth, ‘Another dance?’

England glanced over to Wy and saw Wales offering her his hand, ‘Go on then.’

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AN:

There is a horrifying lack of engbel in this fandom and I couldn’t help but submit my own small contribution to fix that. This is entirely unresearched and self-indulgent, don’t look at me

#aph england #hws england #aph belgium #hws belgium #hetalia #engbel #hetalia fanfiction #Arthur kirkland #My writing #aph #hws

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emmie-sue-who · 3 years ago

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Pollen

Lily of the valley smells sweet when it blossoms. I cut you a bundle from my garden, but you tell me you’re allergic to pollen. So I take the flowers back home, put them in a small vase on my kitchen counter, watch them die over time. Through the window, I can see the plant from which they were cut, delicate bell-shaped heads bobbing in the breeze. It is a shame.

I am lying on the bed at Rachel’s house, watching the ceiling fan spin, set to the lowest speed. The beams are drifting lazily. She is pacing the room and telling me she fell in love with a straight girl again. Another drop in the sea of desires that will go unfulfilled, she says. She always wants what she will never have and she’s afraid that’s what makes her want it to begin with. Anything, anything but what’s in front of her. Anything but more of the same. But surely I know someone for her, someone who could be interested, someone who’d interest her?

I tell her about you. The fan keeps spinning in its hypnotic rhythm. There is a momentum I cannot stop. It is easier than I think it should be. Rachel is so full of want, so full of certainty in what she wants. I roll to my side, face the blank wall. Rachel cannot see my eyes. It is easy to suggest you.

In the tearoom your dad owns, we meet, dressed far too casually, just as lacking in our etiquette as our wardrobe I suspect. You offer me a scone and Earl Grey. I loan you a book you will never read, probably never return.

We talk about the first time I met your father. He told me I was too short, with no sense of style. He’s never been shy to tell people his opinions, asked or unasked, and though I laughed at the time I know now that you have lived in fear of sharp words, in resentment of the absence of soft ones. But I look at the walls, painted sage green, your favorite color. I look toward the back room, where I know framed photos of you adorn the walls, cataloging every milestone moment of your life. I look at the place settings around us, no flowers in sight. Your father’s love exists within these considerations, I think. Not in the words you longed to hear, but in a shape you do not recognize. One that hums too quietly to be heard over all the times you wished your father would’ve shut his mouth, the times he should’ve shut his mouth. You swore you’d never be like him, but maybe you’ve overcorrected. Your mouth has been sealed for too long and I want to pry it open. Anything, anything to explain what’s in front of me. Anything to teach me the shapes even I cannot recognize.

Instead, you excuse yourself from the table. You are meeting Rachel in 30 minutes at a diner for brunch. You tell me to stay and finish my tea. It is easier than I think it should be. When you leave, you do not turn around. It is easy to look at you walking away. I look until you are gone completely. Through the window, I see small clumps of people, ambling about, feeling the sun beam down on them, feeling at ease. Inside, I sip tea growing colder by the second, idle as I ever am, and I wish it were harder to remain still while I watch everything else move around me, beyond me. I am ashamed.

#writing #my writing #my words #creative writing #fiction

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tuagonia · 3 years ago

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sunflower - mason x f!detective

pairing: mason x f!detective (mia garcia)

Summary: mason thinks about mia at the town’s florist.

rating: T

warning: i think there's like...one swear word.

word count: ~1.7k

note: lol ok since i flopped at getting mason x mia done for the hotwayhaven event.... i have been waiting to write this for a while and the amazing event organisers at @wayhavensummer finally gave me the excuse I was waiting for to fully indulge in this. thanks for hosting and putting in all the great work!! This is for Aug. 18 - Flowers.

They remind him of her.

Large and dangling free from her ears; brightly painted papier-mâché “monstrosities”.

That’s the word he’d used to describe them, making no effort to mask his distaste.

Instead, Mia smiled widely in response, reaching up to touch one at its faux-stalks. It stopped that distracting swing, back and forth with every slight movement of her head. Chuckling, and pride lifting her cheery tone, she told Mason she made them herself.

Lemony-yellow, mossy-green, the burnt-chestnut centre.

All crammed together outside of the tiny flower shop. Dozens upon dozens of them staring back at him; yellower under the blaze of the mid-August sun.

A makeshift sign stuffed among the mass of summer-ripe bouquets reads: “TOP QUALITY. Giant Sunnys £14 per bunch”.

Mason is just looking.

He tells himself there’s no harm in just looking.

And anyway, they’re hard to miss under the hot sun. It’s not his fault they’re in the way of his usual patrol route. Quite literally.

Bundles and bundles of large sunflowers, taking up the pavement. Usually, grey and cracked, now overrun with the sight of them. The florist’s quaint store looks like a child’s plaything next to the dramatic assortment.

He has to blink, thinking the sunshine and its heat has started playing tricks on him. It’s almost as if they multiply; little suns with their earthly centres, drawing him closer.

From the moment he rounded the corner to the main square, he never stood a chance against the brilliance of them.

Mason should have kept moving. He doesn’t have time for this— to stop mid-patrol, to idle in front of flowers.

But they remind him of her.

Not just of the — and his lip curls at the memory — weird handmade jewellery.

(A set for every occasion.

Cakes and candles for colleagues’ birthdays, candy canes for Christmas, glittery hearts the size of her fists for Valentine’s Day. Tiny pieces of reflective plastic shedding onto her delicate neck).

They remind him of the sunshiney smiles. The ones she so easily tosses his way, like they’re never any work, like they could never go to waste. Always patient, always bright, always...happy.

And as he glares down at them, he realises they don’t offend him. The observation renders him sceptical, partly convincing himself he’s stopped to figure out why he hasn’t felt repulsed at the overwhelming powdery aroma.

It’s not floral. No. Instead, it reminds him of...reminds him of… Mason racks his brain and frowns accusingly at the vivid flowers opened up at him.

Mason reaches for one, fingers wrapping around its surprisingly sturdy stalk.

He’s still just looking. He just— he just needs to get a closer whiff to figure this out.

Honey. That’s what it is.

Mason’s frown deepens at the realisation. His grip on the flower shifts, the skin of his palm uncomfortable against the fuzzy stem.

Bright and honey-sweet.

(There’s that memory of her kiss, soft and saccharine as powdered-sugar; should make his teeth hurt.)

The crown of gold petals distracts him, fills him with a warm something that he’s more desperate than annoyed to figure out. He can’t place it, can’t place it, can’t place it— wants to know it.

Maybe it’s the frustration of chasing after the unnamable thing that makes him forget the purpose of stopping, the reason why he plucked the flower to begin with.

...so distracted he doesn't hear when the round-cheeked vendor pops their head outside of the shop, all smiles that he feels nothing for (not her like smiles, though. Nothing like her smiles).

They mention the weather and ask if they can be of any help, but Mason’s attention slides back to the sunflower in his fist. But he shakes his head, unconvincingly but he’ll never know.

It’s the heat, he thinks. The arse-end of nowhere town at the tail-end of an unforgiving heatwave.

But just as he’s about to slot the stalk back into its bucket, the vendor stops him— shaking their head emphatically, their grin growing by the second. They sweep of their hands in a take it, take it, please motion, and send Mason off. They shoot him wink from overly-kind eyes.

Like they might be in on some big secret, and Mason will be the last in this entire godforsaken town to know.

There’s no harm in taking the flower, Mason insists, staring down into its dark-brown centre.

He’ll hold onto it until he can find the next rubbish bin, and in the mean time he’ll try not to think about how it reminds him of the dusting of dark freckles across her nose.

(He gets it now. He gets it when he’s with Mia.

He understands — finally — why everyone before her kissed his freckles like they wanted to taste the stars.

Her galaxies, his constellations. Every time they meet, Mason expects a seismic shift to take them asunder.)

His usual strides have shortened, his pace slower than normal, his senses overwhelmed by the true yellow of its petals.

For a moment, Mason forgets all about the patrol and just...walks.

It’s a quiet and lazy summer day. The sun (high and hot) urges residents to stay in the shade, seeks refuge in cool indoors. The streets are empty. Sleepy. So, he takes his time, the crease on his brow deepening with every side street he takes.

It’s hot inside his boots. That’s the only reason he’s leaning against her tin can of a car, outside of the station, holding this ostentatiously large flower.

A quick detour for some shade. That’s all it is. And when there’s a whisper of a breeze, rustling the leaves of the tree above him and the little crown of petals in his hand, it’s all the more cooler.

Mason can hear her colleagues moving in and out of the station, but pays them no mind as time moves on, still staring down at the flower in his grip. It’s far too large to twirl it with sturdy fingers, forcing him to keep studying it and wondering what exactly about it brings Mia to mind.

Lively, but not intense.

(Her laugh, he guesses. Loud and clear, broken up by giggles. The sound of it never jarring.)

A drop of sunlight, buried underground. Persists and blossoms through cracked earth.

(Her kindness, he ascertains. Not to be mistaken for weakness. As easy as she can dole-out radiant smiles, her sharp tongue can just as quickly follow.)

...like he’s been holding a piece of her this entire time.

The taut pull at his cheeks is foreign, and he lets the corners of his mouth drop.

Pointless because Mason hears a familiar drumming, a quick skip he’s grown used to over the last years.

He looks up just in time to watch Mia push through the station’s glass doors. At the top of the steps, she stops to survey the car park, and he feels a flutter in his chest when he realises those brown eyes are searching for him. He confirms it when her gaze lands on him and...that smile (the beating inside his chest is ten-fold) breaks out across her face.

She shields her face with a hand, squinting against the harsh glare of sun bouncing off windshields. With easy, unhurried steps she walks towards him and he drinks in the sight of her.

That scratchy yellow cardigan that’s become synonymous with Detective Garcia is nowhere to be seen. Probably thrown over the back of her office chair and forgotten, along with whatever work she’s been putting off all afternoon.

Dark curls scooped up and away from her neck, gives Mason a great view to the line of her throat and down her naked shoulders. A sage strappy shirt stretches down her small frame, trying its best to keep her cool in the heat...reminds him of the stalk in his hand.

He tenses.

Mia’s eyes flicker to the sunflower he’s holding and her smile (fuck, that smile will be the end of him) grows and grows.

All teeth (white, and...harmless with the dull edges) and she gives an airy chuckle.

“That for me?” she asks with one eyebrow lifting into a curly fringe.

Pushing off the car, Mason musters up his best grimace and fights back the fear fighting its way up his spine. He doesn’t understand it, doesn’t know why fear is the first thing that possesses him when she stands this close and gestures to the flower with a tilt of her head.

Before he can respond, before he can let his tongue and fear get the better of him— Mia makes for the sunflower in his grip.

Fear tells him this should be a mistake. This memory must be a mistake; one that he’s sure will be the only one to matter in a dizzying spiral of time: Mia smiling down at this sunflower.

The leaves rustle again, and sunlight filters through, dappling the deep brown of her hair.

She makes it easy, never has to wrestle with the feeling for too long before she distracts him. If it’s not a quip, it’ll be an expression that should not be equal parts funny or cute. Spears Mason somewhere deep, somewhere he doesn’t think he’s touched before— doesn’t know if it could ever be before her.

Mia speaks to the flower, a lone fingertip running over its petals. “It’s very pretty.”

Mason watches her stroke the large leaf at the stalk, leaning in nose-first to catch its scent at the centre, eyes fluttering shut. Dark lashes meet her cheeks, and he follows the line of her freckles (darker in the summertime).

He wants to take his time here too, with the same pace as he did those side streets (seeing parts of Wayhaven he would have never traversed without coaxing).

“Yeah…” his voice is rough and unused, studying as she looks up at the way the branches move above them. Sunlight casting down on her, and that easy smile fixed on her lips. “Very pretty.”

#not proof-read we die like men or w/e #wayhaven summer #rbs whs #twc mason #twc m #the wayhaven chronicles #twc #mason x mia: cigarette with my tea #queue but said like moira rose #tuagonia writes twc

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witchyhobbitess · 2 years ago

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*Cookies and Crowns* edited

Sage just laughed as she passed the few dwarves already leaving for their midday meal out of the forges. They always teased her, asking if she had brought them anything to eat as well as the king. “Until you lot start ruling and smithing you will be on your own!” Sage called over her shoulder as she made her way over to Thorin’s work space.

“Any of that for us today Sage?’ Fili asked with a grin, tidying up his own space to meet Calanthia for lunch himself.

“Do I ever bring you an entire meal? No.” Grinning, she moved over to his space and handed him a small bundle of cookies. “I do always bring you treats though. Don’t let those spoil your meal or Calanthia will have my head!”

Fili kissed her cheek. “You are a wonderful friend, I’ll be sure to share with Calanthia and let her know you made them.”

Sage smiled at the elder prince. “Thank you.” Looking around she tried to spot Kili. “Did-“

“He left with Tauriel about a half hour ago.” Fili, knowing who she was looking for, finished the sentence for her. “She had a picnic in the woods planned for the afternoon.”

“Good!” Sage grinned conspiratorially at Fili. “Think he will finally ask her?” Handing him the spare bundle of cookies, she smiled as Fili began to walk toward Thorin with her.

“By the gods I hope so. If I have to hear him stress about one more gift or what if she doesn’t take him, I think I will go mad.” They laughed together as they walked further into the forges. “I wanted to ask Uncle what his thoughts are on a spring wedding for Calanthia and I. Do you think he will accept the idea?” Fili stopped and looked knowingly at Sage.

“Fili, you know I have no hold on that.”

Fili snorted. “Sage, you and Uncle are blind. You both love each other, just do something about it already!”

Now it was Sage’s turn to snort. “Young prince, do not make me kick your ass, again. Now, I will mention it to him for you if you’d like, get an idea on his thoughts before you ask him. Does that make you feel a little better?”

Fili grinned and kissed her cheek, “thank you Flower.” He teased. “We will see you at the family dinner tonight?” He asked, she always attended and helped his mother with these big company meals.

“I never miss it! Now, go see your fair maiden!” Chucking, she watched her close friend trot off to go meet her hobbit ‘sister’. Still smiling, Sage turned to finish her walk to Thorin and his work space. It was all too easy to spot the king pounding away at something. Thick ropes of muscle from all his years at the forges gleamed with sweat and dirt. He hardly ever forged with a shirt on-and she couldn’t blame him, these forges were sweltering! Good thing they were too, they kept the entire mountain nice and toasty. His long black hair was pulled back with an intricate silver clasp, only his braids framing his face swung free.

She watched as his face became more stern with his intensified focus, and smiled gently. Aye, his nephew was right, she loved the dwarf with all her heart, but the daughter of a god, part human and of very little dwarf blood would never be accepted by the people or the king. No, she would have to harbour her love in secret, and only be accepted within the mountain as she was. Smiling at the mere thought of being Thorin’s bride, she finished her walk to his space. “You know, my King. If you glare any harder at that piece, I think you could shape it with your frown alone.”

Thorin looked up to find the love of his life grinning at him, their usual lunch in the basket over her arm. “If only working steels like this was so easy, little one!” Chuckling, he placed his work aside and grabbed his shirt. “I take it you saw Fili and Kili since the spare bundles of cookies you always bring them are not on your basket.” Grinning at each other, Thorin guided her over the drawing table, forgetting the simple necklace design he was working on for her courting gift was right out in the open.

Setting down the basket, Sage noticed the sketch. “This is absolutely lovely.” Smiling, she lifted the parchment with two fingers to inspect it more closely. “Incredibly fine details, Thorin. And is that a rose cut emerald you plan to have in the centre? My, my! The dwarrowdamn that is to receive this will be a lucky lass indeed.” Smiling softly when she noticed he didn’t respond as he usually would, she encouraged him. “truly, Thorin, I think that will be some of the finest craftsmanship even I have ever seen. She would be a fool to reject such a gift and such a dwarf.”

Thorin swallowed thickly, this was only one of two gifts he intended to make for her-he had been shaping the other when she walked over to him. “You truly think so? You come from a place where jewelry is much more fragile. Your own necklace for example.” He indicated the thin silver chain and diamond white gold pendant that had traveled with her from her own world. “I would never be able to craft something so delicate with the tools we have here, and I remember you telling us how you prefer small things such as that.”

Smiling, she unpacked the sandwiches, wine, cups and treats. “Yes, but things have to change-just as my life has since coming here. And I think it is endearing that you are taking an idea from another culture and incorporating it as best you can into your own heartfelt piece of work. We may have been able to make exceptionally thin chains, but dwarves can carve what we would have to use machines for. Your skill far outmatches our own. Now, if I’m right-and when it comes to your days I usually am, since Balin and I plan them, you have been here pounding metal for four hours. Eat something before you disappear from lack of nourishment.”

Chuckling, Thorin tucked into his lunch. “Aye, you always do know how to feed a dwarf lass.”

“I would hope so. I have been helping to feed you for two years now.” She teased. “thorin, I was wondering-and don’t you dare tell Fili I said this!” Thorin laughed at her, Sage was always asking him questions for his nephews. “What do you think of a Spring wedding this year?”

“Aye? He wants to set a date for him and Calanthia?” He watched her intently as she smiled down at her vegetables, wondering where her thoughts were taking her.

“That he does. He knows if I ask and get an idea on what you think, he has a better chance of not getting yelled at or talked out of what he wants.” Sipping her wine, she smiled with her eyes over the rim of the glass.

Thorin sighed and rolled his own eyes at her pleading look. “He doesn’t get yelled at. I just mentioned that having a wedding while erabor was still being rebuilt was a bit daft.”

“I agree, it most certainly was-but you were about as delicate as a warg in a glass shop thorin.” Snickering, she patted his hand. “He forgave you though, and here we are-I am now a messenger for your nephews.”

“That you are, and you see me every day at lunch fr them as well.” Suddenly a thought hit thorin. “Do you not have anyone you would want to spend your free time with?”

“I do already, I spend it with you.” She teased back. “If I didn’t want to bring you lunch and spend time with you, I wouldn’t Thorin. Unless there is someone you would rather be spending your lunches with?”

“No!” THorin barked out, shocked she would think such a thing. “Durins beard Sage, no. If I am to be so bold, midday with you happens to be one of my favourite parts of the day-next to sleeping.”

“Good to know, King under the mountain. I am honoured to have you take such interest in such a humble woman.”

“Enough of your sass, small one.” He laughed. “Don’t tell me you gave all the cookies to my nephews either.”

Laughing loudly, Sage lifted the basted and pulled out two well wrapped stacks of cookies. “Have I ever let you down? Hmm?” Placing them on the table, she watched him eagerly open the first bundle.

“Icing?” He asked shocked. Azure blue eyes looking at her with wonder. “How did you manage such a feat? Did you not tell me it was an almost impossible task to make this here?” He inspected the two cookies placed together with a buttery coloured confection in the middle.

“I did. And then I thought of something new, tried it, it worked and now you are the first to get to experience it. I wanted to make them for a little bit of a celebration for tonights family dinner.” Sheepishly, she averted her eyes.

“You and your secrets.” He rumbled before biting into the sweet treat and humming in sheer delight.

#the hobbit #fili durin #fili and kili #new wip #hobbit oc #everyone lives au #hobbit au #everybody lives au #thorin x ofc #thorin #thorin oakenshield

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bonjour-rainycity · 4 years ago

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Double Heart | Chapter Eighteen ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 4719

Warnings: None

A/n Happy Monday! Oh, and if you like Bucky Barnes, I just posted a one-shot for him! You can find it here. Now, on to the story you came here for!

Late in August, three months after arriving in this new world, plans are made to travel to Lothlórien.

Lavandil’s tearful sniffles in the back of her shop clued me in before someone had officially told me, and my heart goes out to her.

“It gets harder every time,” she had muttered, staring at the ground. “Every time we are separated, a piece of me goes with him.”

Her words have not left my mind since.

They are not even bonded, yet the way not being with him pains her…it breaks my heart in a way that is almost too personal.

Our company is set to leave in five days. In my time here, I have amassed only a small number of belongings, so packing will be easy. I am prepared to go long before the others, who have somehow become busier in these last few days. Even Rumil, who has basically become my best friend these past few months, declines my offer to go riding, citing that he and his brothers have much to do in their remaining time here.

So, with no one to help me occupy my time, I end up in the gardens. I pass the afternoon away wandering through the endless labyrinth, discovering more blossoms that make me sneeze and some that don’t. I pick a few — Elrond said it was alright — to press in one of the journals I’ve acquired — a gift from Lavandil. The journal and the flowers will be keepsakes, tangible memories of my time here in Imladris.

A time I desperately do not want to forget.

In the back of my mind, lurking on the edge of my thoughts is a constant fear — the fear that, at any moment, the work with Elrond will prove fruitful and my memories will come rushing back — at the cost of my memories from my time here in Arda.

A bright, bluish-purple burst under the hedges distracts me from that anxious thought.

A cornflower, fallen to the ground and blown far from its bush by the wind.

I crouch, reaching under the green shrubbery.

“Lady Cosima?”

Flower in hand, I straighten, turning at the sound of the voice.

“Glorfindel!” I’m mildly shocked. Since his argument with Haldir, I’ve seen little of him. Seeming uncertain, he walks to meet me, bowing when he plants his feet.

I curtsey, though I can’t help but chuckle lightly at his formality. “You can just call me Cosima, you know. I’m not anyone important.”

Glorfindel shakes his head slowly, the edges of a smile playing at his lips. “I would be inclined to disagree with your statement, my dear Lady. It seems you have not only captured the attention of two worlds, but of my elven friends.” Before I can ask exactly what he means by that, Glorfindel furrows his eyebrows, gesturing to our surroundings. “I am surprised to find you here this evening. I would have thought you would be preparing for your departure.”

I twirl the cornflower between my fingers. “There’s nothing much for me to prepare. And it doesn’t seem I can be of much help to the others, either.”

A twinkle enters his eye, reminiscent of the playfulness he had the last time I interacted with him. “So you are trying to soak up all that Lord Elrond’s gardens have to offer?”

I smile, taking a look around. “It’s not a bad way to pass the time. I don’t know if Lothlórien will have all these flowers, so I’m taking a couple with me.” Unnecessarily, I hold up the growing bouquet in my hands. “But enough about me, why are you here at this time of day? Don’t you have a million things to do?”

Glorfindel grins, now fully the man I met upon first arriving here. “Ah, you’ve caught me. I am shirking my duties, but!” He holds up a hand to stop my nonexistent chiding. “I will pay for it tonight. Your Marchwarden and I have plans after dinner to surprise one of the border stations. We are going to creep through the area unannounced and see how long it takes for them to discover us. Surely we will be gone until morning.”

I gulp. My Marchwarden? I try to cover up how much that phrase affects me. “So, are you two back to being friends? Or are you still at odds?”

Thankfully, Glorfindel doesn’t get upset by the words I spoke without thought. “Yes, yes, we have been reconciled for weeks now. It is not uncommon for such strong personalities to disagree. All is well — I would have thought he told you.”

I shrug, trying to make the motion look natural even though I suddenly feel like every eye in Imladris is scrutinizing the movement. “We haven’t had the chance to talk much.”

Glorfindel smirks. “Ah, yes, I wondered why my friend had been even more stern than usual as of late.”

I freeze, and the question escapes my mouth before I can stop it. “What do you mean?”

No, Cosima, I chide. Do not engage!

But Glorfindel has already broadened his grin, evidently happy to indulge my pointless question. “He’s increased drills and border patrols, added requirements for promotions, re-worked the training schedule at least five times — he’s even taken his frustrations out on the guard — I worry more when they fight him than if they were facing a pack of orcs!” He laughs, but, after a moment, his expression softens into one of understanding. “Did something happen between the two of you?”

My eyes drop to the flowers in my hand. I twirl the cornflower again, scrutinizing its color.

It is the wrong shade of blue.

“No, nothing happened,” I respond, still not able to meet Glorfindel’s gaze. His questions and the lack of judgement in his voice lead me to share more than I should. “I…I think we both realized we were headed for something dangerous and it’s better to stop while we can.”

“I see,” he mutters, taking in a deep breath. “I am sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I force a smile, not wanting to dwell on something that already keeps me up at night. Time to change the subject. “I don’t know about you, but I’m quite hungry. Would you like to join me for dinner? Lavandil and Orophin will be there as well.”

His face breaks into an easy smile, though there’s something off in his eyes. He sweeps his hand forward, indicating his agreement. “Lead the way, my dear Lady.”

{***}

I stare at the clothes laid out on my bed, relying on the meager candlelight to tell me what each item of fabric is.

Lord Elrond said I was welcome to take home any of the pieces I wanted, but the space in my bag will only allow for a few of them. Turns out, the choice is harder than I thought it would be. I have no desire to wear the same outfit the whole time like I had to on the journey to Imladris. That means I should pack more tunic and legging sets. But there are so many pretty gowns I want to take — it doesn’t help that, as part of the payment for helping in her store, Lavandil took me shopping a couple of times. I look over my dresses, all equally loved.

I purse my lips. I know Rumil has three bags…perhaps he would be willing to donate one of them to a good cause. Lavandil hasn’t taken him shopping, so surely he has room to spare.

I creep out of my room, mindful to keep quiet at this late hour. Rumil’s likely to be awake — that ellon is a night owl if I’ve ever met one. I reach his door and knock softly.

But when the door opens, it’s not Rumil on the other side.

It’s Haldir.

I stop breathing. His eyebrows shoot to his hairline.

He steps back somewhat robotically, making space for me to enter the room. “Cosima.”

I freeze, unable to connect my brain to my feet to tell them to move. I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “You’re supposed to be gone.”

Haldir opens and closes his mouth, likely figuring out how to respond to something that sounded very much like an accusation. “I—ah, I apologize? Do you want me to—”

“No, I uh—” I look to the ground, trying to gather my hopelessly scattered thoughts. Being near him again takes me right back to the state I’ve tried desperately to avoid. “Sorry, no, I only meant that I ran into Glorfindel a few hours ago and he said the two of you would be gone tonight. I came looking for Rumil.”

“Oh.” Haldir furrows his eyebrows, though it looks like the initial shock has faded. “I am sorry — I sent him out tonight in my place. I planned on using this time to write out instructions for training after I am gone.”

I can’t keep myself from smiling. So dutiful. “That’s nice of you.”

Haldir shrugs, looking thrown by the compliment. “It’s my job.”

I blink, realizing that, both mercifully and sadly, I no longer have an excuse to stay here. I should go.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.” I take a step back.

“Cosima, wait.”

I halt my exit, but remind myself of my resolve.

Haldir shifts on his feet before rolling back his shoulders, holding the door open with one hand. “I need a break from writing. Would you like to go for a walk?”

Your resolve, Cosima.

I search for any excuse, anything to give me a reason to say no when I so badly want to say yes. “I don’t have my cloak.”

The edges of Haldir’s lips twitch. “Now that, I may have a solution for. Wait here.”

I should go.

Just wait to see what this ‘solution’ is, I rationalize.

Haldir turns and nearly jogs to the wardrobe, burying his upper half inside until he emerges with a sage green bundle. He returns, presenting the neatly folded fabric to me. “This is for you.”

I blink in surprise, taking the bundle from his outstretched hand. Slowly, I unfurl it, and it falls into a sturdy, finely woven cloak. I look up at Haldir and then back to the garment, unsure of why he’s just handed me this, but nonetheless, pleased.

“You cannot wear your red one while we travel,” he explains. “This will blend in much better with our surroundings. Lavandil advised on the measurements, but if it’s too long, there’s still time to get it hemmed before we leave.”

I smile, running my fingers over the soft interior and the slicker outside. “What’s it made of?”

“Wool, but I asked the seamstress to assist in making it as waterproof as possible.” I look up at him sharply, surprised that he would think to include this. “I worry we will encounter rain again and I would hate to have you shivering like last time.”

I run my fingers over the fabric with a new fondness. I’m grateful and more touched than I would like to admit. “Thank you Haldir, really. This is so thoughtful. And practical.” I can’t help but laugh, looking up at him with a sudden onslaught of nerves. “Just like you.”

He smiles almost bashfully, dipping his head in acknowledgement of my words. “I’m glad you like it.”

I swing the cloak around my shoulders, pulling my hair through the back so it lays against the outside of the fabric. Haldir grabs the bag that rests on the hook by the door and retrieves another one of those beautiful leaf-shaped clips. He steps forward and slowly reaches his hands to where my cloak rests along my collarbones. He gathers the fabric and weaves it through the clip, securing the ends. He rests his hands there for just a moment and then steps back, nodding to himself.

“Perfect,” he breathes.

I blink. I have a cloak now. There’s no reason to say no. “Let’s go for that walk.”

Smiling in a soft, hesitant way, he grabs his own cloak and clip from their place near the door and we step outside of his room. In silence, mindful of the late hour, he leads me down a spiral staircase tucked into a corner I’ve never noticed before. As we descend, the sound of water crashing gets louder and the peace of the estate fades.

I halt and, a few stairs below me, Haldir stops too.

“Are we going below the city?”

He looks up at me — I can barely see his face in the dark. “It is perfectly safe — there are no heights to be conscious of.”

It feels wrong to make sound in the darkness, so when I speak, it’s barely more than a whisper. “Okay. I believe you.”

In the dim light, Haldir’s hand reaches up to me. I stare at it, feeling my jaw fall slightly.

“I think you will like where we’re going.” The darkness, the sound of his voice, just being with him after so much time apart — it’s too much.

I exhale a shallow breath.

I place my hand in his.

Tingles shoot up my arm.

We reach the bottom of the staircase, and he doesn’t let go.

It’s dark here, too, and I find myself drawing nearer to him. My arm brushes his and I suck in a breath, both of us laughing nervously. Haldir seems to know the way. His path is confident and sure as he leads us underneath the stone and earth of the city. Then, in a burst of clear blue light, we break from the darkness and arrive on soft grass.

I can see Haldir better now. Everything about him seems to almost glow in the moonlight. He smiles softly, tugging on my hand to encourage me to follow him closer to the water that lies ahead of us. I glance between us to where our hands meet, wrapped around each other.

It feels natural. It feels right.

I should let go.

I grip his hand tighter.

The stone holding up the city gives way to taller grass and trees whose low, swinging branches brush over us as we pass. Ahead lies a rippling lake — across it, waterfalls crash down, their thunderous roar diminished by the distance. Haldir takes us almost to the edge of the shore, then surprises me by pulling me to the left. We duck under a particularly low branch, Haldir almost having to double over completely. I laugh, bending down next to him, and he looks up at me with a carefree grin. We pass under the branch and emerge in a small clearing — an alcove, really. Behind us and to our left are tall, leafy trees, to our right is the stone of the mountain, and ahead, surely for miles and miles, lies the lake. Moonlight dances atop it, glinting in a way that makes it sparkle. And above it, in an endless stretch of sky—stars, a million of them, at least.

Haldir turns to face me.

I suck in a breath.

His eyes — I’ve always admired them, even when they held nothing more than indifference to me — seem to shine in a way I’ve never seen before. They gleam like living starlight, depthless and enchanting. The colors of the night drape him in a glow of soft blue, highlighting the strong edges of his jaw. He looks powerful, beautiful, otherworldly.

This is the first time I’ve truly understood the etherial beauty of an elf.

He smiles down at me expectantly. “Was I right?”

I exhale somewhat shakily, nodding my head. “Yes. Yes, you were right. This place is stunning.”

His smile broadens and he releases my hand to unclasp his cloak.

I miss the warmth of his hand encasing mine.

But I do get my wish from earlier today. Just as he did all those months ago, he lays his cloak on the ground, gesturing for me to sit. I do, folding my legs to the side to allow him room next to me. Before he can say anything, the nerves get the best of me, and I blurt out the first, most basic question that comes to mind. “How was your day?”

He smiles, stretching his legs out on the cloak. “My day went well, thank you. Glorfindel and I spent this morning debating the merits of extending Elrond’s borders by twenty or so miles — it would mean the guards have more land to protect, yes, but it would also provide a larger distance for any intruders to cross, should they break through the barrier. That could give the guard precious extra time to organize and combat the threat.”

I tilt my head. “So what did you decide?”

Haldir raises his shoulders then lets them fall, the action hinting at underlying stress. “It is not our decision, we were merely debating. The choice lies with Lord Elrond, and I cannot say what he will do.”

I chuckle, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “You’re always steps ahead of everyone else. Come on, what do you think he’ll do?”

He sighs. “I think he will not expand the borders. Elrond cares about the security of his people, yes, but he still believes there is potential to stop this evil before his people will have to confront it.”

Tension gathers in the small of my back. Are we really that close to a fight? “And you disagree?”

“I did not mean to scare you.” He avoids answering my question directly.

I shake my head slowly, thinking over his words. Wary, yes, but scared? “I have gotten tougher, you know.”

Haldir smiles and lets out a soft laugh. "Now, that, I would have to agree with." He rolls his sleeve up to his bicep and holds out his arm. I squint in the moonlight, trying to make out whatever he's attempting to show me. "See this?" I shake my head, and Haldir laughs more freely now. "It is almost a bruise from where you hit me two days ago."

Now, I join him in his laughter, remembering my attempt to break free from his grasp during training. “You better watch out," I joke. "Soon I'll be able to put you on the ground."

Haldir schools his laughter but the edges of his lips stay quirked. "I'm sure."

I snort. “No, I actually believe that someday soon I’ll be able to beat you. Or, at the very least, catch you off your guard.”

I don’t actually believe that, of course, but it’s worth the exaggeration to see Haldir’s terrible attempt at pretending to agree with me.

“Ah, perhaps, yes. I would not entirely rule the possibility out.”

“Liar.” I roll my eyes and grin good-naturedly.

He merely holds my gaze with a smile of his own and raises an eyebrow.

I shudder out a breath. I wish he wouldn’t look at me that way. It makes me want things I absolutely can’t act on.

I force my eyes to return to the water, searching for a way to expel the tension that has somehow gathered in the air. “What made you want to come here?”

He shrugs, leaning back on one hand in a way that is almost arrestingly casual, because I do not feel casual. “It’s peaceful, it’s away from the bustle of the city…and it reminds me of home.” He smiles, craning his head back to view the moon and the stars. My eyes follow the length of his neck before correcting themselves to also look at the stars. “In Caras Galadon we live in talans built high in the branches. Common spaces and guest lodgings take up entire trees, wrapping around trunks and connecting with bridges. But my home is smaller, and all the way at the top of one of the oldest and tallest trees in the city…I can look up and I see the stars. It’s like I walk among them, I am so close. And here, though we are quite low on the ground…” His eyes drop to mine. I listen intently, captivated by the love he feels for his home so clearly expressed in his voice. “This feels somehow similar, like it is just you, me, the forest, and the sky.”

The words, ill-thought and reckless, rush from my mouth. “I like it being just us.”

His head dips closer to mine. “Me too.”

Our noses brush against each other. We are so close, so close to losing ourselves in something we cannot control.

I will bring nothing but pain to him.

I pull back just enough to see his eyes, hating the spark of hurt that runs through them. But I ground myself in that, use it as a warning of what is to come if I don’t stop this now.

But stopping hurts me, too. Because I want him. I want to be with him, to be his forever, more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my entire life. Memories or not, this, I’m sure of.

And I can’t have it.

Tears prick at my eyes.

Haldir’s hurt turns to concern and he trails a finger tenderly over my cheek, soothing and catching a tear that has managed to fall. “What’s wrong?”

I swallow, trying to force away the painful lump that has grown there. I can manage little more than a whisper. “You don’t want to do this with me.”

He shakes his head and brings a hand to my lower back. He presses gently, keeping me in place as if he knows I’m trying to find a way out, to talk us both out of doing this. He lowers his head to look directly into my eyes. “Yes, I do.”

I turn my gaze to the waterfall, not able to bear looking him in the eye. “Haldir, I’m temporary. To your lifespan, I…I’m nothing. Don’t waste your love on me.” And something I can’t say, something I’m too weak to admit out loud — don’t waste your life on me.

He brings a hand to my chin, pulling me to meet his eyes. What I see there takes me aback — a fierceness akin to how he looked during the attack. “It’s not a waste, it’s a choice. And I’ve chosen, Cosima. I want this, I want you.”

I shake my head, the tears falling freely now. I bring a hand to grip his wrist, trying to break his hold of my face. He follows my request but immediately takes both of my hands in his, refusing to let me go completely.

He speaks in a low, urgent voice. “Cosima, believe me, I tried. I’ve stayed away from you, I’ve tried to convince myself that there are others, that there could ever be someone else for me. I’ve distracted myself with training and planning and patrols but nothing works. Every day, I wake up and I ache for you.”

I close my eyes, all at once elated to hear those words and grieving his choice. Because loving him is the most selfish thing I’ll ever do.

“I wish I didn’t want this,” he continues. “I know what it means for me. Every instinct for self-preservation is screaming at me to stop, to run away, to fight this—”

“Then do,” I beg, trying to convince both him and myself. “Save yourself while you still can.”

Slowly, deliberately, he pulls his hands from mine and rests them on either side of my neck, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones. Despite my efforts, I suck in a breath, my heart beginning to race.

He’s so close, so honest, so…loving. He looks at me with the same reverence he reserves for the stars. He lets out a breath, eyes trailing down my face before meeting mine once more. “It is too late,” he murmurs, lips parting slightly. “I’ve fallen in love with you.”

And my resolve breaks.

I push myself forward to close the minuscule space between us, pressing my lips against his. He responds immediately, kissing me with a passion that sends tingles down my spine. His hold on me feels like fire, starting where his hands caress my neck, where his lips meet mine, and running through my entire body. My hands gather in the fabric of his tunic, pulling him impossibly closer. My mind fights between short-circuiting due to the feel of his lips on mine and shouting for joy. Never in my life have I felt so right, so secure, so…electric. Gone are the days of holding myself back, of distancing myself, torturing myself, staying away from the one I truly want to be with.

The one I love.

My back makes contact with the cloak covering the ground. Did I fall and pull him along, or did he push me? All efforts of solving that mystery disappear the moment he takes my lower lip between his teeth, biting down gently. I gasp, my grip on his tunic tightening. The hand that rests on the ground near my side, supporting his weight, curls into a fist.

His kisses slow.

He presses his lips to mine again, this time, as gentle as a breeze. I sigh into the kiss, my hand trailing slowly down his chest. For the first time in all my memory, I know that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

And I am with who I am meant to be with.

Haldir’s lips leave mine. He balances his weight on one arm and his knees, bringing his free hand to my face to softly brush his fingers over my cheek. Slowly, I open my eyes.

Above me is perhaps the best and most beautiful sight I will ever see. A blanket of stars, brilliant and expansive, floats across the night sky. And in front of them, mere inches from my face, is Haldir, looking at me with a wide, adoring smile. I raise my head to bump my nose against his, earning myself a rumbling chuckle.

He shakes his head slowly. “The relief I feel, finally being able to tell you that I love you, to kiss you…”

I breathe out a weak laugh, knowing exactly what he’s describing. “I wouldn’t call what I feel relief.”

He grins and dips his head to mine, stopping just before our lips touch. “Yes, it is certainly not a peaceful relief. But I much prefer whatever this is to peace.”

“I agree,” I sigh into his mouth as his lips move against mine once more. But then I remember something, and push against his shoulders. He’s said his piece, now I get to say mine. “Hey, for the record, I love you too.”

He laughs indulgently, shaking his head, but I can see real joy lighting his eyes. “And yet you kept me in such suspense.”

I roll my eyes and grip his tunic, pulling him down again.

When we break apart, he falls onto his back next to me. I’m struck once again with the memory of us stargazing in Elrond’s gardens so many months ago. Then, I spent the whole night fighting the urge to cuddle against his side.

Now, it seems, that door is not closed to me.

Experimentally, I scoot closer to him. When he smiles rather than questions it, I pick up the arm nearest to me, moving it so I can lay against his side. He tenses, then sputters out a laugh, but doesn’t push me away. Instead, he cranes his head so he can see me and I grin up at him, happy to see that he wears a matching expression.

He raises an eyebrow. “Is this what the humans do?”

“Yes,” I smile up at him, pleased that being this close to him feels even better than I could have imagined. “It’s called cuddling.” I rest my head on his chest. In the silence of the night, I can hear the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.

After a moment, his hand comes to the back of my head, running his fingers gently over my hair and down my back. “Surprisingly, I like the human way.”

I smile, tucking my head further into his chest.

I stare at the sky.

And try not to think about what I’ve just done.

A/n YAYYYYYYYYY

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kerie-prince · 4 years ago

Text

We're Worlds Apart (2)

Draco Malfoy x American No-Maj!reader

series m.list | general m.list | previous chp

warnings: light cursing, mentions of death, angsty Draco

summary: Draco Malfoy is a pureblood wizard. Magic runs through his veins and has been since his birth. You're a Wiccan No-Maj; a non-magical being with ordinary blood through your veins, but practices what you call magick. And this very practice upsets your neighbor.

(gif not mine)

The surrounding neighbors have been very nice; one elderly couple walked up to Draco’s door with an apple pie, quite the American staple, and he seemed to appreciate it. They seemed normal and sweet. Much unlike the feeling he had for his neighbor. Y/N. He hasn't made any attempts in the month that he's lived in the small suburban neighborhood to see her. He avoided her like she was a deadly plague.

Albeit, it was probably harsh and extremely childish. The whole point of him becoming a new person was changing his views he had been taught in adolescence. Or else why did he help Harry Potter all those years ago when he swore he hated him?

It was currently around 3 in the morning, he was standing in his backyard and made sure no one would be awake as he sent his owl to send a letter to his best friend, Blaise. He was the only person who still contacted Draco on a regular basis besides the occasional letter from Theodore. Gregory cut all contact with Draco after the Battle, especially since Vincent had died that night in the fire in the Room of Requirement. Pansy was living her life somewhere, and although the Golden Trio had forgiven Draco for his actions, it didn't start any friendships. But Draco was fine; Blaise and Theo had been there for him in more ways he cares to admit.

He never mentioned a word about Y/N to Blaise until now when he asked what Draco’s American neighbors were like. Majority of the letter contained contents of how work has been, the differences in not only culture but also how things are called, and just his own well being. He did say something short for the elderly couple, but when it came to Y/N he had a lot to say.

These muggles are far different from the ones in England, Blaise. They know things about the magic world but input a fantasy in their heads. They believe they can actually practice witchcraft and wizardry, calling themselves “Wiccan” or whatever rubbish it is. Bloody hell, they even have films and tv programs of them. My neighbor is one of these and she does the most ludacris things in her house. Quite laughable, really. If Salazar was alive today to see this happening, I’d bet he’d curse the whole lot.

She had been lingering in his mind since that day of his discovery. It was annoying him. Every night, he would catch her in her room doing whatever the hell she was doing and he felt as if the universe was mocking him. This is what people think what you really are was the message he got from it all. Draco never thought something like this would make him feel like a freak. But he did. This act of hers was an indirect insult of what he was capable of. And she had no idea.

—

It was a fine autumn morning. The shop was closed today, so you had lots of time at home to catch up with cleaning. You stood over your bathroom sink brushing your teeth and saw from the reflection of your mirror your cat stretching herself before walking into the bathroom to rub herself on your legs. “Good morning, Aurora,” you cooed at her. She purred in response and ran off to her tower in the living room.

After getting changed into some comfortable clothes, you walked up to a closet in the hallway that had collections of crystals, oils, sage bundles and more. “Let’s see, where did I put the angelica root?” you asked out loud to yourself. Going through the shelves, you pulled some sea salt, ground lemon balm, ground angelica root, and a feather. You carried the items outside in a bowl to your backyard and set them at a small garden table. Walking over to your garden, you pulled some elderberry flowers and started your cleansing spell.

You sprinkled the salt onto a censor dish and placed a charcoal dish on it and lit it up. In the bowl you had used to carry the items out, you started mixing the herbs together as you waited for the charcoal to burn red. Once it did, you sprinkled the herbs on top, creating a cleansing incense. You picked it up from the bottom of the censor dish, picked up the feather and made your way steadily to your front door, lightly wafting smoke towards it. Reaching your front door, you drew a pentagram over it with the feather and smoke,

“Be gone negativity,

Here now blessed be.”

You repeat your incantations throughout the house until you have finished and walked back to your living room, drawing one last pentagram. You placed your feather and censor dish on the bare floor, stood up and tapped your foot three times,

“By my will, so shall it be.

Sealed now shall this cleansing be.”

You sat on your couch and turned on the television, waiting for the incense to burn out so you could scatter it around your backyard. After a couple of hours of watching a guilty pleasure of yours, you decided to get some actual cleaning done. First thing was to do some trimming and gardening outside, so you grabbed some gloves and headed out back to your yard.

Before grabbing your garden scissors, you looked up and saw something rather strange. There was an owl in your neighbors yard. In broad daylight. From the backyard, you heard a car pull in and peeked over the fence to see that it was your neighbor coming home. You ran to the front leaving a dirt trail in your house and ran out the front door.

He hadn’t walked in yet, so you started waving your arm, “Hello! I’m Y/N!”

He had just nodded his head and walked a straight line to his door. Not wanting to lose this chance of having a conversation with him, you yelled for him one more time, “There’s an owl in your yard!” His eyes widened and without a word, he ran into his house in a panic. From a distance, you heard him say 'shit' before closing the door.

Building up confidence, you walked up to his door and knocked a few times and patiently waited. You fixed your hair and stood surprised as he hastily opened the door. “H-hi! It’s so nice to meet you, I'm Y/N,” you stretched your hand out to shake his hand. He looked at it and had a displeased look, causing unease within you. Looking at your hand, you noticed you still had your gardening gloves on with dirt on it.

“Oops, sorry!” you chuckled as you took it off and reached out again.

Again, he just looked at you with a straight face for a couple of seconds before finally speaking, “Look, I’m really busy, so if you don't mind.” He shut the door without giving you any chance to say anything back. You stood there in shock, replaying his British voice in your head. And as you stood there, you wondered why it is that he doesn't want to talk to you. The Charles couple across from your house were able to introduce themselves, and even got a smile from him. But for some reason, you could never get the same treatment.

—

Ian had proposed to Draco a housewarming party during lunch. Of course Draco had never been to one, much less hosted one.

“It’s alright, boss. I can fix all the arrangements up. All you gotta do is relax,” Ashley proposed. To say that Draco is extremely happy is an understatement. He had friends that actually enjoyed his company and not his influence. Not that he had much of that anyway.

America was really working out for him; work was great, people were nice, and the area he lived in was peaceful. Yes, he didn't like his neighbor, but she wasn't ruining his life in this new country. He just didn't like what she did.

“Thank you, Ashley. And you know you can just call me ‘Draco’.”

“I know,” she replied. Ashley grabbed her Blackberry phone and started drafting up an email, asking for his address so she could let people know where it would be. “Is this Friday a good time?”

“Yes, that should be fine. I don't have any plans that day.”

“Great, it's sent out to everyone in our department. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an attending to watch over for a surgery. See you guys later!” Draco, Blaine and Ian waved at Ashley as she left.

Blaine left soon after, leaving Ian with Draco. “Alright man, how’s it going on your street? Are you finally settled in?”

“I finally got the last of my things delivered from London yesterday. I was a bit nervous though. That mugg— I mean No-Maj neighbor of mine saw my mum’s owl in my yard. Thankfully, she didn't ask any questions,” Draco said as he cleared his lunch tray.

“Wait, you still use an owl? Ha, I didn’t think people still did,” Ian chuckled. “Well, of course I do. Do you not?”

“No, most wizards here in the States just use the usual ground post that No-Maj’s use. Things are a bit more modern around here. Speaking of your neighbor actually, have you ever spoken to her?”

Draco shrugged nonchalantly and said a simple ‘No’ when he really wanted to scrunch his nose and eyebrows in disgust and say ‘Fuck no.’ Ian, however, is gifted in Legilimens. He heard what Draco really meant but kept to himself. I guess things are different in the UK he thought.

—

“Hello my dear baby, I just wanted to call and give you a heads up; your brother and I are coming for Thanksgiving. He’s bringing Stephanie so do me a favor, please no witchy stuff.”

The voicemail played out loud in the kitchen. Please no witchy stuff. Your mother had repeatedly explained to you that she was okay with ‘it’ all, but growing up you never really got on the same page with her. And you knew it was because of your practice. Your younger brother would say comments every now and then when you grew up, but he always stood up for you when other people called you a ‘satanic freak’. But never once did you regret starting the Craft. You enjoyed it and it made you feel whole.

It had been a week since your encounter with your, now known British, neighbor. It bothered you a lot that he didn’t seem to want to get to know you. You were lost in your thoughts that you almost didn’t notice the doorbell going off. You answered the door and saw your neighbor.

“Hi dear, do you think you could help me and my husband with something?” Mrs. Charles smiled sweetly at you. “Of course, what can I do for you?”

“My grandson is coming in from Vermont, would it be alright if you could give us a ride to the airport? I’d ask Draco but he’s always busy at work and I don’t want to be a bother.”

Draco? “I’m sorry, who’s that?” you had a confused look.

“Our new neighbor, dear. I thought you had met him already. You two are the same age after all,” she informed you. Draco. How unique. You instantly recognized the name from the star constellation. It was nice to finally put a name to a face. Distracted again, Mrs. Charles waited for your answer, “Y/N? Can you do it?”

“O-oh, sorry. Of course I’ll help. Frankie was his name, correct?”

“Yes, it’s Frankie. Thank you so much. His flight comes in on Friday. I’ll see you then,” you wished her a good night and looked out your window to make sure she crossed the street safely. The rest of the night consisted of you and and your cat laying on your couch watching TV, but what was on the screen didn’t have your attention. Draco did. And you had no idea why.

—

“Dude, why do you not have a TV?” Blaine looked around Draco’s house and studied the arrangements he had. It was quite plain, almost minimalistic. Looking around, Draco couldn’t help but think how different it was from the Manor back in London. Instead of grand chandeliers, moving portraits of the Malfoy’s before him, and intricate designs on the walls, he had simple white walls with just one moving picture of him, Blaise and Theo a couple minutes before a Quidditch game against Ravenclaw. He had a bookshelf full of old school books from Hogwarts and some small relics he liked from the Manor.

“I’ve never had one growing up, and once I moved here I just never gave any second thought of it. Besides, what would I even watch?” Draco replied. Despite having one letter off from being the same name as his best friend, Blaine reminded Draco of Theo. They were both funny and outspoken. He would’ve loved for them to have met. They’d probably get on.

A few moments later, Ashley and Ian knocked on Draco’s door. The door was unlocked for them to be able to open the door. They looked around the living room before settling onto the couches. “Okay so I was thinking that we can just have some trays of snacks and desserts with some champagne. Does that sound good to you guys?” Ashley suggested. They just nodded along to whatever she said. She had gone to the store with Blaine to get everything prepared before the party tonight.

Ian looked at the pictures of Draco with his friends and one of his mother that laid on top of a chimney. “Do you still have lots of friends from Hogwarts?”

Draco thought about it, “You know, I actually didn’t have a lot of friends back in school. Back then, I only hung out with probably six people. But now it’s just two.” He sounded a bit sad, but figured that two were better than none.

“Do you think of what happened a lot?” Ian implied about that day at Hogwarts. He had been the only one that Draco trusted enough to tell. “Sometimes,” Draco gave a short reply. The action of opening up was still new to him, but he knew he shouldn’t wallow in it. Plus he’d rather have a friend instead of a doctor to talk about it.

Ian really felt bad for Draco. It must have been really traumatizing for someone to go through something like that at just the age of 17. Sure, Draco wasn’t the best person at the time. Who is he kidding, he was probably the biggest git in the whole school. It didn’t necessarily mean that he had to go through what he did. He lost one of his friends in a fire, and one left him after said friend died. Another left for no apparent reason. And another wanted something different in her life. Those things affected Draco, and probably will for the rest of his life.

He didn’t pity Draco, but was feeling sympathetic. “Well if it makes you feel any better, I don’t have much friends from Ilvermorny. It sucks now, but hey, down the line you get new ones.” Ian held a fisted hand out, waiting for Draco to bump it. It made him laugh as he bumped Ian’s fist.

Outside, Ian looked out to see a certain neighbor walk to her car. “Hey, is that that chick you were talking about?” Draco looked out the window and saw you grab some things out of your trunk and into your house. “Yeah, that’s her.” Ian never really pressed on Draco to explain why he didn’t like his No-Maj neighbor like he did the elderly couple across the street.

“Well, I gotta say. She’s a sight for sore eyes for a weirdo.” She’s a what? Beyond the nightly activities he had caught you doing on occasion in your bedroom, he never really looked at your face. Or really just at you. But now that Ian mentioned something, he started studying you. She’s not so bad looking— wait, what are you thinking?

By accident, Ian snorted at the words Draco thought. “Did… did I say that out loud?” Draco asked with suspicion in his voice. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t really mean to be invading your mind or anything. It runs in my family,” Ian laughed nervously.

“It’s okay. My godfather was also good at Legilimens and Occlumency. I’m pretty sure he’s heard worse during his classes. Come on, I’ll give you a full tour of the place.”

“If the other rooms are anything like the living room, I’m sure I’ve seen the whole place then,” Ian joked.

“Piss off.” As Ian walked towards the bathroom, Draco looked back outside to see you again. He watched as you helped the Charles couple in your car and drove off to Merlin knows where.

—

The party was rather fun. It lasted until almost 1 in the morning. He thanked Ashley for handling everything and spent the night talking and laughing with his colleagues. Once everyone left, he changed into comfortable sweats and a plain black t-shirt. Out on his bedroom window was Blaise’s owl with a sealed letter. He quickly opened the window, grabbed the letter and looked out to make sure no one was watching. Your room was dark and it seemed as the drapes were down. He guided his friends’ owl with his hands to a small, make-shift owl post against the fence that separated your yards. It had food and was enchanted to be at a comfortable temperature. His owl laid on one side of the post, resting as Blaise’s owl joined it.

Draco opened the letter and read its contents to himself.

Well mate, I’m glad you’re having a good time in America. There’s not much going on here in London. I’m just working at Gringotts until something opens up at the Ministry. Not really sure what I want to do, but I’ll figure it out. Anyways, I think you’ll be pleased to hear that Theo and I are going to be joining you for the holidays. Theo got a hold of a couple American muggle films and he figured that if the women there were as fit as the actresses, then you must be living the best life and he wants to join. As for that muggle neighbor of yours, I can’t wait to see her in person. We’ll see you, Malfoy.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw lights turn on in your room and your shadow walk around before turning off once more. Sorry Blaise, but there’s no way in hell you’ll meet her.

—

Frankie’s flight was delayed, causing you to get home so late. You were extremely tired and your feet and back were sore. Usually, you’d take a bath with some salts and oils to relax yourself, but tonight you were really lazy. So lazy that you just shook your shoes off and plopped yourself on the bed.

The second you hit the mattress, you dozed off. Your mind was wandering and found yourself dreaming.

You sat in your backyard in a pretty sundress. There was a slight breeze in the air and you held a cup of coffee in your hands. Someone sat at the chair opposite you and blocked the sun’s light in your face. You looked next to you and saw your friend smiling at you.

Draco.

—

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#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy au #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy x muggle!reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x female reader #draco x muggle!reader #draco x you #draco x y/n #draco x reader

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tallstars-rewrite · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 24

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Tallpaw was instructed to remain in camp for several days, and regularly check into the medicine den. Miraculously, none of his bones were broken, but the nasty gashes across his back were still at risk of infection and nearly every part of him was horribly bruised. It was torment having to remain still. Dawnstripe came to see him regularly to bring him food, and he wished her presence brought him the comfort it used to. For the most part he couldn’t help just feeling bad that she was having to deal with him at all. Her first apprentice that she’d been so excited for had become such a mess.

Briarpaw was in and out of the den. Hawkheart, providing his apprentice more sympathy than he offered anyone else, did not give him duties. Tallpaw wasn’t sure where Briarpaw had been going the rest of the day. He didn’t speak much when he came in save for the same pleasantries. “How are you feeling? Is the pain manageable? I’ll get you some wet moss to drink from.” The words were caring but his voice was stiff, like the life had been drained out of it. Sometimes he just sat in the dark corner of the den and stared at his paws. Tallpaw wondered if he still saw his mother's blood on them, or if any amount of grooming would make them feel clean. He was too ashamed and afraid to reach out. Briarpaw might see him as responsible for his mother’s death like Shrewpaw did; someone Tallpaw gratefully had not seen at all.

Tallpaw's relationship with him had always been a bit precarious, the easy affection he and Briarpaw had--or at least used to have--was never Shrewpaw’s strength. They had been as much friends as rivals could be, but Tallpaw sensed that night, in the hate in his eyes, that something had broken in him as well, and their unstable foundation crumbled.

Woollycloud was around him the most, just as subject to bed rest as Tallpaw. He offered him friendly chatter which Tallpaw rarely reciprocated, but Woollycloud graciously pretended not to notice. He had a nasty cut on his head where a rock had struck him, but unlike Tallpaw, his legs and movement were fine and he was able to be more active. In between the comforting talk Tallpaw had to endure, there was nothing to do but sleep. And he really did not want to sleep. When he closed his eyes, the rumbling of the earth and world collapsing on top of him returned, along with his father's voice calling out from far off. But it was only when he was asleep that he didn’t have to suffer the pity and concern from his clanmates. Or worse, their uncomfortable silence. As if a frightening air surrounded him, a discomfort that remained since the formerly well mannered and quiet apprentice’s violent outburst against the rogue. The rogue the rest of the clan apparently cared for more than Tallpaw and his father. The fear in his dreams was, marginally, still preferable to facing others.

After nearly a full day of not speaking, Tallpaw was staring absentmindedly up at the stars. Each star a warrior of the past, so he’d been told. Brackenwing would be among them. But a horrible thought nagged at his mind the longer he stared at those stars. So at last he dared to speak to Woollycloud.

“What about Sandstone, Woollycloud?” He could barely manage more than a whisper. “If we couldn’t lay his body out, how will he be free? How can the wind carry his spirit if it can’t find him? He’s trapped. He’s trapped down there alone, isn’t he?”

Woollycloud curled his tail behind Tallpaw.

“Don’t worry, Sandstone will not be lost. There is something we can do for him, but the tunnelers want to wait.”

“What for?”

“For you, of course. You should be there. StarClan knows to welcome him, and we will help his spirit how we can. I’ll show you as soon as we’re strong enough to.”

Tallpaw nodded quietly and lay his head back down.

Woollycloud continued, “You and your mother will have closure. Did Palebird not tell you about the tunnelers tradition?”

“I... have not seen my mother.” Tallpaw said. He didn’t want to think about her. Of all the cats whose presence filled him with a deep set guilt, Palebird was among the worst.

“You haven’t? I...I see.” Woollycloud sat up and hummed in concern. Tallpaw wished he wouldn’t do that. “I haven’t seen her myself...I should look for her.”

“You don’t have to.” Tallpaw said quickly. “Really.” The last thing he wanted was for any cat to pressure his mother into seeing him. Before Woollycloud could argue, he continued, “do you think I’m strong enough yet? I know the third sunrise hasn’t passed, but the herbs have been working and I...I really want to do something.”

Woollycloud sniffed at his shoulder, “Perhaps we could ask Hawkheart. I understand why you don’t want to wait. In the meantime, I’ll see if Mistmouse can find Palebird. She must be grieving heavily, and I know she’ll want to come.”

Tallpaw had a hard time imagining his mother wanted to do anything. But with Hawkheart’s begrudging blessing, and a small lie about not feeling any pain anymore, Woollycloud led him to the camp entrance. Mistmouse had told the other tunnelers it was time, and they were waiting for them. To Tallpaw’s surprise, even the retired tunnelers Fennelpelt and Whitetooth were waiting.

Woollycloud gazed at Whitetooth with a slight trace of worry. “You’ll be alright making the journey? I hope the pain in your legs has eased some.”

Whitetooth sniffed proudly. “I won’t let anything stop me from doing this for Sandstone. He always spoke up for us and didn’t let anything stop him. I’ll be fine.”

Fennelpelt nodded “It’s only right for us to give the proper send off in the place his body rests, or as close as we can get. I know StarClan can find him wherever he is, but...this has sadly become a new tradition, the more we lose to the tunnels. I always hope the present one may be the last.”

Woollycloud nodded sadly, “StarClan willing it be true this time.”

Hazelnose turned to Mistmouse “So...did you find Palebird?”

Mistmouse shuffled her paws “No, but Lilywhisker told me she has an idea where she might be.”

“I haven’t seen her since yesterday morning,” Crowfur said with a displeased flick of his ears. “She can’t mean to miss her own mates’ remembrance.”

“She doesn’t want to, perhaps they will meet us there," Mistmouse said quickly.

Tallpaw couldn’t help sharing Crowfur’s frustration. Palebird was so rarely where he wanted her to be. It was one thing to avoid him, but she shouldn’t avoid Sandstone at a time like this. Unless...it was because he was there? It was hard for him to ignore how out of place he felt here. Once he had assumed these cats would be his closest companions, but that was before his apprenticeship. He’d never been able to figure out if they were as disappointed in his choices as Sandstone was. They ought to be, he thought bitterly Because if I had made the right choice...maybe I would have known how to save him. Maybe I could have gotten to him faster.

The patrol made the trek quietly, as the last light of the sun started to vanish and the sky turned from orange to cool dark blue. Tallpaw had some difficulty keeping pace, even Whitetooth walked faster than him, but he forced himself not to wince. He wished his muscles didn’t still ache from the bruising all over his back. That restless feeling of being somewhere he didn’t feel he had a right to belong still gnawed at him. Unfortunately Woollycloud, in all his endless sympathy, padded behind with him. I wish you wouldn’t waste your energy worrying about me, Tallpaw wanted to say.

Instead he asked, “What are we going to do?”

“Right now, we are going to collect every strong smelling moor plant we can find. I’ll explain when we arrive.” Woollycloud replied.

Tallpaw couldn’t pretend he wasn’t nervous about returning to the place where he’d nearly been buried twice, and where his father had disappeared forever. But he wouldn’t let that apprehension stop him now. Some of the patrol split off on the way, returning with herbs and plants plucked from the ground, smelling of new-leaf growth. Woollycloud gestured for Tallpaw to take his heather flowers as he picked additional sprigs of sage. Tallpaw hadn’t a clue what they were doing, but he followed obediently.

When he finally caught his mother's scent, he almost thought he was imagining it. But as they approached the hill that led down to the soft earth where the old rabbit burrow tunnels used to be, he saw her approaching the group. Lilywhisker was with her, and carried some brightly colored flowers in her jaws that she passed off to the small white molly, but as she watched Palebird come to join them, the former-tunneler did not follow. Palebird padded soundlessly into the muddy clearing, placing a rather large bundle of marigold on the ground. “I wanted to find the best flowers I could,” she said quickly, as if expecting someone to ask for an explanation. Her voice sounded weak and cracked. “I apologize it took so long.”

“We are here now,” Woollycloud replied gently, “that is all that matters.”

No cat asked why Lilywhisker had not joined them. Perhaps it was because she’d left tunneling behind so long ago. It made Tallpaw wonder even more if he deserved to be here himself. Because he was family was surely the reason, but Sandstone saw his tunnelers as better family than he ever was. None of them know how Sandstone really felt about me… he realized miserably.

Tallpaw felt incredibly on edge to finally be in his mother’s presence. He could feel her gaze drift toward him. She at last padded over to him, and gave the scar on his ear a soft lick. He looked up at her timidly. He hadn’t noticed before how awful she looked. Her eyes were dull and tired. She looked smaller and thinner. Palebird had been a frail, skinny cat for as long as Tallpaw could remember, but now he could more clearly see the bones in her back. Her fur was messy with bits of dust clinging to her legs, showing she hadn’t been grooming much.

She offered him a weak smile “I’m glad you’re doing better, Tallpaw.”

Her voice carried that familiar hollowness he remembered from when he was a kit. When she told him things would be ok in that empty way. Even back then her words felt practiced and obligatory, with little feeling behind them. As empty as her eyes. She seemed to be looking through him. He quietly nodded in response.

Woollycloud padded closer and leaned forward to touch her nose in greeting, which she stiffly reciprocated.

“We were worried when we couldn’t find you earlier,” he said “Where have you been?” He looked at her with deep concern in his soft orange eyes, surely noticing her disheveled appearance as well, but not wanting to comment on it directly.

“I’ve...been sleeping in my own den. Not far from camp. I just wanted some air. I’m sorry, I really didn’t realize I had been gone so long. Time just slipped away from me.”

Woollycloud didn’t look fully content with that answer, but he didn’t want to push it. The tunnelers had placed down what they carried and gathered around the collapsed entrance of the tunnel. It was hard to discern where the hole had been, as the mud around it filled in the cracks. Slowly and meticulously, they began to dig.

Tallpaw looked to Woollycloud “What are they doing? I thought...I thought we already tried to dig through to the tunnels.

“We did. Believe me, Plumclaw especially was out for ages digging holes above and below. We will not dig into the tunnel anymore. Only a shallow ring around the entrance. Come with me, and I’ll tell you.”

He led him to the muddy ground, and together scooped out small pawfuls of earth. Tallpaw suppressed a shudder from the feel of the cold dirt seeping into his paws, and he tried not to remember how it felt to sink into the ground while it buried it from above and below. He focused on Woollycloud’s voice.

"In the rare cases where we have no body to lay in our sacred place, we will go as close as we can to where we know the body is and lay a separate grave, as we do in the Sleeping Glade's burial grounds. We’ll collect every strong smelling moor plant we can find. The familiar scent of the open air will guide the lost spirit out.”

“How will he sense anything trapped underground?” Tallpaw asked quietly.

“He will. Trust me.” Woollycloud said firmly, “The Wind Runner never abandons her children, wherever they are, she will find them again. Her son knows the earth and hidden places of the moor. It may be a harder journey, but Sandstone will hear him and find his way to our ancestors.”

“But...how long will it take? How long will he be trapped?”

“Worry not, young one,” Whitetooth croaked. He was doing his best to dig, making slow progress, but there was a sureness and prescivion to his movements that spoke of his experienced seasons in the tunnels, even despite the stiffness in his joints. “Your father wore the tunnels like a second pelt. He will not be afraid.”

Tallpaw struggled to imagine anything alive in the ground. Well, not alive exactly. But he’d only ever felt hostile eyes on him down there, the kind belonging to monsters that frightened him as a kit. Could there be anything else? He felt his fur tingle as he struggled to pull one last pawful out of the earth. He imagined Sandstone watching him with that cold disapproving glare at how much clumsy effort it took to do this small task. It felt like the ground wanted to suck him down, just waiting for him to put his weight on an unstable patch. He backed up from the hole, but luckily it seemed the other tunnelers had decided they dug far enough. All around the burrows entrance, they weaved the flowers and herbs in a ring bordering the shallow dip. When they had finished, all the cats sat around their work, and were silent. Tallpaw was silent with them, but he didn’t expect to feel any peace wash over him. All he felt was empty and sad. In that stillness, Tallpaw could only dwell on what he really lost.

His father had not loved him for some time, not really. Perhaps Tallpaw would not have to fearfully creep around camp anymore, or carefully check over each rise on the moor to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally run into him on a bad day. But Sandstone being gone also meant that the cat that had loved him once, the cat Tallpaw dutifully waited for everyday in the nursery, the cat who made him his entire world for those often lonely cold moons...that cat was gone too. Some part of Tallpaw, even at his most frustrated and scared, still held onto hope that maybe someday they could figure things out between them. Sandstone could at last let his guard down when the clan wasn’t facing so many outside threats, and he wasn’t putting himself under so much pressure. There was still a small chance that Tallpaw could have that old father back, and this wouldn’t last forever. Sandstone would tell him he didn’t really mean what he said before, and he was only harsh because of all the troubles weighing on him. But no. Those words could never come. There was only one last cold glare of disdain, and now that was all there ever would be.

After what felt like a lifetime, Whitetooth stood, bony shoulders weighed down by grief. “May StarClan welcome you as you find your way to them,” he rasped.

One by one the other tunnelers bowed their heads and left. A solemn Plumclaw followed Mistmouse away, and Hazelnose and Crowfur offered to walk back with the elders. Woollycloud, Tallpaw, and Palebird sat there alone. Woollycloud was surely waiting for them, but Tallpaw felt like his paws had rooted to the soil as he stared into the shallow hole. How could he feel like those he lost were still with them, when the air around him felt so dead and still? What good was their presence if he couldn’t really speak to them, couldn’t see them, couldn’t show them that he could be better than he was when they left? It was one thing to imagine they were far away in the stars, but even here, even in the earth, he couldn’t feel anything. There was no solace here.

“Woollycloud?” he whispered “do you really believe that there are spirits on the moor that watch over us?”

Woollycloud was quiet for a moment.

“I do. I feel them with me often. Our moors are so close to the sky that on the right nights, StarClan can touch the ground and walk alongside us, even in the darkest places. WindClan’s guardian spirits are not only with us when we hunt,” Woollycloud looked a bit wistful. “I believe they led me to save you that night.”

Tallpaw stared blankly into the earth. “But why would the spirits make the tunnel collapse in the first place?”

Woollycloud grimaced “I don’t believe they did. I think...These tunnels were our own doing. And perhaps it was only a matter of time. Not every cat can be saved. But it was not your fate to die that day. And I’m glad of it.” Woollycloud touched his nose to Tallpaw’s head “You’re father will always be with you Tallpaw.”

Those words were clearly meant to comfort him, but they didn’t. Not at all. Woollycloud didn’t know how disappointed Sandstone was before he died. Even if he was here in some way, all he would see was his son's continued failure, continued hesitance and fear. It should have been you buried here, the shallow burrow seemed to growl, perhaps Woollycloud could have saved Sandstone instead. He’d do more good for the clan than you.

Sandstone died angry. He died resentful. What if he couldn’t find peace? A frightful chill was working its way up Tallpaw’s spine. He was too afraid to ask.

Woollycloud pressed softly to Palebird for a moment, and said he’d be waiting for them at camp. He wanted to give Sandstone’s family time to grieve, and Tallpaw didn’t want to tell him how uncomfortable it was to be with his mother.

He couldn’t remember the last time they were alone together. The few times he’d spoken to her...Brackenwing was usually there. He never really realized until now how she rarely left his mother's side. When Palebird wasn’t with Sandstone or Woollycloud, as she was less and less often, it was Brackenwing fetching her prey, taking her on walks through the moor, Brackenwing who knew her pain from the kitten she’d lost moons ago and who remembered her grief when the rest of the clan hardly knew the kit existed. It was Brackenwing who would encourage them both.

But Brackenwing wasn’t here anymore. And neither was Sandstone. Instead, it was just Palebird and Tallpaw. They were both there together, and they were completely alone.

The silence between them hung thick in the air.

“Are you going to be alright, Palebird?” Tallpaw asked. He had to know.

Palebird took in a small breath. “I am…” her sentence trailed off. “...I am alive.”

She sounded so far away. It wasn’t really an answer so much as it was a statement. Yes, they were both still alive. For whatever that was worth.

Tallpaw shifted. “...Where were you really? Before, I mean?”

“Not far. Mostly I was walking where she used to take me...I didn’t realize I had just been wandering the same short trail for so long. I should have been back sooner.”

She didn’t have to say it for him to know she was thinking of Brackenwing.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said, and he meant it. He didn’t want her to feel worse.

“I should have been there…” she whispered, so quietly he almost couldn’t hear it.

“Where?”

“The patrol. She really wanted me to go. But I was…” she sunk to the ground and lay her head on her paws. “I shouldn’t have left her side.”

Tallpaw felt his heart twist in a knot. I wouldn’t have left her like you did, he imagined her saying. It was surely what she wanted to say. Then at least, Brackenwing would be here to comfort her for Sandstone. Yet another death he was present for, and couldn’t stop. He wanted to ask her if she blamed him. If she resented him. If she had ever stopped thinking of that kit she lost so long ago, and if she wondered if Finchkit would have been strong enough to save the ones she loved, in a way that Tallpaw wasn’t. If she never wanted him to speak to her again, he would honor that. He wished he was brave enough to just ask, so he didn’t have to wonder anymore. But he wasn’t.

“Palebird?” he whispered.

“Yes, Tallpaw?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For... everything.”

Palebird’s expression was unreadable as she stared into the earth. “I’m sorry too.”

Tallpaw wasn’t sure if either really knew what specific thing they were referring to. Sorry for Brackenwing. Sorry for Sandstone. Sorry they were in so much grief. Or worse, like Sandstone, sorry that he turned out the way he had. He didn’t expect her to elaborate, and she did not.

All Tallpaw’s life he had simply had to guess what went through his mother's head. He’d long since given up on her telling him. She had cared for him just as much as was physically necessary, and all the while he felt like a stranger to her, like there was a wall of brambles between them that perhaps had always been there. But right then, he felt like he understood her a little. The emptiness in her voice. The hollowness in her eyes. She was quiet and drowning in her grief, in a hole no one could see. But he saw it now. How much easier it must be to simply feel yourself be swallowed up by that hole. He used to wonder when it was exactly that she had started sinking, what had first set the seed for the thorny wall separating them. She wasn’t always like this, his father's voice echoed. But she had been at least as long as Tallpaw had known her. Perhaps it really was as simple as that. Still, he was not brave enough to ask.

But now he felt certain that he had no parents anymore, all in one terrible fell swoop. Palebird did not speak after that. Her mouth hung open and empty. She didn't even have any practiced phrases of comfort left to offer.

After that night, Tallpaw would not hear her voice again for a very long time.

chapter list / previous / next

#cw depression #cw self loathing #FRU24 #chapter 24

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chandelier-s-notebook · 4 years ago

Text

Doodlewash April 2021 prompt 11: Telephone

Tangentially related because communication.

I mention a character named Meri, that’s the name of LDShadowLady’s IRL dog, for the purposes of this storyline, Meri is her child.

If anyone wants to be part of a taglist of this Vigilante AU, feel free to message me/send an ask/or mention it in reblogs.

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

5up finished up his last class of the day. He dropped his school things off in his bedroom. He grabbed his bright pink leather jacket faded from use and changed from dress pants into a worn pair of black jeans. The white masquerade mask with a leaf motif was taken from its place in the back of his closet and slipped it in the inner pocket of his jacket.

5up’s father may hate vigilantes with a passion, but the guy in charge of the security for their apartment was a fan. 5up’s father thought that vigilantes were a danger to society and that people just trust the system rather than some self-proclaimed public service helper. Another fact was that 5up’s father was too rich for crime against him to be worth it, and when things did happen to him, he could call up Hero HQ and let his reputation carry the weight necessary to get a hero rather quickly. But the people in the ground didn’t have that luxury, so even though 5up’s father asked for a report on what his son does, the security guys doesn’t only fail to mention the whole vigilante thing, he also loops the camera feed in case the man comes to take a look for himself.

5up chuckled sardonically. Who was he kidding? His father wouldn’t call Hero HQ; he goes to a kidnapped child ring to bet on the outcomes once a week.

5up decided that he should go get Elaina and DK on board first. xChocobars might need a little more time to process before agreeing.

5up dashed down the City sewer system. He threw down his skateboard and rolled through the tunnels to District 87. It was surprising how it was faster to get from his apartment complex in District 67 to the Sweet Shoppe and Bakery in District 87 by skateboarding through the sewers than catching the city bus.

5up rolled the skateboard to a stop below the grate in the back alley of the Sweet Shoppe & Bakery. 5up took the guitar strap out of his jacket pocket and attached it to the skateboard then tossed it over his shoulder. He climbed up the ladder and popped up in the back alley.

It was surprising that the stench from the sewers didn’t permeate into his clothing.

He slipped around and walked in the front door. “I’m back Niki and I’d like to buy a dozen cupcakes.”

“Hello 5up, and what brings you back down here?” She knew 5up’s order; he just wanted a random selection.

“I need to have a chat with Elaina Exe.”

“Elaina? Not Eret?” Niki asked conversationally.

5up shrugged. “You know how it is sometimes. Would you have an idea where she is right now?”

“She works at The Golden Bloom after school. This’ll be $27.”

“Thanks.” 5up pays in cash. “Where is that?”

“Just outside, turn left, cross three times, turn right, cross twice more, turn right and it’s the shop on the corner.”

“Thanks.”

5up opens the box and eats a cupcake as he follows Niki’s directions to The Golden Bloom.

- - -

Elaina is helping a customer in the succulent section of The Garden Bloom when the wind chimes over the door ring. She glances to the newcomer out of the corner of her eye; 5up. She smiles a little strained at the customer, and starts to speed up the process.

5up raises a hand in greeting and starts to skim the yellow flower section.

Elaina gets her other costumer paid and out the door. She walks over to 5up. “Alstroemeria,” she says approvingly.

“And in English?”

“Lily of the Incas.”

“Nice. Will they work as friendship flowers?”

“So you wanted friendship?” Elaina jokes. “I was going to ask if you had your eye on someone.”

“No. Just need to soften the blow of information.”

“Oh?”

“Stuff. Will we be eavesdropped on here?”

“No.”

5up nodded. “Could I have some of these?” He took out a cupcake and offered it to Elaina.

She snatched it. “Lemme finish this first. What did you want to talk about?”

“I was wondering if there were any children that had gone missing within the last couple of months.”

Elaina’s hands paused in the flowers. “Why?” Her head dropped forward and she laughed. “That sounded defensive.”

“No no don’t worry about it. Hafu found something and I was wondering how wide spread the problem was.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. One of those situations.”

Elaina’s hands found their movement and she sifted to find the best flowers and pulled them out. “A dozen?”

“Yes please.”

“Lizzie’s daughter Meri went missing three months ago. But that’s all I’ve heard.”

“So yes?”

“Yeah.” Elaina beckoned him over to the counter. “Why?”

“I might know where she is.”

“Really? Where?”

“Hafu found a child fighting ring in her patrol section. My father invited me to it, saw someone who’d gone missing seven months back.”

“Child fighting ring?”

“Illegal. Obviously. It’s a betting thing.”

“Have I ever told you that your father is a bad person?”

“Not you specifically, but I have been told that.”

“Good. Don’t be like him.”

“I won’t. That doesn’t sound fun.”

“No.” Elaina shook her head and laughed. “$25.” She wrapped the bundle in paper while 5up fished out the cash. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Would you be willing to come to Hafu’s tomorrow at 9pm to advice us on how to proceed?”

“Me? Me? You don’t want Eret for that? Illegal children fighting ring of kidnapped kids sounds like an Eret thing.”

“It also sounds like a file report to Hero HQ.”

“Uhm…. Yeah?”

“Hafu and I estimated 200 children, you remember the School Exploder.”

Elaina smiled fondly. “I had a test postponed because of that.”

“Exe.”

“Right right. Yeah. Hero HQ isn’t going to be quick or efficient enough.”

“They would be, but more than one hero is gonna need to work together,” 5up trailed off.

“If there were a hundred then we could trust SBI to do it,” Elaina continued his thought process. “But there are too many kids for just of three of them.”

“And we don’t know how many criminals there are to round up.”

Elaina dropped her head in her hands. “So I’m the second best option.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Captain Sparklez hero knowledge would be invaluable, but Eret is a little too close for this project.”

5up nodded sagely, finally picking up his flowers. “Hafu’s, 9pm tomorror?”

“I’ll be there.”

The door chimed.

“One second.” She turned back to 5up. “I’ll see you around.”

“Wait until we have a game plan before you tell Eret.”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

- - -

5up was rolling down the sewers to DK’s Dojo up in District 37; he had his mask donned; cupcake box in one hand; and flowers for xChocobars in the other.

It was really nice that DK had an elevator directly to the sewers, it was so nice not having to climb up a ladder with all the stuff he had to carry.

5up drifted from the elevator to the front desk. “Hi, is Dakotaz in?”

The receptionist didn’t look up from their screen. “No.”

5up placed a cupcake on the counted. “Ahem.”

The receptionist looked up.

“And what about for me?”

They noticed the jacket and white leaf mask and started apologizing,. “I’m so sorry 5up, I thought you were literally anyone else. Yeah. DK’s sparing with Dumbdog in his private room.”

“No worries. Thanks.”

5up swiveled his board around and propelled himself to the back room.

“Cupcakes!”

“Well if it isn’t Mr. Rich Boy.”

“Cupcakes?”Dumbdog took DK out of the headlock and leaped over. “Yes. Oh my goodness. The Sweet Shoppe and Bakery makes the best cupcakes.”

“Geez Dog, have some class.” DK picks himself off the ground. “Yo bro? Can I have one?”

5up handed one of DumbDog and held out another for DK. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

“No why?”

“Think you have time to stop by Hafu’s at 9pm tomorrow to discuss something?”

“Yeah sure. What’s up?”

“We found some missing children and need a munitions expert.”

DumbDog raised his cupcake in toast to DK. “Do you need me?”

5up turned it over in his head. “If you’re available.”

- - -

xChocobars was sitting on the roof of a building keeping watch of the streets below. There was a meeting between the City’s two biggest gangs. They always met up in this square of District 66.

She saw other vigilantes of the roof around the square and a little ways down the road where the cars were sitting. Someone dropped next to her. “Cupcake.”

“Of course.”

The leaders shook hands and headed their separate ways. xChocobars kept watch as the gang members and other vigilantes disappeared into the shadows back to their home districts. “Hello 5up.” Flowers were thrust into her hands. “Oh?”

“I found your twin sister.”

xChocobars eyes hardened behind her mask. “Oh?”

“We can’t go in guns blazing though.”

She gestured to the flowers. “I figured.”

“She’s ‘fine.’ Not really.”

“Oh?”

“Let’s just say that there are other people who got shorter sticks.”

“Stop softening the blow.”

“Your sister’s kidnappers are forcing her to fight and people like my father bet on the outcome.”

xChocobars dropped flowers. They fell soundlessly into her lap. “Oh?”

“She was one of the less bruised and was winning.”

“Good for her,” xChocobars said. “Bad for others.”

“Bad for others,” 5up agreed. “We’re going to Hafu’s 9pm tomorrow to plan an escape.”

“Good. I’ll be there.”

“Good.”

“Go home 5up.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

- - -

“Hello Hafu.”

Hafu startled from where she was sitting on her fire escape. “Hello 5up.”

“I have six cupcakes left.”

“Oooh. Gimme.”

“So what’s the plan for tomorrow? I told people to come at 9pm.”

“We’ll talk over dinner about how to approach this.”

“Mhm. You, me, Elaina, DK, DumbDog, and xChocobars.”

“Good team. We’ll need to expand.” Hafu popped a cupcake in her mouth. “Think you can do some recon?”

“Yeah. I’m sure my father would love to spend some time with me.”

#5up #Hafu #ElainaExe #DK #DumbDog #xChocobars #Plushys #Vigilante AU #DoodlewashApril2021

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causewealwayshaveeachother · 4 years ago

Text

a good day

this fic quite literally came to me in a dream

ship: peterpatter (luke/reggie)

ao3 tags: Established Relationship, Anniversary, Fluff, ostensibly takes place in 1995 because luke is living in the studio but tbh who fuckin knows, "why are they bouncing and wiggling so much" bc i have adhd and writing this made me really happy!!!, on that note, Luke Patterson Has ADHD (Julie and The Phantoms), Reggie Peters Has ADHD (Julie and The Phantoms)

wordcount: 992

reggie hummed cheerily to himself as he walked to the studio, gently swinging the bundle hanging between his fingers. today was a good day.

his dad had a business meeting in another city and was staying overnight, so the quiet tension that always filled the house while he waited for his parents to eventually start yelling was gone. he had woke up late, but late as in 9:30 instead of 7:30, so practically early for a weekend. and he had gone to bed early that night, early as in 11:30 instead of 2:30, because he wasn’t tense for a screaming match to start down the hall.

and he had walked into the kitchen that morning, with the light streaming in the window, and seen his mom flipping pancakes, and thought, today is going to be a good day.

“hey, mom, can i bake cookies to bring to band practice?”

and that was really when the day went from good to great, because she’d smiled and offered to help. he hadn’t had such a good time hanging out with his mom in a long time.

and any other day the thought might be tainted by the long time since and the likely long time to follow, but today was a good fucking day and reggie whistled while they mixed and chatted about school and sung her little snatches of dolly parton and waylon jennings.

and once they were done baking and cooling and being taste-tested by him, his mom, and his little brother (charging back downstairs at the smell), he carefully stacked the remaining 10 atop a handkerchief he’d nicked from a secondhand store and tied the corners together into a nice little knot, and was out the door to the studio before eleven.

as he rounded the corner onto the street of the studio, he momentarily broke into full singing, trilling out “as i just stare at your crooked teeth!” he gave a little hop, embodying in that moment the phrase “a spring in your step”.

he arrived at the doors of the studio, still humming, and flung one open to find luke, standing directly on the other side with his hands behind his back. reggie jolted back in surprise.

“gah!”

“oh shit!” one of luke’s hands came up to cover his mouth as he laughed, bending forward a bit as his shoulders shook.

reggie laughed, too, and swung the other door open, letting the full oomph of the sunlight and warm air filter into the studio. “what are you doing standing directly behind the door like that?”

luke went a little pinker, took a deep breath, and took his hand from behind his back. “happy one month anniversary?” in his hands he held a small bouquet of flowers, clearly picked from the gardens of the houses around the studio, tied together with a bit of black ribbon that, as reggie took the bouquet, upon closer inspection was a length of hem saved from of one of luke’s cutoff t-shirts.

“i wasn’t sure if you wanted to celebrate or anything, i don’t know if one month is an anniversary people celebrate unless they’re, like, stupid tacky in love, but i thought it might be nice, and, i know it’s not a lot, but, you know…” luke trailed off, awkwardly scratching his neck. “anyway, i thought it would be nice.”

reggie looked over the arrangement, cheeks warm and hurting a bit from how hard he was smiling. “you got me flowers?” there was beardtongue, rockrose, hummingbird sage, little pale pink daisies, and a single purple iris, poking out above the others. a few broad flat leaves around the edge and several flowering grass stalks contrasted the vibrant colors and tied the whole thing together.

he looked up, eyes bright. “no one’s ever given me flowers before.”

luke grinned back, giving a little bounce on his toes. “i’m glad you like them.”

“oh!” reggie ducked around luke and into the studio, bouncing over to the sort-of-a kitchenette (a minifridge with a microwave on it and a side table full of cutlery and whatnot) to get a cup of water to put the flowers in. he quickly sped back over to the coffee table by the couch, placing them in a beam of sunlight.

luke, watching him with some amount of amusement, followed reggie to the couch and took a seat. reggie quickly swung his backpack off and sat down beside him. pressing against luke’s arm, he held out the bundle. “happy one month anniversary!”

luke’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked at the bundle he had only sort-of noticed. “thank you,” he said quietly. he took it carefully and set it on the table, untying the top.

the corners of the kerchief dropped away to reveal the stack of cookies. he turned to grin at reggie. “dude, you got me cookies?”

reggie grinned back. “i baked them this morning.”

luke wriggled his shoulders and leaned forward to gave him a quick kiss. reggie went pink. luke picked up the top cookie and took a bite, humming happily. “gnarly,” he mumbled around the mouthful of crumbs. reggie, pleased, looked down with a grin. he dug into his backpack and pulled out the sandwiches he had packed, subtilely slid one in front of luke, then pointedly dug into his own.

luke rolled his eyes. “you’re not subtle.” he finished the cookie and scooped up the sandwich, unwrapping it and digging in.

once they'd polished off their sandwiches, reggie pulled out a bottle of lemonade to go with the cookies, reaching back over to the kitchenette to grab cups.

luke raised an eyebrow. “did you plan this?”

reggie shrugged. “only a little?” he grinned and took a sip. luke leaned in again and kissed the lemonade mustache off his lips.

“could of told me we were doing something,” he murmured, close.

“would’ve ruined the surprise,” reggie whispered back, and kissed him again.

#jatp fanfic #jatp fanfiction #peterpatter #ruke #jatp #julie and the phantoms #luke patterson #jatp luke #reggie peters #jatp reggie #my fic #km #fic #a good day

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