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saturnsstufff · 4 years ago

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Hear me out, imainge Techno raiseing a little girl and she just brings home her first boy friend or something. Techno being Techno just reacts to this in a "hurt her and i'll kick your ass" kinda way.

This idea wont leave my head and I have no idea why.---

Also hope you have a great rest of the weekend!! :D

-🐼😐

Oh my god he would be the best/worst dad ever. Best because he would be so loving and supportive. But worst because he was so terrifying.

Also! Apologies before hand I got a little carried away (I love domestic dad techno, what can I say)

Athena- Technoblade

Warning: none, maybe protective dad Techno?

When you first had children Techno was pretty hesitant. He wasn't sure if the child would like him or despise him. He also wasn't sure if he would even be a decent father. Of course being his loving and supportive wife, you already knew Techno was utterly amazing with children. So when you announced you were pregnant, you swiftly eased Techno's nerves about fatherhood.

When your baby was born he cried, he was so over joyed at the sight of your little darling within his arms. Phil, having known the lengths and dangers of pregnancies, was glad that you had safely delivered a healthy baby girl. Almost a exact replica of you to be precise. With little ruby eyes she looked at you both with wonder. Quickly finding comfort with her Mother, Father and Uncle. Techno upon seeing her, knew she would grow to be strong. Whether she choose to be delicate as a flower, or as fierce as a warrior. He would be there to support his little girl. With that said, he only found one name, perfect enough to fit his little darling.

Athena.

Like her name foretold, she became a elegant warrior. From a young age she was driven to make her father forever proud. Of course he was naturally proud of her. But that didn't stop her from picking a bow, and sword up to challenge her father.

When she was a toddler, she found amusement and love for the little things. Athena and Steve had even become inseparable. Her father was gushing over the idea that his daughter had a love for large animals similarly to him.

Of course you were also close to her. She was your daughter, made of your flesh and blood. While Techno taught her everything about combat, you often shown her the gentle side of things.

Between You and Techno- and the rather occasional help from Phil- you guys had taught Athena to be fierce, yet gentle and loving. Something you were all very proud of.

As Athena aged she became rather beautiful, growing to look a lot more like Techno then you first had perceived. With her father's strong gaze and jawline she became a heartbreaker without even knowing it.

You and Techno both knew she was gentle and loving. But due to Technoblade being her father, many boys and women alike tended to shy away from her. Fearing of upsetting her or her father.

Techno felt bad at the idea of his daughter being alone. He knew what it was like to be shunned by most people. It wasn't something he wished his little girl to face.

You, having been the more positive person in the marriage, knew that it would just take time for her to find the right person. Sure enough, you were right.

Athena had found friendship with a hybrid Ender boy named Nathaniel. Although rather tall he was in fact timid. Athena waisted no time in telling you about her long adventures with Nathan by her side. Soon the name "Nathan" and “Nate” had become a house hold name for your family.

Of course you had met Nathan occasionally. Having seen him when you would walk with Athena to the nearby village. He was a kind and loving boy towards you, and all those he encountered. When he started bringing Athena flowers, you had more then a well known hunch of where it would lead to. As always, you were indeed right again.

One morning Athena was a bit restless in her seat at breakfast. While you fed your young toddler, you couldn't help but wonder if she was ok. You were the type of mom to let your children come to you with their issues on their own terms. Figuring to wait until they were comfortable with bringing things up, then being pushed to tell you. It worked with your sixteen year old daughter and your twelve year old son. So you planned to roll with that for your soon two year old son as well.

Soon enough she did budge. "Mom?" She asked softly. You turned to her, showing she had your full attention. She cleared her throat and poked at her egg a bit. "I invited Nathan over for today... I hope that's ok..." she asked a bit shy. Something was up, but you weren't about to pry.

"Of course that's ok Thena, he’s your friend" you smiled softly to her wanting her to feel at ease. Her brother narrowed his eyes a bit. You watched your son from the corner of your eye. He knew something. Your middle child took after Techno expression wise. The look he was currently giving his sister, was the same look Techno gave you when he knew you weren't telling the full story. With your youngest in front of you asking for more food, you slowly moved your attention away from the eldest children.

"Will dad be coming home today?" Your son asked curiously. You herd the bemusement lace his tone. You hummed and put a spoonful of oatmeal into the toddlers mouth.

"I believe so. Phil and Your Father said they wouldn't be long with the Mansion run" you said looking over to him. With your youngest now almost two Techno started up his usual runs again. When you had a baby in the house he was always hesitant to leave for too long. Of course you always told him you would be fine. Thankfully your children were well behaved and easy to keep track of- that is unless your oldest son felt the urge to annoy his sister of course.

It was about a little after noon before Techno and Phil had returned home. Your toddler was the first to see them from the window of course. Calling out "daddy" and insisting that you all go out to meet him. With no hesitation you scooped up your baby and wondered out with your kids. Athena was smiling brightly. But you could also tell she was on edge.

When Techno rode up to the house your toddler was thrashing for him. Only easing up when he was handed to Techno. Your husband had the largest smile as he took his son in his hands. Asking if he was missed. You gave Phil a warm welcoming smile. Hugging him when he dismounted from his horse.

While you stood by Phil talking about the trip, your youngest children were hugging there father when he came down. Happy to have him home once again.

Athena, although overjoyed that her dad was home. Found her attention drawn to the young Ender boy approaching from the tree line. The two hugged happily when he met up with her.

Techno had traded your toddler to Phil. Making room within his arms for you. With your body pressed up to his, you turned your head to give him a warm welcoming kiss. But instead paused to see Nathan and your daughter hugging. Techno, expecting a nice kiss started to pout. But he soon stopped when he saw a unfamiliar boy with his little girl.

You had previously met Nathaniel, however, Techno has not. He’s only herd about this boy. So he was a bit skeptical.

Athena didn't hesitate to bring Nathan over to your little family. With Techno and Phil in full armor, you felt a bit bad that shy Nathan had to meet them this way. Your sons stood with Phil, your youngest within his arms. You stood in front of Techno, your husband towering over you with only his hand on your shoulder.

"Who is this?" Techno asked, his eyebrow slightly raised in question. Athena smiled hesitantly. Nathan quietly looking Techno over.

"Dad... This is Nathaniel... That boy I always talk about" you smiled warmly at the boy. Saying it was nice to see him again. He gave you a shy, but warm smile in return. Techno's eyes lingered over Nathaniel. Almost summing him up. "Nate.. this is my Dad and Uncle..." she said pointing. Nathan stepped away from Athena's side. Slowly stepping up to you and Techno. With a hesitant arm he held his hand out to Techno for a handshake. When Techno shook Nathan's hand, the size difference was easy to spot. Where Techno had strong calloused hands, Nathans were limber, long, and soft. Easily one of his Enderman traits he possessed.

Techno didn't make direct eye contact. Having remembered when Ranboo stayed with you two years previously. Ranboo had off hand mentioned making eye contact was seen as a hostile move to Enderman.

"Its very nice to meet you finally, sir..." Nathan said rather quietly. Techno although on the fence. Didn't choose to try and be intimidating. Instead he kept his normal monotone voice.

"It's nice to meet you too"

Nathan ended up staying for dinner that night. Athena and Nathan mostly stuck together, but both were a bit nervous you could tell. But again you didn't push it.

After dinner Phil took the kids outside for a late night walk. Figuring he would leave you and Techno alone for a bit. Of course you weren't fully alone. Athena and Nathan stuck about. With the two sat together on the couch, Athena ended up falling asleep on Nathans shoulder.

Well you and Techno talked in the other room at the table, the last person you expected to see was Nathan. He quietly walked in and waited for you two to finish talking before he began. "I... I uhm, have something to ask you s-sir" Nathan began uncertain. You gave him a kind smile and motioned for him to sit.

When he sat he looked between you two. Mostly looking for reassurance from you so he could address Techno. Techno didn't push, he just calmly waited for the boy to speak. "A..Athena really cares about your opinion... And.. I... I know I want to do this right..." he was stumbling over his words. You could tell he was nervous. Quietly you just told him to take a deep breath. He nodded and did so. Waiting a moment before continuing. "W...with your permission as her Father... Could I please date your daughter?... S-she means the world to me... all I want is her happy..." Nathan was shying away from Techno. Almost expecting him to yell or something.

Techno watched a bit and thought on his words. Truthfully Techno was proud of this boy. Everyone was terrified to date his daughter, yet a shy Ender boy had purposefully stepped aside to ask him for permission. "I suppose I'll let you..." Techno said slowly. Nathaniel's shoulders visibly relaxed at Techno's words. Of course techno narrowed his eyes after, becoming serious "just know I was your age. If she ends up pregnant anytime soon, I'm coming for you" Techno meant it. Nathaniel went red and swallowed thickly before slowly nodding.

"Y-yes sir...."

#technoblade #technoblade x reader #technoblade x you #techno x reader #techno x you #fanfic #fanfiction #minecraft fanfiction #minecraft x you #dreamsmp x reader #tb

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j-amespotter · 4 years ago

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★ the last great american dynasty - s. b.

“i had a marvelous time ruining everything.”

Pairing: Sirius Black x Muggle-born!Reader

x. x. x.

Summary: A one-shot diving into Sirius’s complicated relationship with Grimmauld Place and where the Muggle-born he falls for fits in.

Genre/Warnings: angst, emotional abuse, alcohol, language, mentions of death & war

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: so.. this is more of a character study on sirius & his dynamic with his family – i know this song is meant to be about a woman but it also screams sirius to me. i’m a sucker for romance so it’s a reader-insert. fun fact, i was almost done writing this when i realized i wanted it to be a wolfstar fic, but i was too lazy to change it, so just putting that out as a concept lol. let me know what you think & if you’d like me to tag you in future works!!

masterlist

When Sirius first showed signs of his rebellious nature, Walburga wasn’t worried. After all, many children were incapable of sitting still in large gatherings, mouthing off to their parents, or incessantly teasing their younger siblings. “He will be kept in good company. He will learn,” Walburga would say to her husband. He often exasperated her, but there was no denying her immense pride. Despite his antics, even at a young age, Sirius displayed impressive magical ability and had a commanding presence – excellent qualities for the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

She worried only a little when he preferred to spend time with Andromeda, who was clearly becoming disillusioned with their family values, and Alphard, who Walburga believed was beginning to get a little too soft. Still, the Blacks were not raving lunatics. They were traditionalists, committed to upholding the high standards of Wizarding society. Sirius would not defy them, not when the weight of their bloodline rested on his shoulders, not when Regulus would never be able to stomach such responsibility.

On his first night at Hogwarts, Sirius didn't write home. It wasn’t until the morning after that Narcissa delivered the dreadful news to her mother. Walburga’s sister-in-law relished discussing this most recent embarrassment, as the family’s attention was now off her daughter’s courtship of a mudblood. Young Sirius, their direct heir, was sorted into the House of Muggle-lovers and blood traitors, into the House of Godric Gryffindor.

Blown apart by this development, Walburga turned to her younger son. She had no intention of repeating her mistakes and resolved to train him for the responsibility that should have belonged to her eldest. That way, if she was unable to correct Sirius’s behavior, she had back-up. Her legacy was secure.

During every subsequent holiday, she noticed that the damage was getting more-and-more irreversible. Sirius unabashedly consorted with infamous blood traitors and pathetic half-bloods. He seemed to dread seeing his family as much as she dreaded seeing how much of him she had lost. She tried; no one could say she didn’t. But she was too stern with him. He had inherited his flexibility, or lack thereof, from her. She pushed him too far away. Soon, he stopped returning home for Christmas. When he was sixteen, she spat at him as he closed the door to Number 12 Grimmauld Place one last time, without sparing her a final glance.

He never expected he would have to return. Offering up the property to the Order seemed like a good idea at the time – he hardly put any thought into it. That was how he made most of his decisions. His track record certainly proved so. When Remus didn’t have anywhere to stay, and neither did the newly-reformed Order of the Phoenix, Sirius knew that his family estate in London was not just their most ideal option, but also the only one they had.

He managed to enter undetected in his Animagus form with Remus. He had to hand it to fate – there were no extra security measures to keep him out. It was as if she anticipated his arrival. Swallowing, he absorbed his surroundings. Despite the eerie silence and decomposing furniture, it looked like an image straight from his memory. Sirius suddenly felt sixteen again.

What he did not expect to see, however, was a currently-sleeping life-sized portrait of Walburga Black in the hallway. Though now in his human form, Sirius growled inadvertently. She knew. She always knew that he would come back. She wanted to be there when he did. Unbelievable, he thought to himself.

Aware of Remus’s wary gaze on him, Sirius walked forward and began pulling on the frame. “Get off, you hag! Remus, help me get this off!”

Remus went to join his old friend in what seemed like a fruitless mission in his mind but came to an abrupt halt when the portrait, disturbed by her son’s grunts, awoke in a flash of fury. “Filth! Scum! Abomination of my flesh! You are no son of mine,” portrait-Walburga hissed.

“Shut up, just shut up!” He had not heard her voice since he was near a Dementor, reliving the worst of his teenage years. The visual made it much, much worse.

“Permanent Sticking Charm, it seems…” Remus said to appease his friend, pulling the withering velvet curtains over its towering frame with all his strength.

“This is torture,” sighed Sirius. “Maybe we can find another place.”

Remus refused to meet his eye. “For now, it is all we have, Sirius. If it was going to be a problem, you should not have offered it to Professor Dumbledore.”

Sirius frowned. “It’s all I’m able to do this time around. It’s not like I can go around trailing Death Eaters and infiltrating the Ministry with everyone else.”

“Hopefully, it’s only temporary,” assured Remus, though he was equally as uncertain about Sirius’s fate as a fugitive. “Try not to let this place get into your head, okay?”

Sirius Black was never good at keeping promises. He had three-and-a-half decades of evidence to back that up. In the weeks following, the Order settled in, consisting of many highly competent Aurors, half-a-dozen Weasleys, and an ex-Death Eater he could do without seeing. Sirius found himself never too far from alcohol, itching for more access. He longed to see Harry and to get away from his wretched house-elf, along with the constant, stinging reminder of his mother's existence.

But there was something else inside of him, something he couldn’t describe. It was an emotion that was egging him on. He felt it inside of him every time Kreacher muttered complaints about wandering red-headed blood traitor brats. It swirled in his stomach when his mother shouted scathing insults at the clumsy half-blood and filthy half-breed that took temporary refuge in the former pure-blood paradise.

Then she came.

She was new. She worked at the Ministry; many of his houseguests were incredibly fond of her. He recognized the innocence in her eyes. It was the same innocence that he had when he first joined the Order seventeen years earlier. It was the same innocence that differentiated every new member from every returning one – they had yet to see tragedy in its fullest form.

“Hello,” she greeted. She seemed strangely unperturbed by the fact that she was in the presence of an alleged mass murderer. “I’m (Y/N). I’ve been told this is your house. Thank you for playing host.”

“My pleasure,” responded Sirius. Involuntarily, he reached for her hand and kissed it. Suddenly, he became painfully aware of his hollowing cheeks, untamed hair, and liquor-infused breath.

She flushed slightly at the gesture. Black family habits die hard. Just because he chose to refrain from practicing them did not mean he had forgotten, nor did it mean that he wasn’t any good at them.

Walburga Black’s portrait watched her son fall in love with her. Sirius watched her watch him. There was no telling how she would react. Regulus was dead – it was up to him to preserve their family’s name and purity.

(Y/N) was witty and flirty and incredibly intelligent. He found himself feeling a decade younger as he enjoyed their banter and her overall easiness. Before long, she kissed him in his dimly-lit pantry, and he was too selfish to stop her. They would kiss in every corner of the house, hardly caring that anyone was watching, ignoring the ghosts living within the walls. For Sirius, (Y/N) was his greatest act of defiance. She was born to non-magic parents. As narrated by a disgruntled Kreacher to his now-helpless mistress, she was nothing but a “filthy mudblood.”

One night, weeks after the children departed for Hogwarts and the house was, as on most days, empty, he caught her staring at the Black family tapestry. Without making a sound, he inched behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Hello, beautiful,” he whispered, pressing a kiss on her shoulder. “Sickle for your thoughts?”

She leaned into him. As the days went on, she would tire easily. Still, she found happiness in Sirius as he did with her, and they both were old enough to know to reach for it in any capacity they got. “It’s nothing. It’s stupid. Let’s get to bed.”

“As much as I’m a fan of that idea,” he started with a smirk, “you look upset. Is it work? Fudge?”

“No, nothing like that.” Her fingers traced his blasted name on the wall. She looked thoughtful. “I’ve just… noticed something about you.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“The way you look at your mother.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Well, it’s no secret that I hate her. I hope that’s not off-putting. You’ve seen what she’s like – it was worse when she was alive. I promise I’m a gentleman in general circumstances… for the most part,” he added cheekily.

She smiled tightly. “No, I get it. It must be terrible for you, being back here.”

“It is,” he affirmed. “I’ve got you, though. You make me happier than anything, love.”

“That’s the thing,” she uttered as if it pained her. Sirius could stare at her fiery expression for days on end. To be on the receiving end was strange. “I can’t help but think that you’re only in love with me to spite her. Like your feelings aren’t love, they’re just a culmination of your hatred for her.”

It took Sirius an eternity to process what she just said. Realizing that he was not going to say anything, she continued. “Believe me, I know you hate it here. But at the same time, you look so… satisfied. You’re hosting a bunch of blood traitors, half-bloods, and a werewolf in this place that was once the pinnacle of blood purity. You’re providing a haven against the bloody Dark Lord. And worst of all, you’re with a mudblood.”

“Don’t call yourself that,” interrupted Sirius harshly.

“It’s the truth. If you weren’t in this position, would we even be together?”

“Of course,” said Sirius. To answer this question, he didn’t even have to think. “I love you because you’re you. You’re beautiful and smart and make me laugh until my stomach hurts. You’re so good with Harry and you can put anyone in their place. You make me feel new again… God, that’s fucking sappy, but it’s true. I indeed hate this place and I hate her but… but if I let her dictate my choices, even when she’s bloody dead, then she’s won. I don’t want her to win. If I was only with you for your blood status, then I would be no different from my mother.”

She stared up at him, her eyes betraying a wave of emotions. She reached up to kiss him, tangling her fingers in his hair. “Thank you for saying all of that. Just hold on for a little while, alright? Soon, we’ll be out of here. We can have our own house – you, me, and Harry.”

He smiled at her sadly. It seemed too unreachable of a goal to him at the moment. “By the beach?” “Wherever you’d like,” she answered, leading him to his bedroom, his only sanctuary in the horrible house.

As they made their way towards the stairs, Sirius glanced at the tapestry over his shoulder, at the seven generations of Blacks behind him. He gently squeezed (Y/N)’s hand. For the first time in his entire life, he felt the weight of carrying his name lift off him. He’d done his part to corrupt his bloodline. It was time for Sirius to focus on himself in a way that the shadows of his past never allowed him to, even in his schoolboy days with James. Being a Black was a part of who he was, and even a disowned Black deserved his long-overdue happiness.

Tagging: @strawberriesonsummer

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syilcawrites · 4 years ago

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a/n: hi I’m alive and I wrote this bc of a prompt that @zelink-prompts put out!! I thought it’d be a fun little exercise for tonight! It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything, so I’ve been wanting to get something out ehe. Here’s to posting at 2 AM (I apologize in advance for any typos)! Hope you enjoy!

summary: [Pre-Calamity] It’s Zelda’s 16th birthday and King Rhoam decides to throw a lavish masquerade ball in celebration. Zelda is not happy (when is she ever happy pre-calamity ;-;)

ao3

a party of floating eyes

“I just simply—” Zelda grunts and winces as Impa tightens the corset around her waist, “—simply do not understand why this is such a necessary tradition!” Her fingers dig into the fabric of her vanity chair with enough force to chip her nails.

“Your Highness,” Impa starts, tying the lace, “if we start straying from such traditions, the people will begin to worry.”

Her frown deepens—she knows Impa is right, but every second she spends lolling around with trivial palace affairs, she can feel her precious time slipping away from her.

“Besides,” Impa continues, pulling Zelda’s hair back and smoothing it out, “you’ll be turning sixteen—your birthday has always been a big celebration.”

Zelda straightens her back out, squirming uncomfortably under the tightness constricting her waist. “Well, if people cared so much about me, I wish they’d let me spend my birthday as I please,” Zelda grumbles, picking up the black, lacy mask that sits on her chair before plopping down onto the cushion. She crosses her arms, staring at her reflection with tinged annoyance.

“I know, I know.” Impa laughs softly. “Just try to focus on all the possibilities that will open up to you once you do hit sixteen though,” she encourages. “Besides, doing this will let the people know that we have everything under control. The less worried they are, the less chaotic the future will be.”

“But everything’s not okay,” Zelda sighs out, rubbing her temples. “I have yet to unlock—”

“You still have the Spring of Wisdom to go to next year. Don’t jump to conclusions, Your Highness,” Impa rebukes quickly. Her fingers work quickly through Zelda’s hair as she begins braiding down her back. “And we shouldn’t give up on the Shrine of Power and Courage, no?”

Zelda remains quiet.

Of all the things she could be doing to prevent a catastrophe, she has to attend another cursed ball. A celebration for her birthday is far from something she wants.

“Only one night,” Zelda mutters, lightly slapping her cheeks. If she dutifully plays along with her father’s antics, perhaps he will ease his expressions of disappointment toward her.

“A little bit of hair here…” Impa tugs out strands of Zelda’s hair to frame her face. “There! You look lovely,” she says with satisfaction as she places her hands on her hips. Zelda flits her gaze away from her reflection against the mirror to her ajar bedroom window. She can already hear the sound of carriages bumping along the roads and the neighs of the horses resounding through the dark night.

“He’ll be there, won’t he?” The corset feels even more constricting when she thinks about him. That boy . She has to keep up—she cannot afford to fall behind any further than she already has.

“The young knight?” Impa inquires, squinting her eyes in thought as she maneuvers around Zelda to look inside her jewelry box. “I believe he’ll be patrolling the castle grounds.” Zelda relaxes her shoulders as she stares at Impa’s back. “Zelda. You shouldn’t avoid him. You know that you will have to cooperate with him in the future.”

“I’m not.” The lie feels sharper against her tongue than Impa’s gaze. “I’m not avoiding him. I was just… curious.” A half-truth is better than none. Zelda toys with the black ribbon straps of her mask, picking at an unraveling thread. She lifts the mask up to her eyes and tilts the corners of her mouth up.

Zelda has many masks, and adding another one is harmless.

——————————————————————

Be graceful. Be elegant. Be poised.

Don’t blink too often. Don’t eat too much. Don’t laugh too loudly and never laugh without a hand over your mouth.

Zelda sneakily picks at the piece of bread that Impa had snuck to her earlier, nibbling on it in between greetings and returning plastic smiles—but the music. The music is irritating Zelda. There’s an instrument out of tune—a violin, maybe—and every time the bow strokes the A string it lets out a glaringly out-of-tune high-pitched squeal.

The only good it does is mask the growls of her stomach. She is starving, but starving is something that she has grown familiar with. Starving for food, starving for affection, starving for power, starving for—

“Your Highness?”

Zelda immediately hides the piece of bread behind her back and glances up at the soft voice. A Zoran who resembles that of a Fuschia flower—Princess Mipha, wasn’t it? If she recalls correctly, Mipha is one of the candidates for the Divine Beasts.

“A-A gift,” she continues, her cheeks tinted pink. “For your 16th birthday.” She holds a palm-sized box out to Zelda—baby blue with a white ribbon.

Zelda blinks at it for a moment, a bit dazed. No one has ever really handed her a gift-wrapped present before. Most of the guests have been handing them to her father—extravagant gifts that were mostly catered to him anyway—and now there is a gift for her here, directly being handed to her. They’ve only spoken to each other once, during Zelda’s mother’s funeral. Aside from that, whenever they had the pleasure of being in one another’s company, they acknowledged each other.

“Thank you,” Zelda says stiffly, accepting it with her free hand as she stares down at it. She brushes a thumb over the smooth surface of the box. Zelda sneaks a glance at her father, who is busy talking to another guest. She stuffs the bread in her mouth—earning a wide-eyed look from Mipha. “Pardon me, I haven’t eaten all day,” she admits sheepishly, gulping it down quickly.

“Oh dear, you haven’t eaten at all?” Mipha almost gasps, her expression strung up in worry. Zelda waves her hand at her and shakes her head.

“I’m sure the last guests will arrive soon.” She holds the box with both hands now. “Is it alright if I open it up now?” Zelda asks, lowering her voice a little. A warm smile spreads across her face. She nods.

Zelda tugs the ends of the ribbon—it slips out of the knot easily—and lifts the lid. The object sits comfortably against a red velvet cushion: a stained glass flower. Zelda lifts it up slightly up in the air—an array of colors dance across Mipha’s face as she views her through the glass.

“I’ve recently taken up glass welding,” Mipha says quickly, fidgeting with her fingers. “I’ve heard that you’re currently researching an endangered species of flora. Although this won’t particularly aid in your research… I apologize…” she trails off, sounding faint.

“It’s beautiful!” Zelda clasps her hands over Mipha’s. “This is the best gift I’ve received today, there’s no need to apologize.” A smile breaks across Zelda’s face. A handmade gift? For her? A recreation of the Silent Princess at that! She tries her best to keep the excitement from brimming out of her voice. “It’s lovely, Princess Mipha. Thank you.” She clears her throat as she catches her father staring at her from the corner of her eyes.

“I’m grateful that you like it, Princess Zelda.” Mipha beams happiness, with a look of relief. She glances at the entrance—and does a double-take.

“Oh, please, enjoy the celebration and the food.” Zelda gestures to the ballroom, sitting back down. “We’ve cooked our finest dishes.” Food that she wishes she could eat herself, but she has to stand at the entrance with her father because he won’t let her get up until everyone has come through the door.

Mipha curtseys—she has always been so elegant—as she wishes Zelda a year of happiness, before quickly hurrying to the door.

Zelda follows her trail, and watches her happily clasp the hands of—Zelda involuntarily scrunches her nose at the sight that she sees before her. Impa had told her he was patrolling outside on the castle grounds. Why in Hylia’s name is he inside the ballroom?

“Zelda, I would advise against raising your voice like that. People are watching.” Her father’s voice isn’t unkind, but chastising. She hates it.

She looks down at her dress, to straighten out the wrinkles of the dark blue ballgown. The sheer fabric has been irritating her the entire night, and she’s almost positive that she’s lost a diamond droplet or two that had been sewn onto the dress. “Father,” Zelda whispers, glancing at him. “This feels like a waste—”

“It is important to remain friendly with our diplomats. You know this. Especially with the prophecy—we must remain united with the others.”

Well, it wouldn’t matter if they were united or not if she couldn’t unlock her sacred power. She’d rather spend her birthday standing in the water of a Spring than next to her father.

“Just do as I say tonight for once, Zelda. For my sake.”

She balls her hands into a fist, scrunching up the skirt of her dress as she does so. “All I ever do—”

“Your Majesty!”

Her voice gets drowned out by the incoming guests, and she is soon tossed into the shadow of her father once more.

——————————————————————

Zelda makes sure to stay across the ballroom from Link—it’s easy to do so, considering how much he sticks out like a sore thumb. It’s easy enough to avoid a stranger—the lack of familiarity makes the task simple.

“A drink, Your Highness?” a passing maid asks, lowering the metal tray for her.

“So much for a masquerade, you can recognize me from a mile away can’t you?” Zelda murmurs lightly, grabbing a strawberry pink drink.

“Your beauty is unmatched. It’s hard not to notice you,” the maid says kindly as she bows her head.

Zelda lets out an uneasy laugh—compliments never sit comfortably with her. “Well, thank—”

“His Majesty would like to formally introduce a faithful knight of the Hyrule Kingdom, who has proven his worth and skill at the young age of ten,” the Court Poet announces, ceasing side conversations down to a murmur.

Her father—looking rosy-cheeked and kind, as he always is in front of guests—ushers the knight out of the crowd, and into the middle of the room with him. “This young man has risen through the ranks and proved his devotion in keeping peace within our lands at a very young age, and even the Goddess Hylia has blessed him—Link, the Knight who has drawn the Sword that Seals Darkness.” Her father’s voice is nothing short of impressive. He’s able to cease conversations within seconds, by the strength of his voice and presence. Zelda quirks an eyebrow up as she stands on her tiptoes to see above the sea of heads—a very stiff-looking boy standing next to a large, bulky man who is taller by half his height is quite a scene to see. “He will fight alongside my dear beloved daughter Zelda, to maintain this peaceful, prosperous time.”

Eyes shift to her—black and beady behind the masks they adorn. Zelda grits her teeth as she bows into a deep curtsey.

One… two… three…

She straightens her posture and clasps her hands in front of her gingerly. As long as she doesn’t make eye contact with anyone, she’ll be fine. Just smile.

Zelda tilts the corners of her mouth up.

Coos of oh’s and ah’s reverberate off the walls of the ballroom, shaking her to her bones as they clap.

“To commemorate, the Hero and the Goddess-blood Princess will offer the first formal dance of the night,” the Court Poet announces loudly, spotting her almost immediately.

Her smile drops from her face, and she methodically shifts her narrowed eyes to Link.

He stands as stiff as a board.

She takes long, brisk steps to the center of the room.

Be graceful, elegant, poised.

Do not look into their restless eyes, because they will worm their way through the black of her irises and find out she is a Goddess-blood Princess who has been abandoned by their savior.

Zelda stares at the creases between his eyebrows as she approaches him—they’re one step away from bumping noses.

He places a hand on her waist, but it mostly hovers over her, like he’s afraid he’ll burn himself if he gets closer. Zelda places one hand on his shoulder. His other hand floats in the air, unsure. She grabs it hesitantly, and settles to look at his lips instead: pressed into a thin line. He doesn’t want to be here, either.

The music starts jarringly, like the morning bell that rings at six in the morning. The violin is still a pitch to high—why hasn’t anyone noticed it yet? Not even the conductor?

Zelda digs her nails into his shoulder as they move—the brush of wind that follows their movements eases the anger that has risen in her.

“Just do as I say tonight, for once, Zelda. For my sake.”

And dancing with the boy who has fulfilled his part of prophecy will help complete hers?

They miss a beat—he steps in at the same time she does, and her forehead almost smacks against his. Zelda almost trips over the skirt of her dress as he accidentally steps on her foot.

She glances up at him—his mask is simple, but it’s as light as starlight and makes her squint a little. Her eyebrows furrow together. It doesn’t last long once she remembers the hundreds of eyes that watch their every movement.

But then he does it again.

Zelda sucks in a sharp breath. “You do know that there is plenty of space for you to step upon aside from my feet, right?” she murmurs between her teeth, making sure her smile is still plastered on her face. The edge of his ears flushes red.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers with a brief, apologetic smile. There’s a finality to his voice that makes her tilt her head in curiosity.

He steps on her toes again.

Zelda’s mouth twitches—she bites her tongue to distract herself from the pain shooting up her foot. “You don’t know how to dance, do you?”

His ears turn a shade darker.

A small sigh escapes between her lips. She straightens her back and tightens her grip on his hand. “Keep your eyes down and follow my feet.” She repositions her other hand to rest more securely on his shoulder. She would prefer not to have a mouthful from her father for messing up the first formal dance of the ball.

Their eyes catch—vibrantly blue and innocent. He nods.

Even though he concentrates on the pattern of her feet lilting across the marble floor, he still brushes against her heels. She glances up at him—beads of sweat roll down the side of his face as he concentrates on their feet, with the tip of his tongue sticking out ever so slightly.

Zelda swallows back the giggle bubbling up her throat.

“Hm, think of it as… sword fighting practice, maybe? There’s formation in that is there not?” Zelda inquires. A good knight must be efficient at their footwork, or else they’d stumble over during a fight and fall. “Try to be light on your feet like when you’re fighting.”

“Like fighting,” he echoes, his face lighting up at her suggestion—she feels the tension chip away from his shoulders as they make their rounds, passing by the ambassadors and royalty encircling them.

Zelda keeps her voice low: “Left, back, right…” she instructs him quietly, as her own shoulders relax at his slight improvement. At least he isn’t stepping on her anymore. The music becomes tolerable, once she decides to focus on their own two pairs of feet sliding across the floor and the sound of his breathing.

The loud, booming round of applause drags her back to reality—she releases her hands from him immediately and takes a step back to do a quick curtsey.

“Thank you.”

The sound of his words catches the tail end of the wind—quiet, almost inaudible. She raises her head, but by the time she does so, the crowd greedily surges toward them to fill the empty space that used to belong to them.

#zelink #botw #breath of the wild #the bolded is underlined on ao3.. idek how to do it on tumblr #so tumblr gets to have bolded words instead!#my fanfics #yahoo #hope you enjoyed reading it <3 #fun to write #i kinda just let the story go wherever it took me LOL #omg i forgot the read more after post hfhd #it's so sexy when tumblr messes up the format

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monstersandmaw · 5 years ago

Text

Male ice dragon x cursed female reader (nsfw)

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

This is a one-off special story that I wanted to write as a huge huge thank you to a very generous person who supported me on Patreon and also on ko-fi. I don't normally do this, and although this is not a commission, I did chat with them about what they would like, and I've wanted to write an ice dragon for a long time, so that worked for both of us! Thank you, 'The Silent Pariah'! Hope you enjoy it! It's been on Patreon for a week, and went down really well, so it’s time to share it here!

Content: reader is cursed to turn into a more monstrous form at night, and is locked away in a tower, guarded by an ice dragon. There's a bit of a misunderstanding, some angst, a bit of fluff, and some smut. Words: 5124

Dusk drifted down around the stones of the castle, bringing with it that daily, familiar crawling under your skin. Night was a time for monsters and shadows, for creatures less than human, and for hiding away, but you welcomed it with open arms as you had for years.

Your bones started to grow warm, your nerves ringing and prickling, and you knew it wouldn’t be long now.

Turning your back on the courtyard of the deserted castle, you left the balcony and made your way inside through the beautiful, hand carved doorway and into the bedchamber beyond. Sliding your dress off your shoulders, you stepped out of your clothes and felt the change sweeping up inside you, rising like a flood of unbridled power and raw joy. Laughing, you bowed forwards like a supplicant at a shrine, and when you straightened no more than a few minutes later, breathing hard and sweating, the creature that blinked its reptilian eyes back at you from the mirror on the far wall was not the nobleman’s daughter with the blood of kings flowing through her veins.

Blueish black, scaled skin covered your cheeks, the delicate scales leading your gaze towards pointed ears, just barely visible through the thick hair that fell around your now inhuman face. Blinking slowly as your gold, crackle-glazed eyes readjusted, you rolled your shoulders and flexed your taloned hands. With skin the colour of shadows at midnight, and a spine-studded whip of a tail, you slid on a simple linen tunic and turned for the spiral staircase.

Outside, through the walls of the castle, you could hear the enormous wing beats of the only other soul who lived in this vast castle, each flex of his wing strong as a storm wind as he came back to his roost at sunset.

“There you are,” came a deep, sonorous rumbling voice as you stepped out into the evening air, still revelling in the change.

Looking like a thousand shards of moonlight, the dragon adorned the crumbling curtain wall of the castle, delicately perching there with the grace of an ornamental bird.

“Irien,” you smiled. “Good day?”

Polite as ever, he inclined his head, slowly blinking sapphire blue eyes and smiling softly to reveal a maw full of deadly teeth. The dragon stretched out one of his elegant, muscular forelegs and climbed down from the wall, over the old stable block, and into the courtyard like a cat slinking down a flight of steps. His ivory talons barely made a whisper on the slate roofs of the tumble-down old buildings, and with his silky-white wings tucked neatly against his scaled back, he flowed like quicksilver.

“Mmm, yes,” he purred, lowering his head almost to the ground in greeting and closing his eyes again as you ran your hands over the glass-hard scales of his face. Each one was the size of your palm there, but as they slid further down his glacially pale body, they grew large as your whole hand, some even bigger than that. “So warm,” he laughed, nuzzling your fingers playfully and breathing his icy breath against your fingers.

“I’m not that warm. It’s not my fault you’re basically an icicle,” you snorted and he laughed, drawing his neck up like a swan.

Suddenly he scowled and turned serious, his whole body tensing.

“Company?” you asked.

You’d been through this charade together before, and something always sank a little in your chest when you thought about what the arrival of a knight and his little posse might mean. Would they have some magic with them this time that negated the ageless magic of the dragon? Some spear sharp enough to pierce his scales? Some trick he’d never heard of? Perhaps a ballista borrowed from the dragon hunters of the south? Would this be the day that your curse would be broken and you’d have to leave the relative freedom of your castle for the gilded cage of marriage?

Irien looked back at you, his eyes hard and stern as he watched your internal struggle play out in a series of scowls across your face. “Same as usual?” he asked.

“Drive them away,” you snarled. “I have no interest in breaking this curse so I can go and live like a brood mare until I produce the requisite number of appropriately-gendered offspring, thank you.”

With a savage snarl, he beat his wings, once, twice, and launched himself into the air. His ensuing war-scream could have split the night sky in two and it made your ears ring and your vision blur.

Irien was relatively young for a dragon but he was still nearly a hundred years old, and there wasn’t a trick or strategy he hadn’t yet encountered from some upstart young knight, hoping to win fame and fortune at the end of a lance. Oh, and the chance to break your curse. Somehow that always seemed to be an afterthought with these men.

“No one ever bothers to ask if I even want ‘rescuing’,” you muttered bitterly as you watched Irien sail away like a galleon on the unseen currents of air.

He circled the central tower of the old elven castle once to get a measure of how many there were, before spiralling down in a whirling corkscrew, breath blazing shards of ice down on the unfortunate troop somewhere beyond your view below. It wasn’t that you didn’t feel sorry for the way they died - at least it was quick - but you couldn’t help the sour sting of spite that lanced through you whenever Irien announced that there was another lot at the abandoned castle’s gates. Your parents still hadn’t given up on ridding the family of the stain of your curse.

Irien was back within five minutes, landing gracefully beside you, breathing hard from the exertion of flying and drawing on his reserves to create the ice-laced breath inside him.

“Were there many this time?”

He shook his head. “Only six in total.”

“Banners?”

“Grey and yellow field with a black raven.”

You turned away in disgust. “Those were Halvard’s men,” you said. “My father’s closest adviser.” Lifting your shadowy palm, you curled your fingers and inspected the black claws before turning your hand over and watching the way the moonlight glinted on the leathery scales on the back of your hand.

Monstrous. Vile. Cursed.

Lock her away!

True love’s kiss! The only way to break it!

Dragonskeep is the only place for her now. She cannot be seen.

The shame of our family…

Irien’s soft, concerned rumble behind you drew you back from your ragged collection of memories and you turned with a half smile. “I pity you sometimes, you know?” you sighed.

“Me?” he asked with a soft chuckle, falling into step beside you as you wandered off, vaguely thinking of heading towards the rambling rose gardens at the back of the castle. “Why would you pity me? You’re the one locked in here with a dragon who keeps eating the men who come to rescue you.”

“True. I used to think you were no better than them,” you admitted. “Those first few years after they dumped me here…”

Since then, you thought he’d rather come to think of you as part of the castle furniture, or even just another thing in his hoard to guard and protect. It was better than nothing, you supposed, and you had the books in the old elven library for company, and the vegetable garden at the back that you’d been restoring since you were sixteen, and a rather impressive number of stone sculptures ranging from the ‘uniquely abstract’ to something halfway decent. The masons who had abandoned the stone workshops in the gardens of the castle had left their tools behind, like children’s toys abandoned.

He scowled, clearly a little affronted, and shuffled his wings like a chilly bird. “Why? Have I ever given you reason to think badly of me?”

You stopped and raised an eyebrow at him. “You accepted their gold and gems easily enough when they showed up on your doorstep with a newly-cursed thirteen year old and struck whatever bargain it was with you to keep me here,” you pointed out. It felt so long ago now, but you’d never forget the first time you’d seen him. You’d burst into tears and begged your parents not to abandon you here.

Irien had the good grace to look embarrassed at that, turning his snowy head away and grunting awkwardly. “I… Well, I did, yes. But when I asked why they wanted me to take a girl under my protection ‘until such time as her true love can break the curse’, I have to say I was frankly appalled.”

Something ugly twisted inside you at his words. Perhaps it was the recent reminder of the world’s disgust at your ‘condition’, and their determination to change you back, but hot outrage boiled up inside you at his words. “Appalled? So you do think the way they do?”

“What?”

“This!” you blurted, halting and angling your face so that the moonlight glinted on the scales there and on the jaw full of fangs. You stared him down with blazing, inhuman, yellow eyes. “You do think this is disgusting, just the way they do?”

“I thought you didn’t care,” he replied haughtily. “I thought you didn’t care about the curse at all.”

“I don’t!” you practically shrieked. “But I do care about -” you cut off suddenly, feeling as though the ground were rocking beneath you. All these years, he’d just been tolerating your company because of the regular shipments of diamonds and cut gemstones that your parents added to his vault of hoarded wealth in an attempt to keep all but the most determined suitors at bay.

“Care about what?” Irien asked in a softer voice.

“What would you know?” you hissed, turning away and marching towards the tower where he couldn’t enter without bringing the whole lot down around him. “You’re made of ice anyway.”

You left Irien standing in the courtyard and marched up the stairs back to your chambers. You heard Irien lingering in the courtyard, but eventually he took wing and left the castle for his preferred roost on the cliff just above it. It was a long time before you got to sleep that night.

When dawn came the next day, you didn't bother getting out of bed til late in the day, and you clung to the shadows of the library instead of going out to tend to the garden. It was a warm day, and the plants would need a water, but you just couldn’t face meeting Irien now. For all the time that you’d been here, you’d always assumed that he’d seen past the effects of the curse.

It had taken you almost a year not to be afraid of him, but as the months had ticked by after that, and he’d shown you the castle grounds and how to take care of the abandoned elven fortress; how to feed yourself and even how to read ancient elven so that you could access the rest of the books in the library; you’d come to think of him as more of a guardian than a guard. Had he just been humouring the cursed little girl all these years, despite the fact that you were a woman grown now?

Late in the afternoon, just as you started to feel restless again with the gradual sinking of the sun, a faint tapping reached your ears, coming from the far end of the library. The room stretched the full length of one of the newer wings of the castle complex, with light flooding in on either side through huge windows, and at the far end it terminated in a wide balustraded balcony where former scholars would no doubt have gone to get some air during their studies.

You poked your head out from behind the bookshelf where you’d been studying best way to rid a certain garden herb of aphids, and squinted along the clear aisle between the rows of shelves. There, at the balcony at the far end, you could just glimpse Irien, gently tapping a claw on the glass. He was far too large to fit his body onto the terrace, but he could perch elegantly on the rim like a butterfly on a teacup.

Grinding your teeth, you fleetingly considered simply ignoring him, but in the end you straightened and dumped the book on the floorboards. Grim-faced, you marched up the length of the room and opened the leaded-glass door at the far end, coming to a halt in the centre of the balcony with crossed arms.

“I think,” Irien carefully began the moment you were outside, “That we may have had a misunderstanding yesterday.”

Your scowl deepened.

“Hear me out?” he asked, clearly well aware of your tendency to bolt at the first sign of discord.

Reluctantly, you nodded. As far as you knew, he’d never lied to you before.

Out here in the fading sunshine, with the low light flashing in prismatic ripples along those pearlescent scales, he looked… Frankly, he looked like a dream, and something ached inside you the longer you gazed at him. The graceful lines of his lithe, powerful body, the delicate, leathery membrane of his white wings, his ivory claws, the crystal spikes that adorned his head like a crown and continued down his lissom neck to his shoulders, only to start up again at the root of his tail and end in a fractured cluster of crystals around the tip of his tail; everything about him spoke of elder magic and of something ancient, something lost and forgotten from another age, despite his relative youth. He was intoxicating.

With a great inhale as if for courage, he began by apologising. “I’m sorry that what I said came out so wrongly yesterday,” he said. “I didn’t mean that you are appalling in any way. What has always appalled me, however, is the fact that your parents were prepared to abandon their own child to the dubious care of a dragon, and lock her away in an old elven stronghold for something that wasn’t her fault or doing in the first place.”

“Oh.” Well… when he put it that way…

“Oh,” he laughed. “I thought you might know me a little better than that after so much time together…” he added, tone bordering on huffy and petulant.

Even you had to admit that it was true. “Yeah,” you hedged. “I… I thought I did too. Maybe that was why I was so shocked. I’m sorry too… I was still in a strange mood after the soldiers came and I let it get in the way and took what you said the wrong way.”

Irien smiled gently and rumbled a slow, almost juddering exhale that you’d always found strangely attractive. In fact, you nearly missed what he said because your attention was focused on the sound. “I promise that what I said to you all those years ago still stands… the time I found you crying on the roof of the keep.”

Your lips gave a feeble twitch at that. He’d had to fly you down because you’d been too scared to climb. “And what is that?” you demanded though you recalled it perfectly well. Your eyes glittered as the mood shifted palpably between you, both tangibly relieved to be sliding back into your familiar repartee and banter, almost as if you’d not fallen out at all.

Catching the look in your eye, he gave another half-laugh. “That if you like the way you are, then it seems pretty futile to me to try to change you against your will. And personally,” he added, lowering his head a little and turning a tad bashful, “I think you’re beautiful whether the sun is up or down.”

The churning in your stomach that had been gnawing away at you since the previous evening suddenly stilled, and you smiled. “Really? I mean… it doesn’t bother you at all?”

Irien rolled his lovely blue eyes. “Not in the slightest. If anything, your ‘cursed’ form is… well…” He bustled and flustered a little with his wings, turning his gaze away.

That was a surprise. “Is what, Irien?”

“You’re stronger and faster like that; your eyes work better in the dark, and your hands seem to borrow a bit of inspiration from my kind,” he said, holding up one ivory-clawed hand so that the sunlight danced off his own talons for a moment. “And you have a tail…” he croaked.

“Sounds like you’re trying to tell me you’ve got a crush on my cursed self,” you snorted in disbelief, taking a few steps over to the balcony and resting your forearms on it. When he didn’t answer immediately, you shot him a sidelong look. “Irien?”

“I… have tried to tell myself that we are victims of circumstance… That… what I have come to feel for you is only to be expected when two souls are locked away in close quarters with each other for so long, but…” He paused and shrugged as he returned your look askance and exhaled. “Alas, I remain unconvinced.”

“Wait, is that your way of saying you do have a crush on me after all?”

He scoffed, frustrated with himself, and snapped, “When you put it in those terms, it sounds somewhat… cheap and insincere.”

His fingers flexed on the stonework, talons grinding small indents into it and sending a tiny trickle of finely-ground dust to the tiled floor of the balcony. Reaching one hand out you placed it over the leathery scales on his hand - really his foreleg - and squeezed. It was like squeezing stone, but he clearly felt the impact because he jolted a little in surprise and slid a foot down the wall from his perch. His wings flapped instinctively to keep himself in place and you almost laughed.

“So your feelings for me aren’t cheap and insincere then?”

“No,” he growled, and then with a little more grace he sighed. “No, not at all. I can’t stop thinking about you. Whenever I see someone with their troops tramping up to the gate, it’s not my hoard I think to protect.” He turned his head and blinked quietly at you. “It’s you.”

Something caught in your throat at that and tears prickled your eyes. “Irien…”

“Mmm?” he rumbled.

“Will you fly me somewhere?”

“Anywhere. Where would you like me to take you?”

Your eyes drifted over the rambling castle grounds, bathed in the golden light of early evening. Of course, now that you knew he truly cared for you, perhaps you could persuade him to fly you anywhere in the world, although it wasn’t particularly safe for his kind out there. People built cruel ballistae with bolts as thick as tree trunks to fell dragons from the sky like downed swans, but in these parts, he assured you he was safe enough.

When you didn’t answer him immediately, he rumbled your name and lowered his white muzzle to the balustrade, resting it there and watching like a patient hound while you decided. You placed your fingers on his nose and felt the chilly, frosty breath wash over them. The sheer steadiness of his presence was almost overwhelming, like he had his own gravity and was drawing you in and holding you there. You found both of your hands going to his face and suddenly you were leaning over him and sobbing.

“Hey,” he murmured, bringing one wingtip carefully to touch your shoulder. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You sniffed but the surging emotions refused to let you talk. It was too much. After a lifetime knowing you’d been abandoned here for who and what you were, to have the unwavering acceptance of the only being in the world who had shown you true respect and kindness… it left you spinning.

His pale hand closed around your waist and he pushed off the tower with you delicately in his grasp. You’d done this before, though not often, and the thrilling swoop in your stomach chased most of your tears away, leaving room for little else but wonder in your heart as the world spread out beneath you like a patchwork quilt.

Irien didn’t tell you where he was headed, and you found you didn’t care where he took you. He climbed higher into the hazy, lavender sky above, and soared over the castle wall and out into the pastures beyond where deer grazed and occasionally the massive mountain sheep would come down to enjoy respite in the warmer valley in the winter. Out beyond the open, untamed fields, a huge, glittering lake sparkled, and he seemed to be making for it as he glided along on unseen thermals.

The sun had just begun to kiss the mountain tops to the west, gilding a line of fire along their silhouettes, when he landed on the quartz pebbles of the lake shore, their colour almost the same as his own white scales. He set you down on the grassy bank just above the beach and stepped back.

“Better?” he asked and you nodded.

“Yeah, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he replied, bringing his head back and nuzzling your stomach affectionately, blue eyes rolling closed.

As your hands traced the contours of his massive head, he sank his body down to lie on the pebbles and curled his tail around his legs like a cat. The rumbling of his breathing soon deepened until you had to giggle. “Are you purring? Do dragons purr?”

“Only when we’re - oh - really… ahh…” he faltered as your fingertips skirted around the base of one of his crystalline horns which was, apparently, extremely sensitive.

“Really what, Irien…”

“Ah…” he gasped as you repeated the gesture. “Oh… gods that’s good…” he blurted.

You kept doing it until he rolled onto one side, breathing quickening as a tangible shiver passed along his spine. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive,” you murmured, leaning down to plant a kiss on his smooth cheek.

Half-twitch and half-spasm, his right foreleg raked a huge channel through the pebbles as he groaned long and low, claws flexed.

“Should I stop?” you teased.

“Up to you,” he rasped. “But…”

“But what…?”

He seemed to be having difficulty stringing a sentence together, which was amusing. The fact that he was so affected by your touch was definitely doing things to you as well, and as you felt the sun going down, you realised you were going to shift soon.

“But what, Irien?”

His jaws opened and he began to pant, little crystals of ice forming along his canines and over the pebbles of the beach where his head lay pillowed. His belly was pale as moonlight, the iridescent sheen only beginning on the larger scales of his sides and back, and as you gazed down the length of his body, you saw that the small slit in the sheath on his lower abdomen, almost between his legs, had begun to glisten with a pearlescent fluid. It looked swollen too, and as you caressed that sensitive spot on his head again, you watched as the very tip of his cock began to emerge from the sheath.

“You want me to keep going?” you asked, feeling your own skin heating up, partly from the impending change and partly because the sight of him getting so worked up was affecting you too.

“I didn’t… bring you here for… this,” he panted. “But I won’t stop you if you want to.”

“Do you want it though?” you asked, stepping back as your bones began to creak and shift. “Shit, sorry I’m… I’m shifting…” you gasped, reeling backwards and landing hard on the ground behind you. “I thought I had a few more minutes…”

It didn’t take long, and when you looked up, he was watching you with his steady, sapphire gaze. “Alright?” he asked. “I’ve never seen you change.”

With your new ‘monstrous’ eyes, you had an even better view of him. Where your human sight saw gentle rainbows shimmering on his scales, now you saw refracted light glittering and shattering off his spines, and the sheer depth of colour in his eyes was phenomenal. “How about another kind of ‘first’?” you asked, voice huskier now, and you began to slide the simple shirt up over your head.

The heat of his gaze made you preen a little as you revealed your dark blue, scaled body to him. His jaw parted again, mouth hanging open softly, and his tongue was visible too behind that row of enormous teeth. He was tasting your arousal on the air, you realised, like a predator.

“Gods, that’s hot,” you hissed and he tilted his head, catlike. “I want you, Irien. Is… Is that wrong?”

He shook his head. “If it’s what you feel, then it’s not wrong. I want you too, though I fear I might break you.”

“We’ll have to get creative,” you grinned, feeling your tail lashing behind you playfully.

“Look at you,” he snarled, rearing up a little like a cat about to pounce; a cat made of glass and porcelain.

His cock was not yet fully unsheathed, but you could see it - dark blue at the base, the colour of the heart of the lake behind him, with paler ridges that looked extremely inviting, and fading to pure white at the tip. It twitched and drooled under your gaze and he grunted softly. He was huge. The only way you could think to give him any kind of pleasure would be either to ride him and grind yourself along his length as best you could, or to loop your legs around it and let him fuck the space between them, and honestly, both had their appeal.

A huge drop of pre-come slid from the tip and landed on the pebbles below as his cock twitched again. He was breathing hard now, nostrils flared, and he stared openly as you stepped out of the last of your clothes, moving towards him while he stayed perfectly still. It was as if he thought you’d evaporate if he shifted so much as a muscle.

He whispered your name and you placed your finger on his lips in passing as you stalked along the length of his body. With the slightest pressure of your hands you asked him to tip over onto his side again, and he did without question.

The huge dragon folded his wings carefully behind him and then rolled onto his back as you directed him with little more than a quick touch here or there. His cock began to slide fully free of the slick sheath, and you jutted your chin upwards at his belly. He understood your request and brought his hand to the ground, palm up, for you to step into, and he raised you up onto his stomach. His hand fell back immediately to the beach beneath, limp and weak. You straddled his cock and he gave a huge, low frequency groan that made the water ripple and dance. His tail lashed violently, sending a spray of pebbles up into the air and splashing down into the water.

Slowly, teasingly, you rocked your hips over the tip of his cock and watched him leaking beneath you and all over his stomach. The claws of his hands scrabbled in the stones beneath him and his wings, stretched out on either side like a butterfly on display, flexed to their widest span. His head jerked backwards and he opened his maw wide.

“You like that?” you asked and he nodded, mute with pleasure as you picked up a steady rhythm.

“Oh gods that’s so good,” he grunted after a while, voice sounding wrecked. He bucked his hips upwards and nearly dislodged you, but you grabbed the scales of his belly and ground down harder against him, gripping with your thighs. “I’m not going… to last long,” he panted. “I’m… oh gods… oh…” and he chanted your name over and over as you worked him harder and harder.

You managed to catch a ridge of his cock against your clit and ground yourself into it before bringing your finger carefully there to help you along. When he realised what you were doing, he took one look at you pleasuring yourself and using his cock to help, gave a short whimper, before his whole body tensed up.

He came all over himself, ropes of hot release searing against your clit in a rush as his body clenched and convulsed, mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure, and you found yourself coming a heartbeat later. Your fingers gripped his cock, prolonging and intensifying his orgasm as you came in waves atop his cock.

Eventually he slumped back, head knocking against the pebbles behind him, and he lay there, twitching and spent, apparently dazed and reeling from the force of his orgasm. Your legs were slick and shaky too, but as you moved off him, he managed to raise his hand to help you down.

“I’m going to have to bathe in the lake to clean off,” you grunted, looking down at yourself. “Look at me.”

“I am,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”

Feeling a little unsteady still, you turned away from him and said, “Come and join me when you’ve recovered a bit…”

“Mmm,” he said, making no move at all as you strode into the lake. He was clearly enjoying the view, and it was a long time before he rolled himself over and heaved his body up to join you. When he did, he nuzzled you and let you lounge on his foreleg, half in and out of the water. He brought his tongue to your thighs and carefully laved it up and over your body, honing in on your clit which was still aching and sensitive.

Your legs parted instinctively for him and as he raked his teeth appreciatively over your stomach, bringing you up to his maw so that he could taste you better, you let yourself fall limp in his hands. It wasn’t long before he had you shuddering and moaning against his tongue, gasping his name.

He made you come twice more after that, the last time on the grassy bank above the lake shore, and as he curled around you protectively to let you recover, you rested your head against his side and sighed. “I don’t ever want to leave here,” you murmured. “Can it always be like this?”

“I’ll try,” he smiled, laying his head down beside you. “I’ll try.”

—

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#exophilia #ice dragon #dragon x reader #male dragon x female reader #male monster #female reader

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britishassistant · 4 years ago

Text

The Villainous Paranoiac Goes To Jail and Ninja Afterlife

Two innocent children get sent to Night Raven College

A set of scenarios about three of my ocs unwittingly trading places for two days, non-canon to any of my AUs

Swap 1:

Yuu—> Konohagakure

Yuu wakes up with a tantō to the throat.

Chie: Tell me where my daughter is and I’ll make your death quick

Yuu promptly freaks the fuck out

Through a combination of panicked yelling and tears the Prefect manages to convey to the Ketsugi that if there was a kidnapping, Yuu is both uninvolved and as much as of a victim as their precious daughter

Gai confirms that the strange teenager not only has no chakra, but clearly has little to no combat training despite his(?) athleticism, meaning Mayu-chan could easily overpower an assailant of this size, especially one this undernourished!

Yuu tries not to be offended and to avoid staring at Gai and Lee’s eyebrows they’re so big

Promptly shrieks when Kami!Sanji materializes to confirm that the Paranoiac had nothing to do with Mayu’s disappearance as far as the other gods can tell

Yuu becomes convinced that this place is the afterlife

The sad part is that Chie and Jirou can’t actually say much to the contrary, because??? Their daughter remembers dying before she came here?? Also there are active deities just floating around so.

Actually tears up at the homemade meals the Ketsugi provide

Before being sick as a dog later because food infused with chakra? Does not agree with a person without a chakra regulatory system

Surprisingly patient with Lee and any questions he has the purity of Jack and Deuce is strong in this one

Bit more long-suffering towards Naruto and his rendition of Wonderwall. Sunshine child too bright, introvert Yuu can’t handle it

Keeps writing down everything everyone says

This makes ANBU and ROOT very twitchy

The Paranoiac is quietly slated for “interview” at T&I the next day

Yuu crashes on the Ketsugi couch none the wiser

Mayu—> Nanba

Mayu wakes up to confused screaming and profanity.

It’s Hani.

It’s very rare for screaming not to be because of Hani

All he knows is one child was in this bed last night, and now’s there’s a different one dressed like it came straight out of Ninja Kamikaze???

Mayu for her part is both very alarmed to be waking up in a prison cell with two strange men and very glad she has her bokken with her

Kiji comes in to find his beautiful inmates being menaced by a twelve year old with a wooden sword

The twelve year old is winning

Once Mayu has ascertained that they aren’t enemy ninja and she’s somehow in her old world (?) she becomes much more cooperative with the guards

She’s very worried about how she’s going to get back to her family in Konoha

Also wondering if she should try to contact her former little brother Harp (who knows if she’ll ever get the chance again?)

These worries are not assuaged when the Warden informs her that there’s no records proving “Tamara Kaur” ever existed

For lack of any relations who they can contact to take the child off their hands, and because they have no idea how she successfully infiltrated the most secure prison in the world and replaced one of the inmates, the Warden decides to keep Mayu in Nanba’s holding cells until further notice

Guess who finds the samurai child while breaking out?

Nico, Uno, and Rock are amazed at the existence of a real live Japanese Samurai! With a katana and everything!!

Jyugo just asks straight out if Mayu’s an actor too

Mayu is very bemused by everything, but they seem friendly! The one with the mohawk likes food too!

Plus the blonde one is British! Just like she used to be!

Uno is very confused about how a twelve year old somehow lost her citizenship

Break Mayu out to get food together

They get caught the moment they set foot in the cafeteria and scolded very harshly

Mayu has trouble sleeping in a cell cot that night

Nana—> Night Raven College

Nana’s first instinct on waking up in a strange bed next to a monster is to assume he’s been kidnapped and attempt to subdue his captors

Which means Grim wakes up to an attempted smothering

The ghosts hear muffled screaming and rush in only to get salt and iron filings to the face. Nana actually has them all on the run when Crowley bursts in

Instantly becomes a confused and lost child in front of the headmaster and dorm heads

Only Grim and the ghosts know the truth, and their complaints are overlooked due to them “scaring the poor boy”

No one has any idea what to do with a thirteen year old magicless kid. It was hard enough with Yuu, and the Prefect was at least sixteen and could attend classes!

Nana adapts quickly to the idea of being in this new world— he’s just sad he couldn’t say goodbye to Kiji, Hani-senpai and Trois-senpai before leaving Nanba

Immediately resolves to leave NRC at the earliest possible convenience when he gets a good look at the Theory Wall— he can’t even read Japanese but that amount of crazy that it signifies always spells trouble

Is confused by all the pictures of Disney villains on the Theory Wall, but decides it’s not worth the trouble to ask about

Actually uses the beauty products Vil left for Yuu correctly

Gets semi-adopted into Pomefiore after asking Vil where the high quality products came from

Grim and the ghosts aren’t sorry to see the little brat go

Vil carts him around to test his potential in the performance arts

Epel tries to be a good senpai for the kid, and tells him he doesn’t have to just go along with Vil

Nana appreciates the effort, but does find this kind of thing more fun than being on his own he’s homesick for his cell

Rook enjoys seeing the child freeze up minutely whenever he asks about the prison attire and the large “7” tattoo on the back of the boy’s head

Nana likes Rook less and less with every pointed question the vice dorm leader makes

Can’t sleep in the big cushy Pomefiore bed and so curls up on the floor with a pillow instead

Swap 2:

Yuu—> Nanba

What why is Yuu in jail now

The prefect was supposed to be back home/in Ramshackle Dorm, why is Yuu in jail now—

Yuu is stressed and overdue for Grim snuggles

Paranoiac is also not thrilled about being stuck in Building Three— it’s like Pomefiore on steroids

At least Epel and Vil don’t steal and obsess over the underwear of their “fans”

Rook...the jury’s still out. But probably not. Probably

Maybe

Hopefully

Much less cooperative than Mayu.

Questions about the Prefect’s family name are met with a stony glare. “It’s Yuu. Just Yuu. How many times do I have to repeat myself?”

Can’t answer any questions about Mayu or her current whereabouts despite admitting to knowing of the girl, but does posit a theory about the three of them transmigrating and swapping places based on the information gained in Konoha

Gets offended and even less cooperative when the interrogating guard calls the hypothesis “crazy”

Not intimidated by Hajime or the other guards in the slightest. Yuu’s classmates are far more likely to inflict lasting bodily harm and it’s hard for even the worst human glare to measure up to Floyd or Leona on a bad day

The Warden scares the Prefect though

Doesn’t stop Yuu from requesting a lawyer or other legal counsel before submitting to further questioning

The Paranoiac is a Japanese citizen and has made a point to know what the applicable legal rights for this situation are

Yuu ends up in the holding cells

Guess who hasn’t learned their lesson while breaking out?

Uno takes one look at Yuu

“Ah Jyugo, this one has your energy”

Nico loudly asks if the Prefect is from an isekai and died and reincarnated in Nanba??! Do they die over and over again and revive to beat bad guys?? Do they have an amazing cheat skill?? Are they a spider?? Can they shoot a beam??

Yuu just thinks. Ah. So this is what would happen if Kalim and Idia somehow had a kid

Don’t break the Prefect out, but Jyugo comes back later and deposits something through the bars

“This is Kuu. He’s a guard, but he’s also really good when you’re lonely. You look like you could use the company”

Yuu blinks and holds out a hand for the black cat with a guard cap to sniff

Crashing in a cell cot is uncomfortable, but hey, at least there’s a cat to pet

Mayu—> Night Raven College

Why is there a tanuki in her bed?

Grim isn’t waking up by being murdered but being poked with a stick by another smol child isn’t much better

Mayu is Concerned by the Theory Wall

“Is— is the person who lives here okay?”

Grim: Hell if I know

Mayu’s even more Concerned when she opens the fridge and sees it’s bare

>:|

Sanji wouldn’t let these people go hungry, so she’s not going to either!

Searches until she finds the Prefect’s grocery money and marches with Grim to Mr. S’s Mystery Shop

Everyone is confused by the presence of a new preteen on campus after the last one vanished from Pomefiore during the night

Mayu’s used to haggling with market people who would rather see her starve than even sell her the worst of their produce, so she’s easily able to barter Sam down to a third of the price for the groceries she wants to buy

Sam’s more amused by the guts of this tiny samurai devil than anything

Mayu and Grim drag all the food back by themselves with a few students following from a distance out of curiosity

They all soon enter Ramshackle once the smells of cooking begin to emerge from the dorm

Silver first followed because the child has a sword and is now helping to knead dough

Epel arrived because he had questions about where Nana had gone, but Mayu is genuinely clueless so now he’s peeling apples for lack of anything better to do

Mayu soon has several “helpers” for making bread and other easy-to-preserve and mix-and-match bulk meals to fill the Ramshackle fridge, though she soon has to send Grim out for more ingredients when her helpers begin getting hungry

The night ends with a feast that can rival the quality of food served at Kalim’s parties

Mayu finds one of Yuu’s blank notebooks and writes down some easy recipes the Prefect can use for all the food now in the fridge and pantry, with emphasis on fish based dishes

The ghosts and Grim enjoy having Mayu much more than Nana

Mayu still has trouble sleeping in the big Ramshackle bed that night

Nana—> Konohagakure

Well this isn’t Nanba or Night Raven College

Welp. Time to go then.

Nana is halfway out of Konoha before anyone notices

Gai does notice because a strange kid in a prison jumpsuit swiftly scurrying to the exit sticks out like a sore thumb in the early morning

ANBU’s search for the vanished Yuu is the only reason Nana isn’t stopped by them

Nana tries to run

Nothing can outrun the Beautiful Green Beast of Konoha

Nana is now more than slightly traumatized

Gets carted off to early morning training with Naruto and Lee

Is initially more interested in plotting yet another escape attempt until Lee mentions Yuu and NRC—then he’s curious about what information he can glean about the two other members of this triad

Especially interested in the concept of reincarnating into another world or being brought there by an outside force rather than moving between worlds freely

Eats an almost alarming amount for his size at breakfast that morning and leaves nothing on his plate

Unfailingly well-mannered to his hosts

Offers more information about Mayu’s past world in payment for eating the Ketsugi’s food and waking up in their home after they refuse to let him pay them back using manual labor

Asks them to tell him what they already know so he can work out what knowledge gaps to fill in

Nana: ...Why are you singing Wonderwall?

Takes it upon himself to teach Lee and Naruto more English so they can at least form basic sentences

It’s an uphill battle because predicates and participles are hard

A supportive and encouraging if slightly inept teacher

Soon realizes Chie somehow knows all the swearwords and glares at him for trying to teach them to the boys

Also falls ill from eating chakra-infested food

Gets twitchier as the day goes on and asks to leave the village several times, insisting he can’t impose on their hospitality any longer

Only agrees to sleep on the couch once Jirou subtly implies that at least people will notice and go looking if he goes missing from their house compared to if he disappeared from a tree miles away from Konoha

Can’t sleep on the couch due to jumping at noises during the night, ends up curling up on the floor next to it

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somedayonbroadway · 4 years ago

Text

Santa’s Little Helpers

Fandom: Newsies

Word Count: 2k+

Characters: Racetrack Higgins, Albert DaSilva, Jack Kelly, Katherine Plumber, Smalls (Newsies)

Summary: When Albert had told Race that he’d had a surprise for him at the mall, this is not what Race had had in mind.

A/N: So this little fic was a request from Katrina Miller. This reviewer did ask for a Christmas fic with Race and Albert and while that's definitely here, this did turn into a bit of a Sprace fic. I hope that's okay!

Please enjoy!

When Albert had told Race he'd had a surprise for him down at the mall, this is not exactly what Race had had in mind.

Race was now making minimum wage at, what he had been told by Saint Nick himself, was the perfect job for him. He was an elf. If the pointy ears and ridiculous jingle bell hat weren't enough, the shoes certainly completed the outfit. He was clad up in ridiculous green and white socks and even worse tiny red overalls. What didn't make sense to Race was that he had never been particularly short. Neither had Albert. And yet, here they were, pretending they were tiny, had squeaky little voices and painting red little red circles on their noses and cheeks.

Currently, Santa's was on a ten and that meant that Santa's helpers had to deal with the oh-so understanding parents and their screaming kids who had been waiting in line for about two hours now only for Santa to decide he needed a break.

"Oh my gosh, look at him," Race groaned a bit at the voice, turning around to be met with the sight of his all too adorning big brother who was not even alone. No, he had his girlfriend on his arm. "Honey, look at our little elf! They grow up so fast."

The pair had bags and bags of things in their arms. And Race couldn't even be bothered to be the nosy kid he was and try to prematurely snoop. All he could do was glare as Katherine cooed at him, "Aww, we raised a good little elf, Jackie."

With a roll of his eyes, Race just prayed no one else he knew from school stumbled through Santa's Village. As much of a loser as he already was, he didn't think he'd survive the torment. Albert, however, didn't seem to care as he slung an arm around Race's shoulders and hung on him a bit. Albert was eccentric. People expected this kind of thing from him. Race, as he often was, was just along for the ride. Right now, that ride required red, white and green everything and a fake smile for the bratty kids that tugged on his hair and ears.

"Heya, Jack!" Albert grinned. Race pouted his lips over his brother, as though he was asking for some kind of help but Jack only reached into his back pocket and took out his phone, snapping a picture of the pair. Albert was grinning.

Not quite as ecstatic to be here, Race's pout turned into a small glare towards the man who raised him. "Have I ever told you that I hate you?" he asked, only getting a small laugh out of Jack. "I'm burning all of your presents."

Jack only smiled and shrugged. "Well, I guess that means I can go return all of this—"

With his eyes widened in fake terror Race shook his head. "No! Jackie!" he whined. "I want presents…"

"Then I guess you gotta be a good little elf and take all the kiddies to meet Santa," Jack shrugged. Then he smirked. He had such a knowing smirk and Race hated him and yet somehow still loved him for it.

Before he could further insult his big brother in front of the giant line of crabby customers, Katherine was quick to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "We'll be by later to give you guys a ride, okay?" he promised, moving to give a waiting Albert a kiss on the head. "Tinker away my little elves."

"Bye, Red!" Albert called.

"Bye, Red!" Katherine called back, walking away confidently without her boyfriend.

Jack paused to give Race a kiss on the head too. "Be good, okay? Give these kids a good meeting with Santa. You don't know how many of them might actually need it." That was just like Jack. Thinking about others first. Sometimes Race feared that it might be Jack's downfall. He cared too much about others. He was self sacrificing. He couldn't could the number of times Jack had literally given him the shirt off of his back and the food that never reached his mouth. They'd grown up poor. They'd grown up orphans.

But that was a long time ago.

Race was sixteen now. And he had a job like any normal sixteen year old does at Christmas time.

Turning back to Albert, he sighed. "Why did you make me do this?" It was true. If anyone from school saw him here, he'd be torn apart. He and Albert weren't exactly super popular and they had accepted that a long time ago. That didn't mean no one knew who they were. In fact, people knew them as geeks and/or nerds who were constantly the target of some popular kids' pranks.

With a cheeky grin, all Albert could do was shrug. It was impossible to make the redhead embarrassed at this point. Race figured they'd been through enough humiliation to get him immune. See, Albert had not only one, but two older brothers. They were a product of his father's first marriage and were much older than Albert by the fault. They had been tormenting him his whole life. Race loved Albert's older brothers but they had always had sneaky, effective ways of embarrassing their baby brother. "Um, I'm sorry, we spread Christmas cheer to every child in the world. We're basically like the most important people in the world right now. Our job is literally to make Christmas happen. God knows Santa just sits on his ass all year long while we do all the heavy lifting," Albert scoffed, almost looking offended. "And also… money…" he finished, like that part was some great bonus.

To be honest, Albert wasn't wrong. The money was a great thing and Race was glad to have a little cash in his pocket for the holidays. He still had plenty of Christmas shopping to do. "Whatever…" he scoffed, rolling his eyes as they saw Santa coming back. The guy wasn't the best, but he got the job done.

"You're the one who said you wanted a job, man," Albert said.

"I meant a normal job, Al," Race groaned dramatically as he forced himself to make his way over to that big red rope that blocked off their little area. "One where I don't gotta wear a costume." Albert just tugged on Race's hair. Race let out a small yelp but he got back to work, shooting a glare in his best friend's direction as he let the first child in line go through. He only got shoved a little bit by the mother who had only yelled at him the second Santa walked away.

Today was the seventh day Race had been working and that meant, coincidentally, that he was also getting his first paycheck today and that was something to be happy about. It was all he could think about at the moment, as he lifted screaming, kicking, smelly children on and off of Santa's lap while a bored photographer snapped their picture. Well that and, of course, lunch.

Well, sort of.

As hungry as Race was, and Race was really hungry, the idea of having to stand out in the cafeteria like this was enough to make him want to put a bag over his head. According to his manager, he was not allowed to take off the costume at any time. It would ruin the magic, apparently and that just meant they wanted to see what happened when they sent two teenage boys dressed as elves out into the most popular hang out in the city just to see what would happen.

There were literally twenty minutes left before Race and Albert could take an hour long lunch and that's when Race saw him. "Hi, are you guys ready ta meet Santa—" He froze when he looked up to see a very hot, very muscular boy standing above him. "Holy sh—" A hand clamped tightly down over his mouth before the word slipped out and he nearly bit it to get it off.

Spot Conlon was one of the most popular kids at their school. He was the athlete. The quarterback, captain of the soccer team, pitcher of the baseball team and the literal homecoming king was standing right there in front of him and Race was staring at him with wide eyes. "Hi, Spot Conlon," Albert greeted much too cheerfully. Race was sure it had nothing to do with the fact that he was the only person in the world that knew that Race had a huge crush on the older boy and had ever since the sixth grade.

Spot gave the both of them an odd look. "Uh… hi? Do I know you guys?" he asked. It was only then that Race noticed he was holding onto a little girl's hand. He didn't know that Spot had any siblings.

Easily, Albert pulled Race up and put his arm around him again. "Uh… we go ta the same school… I've been in your bio class for the past semester, you live in the same building as Race—"

"Oh you guys are the ones that had to run through the school in your underwear because the Delanceys stole your clothes!" Spot said, like it should've been obvious.

It was immediate, the way Race's face fell into his hands dramatically. Albert hardly reacted. "Yep." Race wished the earth would open up and swallow him whole. That had been one of the single worst days of his life and he loved to have that reminder right now by this boy with this random kid there too. "Anyway, is your sister ready ta meet Santa?"

Snapping back to the moment, Spot looked down at the little girl who seemed very interested in her little toes right then. "Oh, this is actually my niece. Her name's Saraya but we all call her Smalls," he explained. There was still another kid up on Santa's lap giving him a list about the size of himself. "She really wanted to meet Santa, but she's deaf so… h-he doesn't have to talk to her or anything, she just wanted to say hi."

So maybe Race was desperate to impress this boy somehow, but he actually got very excited at hearing that. He immediately looked up before he kneeled back down to that little girl's level. He lifted up his hands slowly. "Hi," he signed with a small smile. "My name's Tyler. Are you excited to see Santa?"

The little girl's face lighting up tuned out the voice of his best friend looking up at Spot and spilling his life story. "His brother is hard of hearing. They were in a really bad car accident when they were little so now he has to wear hearing aids but they couldn't afford them when they were little so…" Albert never knew when to stop talking.

It was true. Jack had lost his hearing almost completely when he was ten years old. It hadn't been an easy adjustment for either of them, especially since they were orphaned in the very same crash. Jack hadn't handled it well. So Race had helped him learn a language that he didn't have to hear and now here he was.

They'd both lived.

Saraya nodded to him and signed back, "I know that's not the real Santa, but my uncle says he's gonna tell the real Santa my wish!"

With a big smile, Race nodded right back. "It's true! Santa just so happens to be a personal friend of mine," he explained a bit smugly, his heart only warming when that grin on Smalls's face grew. "What are you gonna ask for?"

That's when Spot stopped her, picking her up to mask that fact. He placed her on his hip before looking down at Race who slowly stood to his feet. "She… uh… she wants to see her mom… I'm trying to get her to ask for something else, but… her ma ain't home because… well she just ain't, but… we're hopin' ta get her home by Christmas. We just need enough to get a plane ticket," Spot shrugged, clearly not up for explaining at the moment.

Something sunk in Race's chest. He nodded, glancing back and realizing that it was Saraya's turn. "Uh, it's her turn…" Race stated awkwardly. So Spot nodded and walked over to Santa, setting Saraya down on his lap and translating for her as she sighed and signing back what Santa said.

"You are so in love with him," Albert sighed.

Race elbowed his friend in the gut and turned to him. "I'm not even… I'm thinkin' about Saraya! She just… I don't know… reminds me of Jack, okay?" he shrugged. "Except she's not quite as sad as he was when…" Race shook his head.

"Okay, don't go gettin' all emotional. Just get her a gift 'r somethin'."

Race smiled at that.

So that's exactly what they did.

This is how Race ended up on Albert's back, still clad up in annoying green and red colors as they quickly went from store to store trying to find the right thing during their lunch break.

"And then Kat said, 'well, if you admit that you don't believe in Santa, then maybe he'll stop comin' around, so like… I'm sixteen and I still get presents from Santa and I call that a win," Race shrugged, resting his chin on Albert's shoulder.

Albert scoffed. "Jeanne is the reason Santa still comes around ta our house— she misses you, by the way," he stated. "She's honestly, the cutest little kid I've ever met."

With a small laugh, Race jumped off of his friend's back and bounced over to the little stuffed animals. They were, of course, in the Disney store. He didn't know where else one would go to get a gift for a child. "Of course she misses me, I'm her favorite," he said, like it should've been obvious.

He came face to face with a little Stitch plushie. His heart swelled. It was one similar to something a nurse had gotten Jack all those years ago when Jack was in the hospital. Race shook himself out of it as he pulled the thing off the shelf. "This is the one," he decided.

"Ohana means family or whatever," Albert shrugged. "It's cute. Get it."

When they got back to Santa's Village, they stole some wrapping paper off of one of the decorations to wrap the gift. Race mostly swatted away Albert's hand when he tried to put a piece down all of the place. Race prided himself in his gift wrapping skills. "Dude, if you're using more than three pieces of tape, you've done something wrong!" he laughed as Albert hung a piece of tape from his nose.

But eventually, they managed to have a gift to give to the little girl who missed her mother.

Race got so wrapped up in the thought as he and Albert continued on that he didn't even notice the Delanceys walk by and mock them. He was too busy trying to give the kids a nice visit with Santa Claus. Some of them might actually need it.

—

When someone knocked on Spot Conlon's door later that night, he didn't know what to expect. The little elf boy definitely wasn't it. So, maybe he knew what the kid's name was. Racer. That didn't mean he was supposed to care.

Race wasn't wearing his costume anymore. He only wore the makeup. "Uh… hi…" he said. Spot almost greeted him back before the kid kept talking. "Look, I know it ain't like we're friends and you can make fun of me forever but… I… I got Saraya this and… this is for you guys…" He handed Spot a neatly wrapped box for Saraya and an envelope. It was his paycheck.

With a curious look, Spot smiled a little bit. "Um… thank you," he shrugged, not really knowing what to say. "You really didn't have to—"

"Saraya should be able to see her mom on Christmas…" Race shrugged.

Spot squinted at him a bit. "What—"

"Also, just to put this out there, I don't always look like this," he said.

A sly smirk made its way onto Spot's face as he shrugged. "Too bad. You make a cute elf."

Doing his best not to go weak in the knees, Race smiled breathily and let out a small, delighted laugh. "Uh, anyways—"

"Hey, what the Delanceys did," Spot interrupted, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. "That was messed up. I'm sorry I didn't say anything."

For some reason, that might've been the best thing Spot had ever said to him. Okay so maybe this was the first conversation they were really having all alone, but still. "Well, since it's the season of forgiving an' all…" Race shrugged. Then he sighed. "Merry Christmas, Spot."

Spot smiled at him. "Merry Christmas, Racer… and hey… thank you…"

And with that, Race walked away, feeling the Christmas spirit flowing through him more than he had in years.

Merry Christmas everybody! Happy holidays! Much love!

As always, thanks for reading! Make sure to tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, what you'd change or what you'd improve by leaving me a review! Love ya, fansies!

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revelationinthelightofday-writes · 4 years ago

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I'm going to infodump about the Vardaesia Squad kids instead of writing my art history essay so here we go

I'm currently working on a bit of fanart when I realised Noni never explicitly outlines the body types of the Vardaesia kids, she only mentions brief/ambiguous descriptions throughout the series, so here's a masterpost of sorts for any fanartists/fanfic writers still in this fandom

Alex: The book covers all depict Alex with a slimmer build, facing away from the audience, and her proportions suggest she's average or just above average height. Realistically speaking, by the end of Draekora Alex's physique should have altered to complement her accelerated physical ability - she's a sword fighter and her canonical opponents are almost exclusively men who are physically larger and stronger than she is, which suggests packing on muscle in particularly her shoulders and core, but likely also her thighs. She'd also have stretch marks in response to these changes in muscle structure, and chances are she'd lose some of the natural fat layer during Graevale thanks to both consistently extreme fitness and stress. Since she's also a chocolate addict, and uses it as a minor coping mechanism, chances are she would also have a bit of responsive acne. (She's literally sixteen/seventeen, her skin would not be perfect and Alex isn't interested enough in cosmetics to keep up a skincare routine.) She's also capable of holding the weight of others in compromised positions (Pipsqueak and D.C.) suggesting a high level of flexibility and core strength. Finally, she's naturally dark haired, so body hair tends to be denser and more prominent.

Jordan: It's stated several times in the series that Jordan doesn't put on weight despite his excessive appetite, which is typical of teenage boys. This response to his eating habits also suggests he doesn't also put on much muscle, despite the extreme fitness routine of the academy - his build is likely athletic, but definitely on the leaner/gawky side. His profile on the cover of W3H suggests he's both tall and athletic, which ties up with his rank for PE at the academy. His diet seems to have a consistent level of junk food, so chances are he also has some acne. Jordan's taller than both Alex and D.C. in the series, but he's also shorter than Bear and Declan, suggesting he's closest to Kaiden in height.

Bear: Noni repeatedly references Bear's height and bulk, however she doesn't specify whether this bulk is from muscle or body fat. On W3H's cover, he is positioned lower than Jordan so his height isn't as obvious, and he's definitely more developed in the shoulders and core than Jordan is, suggesting Bear's bulk could easily be a combination of both fat and muscle. If we're going to continue to compare them, Jordan likely relies on agility and speed, whilst Bear uses his strength. In Vardaesia whilst scaling the mountain, he's paired with Kaiden, also suggesting they're somewhat similar in physique. He's probably closer to physical maturity than Jordan is, so his voice is likely deeper and he has more body hair. His diet isn't as obvious in the books, so his complexion is pretty much up to you. Both he and Alex are similar in terms of Noni's loose descriptions about appearance (white, dark hair, brown eyes, athletic builds). It's canonically suggested that Bear isn't inherently aggressive or intimidating to look at (unlike Kaiden and Declan) despite his size.

D.C.: First off, D.C.'s a natural redhead, which suggests she's very fair skinned (thus sensitive to sunburn) with freckles and peachy undertones, and a lesser quantity of body hair, including eyebrows. (She's more feminine than Alex, so chances are she fills her brows as well as some other makeup. She's also been raised with strict ideas about presentation, so she likely has a high level of personal grooming). I've seen a bit of discourse about her physique - she's likely the smallest out of the group, indicated by her profile on W3H as well as the fact she's a highly adept horse rider. (Less height isn't everything when it comes to riding horses well, it also requires skill and practise, but it's definitely a helpful contribution.) D.C. is ranked Gamma (Level 3?) for PE, Archery and Combat, suggesting she has nowhere near the same level of muscle build or fitness capacity as Alex. Her W3H cover suggests she's on the slimmer side as well, but if you keep in mind her diet/level of physical fitness/the fact that teenage bodies aren't supermodel perfect god she could just as well have bigger thighs and hips, stomach rolls, a rounder jaw, so on. Her hair also goes frizzy in Draekora in response to humidity/electrical static, so keep that in mind.

Kaiden: Almost every scene with Kaiden references his "strong arms" at some fucking point, so we'll start there. We know he's ripped as hell - he's physically capable of running around bearing Alex's entire weight in both Raelia and Vardaesia. He's both a sword fighter and an archer, which means a lot of strength in his upper body, particularly arms, back and shoulders, which lines up with both Noni's descriptions and him being in higher grade classes for Combat, PE and Archery. He had both a militarised upbringing and an extreme emphasis on self discipline in order to control his gift, so chances are his dieting and exercise habits also realistically reflect his physique. We do know that Declan is physically stronger out of them (mountain scene in Vardaesia). Height wise, he's likely sitting between Jordan and Bear. (Alex has to push up on her toes to kiss him, if that's any indication of their height ratio.) His complexion is described as tan, but this is way too much of a grey term for him to be POC, so he likely just spends a lot of time outdoors instead. He's likely that fucker with perfect skin without trying. He's also been handling weaponry for years, so his hands would have some pretty definite callouses. I'd say he's close to, if not already at, full physical maturity, in relation to body hair and voice. (His emotional maturity is way more emphasised in the series, but there's enough description about his physique to make a guess.)

Declan: Similar to Kaiden, Declan's physical strength is one of his most referenced traits, and we know he's both the tallest and physically strongest. This suggests he's probably the most physically mature out of the guys. Assuming he just mimics Kaiden in relation to dieting and exercise routines, realistically he can sustain that kind of physique. However, he is described to still have a level of agility despite his size, so he's not a total beefcake. Remember both he and Kaiden are older by only a year, so they're not your Hollywood cliche of trying to pass thirty year olds as high schoolers. Like Kaiden, he's spent a lot of time around weapons and combat, so his hands are likely scarred and calloused. If you try and whitewash this kid, I will boil your kneecaps.

#this fandom is literally six feet under #but enjoy #realistic bodies #realistic bodies in ya literature #medoran chronicles #lynette noni #vardaesia #alex jennings #jordan sparker #bear ronnigan #delucia cavelle #kaiden james #declan stirling #shitposting #i call this productive procrastination #please reblog #literally i will cry if anyone reads to the bottom of this #dont sexualise teenage bodies

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phonecallwithsatan · 4 years ago

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just look for my owl (one)

fred weasley x y/n series

a.n: Fred Weasley fic LOL. it’s been five years since i’ve made myself sit down and literally write fan fiction as a sixteen year old, but honestly i’d rather be doing this than anything else really. not painting myself as the “quirky type,” not at all, I literally just feel like writing an imaginary piece on a fictional character who will never love me. please keep in mind this is a they/them piece, and that y/n can be whoever you would like them to be:) !!This is a series!! enjoy<3

Our beloved Fred Weasley falls for Ilvermorny student [y/n] [l/n]. He’s determined to get to them, but the only way he can is through post sent through the two. The only thing left for the pair is to just look for an owl.

☾

“...merlin Fred. How are we going to pry these beards off. Hermione was right-” mutters George Weasley while attempting to pick at his newly grown beard in the bathroom mirror.

“Never say that. Granted, maybe the ageing potion was not our best idea, but now you finally grew a beard Georgie!” Says Fred Weasley while laughing and leaning against the porcelain sink.

His twin takes a palm and attempts to reach his face with it, but fails miserably as Fred ducks.

“That’s uncalled for. Don’t you remember our brainstorming session, Georgie? You said it was brilliant!”

George scoffs, beard moving with his mouth as he does.

“I said it was dim-witted, not brilliant.”

Fred takes a glance at his twin, furrowing brows as he does.

“What did that textbook say again?” Speaks up Fred. They had ended up brewing the potion all by themselves that morning.

Still looking at himself in the mirror, George responds tactfully, “It all depended how much you drank. Say Fred, it was about this much?” He shows his thumb and pointer finger to the size of their chosen vile.

The twins both snap their heads at each other, realizing what this means.

“That should be fine.” Fred says while nodding his head. “Just absolutely perfect.”

Right before Fred began to open his mouth to complain some more, he got a smack to the head by his twin, which is what began their second fighting session of the day.

☾ ues

Sixth year Advanced Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall was one of the last classes in Fred’s schedule.

He sits down and pulls out his textbook from his bag, only to be greeted with his fingertips, cover, pages, and spine of his book covered in black ink.

“Not now… come on.” Say’s Fred somewhat loudly. He knows a few Hufflepuffs and Slytherins here and there, but he didn't really know them know them. He was one of the four Sixth Years that took Advanced Transfiguration, all the rest being Seventh Years. He made eye contact with a chaser on the Hufflepuff team whom he had knocked off their broom in a game a few weeks back.

Looking away quickly due to prolonged staring, he analyzed his options: he could get his wand. He would get his wand. It’s the only option, he was a wizard after all.

He attempted a smudge-removing spell on his hand and book. It worked… to an extent. His hand was all clean, but his Guide To Advanced Transfiguration textbook was all marked up with his black ink.

As he saw the classroom filling up more and more, he decided to save himself of the embarrassment of going up to his professor and explaining what had happened. He wasn't one to get flustered either, no, he was fine with it, but today was definitely not going to be that day. With remnants of his ageing potion displayed in a few streaks of his red hair, and a patchy short beard slowly falling off even during class, Fred decided he would stay put and just try and skip over the pages.

“Why don’t we turn to page thirty-four of your textbooks to start off our class, hm?” Says Professor McGonagall as she stands up.

Fred’s deskmate arrives, a Hufflepuff girl who nearly never showed up, sets her items down.

“That’s Five points from Hufflepuff.” Snaps McGonagall. “At least you made it in, Miss McReady.” She rolls her eyes to the Professors comment.

“Oi,” speaks up Fred. She turns to look at him..He’d only really ever spoken to her twice. “D’ya think you could help me out?”

“Good one, Ginger. I’ve got nothing for you. Sorry.” She says with a heavy Irish accent Fred forgot about until now.

“Yeah.” He says nodding his head in solidarity.

“To be honest, I didn’t know we needed a textbook.” Says the Hufflepuff girl, now facing forward in her seat.

Fred snorts at her comment. He looks up for a shared reaction only to be greeted with something else. Fred forgot she was uncharacteristically sassy for a Hufflepuff.

“Was it that funny, Ginger?” Says the Hufflepuff.

“No Miss. It was not. I’m heavily congested, you see.” He lifts up his head to show his nose for added effect.

The Hufflepuff blinks a few times and rolls her eyes mid-turn in her seat.

There was nothing much for Fred to do except to try and listen to her teaching at this point. Professor McGonagall was alright, truly, but one of his favorite classes was Charms, one he had a few periods ago.

He daydreamed-a lot. After listening to a few minutes of the lesson, Fred caught on to what she was explaining, and luckily, it was more of a ‘sit and listen’ type of day in the Transfiguration classroom. He’d daydream about life after Hogwarts, often he would dream about fake scenarios where he’d create a fake argument with someone and win, sometimes a certain person would pop in his head even. Not anyone in specific, but rather just a figment of his imagination, his soulmate. A twin flame. Someone to lean on.

He turned to look at the Hufflepuff next to him. She snapped her head to glare at him.

“What?!” She whisper-screams with that same accent that was distinguishable even in quiet. Fred’s thoughts about her vanished as quickly as they came.

Definitely not her, he thought. Angelina Johnson? She was… there. Not her. He wanted something- new. Someone new, rather that. Fred had more important things than his love life though, one of them being the old man's beard that was currently plastered on his once clean shaven face.

He focused back into class as he heard silence for a moment, meaning the class was wrapping up as McGonagall was waving her arms for some odd reason while simultaneously writing on her chalkboard.

Continuing his thought about the beard, he reached the ink ridden hand to his face only to be met with a beardless chin. Finally, he thought to himself. He looked down at his pants to see the fallen facial hair on them and he quickly brushed it off before the Hufflepuff next to him could make a disgusted face at it.

His confidence that left for a few moments was back now that the beard was gone, and luckily the class period was dismissed a few minutes early.

As his classmates leave the class going one way, Fred takes the opposite route to McGonagall.

“Professor,” he starts mid-stride only to be interrupted by an owl coming in from a window in the back of the class towards McGonagall’s desk.

“One moment Mr. Weasley, this Owl is from family.” She seems concerned as she focuses on the brown Neognathae in front of her.

Fred is exceptionally talented at many things on a giant spectrum, one of them being reading upside down.

“America?” He says quietly, not realizing he said it outloud.

“Yes, Weasley. I have extended family in Massachusetts.” Says McGonagall, with tight lips while opening up her letter, looking up to glare at him for snooping.

Fred reads the sender's name, [Y/n].

“Is now a bad time professor? You seem a bit- busy, with that letter from” he spins the now opened envelope on the desk around towards him to read [Y/n]’s full name, “[Y/n y/l/n]. Who is that Professor?”

McGonagall slaps Fred’s hand away from the envelope while opening up the folded up items inside. A few polaroids fall out and Fred is intrigued with the ‘extended family’ story. “None of your concerns Weasley, but you’re doing good in my course, so i’ll tell you. This is my sister’s child.”

She continues to read the letter in front of Fred and he can’t help but notice the three polaroids spread out on her desk. Immediately forgetting why he came up to McGonagall in the first place, his brain just turns to mush. He could now put a face to the name.

He was so mesmerized by their beauty, a perfect face even from afar. It was a photo of a now implanted name in his brain, [Y/n], standing in blue and cranberry colored school robes, colors that belonged to the only school overseas he knew- Ilvermorny. They had long arms and slender legs that were easily distinguishable even under the robes, and full lips that extenuated the aforementioned beautiful face Fred fell for a few meters in front of him. Bloody hell, he thought, careful not to let it slip out.

The other photo was a photo of- merlin, [Y/n] standing in a quidditch uniform with a broom in hand. The before mentioned blue and cranberry, decorating their shoulders and chest gracefully, not too tight nor too loose. It fit perfectly on them, again, even from afar. Or was it a ‘quadpot’ uniform over there? He didn't know, but he knew that he needed either of those photos somehow. He did not care as much for the third photo, as it was just a photo of some cat.

“Mr. Weasley, what was it that you needed?” McGonagall asks, looking up from her received essay.

“I, uhm, my textbook.” Says Fred with a light pause in between his words. He lifts the book up and places it on her desk, right on top of the photo of [Y/n] in their quidditch (or quadpot) uniform.

“And how did this happen?” McGonagall questions while looking at the marked up book. She sighs and turns her back to Fred to grab a new textbook from the cupboard behind her. She begins rambling about how students get more and more disorganized every year, but Fred is busy with something else.

He needed to figure out how exactly he could snatch the photo away. He trapped the photos under it, now how would he get them over and out? He leaned forward to touch the book, but McGonagall beat him to it.

“... and that is why organization is key to doing good on your O.W.L.s, Weasley.” Scolds McGonagall, turning around to look at Fred. She lifts the textbook to see the name and thank Merlin, Fred thought, when his professor didn’t notice the photos of [Y/n] trapped under the stained book.

She turns back around, now ranting about the line of Weasley’s she has gone through over the years, the common “how many more of you are there,” escaping her lips.

“There are four more of us, Professor. You’re almost done.” He says, his spontaneity hitting as he spoke.

Fred uses this moment and acts fast, lifting the textbook ever so slightly to grab the polaroid under his stained book. While he was swiping it, he was able to momentarily see that the polaroid was clean and without any smudges of black ink ruining [Y/n]’s face. He snatches it flawlessly and puts it in his pants pocket instead of his bag to avoid remnants of ink.

McGonagall turns back around without a suspicion and hands Fred a new book.

“Do not repeat this, Weasley. Now shoo, my niece/nephew is explaining something about- actually, I do suppose I don't know. Say Weasley, you're up to terms with what sixteen year olds do, correct?”

McGonagall puts her parchment down and smooths it in front of Fred.

First thing he notices is the perfect script handwriting on the parchment. Smooth, light cursive loops here and there, black ink, proper punctuation and grammar, and flawless lines. He runs a finger through one of them, mostly as a way to get closer to [Y/n] somehow, but he used this camouflage as a way to show McGonagall that he is reading carefully. And that, he was.

1994 terms for American slang was not something Fred was familiar with. He looked around for a “wicked,” in their writing, but there was nothing.

They mentioned how their last game, instead of match he thought, was “the bomb,” and how their Charms professor needed to take a “chill pill.” Having no clue what these words meant, Fred just re-read the letter that was definitely not meant for his eyes.

“... I dunno Aunty, she’s not doing well. Mum isn't getting any better and I can’t keep up with staying at school and visiting home every weekend. I don’t know what to do at this point, but she’s all I have left.”

Fred stops for a minute and decides to give it a rest. This isn’t for him. Although he is extremely interested in them, the invasion of personal space is too much for him. Reading Aunty instead of Professor McGonagall was one of the highlights of his day, but he wanted to get to know [Y/n] in his own terms.

“I’m sorry Professor, but I don’t.” Internally cringing at his denial, Fred awaits a response.

“Alright, Weasley. Now get out, please. No more ink staining,” she says while mentioning the book in front of her, “and no more poking around in my personal life.” She takes the parchment in her hands and folds it up.

Fred puts a hand in his pocket and reassures his Transfiguration teacher that “everything will be fine,” while also feeling the polaroid in his pocket. He smiles in the middle of his sentence which receives a strange glance from the grey-haired professor.

His professor moves around her items and picks up the polaroids that are left. “Where did the other one go…” Trailing off mid-sentence, Professor McGonagall adjusted her glasses and lifted a few items on her desk looking for the third polaroid from her niece/nephew.

“I’ll just go, yeah, thanks for the book, Professor.” Rambles Fred, awkwardly lifting a hand and hitting a table behind him. He turns quickly and walks out of the classroom with his hand back in his pocket, lightly bending the polaroid with his hand. Now a few strides away from the entrance of the classroom, he checks around for people and takes the photo of [Y/n] out of his trouser pocket.

He sighs. A blurry photograph even up close.

Now with a better look, the photo was taken with a background of a stone castle, most likely Ilvermorny he thought, and front and center being [Y/n]. He smirked at the photo where [Y/n] smiled, revealing a light dimple on their left cheek. Their eyebrows framing their face perfectly, and those lips again, Fred thought, still full even with a smile plastered on [Y/n]’s face. They were absolutely perfect to him- incomparable to anyone else he had ever laid eyes on. The cranberry and blue colored uniform complimented their skin so well, he thought, wishing it wasn’t just a 15cm x 12cm polaroid square.

He had wished they were in front of him, so he could trace his finger along their jawline, or their lips, the ones he wanted to look at and kiss eternally. Damn this blur, Fred thought.

He noticed their hands, how one gripped the broom next to them, and how the other was propped against their hip, pulling on the fabric of the uniform every so slightly, giving Fred an idea as to what their personality might be, and as to what their body looked like too.

He wondered if they were funny, if they would like his red hair, if they would fall for the other brother, no thought Fred- he was definitely the better looking one. What would happen if he brought [Y/n] to the Burrow, what would make them laugh, and what their hand would feel like in his while walking the halls side by side.

Fred realized that he must have spent at least half an hour leaning against the stone wall that held him there for as long as he needed it. He took one last look at [Y/n]’s photograph and safely put it back into his trouser pocket. He ran a hand through his hair and smiled discreetly before lifting his head up to see that the sun had begun to set, leaving behind a lovely sunset visible through the glass pane window in front of Fred.

Sighing contentedly, Fred continues down the hallway that was lit up with a golden shade from the sunset. The thought of his new found [Y/n] appeared in his mind as he watched his shadow move along with him, wishing their shadow appeared next to his as he walked down the long hall. But even then, it would disappear as the sun set. He was able to keep [Y/n] in his mind though, even as the sun set with that imaginary shadow. He knew this was something worth pursuing, something that would lead that shadow next to his. Something that would lead him to them. They would find their way to him, he just knew it.

#fred weasley #weasley #harry potter #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #gender neutral character #fred weasley fanfiction #hogwarts

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michaelarowrites · 4 years ago

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Shine The Brightest Chapter One

Akaryu Masaomi is in bed, although not asleep, when they come to arrest him.

It had been a pleasant evening, spent in the enjoyable company of a woman who is now passed out in the bed beside him. She had told him her name but he can’t remember it now. In fact, he can’t even remember if she told him what she was. Not that it matters, but it’s usually polite amongst bedfellows.

He would have recognized another dragon, and one of the lower divisions wouldn’t have been allowed at the party they had been at. Given her amber eyes and her stamina, he’s guessing she’s a tiger. He had told her, “You’re going to have to leave after we’re done, I don’t sleep next to other people.” She had just said in a purring sort of way, “Who said anything about sleeping?”

Which had been too tempting of an offer to make a big deal out of things, although now that dawn is approaching and she’s asleep in his bed and he’s very much not asleep in his bed, he somewhat wishes that he’d been more insistent.

The feeling becomes all the more relevant when the doors of his room are broken down with a deafening burst, and his bedroom is insultingly filled with the Tenou army, all pointing their guns at him.

This is not how Masaomi wants to spend his morning, and all things considered, if he is must be surrounded by armed soldiers he would very much prefer not to be naked.

“Akaryu Masaomi, you are under arrest.”

He takes a few seconds to compose himself in the face of this indignity, refusing on principle to seem at all surprised by this intrusion. He just sits upright in his bed and smiles slowly. “Am I?”

Then the other grand dragons enter his room, and he knows he’s fucked.

“Masaomi-kun,” the Green Dragon says, and Masaomi narrows his eyes, because he really doesn’t appreciate the familiarity, given the circumstances. “You are under arrest. Please come quietly.”

The Green Dragon, the Black Dragon and the Blue Dragon are all in his room. What’s worse, they’ve all brought their bulgae. The massive, pony-sized fire dogs stop Masaomi from immediately shedding his human form and lashing out in rage. More than the guns and the other grand dragons, the fire dogs are what give him pause.

The myths say that a fire dog has the strength to take a bite from the sun or moon. It’s just a creative folk story, but bulgae can certainly take a bite out of a dragon, and the common household pet is not to be underestimated. They can strip away magic spells, summon fire, and bite through most any material, and while Masaomi can appreciate the fact that they must make useful pets, he has personally thought that anything that can literally bite the heads off someone in human form should best be kept far away from civilized society.

These ones aren’t growling, but their eerily intelligent eyes are fixed on him. (Too intelligent. Another reason why Masaomi has never liked fire dogs and refuses to own one. Any pet that can look at you condescendingly isn’t one he wants around. This is a decision that he is also somewhat regretting now, since a bulgae of his own might be helpful in his current situation.)

“Yuri-san, Saki, Kazuya. While it’s so very lovely to see you this morning, I can’t help but feel like this army is a tad excessive.”

“It’s only because we respect you so much,” Kuroryu Saki says, smiling viciously. The Black Dragon is clearly enjoying this moment. “We didn’t want you to feel underestimated.”

“And I certainly do appreciate that,” Masaomi concedes. “I’m feeling very well estimated, thank you. But, pray tell me. What exactly is it that I am accused of doing?”

“Masaomi, did you really think we wouldn’t find out?” Midoriryu Yuri says, shaking her head in a pretense of sadness. “Can you honestly tell me you have no idea why we are here?”

The thing is, Masaomi can honestly say he has no idea why they are here. The fact that he doesn’t know why they are here means something very, very wrong is happening right now. While he certainly has been rather loose with his commitment to the law, he hasn’t done anything that would merit more than a slap on the wrist—not for someone of his status. Definitely nothing that warrants this reaction.

Which means he’s being set up.

“I’m fairly certain we all know that I’ve done nothing wrong,” Masaomi says, his voice pleasant. “So why don’t you tell me what you’re pretending I have done, and we can all move on from there.”

“Masaomi-kun, you have been accused of treason of the highest order. Your conspiracy with the rebels has been found out. You will be tried by your peers and if found guilty, you will be sentenced to death.”

Masaomi can’t help it—he laughs. It’s a laughter bordering on mania, and it visibly unsettles some of the soldiers around him. The Green Dragon’s bulgae starts to growl. Inevitably, the first thing that comes to mind is, Shiori was right after all. Shiori, with her witch smile, had coolly declared just a month ago, “The other grand dragons hate you, Masaomi-san. If you do not attempt to make yourself more pleasing to them, they will surely turn against you.” Not for the first time, Masaomi wonders if Shiori is some kind of prophet.

“You can’t be serious,” Masaomi says. “Treason? You’re pretending I’m a Magpie sympathizer? At least try to make this convincing. No one will ever believe that lie.”

“You don’t need to keep pretending,” Aoryu Kazuya speaks up for the first time, smiling in that smug all-knowing way of his that always makes Masaomi want to punch him in the face. “We know what you have done. We know that you have threatened the balance of the celestial administration, and you will be found guilty. We have proof.”

“You can’t have proof, because there isn’t any,” Masaomi snaps. “If you have something that indicates I’ve been helping rebels, it’s because you’ve created it yourself. If you think I’m going to let you tarnish my reputation with your slander, then you’re about to find out just how wrong you are. I’m not going to let you drag me off to some prison cell while you fabricate evidence.”

And fire dogs or no fire dogs, Masaomi is going to fight his way out of this one. Red scales already appear on his bare arms, as his control over his human form slips. He will destroy this entire pavilion if he has to, but he is not going to let this happen to him.

“Masaomi,” Saki says, her lips curving like the arc of a blade. “Didn’t I say we made sure not to underestimate you?”

Claws curve around his neck. Claws coming from a presence behind him, as someone slips the hold of their human form to release vicious points that now sink slightly into the bare flesh of his neck. “Akaryu-san, I would hate ever so much to damage your pretty neck, especially after that perfectly lovely evening we had. So don’t make me hurt you, okay?” says a husky voice that Masaomi had so enjoyed hearing just a few hours ago.

At least he was right about her being a tiger. The general vindication he has about being right is not much of a consolation, given the circumstances.

“You know,” he tells the woman who has her claws around his neck, “you are exactly the reason why I don’t like sleeping next to people.”

Kitahara Hinami wakes up still feeling the remnants of a dream cling to the top of her head. It’s the dream. The dream that returns every so often like an ex-lover, draining all her energy and making her irritated and restless for the rest of the day.

It’s a dream she’s had ever since her fathers died when she was sixteen years old. Ten years later, and she thinks that this is far too long to have the same dream haunt her. She saw a therapist once, someone who specialized in grief counseling. “It means you feel abandoned,” the woman had said. “You feel all alone, since you lost your parents so abruptly. You don’t make friends easily, do you, Sergeant Kitahara?”

Hinami didn’t go back to that particular therapist.

Although she did have a point. Hinami doesn’t make friends easily.

As she gets ready for her day she thinks about the dream, still so vivid, much more vivid than the world she is in right now. It’s a barren landscape, and everything is white and empty and she’s the only one there. It is a planet in ruins, and somewhere in the distance someone is crying. A woman is crying, but Hinami knows it’s not her.

The other soldiers are still asleep. While it’s morning, it’s still dark out. She always rises before the sun. While it’s tempting to wake the others for early training, she refrains. Instead, she goes for a run. She does laps around the track and field and all the while she thinks about how much she misses running in her true form. Running on two legs is not, and never will be, quite as satisfying as running on four.

Only after the sun is in the sky and the other soldiers are starting to trickle out of their barracks does she stop to wipe down with a clean towel and drink some water.

“Sergeant Kitahara.”

She had already smelled him nearby, so it doesn’t startle her to hear him now. She looks to her commanding officer, standing straight, and knows there is a question in her eyes asking why he would seek her out in the morning. “Colonel Kobayashi.”

“Meet me in my office in ten minutes.”

The day is about to begin. Breakfast in the mess hall, and then she’s supposed to meet with her troop. But there’s something in the colonel’s eyes that makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up (and if she was in her true form, maybe she would be flexing her claws, just to recognize the danger in the air).

“I’ll be there.”

Kobayashi Kyouma is a stern-looking man—with hard lines in his square jaw that give the impression that he doesn’t smile much. He’s only seven years older than herself, they’ve known each other long enough that he’s the closest thing Hinami has to a friend in her off-hours, even though he’s also her commanding officer. She’s not normally on edge when she is in his office, but the closed doors and his general demeanor are making it hard to relax.

“This is not common knowledge, although I imagine it will be soon,” Kobayashi begins without preamble. “Two hours ago Akaryu Masaomi was arrested by the other grand dragons.”

This announcement is like a bucket of ice tossed over her head. All sense of protocol and hierarchy abruptly abandon her as Hinami yelps, “They’ve arrested the Red Dragon? For what?”

Kobayashi’s gaze pins her down. “For treason. He has been accused of conspiring with Magpies.”

The statement is so absurd it doesn’t even penetrate Hinami’s mind at first. Then the only thing she can manage to say, in a particularly stupid fashion, is, “But he isn’t.” Kobayashi keeps staring intently at her, which causes her to falter and say, “He isn’t, right?”

“No, Kitahara. He is not conspiring with us.”

Hinami leans back, still not sure how to absorb this news. Up until two seconds ago, she would have said the Red Dragon stood for everything they were fighting against. He is literally the face she sees in her mind when she thinks about the oppressive dragons and the regime the Magpies are trying so hard to overthrow. While all six grand dragons are abhorrent with their greed, selfishness, and destruction, Hinami has always considered the Red Dragon as the most evil of the bunch. She is not sure how to wrap her mind around the idea that he is no longer a threat, much less that his downfall has apparently come by some presumed virtue he doesn’t actually possess.

“But perhaps, he could be.”

It takes her a minute to snap out of her shock and to hone in on what Kobayashi has just said. “Sir?” The word comes out sharper than intended.

“Akaryu Masaomi will most likely be executed in a week. The other dragons have clearly posed some sort of coup in order to overthrow his power and seize it for themselves. While there are other implications, I think the most pressing one is that the Red Dragon no longer has allies in the celestial administration. Perhaps he would not be opposed to having new ones.”

“Sir—Colonel—” Hinami bites her own stumbling tongue to keep from saying something stupid.

“I don’t think I need to tell you how powerful Akaryu is. He is a prodigy, even amongst his own kind. That is, perhaps, why they saw fit to get rid of him. He would be a very, very dangerous enemy for other dragons and right now he is not inclined to think favorably of them.”

“Akaryu Masaomi is evil,” Hinami finally blurts out, no longer able to restrain herself. “He’s a selfish, and cruel, and incapable of empathy. He would never fight on our side, and we couldn’t trust him even if he said he would. He—”

“You speak as if you know him,” Kobayashi says, his voice lifting to indicate the question.

Hinami stops talking. If she was in her true form, her ears would be flat against her head.

“Kitahara. Do you know the Red Dragon?”

She hunches her shoulders. “No.” But it’s too close to a lie, so she amends, “We met once. A long time ago. He didn’t leave a good impression.”

Kobayashi’s lips form a thin line, and he stares down at her disapprovingly. Perhaps because he can probably guess under what circumstances she might have encountered the Red Dragon. It looks like he is somewhat regretting bringing her into his confidence, which manages to make Hinami feel very ashamed of herself, even if she resolutely stands by her decision.

“I see. Would he remember you?”

“Most likely not,” Hinami snorts. “I doubt he remembers anyone beneath his notice.”

“I would not count on that. He is a genius, after all. Does he know you are a Magpie?”

“No.”

“Would he be particularly surprised at the revelation?”

“...Probably not. What are you—Kobayashi, if he is in prison, that is a good thing for us. We should be celebrating. Not—not whatever it is that you’re thinking.”

“And what is it that you think I am thinking?”

Hinami scowls and says, “I think you’re thinking about breaking him out of prison with hopes to enlist him as a Magpie rebel.”

“You’re wrong about that.” Hinami relaxes in relief for half a second before Kobayashi continues with, “I think you should break him out of prison, with hopes that we can enlist him as a Magpie rebel.”

There are probably a lot of things that could be said to that, but the first response that comes to her mind after a few minutes of dumb stupefaction is, “You’re insane.”

He arches a brow and she flushes, remembering that he is, in fact, her commanding officer, and that no matter how long she has known him, she probably shouldn’t be so familiar. But even given all that, she can’t bring herself to apologize for the statement. He is insane, if he thinks this is at all a reasonable idea.

“Kitahara,” Kobayashi says, his voice softening, as if they’re drinking at a bar in their off-hours. Usually the only time they drink together is when they’ve just lost another comrade. She can’t help but think the use of familiarity is a bad sign now. “Do you think we’re going to win this war?”

“Of course,” Hinami says, feeling gutted by the very question.

“Realistically speaking, this isn’t even a war. It’s a private rebellion against an authority that has already conquered the continent. The wars were already fought and won and we are one army with a network of rebels trying to overthrow a ruling system that’s deeply embedded in the very fabric of society. At the end of the day, one dragon will always be enough to fight off any given twenty rebels. More and more of us are dying. The very people whose rights we’re fighting for believe we’re wasting our time. Do you really think we have a chance of succeeding without stronger allies?”

Hinami swallows, and the lump in her throat is painful. She doesn’t lower her gaze, and she speaks as evenly as possible. “No matter the odds, I believe this is a fight worth fighting. I believe we can succeed.”

There is another pause, and perhaps he is thinking she is being naive. But instead he says, “I believe that we can as well. But we live in a godless land, Kitahara. There is no one who will answer our prayers, no one who will intervene with a miracle. And yet a miracle has happened anyway—the grand dragons have turned on one of their own. It would be foolish not to try to seize this opportunity. In a world without miracles, we must take every chance we can get to change our fate.”

A godless land. Hinami sits back in her chair, because talk of the gods and miracles always makes her think about her fathers. Her papa had said, The gods died so that we could live, Hinami. Isn’t every day a miracle, because of that? Except her papa hadn’t lived. Not nearly long enough.

Her papa, she thinks, would most likely have believed in seizing opportunities. Even if Hinami can’t quite bring herself to believe this is an opportunity, she can’t fault Kobayashi for having hope. “I think that you’re wrong about Akaryu Masaomi,” she says finally, keeping her voice flat. “But I support you. However, I don’t think I am the right person for this. Akaryu and I clashed once and didn’t get along. I doubt he would listen to what I have to say.”

“Yes, I somewhat wish I had known you two had already met. Kitahara, I must be frank with you. I don’t believe you’re the right person for this mission, either. You are too recklessly compassionate.”

Hinami pulls herself upwards, somewhat indignant from the accusation. What does that even mean?

Kobayashi raises a brow like he knows what she’s thinking. “You save everyone, no matter the circumstances. Which is an admirable personality trait, except when you’re on an important mission and have other obligations. If you’re to do this, you cannot get distracted by every person in distress.”

“I know how to do my duty,” Hinami says, except she knows that she has, in fact, been derailed from missions doing precisely what Kobayashi has described. On rather a lot of occasions. “Alright, fine. Then you’ve made my point for me. I’m not suited for covert extractions anyhow. Why send me?”

There is something about the way he looks at her that makes her think she isn’t going to like this answer. When he speaks, he says, “What is your name?”

“What?” Hinami blinks, confused.

“Sergeant Kitahara Hinami, what is your name?’

“You know my name, you just said—” then she stops, flushes, looks down at her hands for the first time in this conversation, and feels deeply ashamed.

“Exactly,” Kobayashi says, not unkindly, but not warmly either. “Your name is Kitahara Hinami and you’ve never once questioned that fact. You always know what name to say, when someone asks you. Your parents didn’t give you two names, one to write on your official certificates, and one to keep secret for a someday that might never exist.”

“You could have just said it’s because I’m a tiger,” Hinami says. “Although, there are other Magpies from the Sun Republic.”

“Some tsuchigumo and kappa and the like, yes. But you’re our only tiger, the only one from the upper divisions. You’re the only one who could walk straight into the dragon pavilions and no one would ever question whether or not you belong there. And, frankly, you’re the only one physically strong enough to fight your way out of trouble.”

You could, she doesn’t say, because that would be rude. Kobayashi is also the only one of his kind among the Magpies, and he could definitely hold his own against a dragon. He is also from the upper division species. But he’s right; he’s not from the Sun Republic, and he would draw attention in the dragon pavilions in a way that a tiger wouldn’t.

She isn’t who he would choose for this kind of mission, but she’s the only one who can do it.

Hinami has never been the kind of person who would refuse orders, so she already feels terrible for arguing about this so much. But she feels like she should at least point out, “I have no idea how to do this.”

Kobayashi doesn’t smile, but he relaxes somewhat, now that he knows she will do this. There is still a somberness about him as he says, “Neither do I. If you can’t get him out safely, then keep yourself safe. We can’t afford to lose you, Kitahara. All the same, try very hard to succeed. Because I don’t know how long we can keep up this rebellion without some kind of miracle.”

Shine the Brightest is the first book in The Magpie Chronicles. If you enjoyed, you can buy the novel here on Amazon!

#mikki writes #shine the brightest #the magpie chronicles #my writing #original fiction #self-promoting #adventures in self-publishing #akaryu masaomi #kitahara hinami

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grifalinas · 4 years ago

Text

Batter Up (working title) (Chapter 1)

-/-

“It will be good for you,” Raphael had said, and, “You should expand your horizons,” Raphael had said, and, “It will give you a chance to get out of the house,” Raphael had said, and finally, “You know I’m right.”

That last one had been the final nail in the coffin. She was right. She was always right. Infuriatingly so, but Samuel had trusted in her judgment for over twenty years and he wasn’t going to start questioning her now, not when everything else about his life was falling apart, anyway.

Which was how he found himself outside of a tiny little shop tucked practically into the alleyway between a half-dead bar on one side and what he suspected, from the stacks and stacks of books in the window and not down to any visible signage, was a used bookstore. There was smoke pouring out of the backdoor, yelling and barking, a smoke alarm going off, and a general sense of chaos hanging over the entire establishment.

Samuel sighed. What in the world had Raphael gotten him into?

Still, he was there for a reason, so he picked his way down the alley to the back door- barely wide enough to walk abreast, though he was a very broad man- and peered inside, immediately choking and waving away the smoke still pouring out. At least nothing seemed to be on fire; the oven was hanging open, still belching smoke, and a hunk of smoking charcoal in a baking tin sat on top of it. The smoke alarm was at a fever pitch now that he was actually near it.

He was interrupted from his musings by a gruff voice calling, “Eddie, have you figured out how to shut that damn alarm off yet? Take the batteries out if you gotta!”, followed by a much higher, equally loud voice hollering from the kitchen door, “I’m working on it Uncle Flint!!” accompanying the appearance of a little girl who couldn’t be more than twelve or so unless he missed his guess.

She froze at the sight of him, and then chirped, only just loud enough to be heard over the din, “Hello! Welcome to the Witch’s Cottage, where we sell baked goods and possibly coffee and don’t capture lost orphans to fatten them up as pie filling~”

A beat. She beamed up at him.

“...I wasn’t thinking that before, but now I am.”

“You weren’t?”

“No.”

“Because it’s the first thing I thought when Uncle Flint told us what he was gonna call his bakery. Are you sure you didn’t think it even a little?”

“It’s a reference to the story, right? The name? I didn’t assume it was meant to be taken literally.”

“Oh. Hmm.”

“...I’m Samuel Bassington? I’m here to see a Flint Meadow.”

“Oh!” She brightened again, and turned to holler over her shoulder, “UNCLE FLINT!! THE GUY IS HERE!! HE DIDN’T LIKE MY SLOGAN EITHER!!” She turned back to him. “We’re in the front while the kitchen clears out. If you’ll follow me?”

He nodded and made to follow, but paused before going farther to pop the battery out of the smoke alarm. Immediately the din dropped to a murmur; the beeping gone, the dog stopped barking, and the conversation in the other room, muffled but loud, dropped off as well. Eddie let out a sigh of relief as he finished following her into the main area of the shop.

There were two other people in the front of the shop as well, a scruffy, unkempt man with a permanent aura of disdain around him, and a tall, broad teenage boy that resembled him in a superficial sort of way.

“Uncle Flint, the guy is here,” Eddie repeated, and turned to do her due-diligence in introducing them, being the only one present acquainted with both. “Uncle Flint, this is Mr. Samuel Bassington. Mr. Bassington, this is my Uncle Flint, and my big brother Radley. And I’m Eddie. Oh!” She reached down and scooped up the dog- a blond terrier whose tail had not stopped swishing the entire time. “And this is Jock. Say hello, Jock.”

Jock yipped politely. Eddie beamed. Flint and Radley exchanged a look, and Flint moved forward with his hand outstretched.

“Good to meet you,” he said, holding the handshake for just a touch too long. There was a glint in his eye, like he was sizing Samuel up. “So… you’re gonna help me run my business, huh?”

“That’s what I was sent for. Raphael said you need some help with management? She said you were brilliant in the kitchen but just didn’t have the head for the business side of running a bakery.”

“That’s about the long and short of it,” Flint said. “Well, you didn’t run off when my beloved niece implied we were cannibals, so that’s either a good sign or a bad one- come on back into the office, we’ll talk shop.”

He turned toward the hallway on the opposite side of the shop from the kitchen, where a pair of doors led to the bathroom and to the office past that. Samuel noted with satisfaction that, if the office door were left open, the front door of the shop was visible, or would be once the boxes filling the shop currently were removed, and followed him in with a final-sounding click of the office door.

-/-

An hour later, Samuel had set terms on a contract agreeing to be store manager of The Witch’s Cottage, though it worked out more as a partnership once all was said and done. The contract would be signed later, when a witness could be procured; for now, Flint leaned back in his desk chair and studied Samuel rather openly.

“So why’d you agree to this, anyway? Raph said you needed a change of scenery but didn’t bother explaining why.”

Samuel shrugged. “You know how Raphael is, she doesn’t like telling someone else’s business.”

He considered the question a moment, trying to decide how to explain. There were plenty of explanations to choose from; he felt sometimes like he was buried under an avalanche of worries.

“My entire life is falling apart,” he said slowly, when he finally did answer. “I needed something that wasn’t going to follow suit. And I needed a new job, and Raphael suggested I could be of use to you, and that it would be good for me.”

Flint was nodded along, and now he brightened. “Well if your credentials are anything to go by, we can definitely use you. I just can’t wrap my brain around all this fiddly business stuff. I just wanna sell baked goods.”

“I’ll do what I can, then.”

This got a smile out of Flint, an almost dazzling one that felt to Samuel like he’d just been run through; he cleared his throat of a sudden blockage, and stood. “Would you mind showing me the store? I’d like to take stock of what work needs to be done to prepare for the grand opening.”

“Sure. There ain’t much to show, honestly…”

-/-

The tour was… revealing.

Flint and the kids (who lived with him? There was talk of a father, and a mention of Flint’s brother, no specification of them being the same; Samuel made a note to find out the specifics of their living arrangement later) had taken possession of the shop a week ago, and spent that scrubbing down the kitchen and store room; there was still the front room to be cleaned up, and a guy was coming tomorrow to hook up the register, and most of their equipment was in boxes around the front room and would have to be put away before the front room could be cleaned, and Flint had hoped the have the place presentable by the time the register hook up guy came around, and, oh, yeah, they had a delivery of ingredients coming tomorrow but the freezer didn’t work, they had a guy coming around to fix that tomorrow, too.

Samuel stared at Flint as he rattled off problem after problem in a vague sort of way that implied these things do happen sometimes, and finally came to a halt just past the doorway of the storeroom, stooped slightly to accommodate the low ceiling.

Not too low for most people, he supposed…

“We’ve got an awful lot of work to do,” he said.

Flint shrugged. “I’m sure all four of us pitching in can at least get the front room clear, and we can scrub it down in the morning.”

“Two,” Samuel corrected. “I’m still not cleared for heavy lifting, and Eddie is too young. There are child labor laws for a reason.”

“I’m fifteen!” Eddie protested. Samuel turned around to find both children peering around the storeroom at them.

“...you have to be sixteen to work here. And certain jobs you aren’t allowed to do until you’re eighteen. The law is very strict about this sort of thing, since you could easily get hurt.”

“Or burn down my kitchen,” Flint added, giving Eddie a pointed look. “Wish I’d known about that before, I coulda cut you off at the pass and saved some smoke damage.” He raised an eyebrow at Samuel. “What do you mean you’re not cleared for heavy lifting? You look like you could lift a horse.”

Samuel cleared his throat hastily. “I was… in an accident a while back, I’m still on medical restrictions for certain physical exertions.”

“Hrm.” Flint looked a little put out by that; Samuel suspected he’d been hoping he’d take on some of the workload, but he waved it away readily enough. “Fine, fine. Are you allowed to scrub? I can put you and Eddie cleaning up her mess in the kitchen while me and Rad start getting those boxes shifted. And don’t worry about child labor laws; I’m allowed to put my niece to work, especially since she’s just helping me get the store ready and not an actual employee.”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighed. “I’m not getting paid for this.”

“I let you live in my house and eat my food.”

“That’s not paying, you would do that anyway.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yes I do! You love us and also if you neglected us Dad would kick your ass when he got back into the country!”

“...I think scrubbing down the kitchen will be fine,” Samuel interjected before they could start arguing- they were already staring each other down, Eddie trying (and failing) to puff herself up to look bigger and more intimidating.

Mostly she just looked really cute. Samuel felt bad for the poor kid. If this was her at fifteen, she was going to have a babyface for life.

“I bet we finish before you do~” Eddie chirped, taking Samuel’s hand and pulling him back into the kitchen.

More out of surprise than anything, he allowed himself to be led, only to forget to duck under the doorway in his effort to keep up, and nearly concussing himself. He yelped, startled; Eddie squeaked out a frantic apology, and Samuel hastened to assure her it was fine, he was fine, he was extremely used to banging his head on doorframes, seriously, it’s fine, while somewhere near his feet, Jock started barking again.

And thus began Samuel’s first day as store manager at The Witch’s Cottage.

-/-

#batter up (working title)#i am resisting using all in the batter as a title but like #it's SUCH a good title i probably will anyway #also please don't reblog this!#just comments will suffice thank you

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inquartata30 · 4 years ago

Text

WIP Whenever Yet Again

tagged by @natsora so you know where the fault lies

tagging @fogsblue @joufancyhuh and @joking611 no obligations

Thaia had only been out of the bedroom for forty seconds. Forty. Forty seconds before the hiss of an object slicing through the air, a crack of impact, multiple thuds too light to be her children hitting the floor, a second of silence, and then:

“Uh-oh.”

More silence.

Thaia had just opened the pantry door in her hunt for a dinner idea. Rubbing the grit of exhaustion from her eyes—or trying to—Thaia looked over at her dad.

Sula, relaxing on the sofa with Aella in her arms, returned the look. “What you need to ask yourself right now is: do you really want to know?”

Thaia closed the pantry door. More chatter floated into the living room.

“Sucks to be you,” said Zahra.

“You were the one who spun her around,” said Anahera.

“She was the one who didn’t let go right away!”

“Personally, I would more than consider it,” Dr. Aridana said, sitting in an armchair and craning her neck to see down the hall.

Thaia briefly threw her hands in the air and went back to her bedroom.

They’d been fighting over Lexi’s pillow again, like they had every day for the past two days their truce over sharing it having lasted for a surprising total of four weeks. Anahera was sitting at the head of the bed and glaring at Zahra. There was a datapad testing on Thaia’s pillow next to her, and an empty space on her other side, where Lexi’s pillow was supposed to be. Carian stood at the far end of the room, near the closet, a hand covering her mouth and tears welled up in her eyes. On the opposite side of the room was Zahra, positioned directly in front of the right set of bookshelves, chin raised and defiant as fuck, Lexi’s pillow clutched tight against her chest. Someone was certainly pleased with her victory.

It wasn’t immediately apparent what had gone wrong, and none of them ventured an explanation of any sort.

For fuck’s sake.

“Is anyone hurt?” No one appeared to be, but she had to ask.

They all shook their heads.

Which didn’t guarantee they were free from injury. There’d been the incident when Anahera had gone two days without saying a fucking word about having whacked her forearm against a planter when she’d tripped and fell while running through a neighbor’s garden. Not until her arm’s mobility was limited did she say something, but made it absolutely clear she was still annoyed that her body hadn’t cooperated in shrugging off an injury. Even then, she had to be prompted by Lexi asking why she was using her left arm less.

On examination, Lexi had discovered a hairline fracture.

So, historically, a child of hers had broken an arm and not said shit about it. Luckily, they had a doctor around, and Thaia mentally checked the Tempest’s schedule for when she could call Lexi in case—

Lexi couldn’t.

A month and more had passed, yet waves still crashed into her without warning, salt washing through deep wounds, scrubbing them raw.

It felt like drowning.

Drowning where she couldn’t move her limbs anymore because she’d spent all her energy trying to stay above the surface, lungs heavy with water as she drifted down—no.

She couldn’t drown.

Thaia concentrated on the kids who needed her now more than ever. The kids she still had to be absolutely certain hadn’t been hurt. “You’re sure?”

More nods.

“Good.” She took a few steps into the room. “Anyone want to tell me what happened?”

“Not really, no,” said Zahra.

Thaia took another step inside and her height gave her a vantage point to see the the results of whatever battle had occurred. The model Destiny Ascension lay in scattered pieces behind Zahra. Each fin was snapped off, two of them shattered, and the main bulk of the ship had rolled to a stop against the bedside table.

Lexi had given her the Ascension, back when they were both in denial. It’d taken Thaia over a year to build because it reminded her too much about the family she’d lost. It seemed oddly appropriate it’d been their kids who’d broken it... somehow. She took a deep breath, surprised that she wasn’t upset. Well, she was annoyed that they’d been fighting again, but not at the possible the demise of the Ascension. Her daughters were more important.

Then Carian burst out, “I didn’t mean to!”

Thaia looked at her in shock, opened her mouth, and then closed it. With the exception of Aella, Carian was the last one Thaia would’ve named as the culprit. Carian loved the models. In addition, she was currently on the opposite side of the room and they hadn’t been playing skyball indoors—Thaia knew exactly what a thrown skyball sounded like, and the sound it made when it hit something other than a person. And there was literally no way it could’ve been biotics because they weren’t old enough for their nervous systems to produce enough of a charge to produce anything more than a faint corona only useful for showing when they were pissed off.

“How?” Thaia let all her incredulity show.

“You aren’t mad?” asked Zahra.

“Irritated that you were fighting again, but not mad about the Ascension. I’ve got glue.”

“I thought daddy gave that to you,” Anahera said quietly.

“She did, but she wouldn’t be...”

Fuck.

“She wouldn’t be mad,” Zahra finished for her.

“No. She’d be scanning you to make sure you were all telling the truth about not being hurt.”

Zahra and Carian both pointedly looked at Anahera.

She held up her hands, like Thaia had done earlier. “It was one time! And it was a hairline fracture!” She huffed and then retaliated by confirming the version of events given by her sisters. “They’re telling the truth. Carian technically did knock it down but Zahra’s the one who applied the physics.”

Thaia looked between Zahra and Carian again. “I’m still stuck on the how.”

Zahra sighed. “We were on the bed and fighting over who got Daddy’s pillow and she wouldn’t let go and I spun her around until she did let go. She’s fine but the omni flew off her wrist and hit the Ascension.”

“When did you get an omni?” Thaia asked Carian.

Carian‘s tears started falling.

Fuck.

Thaia looked at her two oldest. “Go find your granddad and Dr. Aridana and figure out dinner.” She pointed at Zahra. “Leave the pillow.” Anahera leapt off the bed and darted out the door. Zahra scowled, gently set the pillow on the bed, and then followed. The door closed behind them and Thaia scooped Carian up into her arms. At first, Thaia thought it’d be like at the field and Carian would want Lexi and Thaia would be useless. Instead, Carian threw her arms around her neck and buried her face in her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she said, muffled but intelligible.

“I’m not mad.” Thaia walked in small circles around the scant amount of open space in the room. She’d done it when Carian was a baby, the movement settling her more than the rocking her older sisters had preferred. It still did, though Thaia could feel dampness left in her shirt from Carian’s tears. She was crying hard enough that snot was a possibility. She’d never quite gotten over her kneejerk squeamishness when it happened.

“It’s just mucus. It isn’t going to hurt you.” A curl of amusement plying at the corner of her lips, Lexi hands Thaia a washcloth.

Thaia accepts it, but now that she’s out of Zahra’s sight, she makes a face. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t gross.”

The best Thaia had ever managed was not outwardly reacting for as long as a child was around to see it.

“Tell you what. If you promise not to glue yourself to anything, you can help me fix the Ascension.”

Carian’s head snapped up, eyes bright through the lingering tears. “Really?” Almost instantly, her chin began quivering again. “But I’m the one who broke it.”

“And when you break things, you’re supposed to fix them if you can. It isn’t our fault that we like to fix things.“

It almost worked. Carian looked down at her hand still firmly grasping Thaia’s shirt. “What about your omni that I took?”

“What do you mean? It’s right here on my wrist.”

She shifted in Thaia’s arms and pointed at the floor in front of the bookshelf. “Over there.”

That somewhat began to explain Zahra’s mention of an omni, though it still didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

Thaia transferred Carian to her other arm and inspected the scene of the crime.

Alerted to its presence, she immediately noticed one of her old omni-tools amongst the wreckage. Then the sequence of events became clear. The omni sized for an adult wrist had been on Carian’s wrist, where she would’ve been lucky if it hadn’t immediately fallen off the moment she moved her arm. When Zahra had let go, physics had launched the too big omni-tool right off Carian’s wrist, turning it into a missile. The Ascension had been an unfortunate bystander, nothing more.

“You’re not in trouble, I promise,” she said gently to her daughter. “However, I’m really curious about why you were wearing it.”

Afflicted by a case of the post-cry hiccups, Carian’s answer took a while to get completely out. “I wanted an omni like you have.”

Well, that was easily dealt with. “We can get you your own. You’re old enough. A children’s one that fits so it won’t accidentally turn into a torpedo.”

“No.” Another hiccup interrupted Carian and she scowled, an adorable scrunch on the bridge of her nose. “I wanted one of yours, so I could... so I could be like you.”

Thaia wasn’t drowning anymore, even with after wave crashed into her, filling her chest with the same rush of love she’d felt when Lexi had carefully passed to her the newly born Carian to hold for the first time. So small she’d hardly been bigger than Thaia’s hand. Now it was all sixteen kilograms and one hundred and five centimeters of her she held as tightly as she dared.

#tag meme #tessera au #tessera: the darkest timeline #ow ow it's a good thing fictober's right around the corner

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years ago

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Face Off || Morgan & Cece

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @thebickedwitchoftherest & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Cece go digging for buried witchy treasure. Cece faces more than she bargained for.

CONTAINS: gun (salt rounds, not fired), shenanigans

Blanche had told Morgan that having an object, especially one belonging to the spirit in life, might help the seance go better. Morgan knew from the summoning that bones would probably be the most ideal if there was such a thing, but the idea of planning a trip to Texas ahead of the one she had already scheduled between the anniversaries of her parents’ deaths was more than she could bear. The next best thing? Finding Agnes Bachman’s trove of witchcraft. “So, fun fact, I actually tried to dig this up before, but I got attacked by some wild vampires and had to hole up in that shack until dawn,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Cece. “But that’s why we’re coming back here in broad daylight! Besides, I think this is still sort of on my property line?” She gestured to the pile of rubble around across the street and the brown, barren field between it and where they stood in the Bend, shovels in hand, beneath a suspiciously robust tree. Morgan tried to run the distance measurements in her head. “Maybe not, but that’s gonna be our story if anyone comes asking. But, you know, probably not.” She stuck the shovel into the ground with her foot, pleasantly surprised when it broke the ground with ease. Zombie strength had its advantages sometimes. “So, how’ve you been?”

Drinking and researching a stolen box with Morgan? A-okay. Breaking into a woman’s home to steals some books? Great time. But Cece might have to draw the line at the physical labor. It wasn’t the trespassing on property or potential danger. It wasn’t even the casual mention of vampires attacking Morgan the last time she was here. It was mostly just the digging that Cece wasn’t up for. “We tend to break the law whenever we hang out now,” Cece mentioned, digging her own shovel into the ground and leaning against it, “Not complaining. Just a fun observation. Girls really do just want to have fun apparently.” While digging holes wasn’t one of those things that Cece considered to be much fun, the promise of some sort of buried treasure had certainly piqued her interest. “Aside from the whole being blown up in a Morgue thing, worse than that is dealing with Regan’s replacement.” Cece made fake vomiting noises for far longer than necessary and then forced herself to recompose, “Otherwise I am freaking phenomenal. Clearly you’re living your best life. Loving the Holes vibes that we have going on. So what exactly are we here for today?”

“I heard about that,” Morgan said, wincing. “Regan’s just having a time and a half right now. Hopefully it’ll just, you know, be temporary. Haven’t heard any stories about the new boss, though. Is he, what? Evil? Creepy? Mean? What’s the likelihood of your being able to hex him without him noticing? I put a monkey’s paw on Eye of Newt for a little while, and that was pretty fun.” She reached into her bag and passed Cece a thermos of mulled cider. She could see how, well, not well her share of the digging was going, and aside from the magic ability and know how to work on identifying their finds, Morgan had mostly asked her along for the company. “Here. Have some of this and sit back, I think it only takes one gal to dig a hole. When she’s dead anyway.” Morgan stuck her shovel in deeper, flinging dirt behind her. “And we’re after great great grandma Agnes’ trove of magic. She left home with one bag after the curse started taking her family, which means everything in her trove got left behind in good ol’ White Crest.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Mostly, I want something special of hers for a seance, but it’s gonna be pretty neat to see what kind of stuff she used for her magic back in olden times, right?”

“No, god, even worse.” Cece rolled her eyes. Rickers was the last thing she needed to talk about. “I can handle evil or creepy. He’s way too personable. Keeps telling me about his grandkids. It’s insufferable.” Usually, Cece welcomed casual conversation of any kind. She was a social creature after all, she liked the company of others. But something about that man made her want to jump into a river. “I could hex him so easily. He’s so gullible. Moron.” She wasn’t about to let Rickers ruin the fun though, and instead focused on Morgan’s time with Eye of Newt, “Amazing. I love being friends. Do I mention that enough?” Cece questioned, taking the thermos that Morgan passed over and taking a long sip of the alcoholic beverage. “So you’re saying you just want me to sit back, drink and chat? You get me, Morgan.” Cece happily obliged, leaning back against the grass and watching Morgan use that superhuman strength to dig holes deeper into the ground with a certain fascination. She had always wondered what having super strength must be like. Sounded dope. “Good ol Gram? Let’s hope she left behind something fun. Can’t say that I’d be thrilled about finding some magically glued dentures or alchemical ointment for her joint pain.”

“I love being friends with you too,” Morgan said, smiling bright. There was a certain specific ease with Cece that was hard to articulate to others. Their magic philosophy was different, but neither of them took themselves so seriously that it was a problem. And sharing a lack of compunctions about the law and uses of violence to get out of tight spaces was more important between friends who wanted to stay honest with each other. Morgan wasn’t even sure if Cece had a judgemental bone in her body, except for, you know, reckless cruelty like any halfway decent not-fae. But Morgan’s harm ritual wasn’t reckless. She was full of very specific intent, and every care was being taken. And giving Agnes closure with the news she was deviating the woman who’d condemned her to a painful death? Made for some very thoughtful icing on the cake. “Oh, it gets better than that,” Morgan said, grinning as she shoveled back more dirt. “She was just in her twenties when she left home. So this should hopefully have all the fun shit. Well, whatever fun amounted to in the 1890’s. Maybe it’ll be magic ointment for that poofy old-timey hair. Or old beauty charms? I’d love to see what baby witches got up to back then, like what was magic education even like then?”

Cece liked thinking about witches throughout the years. There was something fascinating about studying how witches evolved with the rest of the times, as well as how spells did. If spellcasters were ever a legitimate field of study, Cece might actually consider going back to school. For now, she’d have to settle through learning about magic through any witches she knew with a long line of witches in her family. “Great question. Can’t say that my witchy upbringing was exactly conventional. If my parents were spellcasters, being adopted didn’t exactly help me learn about it as a kid.” Cece had of course wondered what life might have been like had she actually grown up learning about magic from a young age. “My first exposure was from a coven. A very non-traditional one.”

“Your coven wasn’t with your parents?” Morgan asked curiously. She’d heard them mentioned in passing enough times that she’d just assumed it was at least partially a family thing. Morgan started digging, stopped, and looked at Cece quizzically again. “Wait, so you are this good without having to study your whole life?” She shovelled a few more times. “Jeez, are you some kind of magic prodigy?” She had a decent sized hole going. A few more feet deeper and she’s start spreading outward and--clang! Morgan grinned. “I guess this means you get to pick a prize from grandma’s treasure box. At least something in here should go to someone who can actually use it. But holy shit, Cece. I know I say this a lot when you’re doing me favors, but you’re seriously amazing.” She started working double time until the trunk, just as impressive as you would expect from your average 19th century well-to-do family. Morgan pulled it free just with brute zombie strength and dragged it up from the hole. It was heavy, “Now, before I literally jinx myself, do you think you can run something on this baby to dispel any magic seals and protection? As my ancestor, I’m fairly confident she wouldn’t throw this in the ground without protections.”

Cece shook her head, “Nope. My adopted parents had no clue about my witchy background. I didn’t figure out until like sixteen.” Cece shrugged. She had never considered herself to be uncommonly talented when it came to magic. She was aware that she was able to take care of herself under stressful circumstances but the thought never went much further than that. “Very funny,” Cece let out a sarcastic laugh, “I’m hardly a prodigy. The nice thing about moving around with a travelling coven is that I got to learn from all kinds of witches that specialized in different things. Plus being around nothing but other witches all the time gave me lots of chances to practice.” Morgan finally found the box she had been digging for and pulled it easily from the ground. It landed on the grass with a loud thud and Cece whistled, “Damn girl, those muscles though.” Cece sat up and eyed the box. It was larger than Cece thought it was going to be. Honestly, she was pretty curious about what was inside. “Let me take a peak and see what I can sniff out” Cece rubbed her hands together and crawled over to the box, rubbing her palm across it and feeling the magical energy emanating from it. “There’s definitely something going on here. Give me a few minutes to try to get rid of it.”

Morgan was familiar with the number of ways you could talk small magic into showing itself. In another life, her old life, she would’ve offered some ground thistle and raw energy to do it herself. But Cece had a home brew with the stuff she needed. A little Latin later, the potion absorbed into the wood, and the lock, apparently just an illusion, disappeared from sight. “I know you’re not a coven gal anymore, Cece, but I’d do you a solid anytime if you asked.” Out of habit, fae promise, rose to her lips, casual and earnest, but somewhere on its way up her throat, Morgan remembered Chloe in Lydia’s basement and swallowed her words back down, feeling sick.

A layer of dry flowers and fragrant herbs coated the items. Morgan had to sweep them all away to get to the rest. There were some things she expected, such as a handwritten grimoire, and some she didn’t, like an old party dress and petticoats. Morgan didn’t know anything about enchanting textiles, but she set them carefully aside just in case. They must have mattered to Agnes in order to be included in her trove. Beneath this were more papers, some torn from other books, ink and fountain pens, a few alchemical circles painted crudely on tanned hides, and a lot of jewelry and talismans. “So, she’s my great great grandma, so I get the pretty dress and the books, but you, my wonderful partner in crime, can pick something you like from the rest. I still haven’t thanked you for helping me go against that murder alchemist, so don’t be shy.”

As Morgan looked through the chest, Cece eyed the contents from far away. The chest’s magic had been strong, so it made sense to think that whatever was inside had been valuable to her grandmother. As far as Cece was concerned, that all belonged to Morgan. But aside from a few off limits items, Morgan seemed to think otherwise. “You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you could find some use for them. Somewhere.” But even as she said the words she slid closer to get a better peak at the contents. She pulled out a few things, including a vial of liquid that glowed a bright red color, “Hm. This is peculiar” Cece questioned, holding it up against the sun. She felt a prickling against her fingertips from holding the bottle. She eventually decided to uncap the thing, sniffing at its contents and jolting from the sudden sensation. “Hm. That shit is strong. Wonder what this stuff does?”

Morgan was flipping through the books, unable to resist the urge to find something interesting. She had to remind herself that it was all useless to her, pure sentimental and academic value, but even the method of preserving alchemical circles was fascinating. What did they use the hides for? Practice? Regular exercise? Were there research experiments in here like what Ruth had done? There were notes and letters in here too, some written in a kind of code, others in Latin. Looking at all of this, Morgan realized she didn’t actually know Agnes Bachman at all. She was the family scapegoat, but she was also just a girl when she left all this stuff behind, too terrified of being the cause of her family’s suffering to stay another year. Poor thing, she didn’t realize that Constance had covered them all. She hadn’t needed to make herself alone on top of everything else. “What did you find? Anything good?” She looked over her shoulder and— “What the fuck, who the hell are you!” She fell back with shock and fumbled for her salt pistol, aiming it at the stranger. Morgan hadn’t even heard her approach. It had to look enough like a normal one to keep the stranger stalking them on her toes, right? “Where’s my friend? What is—Cece! Cece!”

Bored with whatever the liquid was, Cece discarded it back into the pile of unclaimed goodies and moved on to see what else Agnes had to offer. Cece realized that aside from the fact that they had been spellcasters and the curse, she didn’t know all that much about Morgan’s family. Learning a bit about her family through these belongings was more interesting than Cece would be willing to admit without a few drinks. Way too sentimental. She heard Morgan from over her shoulder and didn’t even look back as she began answering, “I don’t know what a lot of it is actually. I’ll need to do some-” she was cut off by her friend’s scream. Morgan was freaking out, tumbling backwards and pulling a fucking gun on her? “What the fuck Morgan? What do you mean who am I? Why do you have a gun pointed at me!” Cece waved her hands wildly, half up in the air in surrender and half accusingly towards Morgan. “Your friend is right here, wondering if she’s about to get capped by a dead girl! You suddenly lose vision or something?”

Morgan scrambled to her feet, still holding out the salt pistol with trembling hands. The woman was middle aged, wild eyed, and a heck of a lot taller than Cece had ever been. She wasn’t sure where she got off trying to pretend they were one and the same. Her angular features had none of Cece’s stubborn charm. They gave the woman a look that was off-kilter even unnerving as she waved her arms around and cried out in her raspy voice. “I am not kidding, whatever magic bullshit you did, some summoning trick, o-or—I don’t know! But you aren’t keeping her!” Morgan shouted I am not losing one more friend to my personal bullshit, you got it? You—” It came on her slowly: the woman’s clothes looked a little like Cece’s but also...not. And she had Cece’s keychain, and there was a bottle at her feet, not quite close right, dripping slowly into the ground. Morgan slowly lowered her pistol, not quite ready to give up the pretense. “If you’re really Cece, then how do we know each other?” She asked.

Something was wrong. Whether that something was with Morgan or with Cece herself was still unclear. Cece stood up, Morgan backing away again but not moving the pistol from it’s target. “Can you point the gun away from me? This isn’t the Wild West.” Though something was clearly off, Cece hadn’t pieced it together yet. For whatever reason, Morgan seemed to think Cece wasn’t who she claimed to be. Was there some illusion? Cece stared at her hands, vaguely aware that something seemed different but realizing that she didn’t look at her hands enough to realize what the difference might be anyways. “How do we know each other? I didn’t know I was signing up for a pop quiz tonight.” Cece laughed, but clearly Morgan wasn’t joking, “Former roomies, forever besties, current hostage.” Cece quipped, “Care to tell me what the hell is going on?”

Morgan lowered the salt pistol, her face melting, touched. “Aw, you consider us besties?” Her face twisted into an expression of cringe. On Cece, that was endearing. On a crazed woman who looked like she was nearing fifty, it was a little...odd. Maybe sad. Morgan tried to find the words to explain to her friend how bewildering this looked from her perspective. Whose face was this? How did Cece change her face and not...know. “Okay, okay…” she started, tucking her pistol away. “Uh, fun fact, the pistol is salt rounds only. I just, you know, couldn’t be too careful. Also: what happened to your face! I said you could take something home, not give yourself a weird makeover!” She fumbled for her phone, still keeping her distance in case this was all a trick and she was just being stupid and gullible. “You did something!” She put the selfie camera on and held it out for Maybe-Cece to see. “A very, very weird something! Are you...mind or body swapped? Are you glamoured into one of my dead relatives? You aren’t really...I mean, look! What would you think if you were me!”

“Of course I do. There’s not many others I’ve broken into a house and been held at gunpoint at!” Despite the awkwardness of currently being held at gunpoint, Cece couldn’t stop the lilt in her voice as she confirmed that the two were basically besties. They had been through quite a bit considering they hadn’t known each other at the beginning of the year. “Well I actually do feel marginally better knowing I would have only gotten blasted with salt. Thank god I’m not a ghost.” Cece laughed, taking steps closer to Morgan following the whole debacle. “I didn’t do anything! Just rooted around in your grandma’s chest and-” Cece stopped talking when Morgan offered her phone camera towards her and Cece got a look at who was showing up on the screen. Except this was very clearly not Cece. “What the fuck?” Cece jumped back, visibly shaken for the first in what felt like a truly long time. “Who the fuck am I? Why the fuck do I look like this?” Cece began rubbing her hands against her arms, chanting a dispelling glamour effect to herself and then looked back at the camera. Nothing. “Why isn’t it going away!?”

Morgan’s face quirked into a smile. She wasn’t as vulnerable or demonstrative with Cece as she knew she could’ve tried to be. Cece was just so breathtakingly together and at ease with whatever chaos came her way, like it was no more than a fly she could spike out of her sphere with a swipe of her hand. However much she accepted the mess Morgan dragged them into, Morgan worried the limit of ‘too much’ was just around the corner. But here they were, standing over a hole in the middle of the woods with a salt pistol and dug up treasures and a haywire spell between them—and still friends. “Ghost, creepy middle aged lady, whatever comes next, I’m still glad we’re friends,” Morgan said.

But, obviously, Cece being her friend as Cece was probably best. “Idea one: this is some weird subconscious thing and you’ve got some stuff about your age or your size to deal with. Idea two: you are wearing the face of one of my dead relatives, or their neighbors, or...something. But either way, there’s a solution! We just don’t know it yet. But we will and you will look...w-well, you don’t look bad, really, when you, uh, think about it, but just more...you.” She winced and came around the side of the hole to offer Cece a hug.

Morgan offered a list of options to Cece, who hated all of them. “Definitely not subconscious. I accepted my height many years ago.” Cece waved the first away but backtracked, “That being said. I get that objectively I’m not that tall still but I do feel like a tall glass or water.” The second option seemed likely. Perhaps it was a type of hex that was put on something she had touched by Morgan’s grandma. If that was the case it was some bullshit hex. “Well either it’s a strong ass hex or some new type of magic I haven’t worked with before.” That frustrated Cece more than the hex itself. She could handle looking like this Milf. What she didn’t like was not knowing how to fix it immediately. Morgan came around for a hug and as their arms wrapped around each other Cece smiled, “You know we’re kind of like the same height now.”

“You do have the energy of a tall woman, I guess it’s just a little closer to being official now,” Morgan said with a smirk. “You’ve got, what, a whole inch on me now?” She raised her hand to touch the top of Cece’s head, fluffing some of the brown hair falling in front of her face. “Stars, if you are wearing one of my ancestors’ faces, does this make you like a temporary cousin? Temporary grandma?” She smirked at the idea. “Sorry. Let’s take everything and hit the books at your place, huh? Do some old fashioned trial and error experimenting. Whatever’s going on, we’ll figure it out.”

Though her head was still spinning at the prospect of looking twice her actual age, Cece tried to compose herself. This had been the most flustered she had allowed herself to be for many, many years. She had no interest in completely losing her cool. Morgan was right, they would fix this. Eventually. Maybe it had a time limit, and Cece would simply wake up in a day or two back to her old, blonde self. In the meantime, how was she supposed to explain this to her roommates? “That’s a good start. Whatever’s going on, I clearly don’t have nearly enough alcohol in my system to deal with it.” Right about now Cece was sure that she had far too much blood in her alcohol system. Depending on how long this lasted, it might be time for a never ending party. “I like to think I just became your cool aunt. I think the moniker suits me.”

#wr cece #wr chatzy #wr cece chatzy #face off #gun tw #wickedswriting

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fandomshatelgbtqpeople · 4 years ago

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mod a’s lgbt musicals

Hi there! I’m a big theatre kid so I thought for pride month I’d put together a list of LGBTQ musicals. Despite its association with queer people, musical theatre is not known for its amazing representation. I’ve put together a list here of musicals I know of with queer characters. I’ve tried to avoid those where the queer characters are incredibly minor roles or those where the representation is just not good enough to be salvageable (*side eyes Legally Blonde*) I know there are many musicals I will have missed out but these are the ones I am most aware of. Feel free to add more! So without further ado, here it is.

Fun Home

The big Tony winner of 2015! Based on Alison Bechdel, a butch lesbian cartoonist. At the age of 43, she looks for new material by trying to explore her past and her relationship with her closeted gay dad. Looks back at a version of herself when she was 10 and a “tomboy” and at 19 when she came out and got her first girlfriend. Has very cute lighthearted moments as well as very sad moments. Has a beautiful song where small Alison sees a butch deliverywoman. Problems in that since the original broadway cast, Alison’s costume has got less butch. Content warning for suicide.

Here’s their Tony performance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pMAuesRJm1E

The Color Purple

Based on Alice Walker’s novel about black women in the 1930s. Follows Celie who has been abused by men her whole life who discovers she is a lesbian but also makes a journey of self discovery and learns to love herself. Her love interest is a bisexual woman. Won best revival at the Tonys in 2016. Content warning for discussion/implied sexual abuse.

Here’s their Tony performance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3k2xzQyT2bk

Everybody’s Talking About Jamie

A teenage gay boy in Sheffield wants to be a drag queen and go to prom in a dress.Also a nice touch that is does not focus on him having a relationship (since he is sixteen) and him having to come out as he is already out. Focuses on his close relationship with his supportive mother. Has a diverse cast. Jamie is currently played by a black actor and his best friend wears a hijab and has a very diverse ensemble as well. Unfortunately has a part where Jamie responds to a homophobic bully by calling him a bunch of ableist and classist slurs.

Here’s a clip of the most popular song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M7C3FuFWDdw

The Prom

Emma is a lesbian teenager in Indiana whose prom is cancelled by the PTA after she requests to bring her girlfriend to it. A group of Broadway actors come down to help her campaign to be allowed to attend prom, as well as styling her, helping her work on her confidence and educating the town’s people. What ensues is basically a two hour musical episode of Queer Eye. Cheesy and fun with so many musical theatre references crammed in. My one issue is that the show is rather harsh on people who are closeted since Emma has conflicted with her girlfriend Alyssa because she is not ready to come out.

Here’s a clip of their Tony performance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lGcG_r5xv3E

Rent

Probably the most well known on this list. Artists in New York during the AIDS crisis. Two of the main couples featured are queer: Maureen is bisexual and in a relationship with Joanne who is a lesbian, and Angel is a transgender woman of color in a relationship with Collins, a presumably bisexual man. However, she tends to be played bi cis men and there are instances of her being misgendered by the main characters uncritically. In Rent Live (2019), all instances of her being misgendered were removed and her gender identity was confirmed. She was played in this by Valentina, an nb drag queen and has also been played by Pose’s MJ Rodriguez, a trans woman. Very diverse with Jewish characters and people of colour and in the live show, only 1 of the 8 main characters was white. Has been criticised over the years, mainly for its biphobic portrayal of Maureen who is promiscuous and implied to cheat, but in the 90s did a lot for the LGBTQ community and is more progressive than a lot of media even now.

Here’s a clip of Maureen and Joanne from Rent Live: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=06oCfKYYPTY

And here’s some Angel and Collins: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_hl-M94o_x8

Falsettos

Marvin comes out as gay in the late 70s but decides to move his ex wife and son in with his boyfriend. Addresses AIDS crisis in Act 2. Has “lesbians from next door” in act 2. F Revived on Broadway in 2016. All of the characters are Jewish. Unfortunately, in revival casts, very few actors tend to be Jewish.

Here’s the trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZjnAHOdMQVk

Come From Away

In the aftermath of 9/11, 38 planes are diverted to a small town in Canada called Gander. Shows people of different races and nationalities bonding in a scary time. Addresses Islamophobia. Has one song called Prayer where prayers from different religions overlap. Has an interracial gay couple called Kevin and Kevin. They break up in the end but are very important characters. Won best direction of a musical in 2017. The Broadway production starred Jenn Colella who has referred to herself as ‘mostly gay’.

Here’s a clip of Jenn Colella singing a song from the musical: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q8ukgH6U-d0

Head Over Heels

Honestly I don’t quite know what this musical is about, even by reading the plot summary and listening to the soundtrack. I know it’s set in a Tudor fantasy world and that there are wlw couples as well as an explicitly non binary character, played by Peppermint, a trans woman, and that there are interracial couples and plus sized actors. It is a jukebox musical using songs by the Go-Gos and yes the wlw anthem that is Heaven is a Place on Earth is one of them. The soundtrack is fantastic even if you can’t follow what is going on.

Here are some show clips: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wx2qQ7QAPm0

Spring Awakening

German school kids in the 19th century discovering their sexuality. Two of the schoolboy supporting characters, Ernst and Hänschen, have a romance when they have a reprise of an earlier song in Act 2. A BIG content warning as it has graphic discussions of rape and songs about it and a sex scene with very dubious consent. However there was a very wonderful 2016 revival using deaf actors and sign language.

This is another one you can very easily find the full show of on YouTube which I won’t link. However here’s the Tony performance for the revival: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CSagsMcak4Q

If/Then

A woman named Elizabeth (originally played by Idina Menzel) moves to New York after a divorce and contemplated how different her life would be if she took two different paths. Four supporting queer characters. Her ex-boyfriend is bisexual and played by Anthony Rapp (who is bisexual in real life) and he gets a boyfriend in one timeline. Another of her friends is a lesbian called Kate who marries her girlfriend in the musical. Problems occur as in both timelines, cheating goes on in the lesbian relationship although they stay together in one. Elizabeth also says she doesn’t believe in bisexuals, a view no one ever challenges her on, however Lucas is very clearly bisexual which is some proof for the audience that she is wrong.

I’m not going to link it here but there are many very high quality bootlegs on it on YouTube if you want to watch,

Ghost Quartet

A bit of a weird one. This is more of a concept album. There are four performers who each play instruments and they tell the stories of many interconnected timelines. It is very hard to explain but there are souls travelling through time who keep being reincarnated as different people with different relationships to each other which usually end with one woman killing the other. In the song Soldier & Rose, the ghosts Rose and Pearl are lovers as Rose seduces the soldier for her honey. In the song Four Friends, for one chorus the men sing “I like to put my hand on a pretty girls’s knee” and the women sing “pretty boy’s knee” and then they switch for the next chorus so they’re all bisexual. In general, a lot of fun if you like weird musicals and I mean really weird.

The full show is online: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dJSaEJm8pCE

Mean Girls

Yes there’s a musical of it. I was not looking forward to it when it was announced but have actually grown to quite like it. It’s hardly lyrical genius but the songs are fun and a lot of the problematic aspects of the film have been fixed. Damian is more explicitly gay in the musical and sings about an ex boyfriend in one song. Janis is heavily implied to be a lesbian (confirmed by actress offstage) and she doesn’t end up with Kevin Gnapoor. She is played by a queer actress in the tour cast. Both queer characters are much bigger roles than in the movie and get several songs each. I’d consider the musical to be quite white feminist but it does address issues such as the sexualisation of teenage girls and the notion that to be ‘sexy’ is ‘empowering’.

Here’s a clip of one of Damian’s songs: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x-zM6QKkxEQ

& Juliet

An English jukebox musical about what might have happened to Juliet in Romeo and Juliet if she had not died at the end. I haven’t seen it but I’ve listened to the soundtrack and it is mainly comprised of 21st century songs by women. One of Juliet’s best friends is non binary although is played by a cis man as far as we know. Also I went to the same school as one of the actors which is a bonus for me. Very diverse cast.

Here’s a trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dm2k9nS3o20

In Transit

A capella musical about several people’s adventures on New York public transport. Two of the main characters in this ensemble cast are an interracial gay couple where both are pocs. They are engaged but one of them is having trouble coming out to his mother. I found it refreshing in that his fiance for the most part was not upset with him at his struggles in coming out and they were both able to live fulfilling lives despite this. I am always astonished by the talent of a cappella singers.

Here’s a trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zhvik6qoass Another one where the bootleg can be found very easily on YouTube

Firebringer

Remember A Very Potter Musical? Well, the company that did that are still putting out new pieces of theatre on their YouTube channel. In 2016, they put out their ridiculous comedy musical Firebringer, about a group of bisexual cavewomen. I won’t spoil the ending but trust me, it’s great. You may know it from the viral clip of one of the main characters singing ‘I don’t really wanna do the work today.’

You can watch the full musical here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZmVuNlu0LCk

Special Mentions

Company

Musical by Stephen Sondheim about a man unable to commit to a relationship, surrounded by his friends who are all in couples. However, the award-winning 2018 West End revival chose to change the genders of some of the characters. The main character Robert became ‘Bobbie’ (although all of her love interests were gender-swapped as well). One of the originally M/F couples became an M/M couple. It opened on Broadway for about a week before the Covid outbreak so that will be one to look out for.

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OtDK03y4gT0

In the Heights

A musical by Lin-Manuel Miranda about the Latin American community living in Washington Heights in New York. The original theatre production has no explicitly queer characters. However, in the upcoming movie version (that was meant to be released this summer but has been pushed back to next summer) it has been confirmed that the characters of Daniela and Carla (Daphne Rubin-Vega and Stephanie Beatriz) will be explicitly a couple.

I absolutely love this musical and the trailer for the movie looks beautiful check it out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U0CL-ZSuCrQ

#mod a #musicals #theatre #lgbtq rep

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