#first off rest in peace your book 11

[tanjaded]

One of the best youjo senki comics I've seen the vibes are immaculate

can you guess what tragedy has befallen my copy of youjo senki book 11

[after-witch]

Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: Mahito doesn't like that you have an interest in a book character.

Word count: 1787

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of other people being tortured/killed, supreme self indulgence of the highest order

“Who is the smiling man?” 

The silence that had existed between the two of you was broken by a question that made you flinch. Well, why not? Mahito has been quiet all morning--and afternoon, actually, which perhaps should have startled you more than his sudden words. 

But you were too happy to enjoy some quiet (you would never say “peace and quiet,” not down here, not with him); all too happy to curl up in your haphazard nest on the floor with some books that took  you away from this place. Away from Mahito.

Who was, of course, still here. Lounging in his hammock with a pile of books sagging down the netting. 

You couldn’t tell exactly what he was reading from down here--you probably needed new glasses, a subject you were certainly not going to bring up with Mahito, who might reiterate his offer to “fix” your eyes. It looked like a bundle of pages stapled together. Maybe he went to the library and printed off obscure articles to read again. 

“Hey,” he calls down, and the first hint of worry begins to prickle on your arms at his uncharacteristically serious tone, “Answer me.”

Your mind stutters, tries to put one word in front of the other, and make sense of it all. 

The smiling man? The smiling man, the… ah. From Small Spaces. The otherworldly supernatural entity who lives in a world behind mist and has a penchant for making deals with people for their greatest wishes. 

It’s not your fault that you haven’t thought about him in ages. It’s not like you had copies of your books with you, and the fun you had with imagining him in an endless number of scenarios had fallen by the wayside considering your circumstances. 

It’s hard to daydream about worlds behind mist and cornfield servants when you’re watching people be turned into grotesque experiments that had them, sometimes quite literally and loudly, begging for death.

Mahito is looking down at you now, staring expectantly. 

“He’s a character,” you say, fidgeting on the floor. “From a book series.” You look down, flip a page in your book, although you haven’t finished reading the last one, and ask, casually as you can muster: “Why?”

Mahito, up above, flips a page. You can hear the wobble in the paper--not a bound book, that’s for certain. And there’s some low, primal sense that shivers through you which says, plainly, that he’s actually reading whatever’s in front of him. 

“You write about him a lot.”

Oh.

Low, slimy dread filters into your stomach. Thick and gelatinous, resting at the bottom of your belly like an unwanted slug. 

“I… don’t know what you mean,” you say, voice only half-there, because while you are apparently stupid enough to lie to Mahito’s face, you’re not stupid enough to think he’ll believe you. 

You are just stupid enough to think that he won’t know exactly how deep your interest in this particular character goes; before Mahito took you, you thought about him all the time. You’d take walks and daydream about him, write story after story; you’d even commissioned fanart of him, because it wasn’t like there was a plethora of fanart for a character from a middle grade horror book. 

Mahito huffs out a sigh. Quick and short, it sends a shock right down your stomach. 

“Get you a man,” he starts, and confusion buzzes through your brain until he continues. “Who is an otherworldly entity that is so petty when an 11 year old beats him that he traps her in another world, leaving her to a fate worse than death, and laughs until he cries about it.”

You wrote that. There’s a vague memory of when you posted it--after you’d taken a walk, you think, and reread your favorite parts in the books for a few hours. But the way Mahito says it makes it sound--you don’t know how to explain it. Like saying the words out loud almost pains him; they come out clipped and bitter. 

Bitter? But why?

He doesn’t stop there. He reads something else, voice getting higher, almost mocking the way you talk. And that bitterness is still there, a thread continuing through every syllable.

“What if we kissed in the corn maze before you turned me into a scarecrow servant whose soul slowly gets dried out and useless and in the end you feed it, crunchy and tasteless, to your hellhound.” 

He takes a breath. Then--

“One particular aspect of the Smiling Man’s cruelty that I truly adore is that he can make people feel understood. He can make them feel like he cares, like he’s lending a listening ear, like he’s wanting to help them out and make them feel nice.”

Another breath--and he continues, again and again, reading your posts. Quoting your stories. Listing off the titles, the imagine posts, everything you’ve said about him.

All the while, bitter and mocking, his voice raising now and then in an imitation of your own. 

Then he gets to the last page of his clearly self-created tome and stares down at you, waiting, expectant. 

And you… you actually glare up at him. 

Because you're scared, sure. You’re always scared in some way, when you’re with Mahito. But there’s something else too, something that digs its way out of the rot in your gut and sticks up a petulant middle finger.

How dare he do this. How dare he take something that was yours and make it his; put it in his mouth and sneer over it. 

“Have you been--” Your mouth sticks together, refusing to let you accuse him of what you know he’s been doing. Stalking your online profiles. “That’s… that’s private,” is what you finally mutter, cheeks feeling hot and that half-buried petulance pushing you forward. “It’s not any of your business.” 

“Private?” He mutters the word softly, cradling the sound.

And then--

Mahito doesn’t often move fast around you. He prefers to be slow, languid. Calculating. You think it’s because that terrifies you more.

But now, in a moment, he goes from being slouched in his hammock to leaping down and crouching right in your face--there’s sudden pain in your head, and you realize he’s grabbed your hair and yanked it back.

That metaphorical middle finger sinks back down into the slimy gut sludge.

“Not from me,” he says, low, a warning. “Not for you.”

This is all it takes for tears to prick inside your eyes.

Mahito’s lips quirk up. Just a little. Just enough for you to notice.

“You’re going to cry already? I didn’t even do anything.”

Your eyes dart up and back, towards where he’s currently gripping your hair hard enough for it to sting.

He sighs through his nose. “This isn’t anything. You know that. Don’t be childish now.”

But--he lets go of your hair, and doesn’t grab for you when you scoot backwards on your blanket nest. Instead, he plops himself down, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his elbow.

You don’t speak. You don’t want to, and you don’t know what to say. Sometimes it’s better to be quiet around Mahito, so he doesn’t get ideas. Although he comes up with them on his own just fine, even if you try to stay silent.

It’s Mahito who breaks the silence.

“Why do you like him so much?”

How silly, to feel embarrassed right now. With the creature in front of you, and what he can do. But that’s what makes your cheeks burn: embarrassment. 

“I don’t know,” you mumble, because while you are stupid in so many ways, you’re still smart enough to know he wants an answer. “I guess I just like antagonist characters sometimes.” Well, most of the time. But it’s better to keep that from Mahito, if you can.

Mahito’s lips quirk here and there while he thinks. Then he looks at you with something like genuine confusion.

“You say that you like how awful he is. The awful things he does. So…” He tilts his head a little. “You should like me. Right?”

Your fingers pick at the loose threads of your clothes. Your eyes don’t meet his entirely--they flick up and down, from your legs to his face. 

“It’s not the same thing,” is what you come up with. But how to explain that to a curse?

Mahito frowns. 

“I don’t understand.” No bitterness, no pouting. A simple statement of fact.

“He’s not real.” You swallow against the minefield that all of this is making you step through, hoping you’ll avoid them. “But you are. That makes it different.” 

Mahito leans forward, grabbing your wrists, pulling you closer to him with a yanking, childish gesture.

“So you should like me more,” he says, a slight pout in his tone. “Because I can really do those things.” His eyebrows raise, and you swear you can hear a buzzing light bulb go off. “I could turn someone into a scarecrow for you.” He smiles, sudden, excited. “Do you want me to find some school children to torment?”

“No!” Your voice cracks. There are brief images in your mind--the people he’s tortured and killed, experimented with, before you were here and while you’re here and probably after you’re dead and gone--and you shake them away. 

Mahito’s eyebrows furrow. He groans and rolls his eyes backwards until they are entirely white, not in mockery or an attempt to scare you, but in irritation. Fingers squeeze your wrists briefly and let go, and you stay quiet, trying to fight your urge to cry, until Mahito slowly rolls his eyes back to stare at you.

His gaze flicks over you, until he catches your eyes with his. 

“You won’t write about him anymore.”

You don’t take a moment to answer this time.

“I won’t.”

“You won’t read those books anymore.”

“I won’t,” you stay. “I haven’t. I--don’t even have copies anymore.”

Mahito smiles, a little. Maybe it’s a good thing you never asked him to find you a copy, a thought which had been a brief temptation a while back.

And then he leans in closer again, until his nose touches yours.

“You won’t think about him anymore,” he says, quiet, solemn. Not an order but a matter of fact. 

You don’t answer. You swallow against a bitter taste in  your throat; you swear, sometimes, that the sludge in your gut is real and tries to make its way out sometimes.

Mahito presses his nose against yours until it starts to hurt.

“You won’t,” he says again, this time more to himself. “I’ll make sure of it.”

[strawberries-and-summer-days]

"Beach days"

Pairing: Show!Luke Castellan x fem!reader

Summary: you and luke have grown up and have moved to the sea and started a small family together. And you spend a day at the beach.

Contains: Kisses, fluff, babies, and more fluff!

Word Count: 790

A/N: um so this is my first ever (idk even know what to call this) but i hope you like it!! its like 11:30pm when im writing this - so if there are any mistakes its cause im sleep deprived. The baby is a girl and takes after luke in looks. Also i don't know too much abt the percy jackson series so this might not be really accurate :) btw the baby's name is sunny.

You watch as Luke meanders around the kitchen, a baby sleeping soundly on his shoulder. A soft smile spreads on your face and a surge of love for the boy making pancakes across from you hits you in the chest.

"What?" he asks when he notices you staring.

"Nothing," you say, running your finger over the bench. "Just wondering what we're going to do today."

Luke smiles at you, his black curls falling lightly over his face. "i was thinking we could down to the beach and have a day with this little one," he says kissing your little girl on the head. He turns his back to you and continues to fuss over the pancakes he forgot to flip over "Ah damn."

You smile and slip off the stool you're sitting on and walk around the counter wrapping your arms around his waist and breathing in his scent. It always calms you - his scent - it brings a certain feeling of peace you've always craved.

"Mmm you're most definitely burning those pancakes," you tease, placing a small kiss on his shoulder before slipping away to get changed.

"Hey, not so fast!" Luke grins when you try to escape. "Y/N you are not leaving this kitchen without giving me a kiss." A giggle escapes your lips before you raise up onto your toes and press a light kiss onto his mouth.

"Will that satisfy your needs?" you ask. Luke's eyes burn with desire, "Definitely not, but I'll allow this to pass, just this once." You smile innocently up at him and gently take the baby from his shoulder.

"Hi my baby, hi Sunny baby," you say to the small child in your arms. "Let's get changed, hey? We're going to the beach today!" You gently press a kiss onto her forehead and sway out of the room blabbering softly to your baby.

Luke watches you leave the room with a lovesick expression on his face. He never would have thought the girl he met one day on the beach, reading a book, would be the love of his life, or that she would be holding their child, chatting to her about how much fun they're going to have at the beach today.

He turns back around to focus on the now burnt pancakes. He sighs, turning off the stove and placing the burnt pancake in the trash and moving the non-burnt ones into a container and places them in a bag to take to the beach, before slipping upstairs to change himself.

Luke walks into the room and falters slightly when he sees you. You're sitting on your bed in a blue and white swimsuit cooing over your baby girl in matching swimwear. "Aww doesn't Sunny look adorable?" you laugh when you notice Luke standing in the doorway.

"She's beautiful," Luke says, you're expecting him to be looking at the baby but instead he's looking directly at you. "So very, very beautiful." A blush creeps up onto your cheeks and you stand up putting the baby on your hip and walk over to Luke placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

"You're the best," you smile and start dancing around the room with the baby, laughing. Luke grins and changes into his swimwear before he joins you two dancing around smiling like a carefree kid. You love when he's like this just... him.

Sunny is sleeping in her carrier and you and Luke are sitting at the water's edge. Your head is resting on his shoulder and he is running his fingers absent-mindedly over your leg leaving tingles along where he's touched.

"I love you," he says suddenly standing up and helping you up too. You look up at him and feel a surge of love and adoration for the boy standing in front of you.

"I love you too," you say and press a kiss onto his lips. Luke wraps his hands around your waist and starts to sway with you dancing slightly. You rest your head on his shirtless chest, closing your eyes and breathing in this moment.

Luke rests his chin on your head and whispers. "I love you so much Y/N. You're a star in my darkness, my true light, my love, my life, my everything."

Tears well up in your eyes. As you look up to Luke. He has tears in his own eyes and is staring at you with a look of reverence. "You are my everything," you say back to him cupping his cheek with your hand and placing a kiss to his mouth. Savouring this little moment between the two of you, Luke kisses you back, fervently, pulling back only to pull you into a tight hug.

Sunny's disgruntled cries from the carrier break your small bubble of peace, and you pull away from Luke to pick her up. The small baby sitting on your hip as you walk back over to a now grinning Luke. "Hi Sunny baby," he says, taking the baby from you and wrapping an arm around your hips.

"My girls ready for a swim?" he says, gripping your waist and pulling you flush against his side. Sunny babbles happily in his arms and Luke places the softest kiss on her cheek before he gently places her into the shallow water letting her splash.

Moments like these make you the happiest. Where you both are grinning like idiots and just being with each other. Just being Luke and Y/N.

[fr0stf4ll]

Forge of Starlight - Part 11

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

word count ; 5k

warning; grief, mention of death, smut.

notes; Enjoy this chapter ;))

here is the link for part 10 or part 12

---

The walk back from the grove was slow, each step heavy with the lingering weight of your grief. The snow continued to fall gently around you, muffling the sounds of the world and casting a soft, white blanket over the city. By the time you reached the shop, the sun had set, leaving the streets of Velaris bathed in the soft glow of lanterns.

As you stood in front of the door to your apartment, you hesitated, your hand resting on the cold, wooden handle. The memories of Alex, of the life you had shared with him in this space, flooded your mind, and for a moment, you considered turning back, retreating to the safety of the past.

But something inside you shifted—a small, but powerful determination that had been sparked during your time at the grave. You knew Alex wouldn’t want you to remain trapped in the past, drowning in sorrow. He would want you to move forward, to live, to find a way to heal.

With a deep breath, you pushed open the door and stepped inside. The apartment was quiet, almost eerily so. The stillness of the space pressed in on you, amplifying the emptiness that had settled there since Alex’s death. The air was thick with the scent of dust and old memories, a lingering reminder of everything that had been lost.

But as you stood in the doorway, taking in the state of the apartment, something else began to stir within you—a resolve to reclaim this space, to cleanse it of the pain and grief that had taken root here. You had lost so much, but this was still your home, and it was time to make it a place of peace once more.

You pulled off your coat and hung it by the door, rolling up the sleeves of your shirt as you began to move through the apartment, your steps purposeful and deliberate. The first thing you did was open every window, letting the cold, crisp air flood the rooms, chasing away the stale scent of grief. The fresh air was a shock to your system, invigorating, as if it were cleansing not just the space but your soul as well.

You started with the living room, your hands moving with a determined energy as you cleared away the clutter that had accumulated over the past weeks. Every item you touched brought with it a memory—a book Alex had been reading, a blanket he had curled up under, the small toys and trinkets he had collected. Each one was a reminder of the life that had once filled this space, but instead of letting the memories drag you down, you carefully sorted through them, deciding which to keep and which to let go.

The things you chose to keep, you set aside gently, reverently, knowing they would be cherished keepsakes of the boy who had meant so much to you. The rest, you carefully packed away, not out of a desire to forget, but out of a need to move forward, to create a new chapter in your life.

Next, you moved to the kitchen, scrubbing down every surface, every corner, until the space gleamed with a cleanliness that felt like a fresh start. You found yourself humming softly as you worked, a melody that Alex had once loved, and though it brought tears to your eyes, it also brought a sense of comfort, as if he were still with you in some small way.

The bedroom was the hardest. Alex’s bed, still unmade from the last time you had slept in it, stood as a painful reminder of his absence. You stood there for a long time, staring at the small, rumpled sheets, your heart aching with the loss. But then, with a deep breath, you gently stripped the bed, folding the blankets and tucking them away with the other keepsakes.

You remade the bed with fresh sheets, smoothing the fabric with careful hands, and as you did, you whispered a quiet goodbye, feeling a sense of closure begin to settle over you. It wasn’t the end of your grief—far from it—but it was a step, a small, but significant step toward healing.

As you continued to clean, you felt the weight on your chest begin to lift, the act of reclaiming your space becoming a cathartic release. The apartment, once filled with the echoes of sorrow, began to feel lighter, more like a home again. The process was slow, and there were moments when the memories threatened to overwhelm you, but you pushed through, driven by the desire to create a space where you could begin to heal.

By the time you finished, the apartment was transformed. The air was fresh, the rooms were clean, and though the memories of Alex were still present, they no longer felt like a burden. Instead, they were a part of the space, a part of you, but no longer held the power to drown you in grief.

You stood in the center of the living room, taking in the quiet peace that had settled over the apartment. For the first time in weeks, you felt a sense of calm, a sense of control over your life. You had taken the first step, and though the road ahead was still long and uncertain, you knew that you had the strength to keep going.

As you moved to close the windows, the cold night air brushed against your skin, and you paused, leaning out slightly to take in the view of Velaris under the soft glow of the stars. The city was quiet, peaceful, and as you gazed out at the familiar streets, you felt a small spark of hope begin to take root in your heart.

You had lost so much, but you had also gained a new family in the Inner Circle, people who cared for you, who would stand by you as you navigated this difficult path. And then there was Azriel—the bond that connected you to him was still new, still raw, but it was there, a lifeline that had kept you from sinking completely into the darkness.

With one last deep breath, you closed the window and turned back to the room, feeling a sense of resolve settle over you. This was the beginning of a new chapter, a new journey toward healing. And though the road ahead would be difficult, you knew that you weren’t alone.

You would keep moving forward, one step at a time. For Alex. For yourself. And for the future that was still waiting for you.

After the apartment was finally cleaned and organized, you felt the exhaustion settle into your bones. The emotional and physical toll of the day had left you drained, and you knew you needed to take care of yourself, to find some small comfort in the midst of everything.

You made your way to your bedroom, where the soft light of the moon filtered in through the freshly cleaned windows, casting a gentle glow over the space. The room, now neat and orderly, felt like a sanctuary, a place where you could retreat and begin to mend the wounds that still bled inside you.

With a sigh, you moved toward the bathroom, deciding that a warm bath might help ease some of the tension that had built up in your muscles. The idea of soaking in hot water, letting the heat melt away the stress of the day, was appealing, and you found yourself looking forward to the brief escape it would provide.

You turned on the taps, watching as steam began to rise from the water, filling the room with a soothing warmth. The scent of lavender, from a small vial of bath oil that Alex had once picked out for you, filled the air, bringing with it a wave of bittersweet memories. But instead of turning away from them, you allowed yourself to remember, to cherish the small moments of joy that had been shared.

As the tub filled, you slowly undressed, the cool air of the room brushing against your skin as you shed the layers that had been weighing you down all day. When the bath was ready, you slipped into the water, letting out a sigh as the warmth enveloped you, soothing your aching muscles and easing the tightness in your chest.

You leaned back against the edge of the tub, closing your eyes as the heat seeped into your bones. For a while, you simply let yourself float in the quiet, letting your mind drift as you soaked in the calming warmth.

But as the minutes passed, your thoughts inevitably began to turn to Azriel. The shadowy, enigmatic male who had been your constant companion for the past few weeks, who had stood by you even when you had pushed everyone else away. The memory of his gentle kiss on your forehead earlier that day lingered, a soft warmth that contrasted with the cold emptiness that had settled in your heart.

Azriel had been there for you in ways that no one else had. He had seen you at your worst, held you when you thought you might break, and offered you the quiet strength you needed to keep going. He had never pressured you, never demanded anything of you—he had simply been there, a steady presence in a world that had been turned upside down.

You opened your eyes, staring up at the ceiling as the memories of the past weeks played out in your mind. Azriel had been the one to find you after Alex’s death, the one who had carried you through the darkness when you couldn’t find your own way. He had stayed with you, even when you had asked for space, always hovering on the edges, ready to offer support if you needed it.

And you had needed it. More than you had realized.

The bond between you, though still new and raw, had grown stronger with each passing day. You could feel it now, a faint, comforting presence at the back of your mind, like a soft whisper that reminded you that you weren’t alone. It was a connection that had become a lifeline, a source of comfort that you hadn’t expected, but one that you were beginning to rely on.

As you soaked in the warmth of the bath, your thoughts drifted back to the moments you had shared with Azriel—the quiet conversations, the way he had looked at you with such care and understanding, the way his touch had grounded you when you felt like you might be swept away by grief.

You realized, with a start, that you had begun to look forward to his visits, to the sound of his voice, to the comfort of his presence. Even now, as you lay in the bath, you found yourself thinking of him, wondering when he would come to see you, when you would feel that quiet connection once more.

A small, tentative smile tugged at the corners of your lips, the first smile you had felt in what seemed like an eternity. It was a fragile thing, easily broken, but it was there, a sign that maybe, just maybe, you were beginning to heal.

You let out a soft sigh, your hand trailing through the water as you closed your eyes again, letting your thoughts drift back to Azriel. There was still so much to figure out, so much that was uncertain, but for the first time in weeks, you felt a small spark of hope. Maybe there was a way forward, a way to find happiness again, even in the midst of all the loss and pain.

And maybe, just maybe, that way forward included Azriel. The thought was both comforting and terrifying, but as you lay there, surrounded by the warmth of the bath and the scent of lavender, you allowed yourself to hold onto it, to let it settle into your heart alongside the grief.

You weren’t sure what the future held, but you knew one thing: you didn’t have to face it alone. Not anymore.

And for now, that was enough.

The warmth of the bath had left your skin flushed and your mind slightly clearer, though the lingering grief still weighed heavy on your heart. You had just wrapped yourself in a soft robe, your hair still damp and clinging to your neck, when a soft knock echoed through the apartment.

You hesitated for a moment, your heart skipping a beat as you recognized the familiar presence on the other side of the door. Taking a deep breath, you moved to open it, finding Azriel standing there, his expression as unreadable as ever, though there was a hint of concern in his eyes.

“Azriel,” you greeted softly, stepping aside to let him in. 

He entered slowly, his gaze sweeping over the apartment. His eyes widened slightly in surprise as he took in the transformation. The clutter and dust were gone, replaced by a sense of order and calm that hadn’t been there for weeks. The faint scent of lavender still hung in the air, mixing with the cold freshness of the night.

"You cleaned," he remarked, his tone gentle as he looked back at you.

You nodded, pulling the robe a little tighter around you. "I needed to. It was time."

Azriel’s gaze softened as he took in your appearance, noticing the dampness of your hair and the way your skin still glowed from the warmth of the bath. There was something tender in his eyes as he observed you, as if he could see the small steps you were taking toward healing.

“I brought food,” he said, holding up a bag from one of the nearby restaurants. “I thought you might be hungry.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, the gesture almost feeling foreign after weeks of sorrow. “You didn’t have to. I could’ve cooked something.”

Azriel shook his head quickly, his voice gentle but firm. “You don’t need to cook for me, Y/N. I’m fine. Let me take care of this.”

His words were so earnest, so filled with care, that you couldn’t help but nod in agreement. “Okay, okay, no problem. Thank you.”

The two of you moved to the couch, settling in with the food Azriel had brought. The apartment was quiet, the only sounds the occasional clinking of cutlery and the muffled noises of the city outside. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable; instead, it felt like a shared understanding, a space where words weren’t always necessary.

As you ate, you found yourself stealing glances at Azriel, noticing the way his presence brought a sense of peace to the room. He had been a constant in your life these past weeks, always there when you needed him, never pushing, never demanding. Just… there.

After a while, you put down your fork and turned to him, your voice soft but filled with gratitude. “Thank you, Azriel. For everything. For staying by my side when I wasn’t sure I could keep going.”

Azriel looked at you, his expression gentle, his shadows curling lightly around his shoulders as if they, too, were reaching out to you. “You don’t need to thank me. I wanted to be here. I care about you, Y/N. I always will.”

The sincerity in his words made your chest tighten, the bond between you humming softly in the background of your mind, a comforting presence that you were beginning to accept, to lean on.

You offered him a small, genuine smile, the first real one in what felt like forever. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Azriel’s gaze softened even further, and he reached out, his hand resting lightly on top of yours. The touch was warm, grounding, and you felt a small flicker of something more than just comfort, something that you weren’t quite ready to name yet, but that was undeniably there.

“You’re stronger than you think, Y/N,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing gently across your knuckles. “But you don’t have to do this alone. I’m here, for as long as you need me.”

You squeezed his hand lightly, the warmth of his touch seeping into your skin, soothing the raw edges of your grief. “Thank you, Azriel. That means more to me than you know.”

The two of you sat there, hand in hand, the quiet of the apartment wrapping around you like a soft blanket. After finishing the meal, the quiet of the apartment settled in around you once more. The lingering warmth of the food and the comfort of Azriel’s presence left you feeling a sense of peace that you hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity. The heavy burden of grief was still there, but it was softened, cushioned by the knowledge that you weren’t alone.

As you both sat on the couch, the silence between you became something warm and inviting. You found yourself leaning closer to Azriel, seeking the comfort of his presence. He didn’t hesitate, his arm lifting slightly to allow you to rest your head on his shoulder. The gesture was so natural, so easy, that it felt like the most normal thing in the world.

Azriel’s body tensed slightly at first, but then he relaxed, his warmth radiating through his clothing. You could feel his steady breathing, the rise and fall of his chest soothing as you nestled closer. The smell of leather, pine, and something distinctly Azriel filled your senses, grounding you in the moment.

Without thinking, you reached out and gently took one of his hands in yours. You could feel him still beside you, his heartbeat quickening under your touch. Slowly, you brought his hand closer, your fingers tracing over the rough skin and the calluses that spoke of years of training and battles fought. His hands, though scarred and hardened by life, held a gentleness that belied their strength.

Azriel’s breath caught as your fingers continued their exploration, tracing the lines of his palm, brushing over the ridges of his knuckles. His shadows, usually so restless, seemed to calm, curling softly around you both as if embracing the moment.

You turned his hand over, studying it with a softness in your gaze that made Azriel’s heart race. “You’ve always been so careful with me,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “Even when I was pushing everyone away… you stayed.”

Azriel’s voice was low and steady, but there was an unmistakable warmth in it. “I wanted to. I… I care about you, Y/N. I always will.”

The words were simple, but they carried a weight that settled deep in your heart. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, and in that moment, you could see the depth of his feelings, the quiet intensity of his emotions that he so often kept hidden.

A small, tender smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you continued to hold his hand, your fingers tracing small patterns on his skin. “I’m glad you did, Azriel. I’m so glad you stayed.”

Azriel swallowed, his free hand moving to gently rest on your knee, his touch light, almost hesitant. “I’ll always stay, Y/N. For as long as you want me here.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, the sincerity in them resonating with something deep inside you. You squeezed his hand, leaning closer to him, your head resting more comfortably on his shoulder. “Then stay,” you whispered, your voice soft but filled with meaning. “Stay with me.”

Azriel’s heart pounded in his chest, the bond between you humming with quiet intensity. He turned his head slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your damp hair, his lips lingering there for just a moment longer than necessary. “Always,” he whispered back, the word a vow, a promise.

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin, the steady beat of his heart through his chest. The world outside could wait; in this moment, there was just you and Azriel, wrapped in the comfort of each other’s presence.

And as the night deepened, the two of you sat there, your hands intertwined, your hearts beating in sync, finding solace in the quiet connection that had grown between you. As you leaned into him, your heart fluttering softly, you felt the warmth of Azriel’s hand resting on your knee. His presence was a steady, calming force, grounding you in a way that you hadn't realized you needed. The soft glow of the dim light in the room made everything feel intimate, almost dreamlike, as if the rest of the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you in this quiet moment.

You tilted your head slightly, your eyes meeting his. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you filled with a gentle anticipation. The bond between you hummed softly, a warm thread that seemed to pull you closer together. Azriel’s dark eyes searched yours, as if seeking permission, seeking a sign that this was what you wanted too.

And it was. 

Without breaking the gaze, you shifted slightly, turning towards him. Your hand, still holding his, tightened its grip as you leaned in. Azriel’s breath hitched, and you could feel the tension in his body, the way his heart raced beneath your fingertips. 

He leaned in too, his movements slow, deliberate, as if he was giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t want to pull away. You wanted to close the gap, to feel the warmth of his lips against yours.

And then, finally, you did.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. But the moment your lips touched, something inside you both seemed to click into place. The world around you faded completely, leaving only the sensation of Azriel’s lips against yours, warm and gentle, yet filled with a depth of emotion that took your breath away.

His free hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin as he deepened the kiss. It was slow, tender, but there was a passion behind it, a need that had been building for far longer than either of you had realized.

You responded in kind, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer as the kiss grew more insistent, more real. The bond between you thrummed with approval, the connection between you both solidifying in a way that left no room for doubt.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and flushed, your foreheads rested against each other. Azriel’s eyes were dark, intense, filled with an emotion so raw and powerful that it made your heart ache in the best possible way.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.

You smiled softly, your heart swelling as you looked at him. “I’m here, Azriel. And I’m not going anywhere.”

His hand remained on your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that you hadn’t realized had fallen. “Neither am I,” he whispered back, the words filled with a promise that you knew he would keep.

The kiss between you and Azriel deepened, the tender exploration quickly giving way to a more urgent need. Your hands roamed his chest under his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin under your fingertips, while his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer. The air between you grew heavy with anticipation.

But then, as if realizing that this moment required something more than just the couch in the living room, Azriel paused, his dark eyes searching yours for permission. When you gave him a slight nod, he swiftly and effortlessly scooped you up into his arms, carrying you towards your bedroom. The gesture was gentle, but there was a strength behind it that made your heart race.

He set you down on the edge of the bed, the soft sheets cool against your heated skin. Your hands immediately went to the waistband of his pants, but he caught them gently, his gaze filled with a mix of desire and something deeper—something that made your chest tighten with emotion.

“Let me,” he whispered, his voice thick with need.

You nodded, your breath hitching as he slowly began to remove the last of your clothing, his fingers trailing over your skin as he did. The fabric fell away, leaving you exposed to him, but rather than feeling vulnerable, you felt… cherished. Azriel’s gaze was reverent, as if you were the most precious thing he had ever laid eyes on.

He followed quickly, shedding most of his own clothing before joining you on the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight as he leaned over you, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was both passionate and tender. The urgency from before was still there, but it was tempered by a deep, unspoken understanding that this moment was more than just physical.

Azriel’s hands began to explore your body, his touch sending shivers down your spine as he caressed your curves. His lips trailed from your mouth down to your neck, leaving a path of soft kisses that made your breath hitch in your throat. When he reached your breasts, he took his time, his hands and mouth lavishing attention on you in a way that made your body respond with a burning heat.

You gasped softly, your hands tangling in his hair as he teased your nipples with his tongue, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure through your body. Azriel’s hand slid lower, his fingers grazing over your stomach before finding their way between your thighs. He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours, seeking permission once again.

You answered with a quiet moan, your hips instinctively tilting towards him, inviting his touch. Azriel’s eyes darkened with desire as he let his fingers slide over your folds, his touch gentle but deliberate as he began to explore you.

The sensation was overwhelming, your body reacting to him in ways you hadn’t anticipated. Azriel seemed to know exactly what you needed, his fingers moving with a skill that left you breathless. He circled your most sensitive spot, his touch driving you closer and closer to the edge.

And then, just as you thought you couldn’t take any more, he moved lower, his lips following the path his fingers had traced. You barely had time to react before you felt the warmth of his mouth against your most intimate place, his tongue flicking against you with a tenderness that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body.

Your back arched off the bed, a soft cry escaping your lips as Azriel’s tongue worked its magic. He was relentless, his movements precise, each flick of his tongue and gentle suck drawing you closer and closer to the precipice. The bond between you flared, pulsing with approval as he brought you higher and higher, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady.

When the release finally came, it was like a wave crashing over you, your entire body shuddering with the intensity of it. Your hands clutched at the sheets, your breath coming in ragged gasps as Azriel continued to guide you through the aftershocks, his tongue slowing its movements but never stopping.

It wasn’t until you were trembling and spent that he finally pulled back, his lips pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs as you came down from the high. You lay there, your chest heaving, your mind spinning with the sheer intensity of what had just happened.

Azriel crawled up beside you, his body warm and solid as he pulled you into his arms. The world outside the bed seemed to fade away as you nestled against him, your head resting on his chest. The steady beat of his heart was a comforting rhythm, grounding you in the moment.

But even as you lay there, wrapped in his embrace, a wave of emotion welled up inside you. The events of the day—the burial, the memories, the grief—suddenly felt overwhelming, and before you knew it, soft tears began to slip down your cheeks.

Azriel noticed immediately, his arms tightening around you as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice filled with a tenderness that only made the tears fall faster. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

You clung to him, your tears soaking into his skin as you let out the pain that had been building inside you for weeks. It wasn’t just about the loss of Alex—it was about everything. The grief, the guilt, the fear of moving on, the fear of letting go. And through it all, Azriel held you, his presence a steady, unyielding support.

When the tears finally subsided, leaving you feeling raw but lighter, you looked up at him, your eyes red-rimmed and filled with gratitude. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “For being here… for everything.”

Azriel smiled softly, his thumb brushing away the last of your tears. “Always,” he murmured, his voice full of conviction. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, feeling a warmth settle in your chest as you snuggled closer to him. The day had been long, the emotions heavy, but here, in Azriel’s arms, you felt a sense of peace that you hadn’t known in a long time.

The two of you lay there in the quiet, your breathing slowly evening out as the exhaustion of the day caught up with you. Azriel’s hand gently stroked your hair, his touch soothing, and it wasn’t long before your eyes began to droop, sleep pulling you under.

Just before you drifted off, you heard Azriel’s voice, soft and full of emotion. “I care about you so much, Y/N. More than you know.”

You didn’t have the energy to respond, but you squeezed his hand, letting him know you heard him, that you felt the same. And as you finally succumbed to sleep, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, you felt the weight of the day begin to lift, replaced by the comforting knowledge that you didn’t have to face the darkness alone.

---

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[bella-rose29]

Deck the Halls (and not your partner) - part 11

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: making out to the point of hickeys and low level states of undress (don't read if you're not particularly comfortable with it, it's pretty early on and you don't really need it for the rest to make sense 👍), swearing, reader's mother (Emma) is a gem and loves teasing them, lockwood's hands (and ring), I have no idea what came over me to make me write this (I was probably thinking about his hands let's be real)

series masterlist

“I just don’t understand how they never gave themselves away,” Y/n said while she and Anthony got ready for bed. 

He was in the bathroom, so she’d had to raise her voice a little in order to be heard. When he didn’t respond immediately, she frowned at the closed door. “Anthony? You alright?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, I’m alright, darling.” She heard shuffling and then the click of the door as it opened, and he stepped out, dressed in his pyjamas. 

“Still can’t believe you have matching sets of grandpa pyjamas,” she snorted, moving over to the bathroom. 

“You love my matching sets of grandpa pyjamas,” he called as she started brushing her teeth. “And as for how they never gave themselves away, I imagine they were all waiting for the moment they could finally breathe again. Your mother especially, did you see how tightly she hugged me earlier? I thought she might crush my ribs.”

“You’re so dramatic, Ant,” Y/n replied after spitting out the toothpaste. She washed her mouth out, flicked the light off in the bathroom, and headed for the bed. Anthony was already sat on his side, the covers pulled back for her to get in, and she curled up next to him. His arm automatically came around her body, fingers burying in the fabric of her (his) top. 

“You love that too,” he said, pressing a kiss to her head. She hummed, burying her face in his chest and swinging her legs over his. The afternoon had been peaceful after Steph and Linda had finally left (although not without a lot of pointing fingers, empty threats, and slammed doors), with Y/n’s family asking questions about their relationship and wanting the real answers this time, and her father had received a call saying that the roads would be clear in the next day or so, and there was a limited train service starting up not too long after that. The storm had blown over faster than people had anticipated, but with the limited technology they had for weather readings, anybody’s guess could be the official report. They had booked tickets on the first train back in four days time, and Y/n knew that both her and Anthony were looking forward to getting back to Portland Row. 

“You know,” she started, feeling her eyes start to close when he started threading his fingers through her hair. His other hand was on her thigh, just above her knee. “We should probably think about what we’re gonna do when we get back. About the whole ‘we don’t hate each other now and we’re actually dating’ thing.”

“Oh, that’s a good point. Maybe we just… don’t say anything, like your family? And see how long it takes for them to bring it up?”

“Ant, why would we do that?”

“Because it’s funny?” It was a rhetorical question, and she could feel him smiling from the way his jaw shifted over her head. His fingers hadn’t left her hair, and the hand on her thigh had edged upwards slightly while they’d been talking. 

“I suppose it would be quite funny, wouldn’t it?” she mused, nudging her leg further into his grip subconsciously. He hadn’t taken off the ring he always wore, and it was cold against her skin. 

“See, I’m winning you over,” he chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. 

“You missed,” she murmured, sitting up a little and opening her eyes. 

“Missed?”

“Yeah.” She took his face in her hands, nudging her nose against his before kissing him. When she pulled back after a few seconds he automatically followed her, eyes still closed while he searched for her lips again. “Anthony,” she breathed, feeling his breath fan over her face. He surged forward, his grip on her thigh tightening a little while the hand that had been in her hair slid down and cupped her cheek as he kissed her.   She brought her hand to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his pyjama shirt and gasping when he deepened the kiss, and she thought she might pass out from how gentle yet desperate he was. She could feel it, how he was holding back and taking it slow, but the fire that burned in her needed more, making her shift in his lap so she was straddling his hips, and if she could take the sound he made when she did so and bottle it up to keep forever, she would. 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispered between kisses, tilting his head slightly to press his mouth to her cheek, and then her jaw, and then her neck. 

“I hope not,” she replied, burying her hands in his hair when he kissed a spot on her neck that made her feel like she was in heaven. “I quite like having you around, actually.”

“Yeah?” He made his way back up her neck, his hand hot and searing where it sat on her thigh. She met his eyes, the half-closed lids and blown pupils combined with his swollen lips making the fire burn hotter, and kissed him sweetly. 

“Yeah.” His hair was a mess, but he’d never looked more beautiful than in this moment, the golden glow of the bedside lamp highlighting his features and casting long shadows at the same time, and she threaded her fingers through the mop of hair that was starting to stick to his forehead. “Just promise me something?”

“Anything,” he said, not waiting for her to finish. She thought she could live on the way he was looking at her, like she was the only thing he had ever wanted and he needed her to breathe. 

“Stay alive for me? When we get back? You can’t keep- you can’t keep being so reckless with your- your life. Anthony.” He’d trailed the hand that had rested on her cheek down her side, and had gripped her hips with both hands, his fingers curling into the fabric of the shirt she was wearing and bunching it up slightly. 

“Sorry, darling.” She supposed she could forgive him when his voice was so low and hoarse, and his fingers were creeping under the top to stroke her skin. “I promise I’ll live for you.” The next kiss burned, filled with the weight of what he’d just sworn, and it was only when they couldn’t hold their breath for any longer that they finally pulled away for air. “I promise,” he whispered into her skin, dragging her closer by his grip on her waist. “I promise.” His hand was drifting upwards slowly, the cold metal of his ring a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies, and she knew he was waiting for her to tell him it was alright. His lips had barely left hers, and when she took her hands out of his hair to start undoing the buttons on his shirt she felt his breath hitch. 

“This okay?” she asked, smiling when he nodded eagerly, leaning back in for another kiss. He was drunk on her, she was sure, but she wasn’t exactly sober herself. Eventually he decided she was moving too slowly, taking the bottom of his top into his own hands and doing it himself. The next few minutes were frantic, Anthony’s shirt discarded on the floor by the bed and hers on the way to joining it, hands travelling over skin in an attempt to know every inch of each other. When he lifted her up and laid her on her back, settling between her legs while he braced himself on one arm and held her with the other, she knew she was doomed. 

~~~

The next morning, Emma was on tea duty. 

She and Ben took turns making teas for the family in the morning, and as she traipsed upstairs with a full tray of mugs (after depositing two in her parents’ bedroom downstairs) she yawned, hoping that everyone was at least a little bit awake so that she could go back to bed and read her book. John was first, bleary-eyed and scratching his side like a monkey, and he took his tea with a very sleepy “Mornin’ Mum”, the door closing in her face as soon as he had a grip on the handle of the mug. Then was Sam and Will, who were being made to share, and as she had expected Will was the opposite of John, wide awake and already dressed, reading in bed with the small lamp on so that he didn’t wake Sam. “Thanks, Mum,” he’d smiled, planting a kiss on her cheek and kicking the door shut after taking his and Sam’s teas. Tom was in the library with his colouring (she had to stop and put down the plastic mat so that he didn’t accidentally colour the furniture), and he barely acknowledged her presence when she left the mug on the table nearby and told him to be careful. Olivia wasn’t awake, so Emma left the mug on her bedside table and pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead before creeping back out and moving on to the last room before her own. 

A soft knock was normally enough to alert Y/n, telling her that the teas were ready, but when after roughly thirty seconds nobody appeared at the door, Emma frowned, balanced the tray on her hip, and gently pushed open the door. “Oh,” she whispered to herself upon seeing her eldest daughter and Anthony curled up in bed together, both sound asleep. 

She’d figured that the two of them weren’t actually dating after they’d first arrived, although at the time she’d thought it was more that they were in a rough patch and were attempting to hide it. They’d argued over who was taking the suitcase in, for crying out loud! But then Anthony had gone and comforted her after Steph had made comments that forced Y/n upstairs, and Emma had been confused again. When Olivia had been helping her get dinner ready that first night, she’d put forward the idea that maybe they weren’t together, and Y/n just felt that she couldn’t turn up without a boyfriend to a huge gathering where everybody thought she was in a relationship. Then things had started making sense, like the way Y/n had looked stiff in his arms for the first few days, or how she would glare at Anthony instead of gazing lovingly at him like Emma knew she herself did with Ben. 

At some point something had changed, though, because now they were apparently actually together. She, along with everyone else, had spent the afternoon yesterday questioning the young couple on pretty much everything, including why the hell they hated each other in the first place. Anthony had gone bright red, apologising profusely for his behaviour, and then Y/n had interrupted and said that she should be the one apologising, and then the pair of them had traded such love-struck looks that it made even Emma want to throw up a little. She was planning on getting the photo albums out today, since she had been so scared of revealing that she knew the truth before that she hadn’t fully settled in to the role of Embarrassing Mother. She’d wanted Y/n to feel that she could come forward in her own time, and the situation was sticky enough as it was with Steph and Linda (she frowned at the memory of how poorly her sister and niece had acted) making comments and embarrassing Y/n that Emma had taken a step back. Now, however, there was no hiding. Anthony would be seeing all of the photos of Y/n as a baby, and that was that. 

She would have a field day at breakfast, too, if her assumptions were correct. 

From what she could tell as she put the cups of tea on the bedside table and had a quick look around the room, neither Anthony nor Y/n were wearing tops, and in the dim light of the room she could tell that there were definitely marks on both of their necks. She smiled to herself, pressing a kiss to Y/n’s shoulder, and tiptoed out of the room. 

~~~

When Anthony woke up, the first thing he thought was how comfortable he was. 

He opened his eyes, rubbing lazily to try and clear away the last remnants of sleep, and he realised that Y/n was lying with her back to him and he had wrapped an arm around her waist in an effort to meld their bodies into one. Their legs were tangled together under the duvet, his pyjama-clad ones mixed with her short-wearing ones, and it was no wonder he hadn’t been able to breath too well when he’d first woken up, because his face had been buried in her neck. 

Her neck. 

His eyes widened as he took in the state of her skin, littered in small marks (and one or two larger ones), and he knew that he would most likely be murdered when she woke up. He couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth at the memory of last night, though, and all the kisses they had shared. They hadn’t gone much further than that, both deciding it was far too early and far too risky in a house that was shared by most of her immediate family, but Anthony could have died a happy man after that. 

He wouldn’t, of course, because he’d promised her last night that he would live. 

He took note then of the two mugs of steaming tea on the bedside table, and realised that someone must have come in and placed them there not too long ago. Then he realised that whoever it had been had probably seen the hickeys on Y/n’s neck. “Shit,” he mumbled, closing his eyes briefly in an attempt to gather strength. It would be fine. Maybe they hadn’t been able to see clearly in the darkness of the room? But then again some of them were pretty large, and there wasn’t much chance of them being missed. Y/n was going to kill him. 

She was waking up now, he could tell from the way her breathing changed and her body shifted, and she stretched out her legs and twisted in his arms to face him. “Good morning, darling.”

“Mornin’ Schmoopie.”

“I thought that name was banned?”

“Banned for you. I can use it.”

“Ah, I see.” He smiled into her forehead, pressing his lips to the skin in tiny kisses. “Did you sleep alright?” She hummed her assent, eyes still closed while she nestled further into him. He wondered if she could feel how fast his heart was beating.

“Did you?”

“Yeah. Best sleep I’ve had for a while.” It had felt like he’d blinked and gone from the after-effects of last night to waking up with her in his arms this morning. 

“That’s good. Can I smell tea?”

“Yes, although I don’t know who it was that brought it in; I was still asleep.”

“Probably Mum,” she said, groaning and sitting up. Anthony watched her for a moment, small smile on his face as he took in her sleepy expression, then followed suit. He went to say something, but the movement of his body sitting up had pulled the duvet away and down the bed, and all thoughts went out of his head. “Shit, it’s cold in here,” Y/n hissed, putting down the mug she’d just picked up in favour of wrapping the blankets back around her torso. She paused when she realised Anthony had frozen and gone red, and frowned at the face he was making. “Are you… alright? You look a bit… I dunno. Weird.”

“What? Oh, I’m…” he swallowed thickly and met her eyes, immediately looking away again and studying the wall opposite the bed. “I’m fine.”

“Okay… I’ll pass your tea over if you want it?”

“Thank you.” He still wasn’t looking at her, although he did remove his gaze from the wall to ensure he held the mug correctly, and a slightly awkward pause followed. 

“You didn’t put your top back on last night.” He heard her choke on her tea and pressed his hand over his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean- I just- you-” he sighed, giving up on coming up with an excuse that would explain his previous statement. 

“Of course I didn’t put it back on, I was way too warm,” she said once she’d recovered. “Wait. Were you staring at my chest?” When he didn’t answer and instead kept his gaze fixed on the tea he held she let out a laugh. “You didn’t seem bothered last night by me not wearing a top.” Now it was his turn to choke, and he had to set down his mug before he spilled the liquid. When he finally turned to look at her she had a smug grin on her face, sipping her tea while she watched him with amusement dancing in her eyes. 

“That- that was different!”

“Different how?”

“I- you- it just was!” He wished the ground would swallow him up. Y/n snorted, taking a larger gulp of tea. 

“I’m teasing, Anthony. You don’t have to look so terrified.” He didn’t think she would ever let him live this down. He had just taken his first drink of tea when he heard her curse softly. “Ant?”

“Yeah?” He looked over at her, brows drawing together. “What is it?” She bit her lip, eyes focused on something below his face. “Y/n?”

“You, uh… you’ve got…” she gestured vaguely to his neck, hesitating a moment before touching a finger to the skin just above his collarbone. It hit him, then, what she was referring to. 

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you leave marks on my neck last night?”

“… yeah?”

“Well we’re in deep shit.”

“… why?”

“I… might have done the same…” he trailed off, his voice growing quieter with every word, and she could only stare at him. 

“Anthony.”

“Hmm?”

“Anthony. Please tell me you’re joking.” He didn’t say anything, instead taking another sip of his tea. “Anthony, if it was Mum that came in and did tea this morning then we are screwed because there is no way she didn’t see. Anthony answer me.”

“I’m not joking, sorry.” He couldn’t help but smile at her exasperated groan that followed, and he opened his mouth to speak again. “Although you didn’t seem bothered by me kissing your neck last night,” he said, using her earlier words against her. This time it was his turn to be smug, and he laughed when she lightly slapped his chest. “What? You rather enjoyed it from what I remember.”

“Your memory is wrong,” she grumbled, finishing off her tea. 

“I don’t think it is, darling, but whatever you say.” 

~~~

“Good morning love birds! Did you two sleep alright?” Emma chirped when Anthony and Y/n walked into the kitchen. She noted the slight flushed look to both of them (particularly Anthony who had gone a wonderful shade of pink that she didn’t think she’d seen before), and then the poor attempts at covering up the marks that decorated their necks. 

“Oh, uh, yeah. Thank you.” Y/n looked like a deer in headlights, sitting down on a bar stool and smiling when her father placed a plate of food in front of her. “Thanks,” she muttered, picking up a fork and digging in. Anthony was apparently dealing with everything a lot better than Y/n, already engaged in conversation with John and Sam about something while he entertained Tom at the same time. Emma was glad that he was here, especially given how stressful Steph and Linda were, and she could tell that her eldest daughter was far better off with him in her life. He really cared about her, most likely better than Emma ever had, and while it stung to think that he was doing the job that she should have done, she was happy that Y/n had someone that she lived with to rely on. 

“Are you sure, dear? You look quite tired, I don’t imagine you did much sleeping.” She did feel a little bit of remorse at her teasing, but it was too funny watching Y/n squirm in embarrassment while she tried to come up with something to say. Even Anthony was blushing now from his place on Y/n’s right. Besides, this was her first experience with being the Embarrassing Mother, and if she needed to she would explain herself to her daughter later. 

“Did you do tea rounds this morning?” Y/n blurted instead, her brow furrowing. 

“I did… where is this going?”

“Oh, no reason. It’s fine,” she said, entirely unconvincingly. 

“Right, well eat up. Anthony, I’m showing you the photo albums after breakfast!”

“Mum, please don’t, I can’t take any more of this,” pleaded Y/n, but Emma just chuckled. 

“I just want him to see some of the previous Christmases we’ve had!”

“Personally,” Anthony chimed in, “I would love to see the photo albums, Emma. It sounds like a wonderful way to spend the morning.” His grin could only be described as shit-eating, and Emma loved it. 

She loved it even more when Y/n groaned and held her head in her hands. 

~~~

“And here- what was happening here? Oh yes, she’d managed to get her head stuck in the railings of the bannister, only three years old!”

“So you took a picture before helping your three year old daughter out of the bannisters?” Y/n asked her mother incredulously, not enjoying the way Anthony was studying every single photo of her as a baby. They had already been here for roughly forty minutes, and they weren’t even a third of the way through the album. 

“Well you don’t look too bothered, darling. In fact, you look like you’re having a whale of a time, look how big that smile is!”

“Shut up,” she mumbled, cuddling closer into his side. His laughter warmed her, and suddenly she didn’t mind so much that he was being promised copies of some of these photos. She knew that her mother knew about the marks on both of their necks, too, her suspicions confirmed after the whole fiasco at breakfast (there had been many more innuendos and exaggerated winks), but she didn’t mind that too much either. How could she, when Anthony was burning brighter than the sun right now, with his smile that lit up every room he walked into (or even walked past) and his easy charm? How could she be upset when he was sat so close to her, holding her to him so gently yet so tightly, as though he were afraid that at any moment she might disappear? 

No, she was happy. Not about the current photo of her with cake smushed all over her face and outfit at her friend’s 4th birthday party, but generally, she was happy. Steph and Linda were gone, Anthony was here, and in a few days they would be back home with Lucy, and George, and Holly too when she came over. 

For the first time in years, she was truly happy. And she could owe it all to Anthony Lockwood. 

part 12 (final part)

Tag list: @ahead-fullofdreams, @aislinrayne, @anathemaloren, @anthgoldenhrry, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @aysha4life, @bobbys-not-that-small, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @ettadear, @fearlessmoony, @fudosl, @idkbubs, @imaginebeingmentallystable, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @lady-ashfade, @light-23, @locklyebrainrot, @locklyle1kanij, @locknco, @magicandrosewaters, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @newbooksmell777, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @phlooper, @ran23sblog, @reggiepeterss, @simrah1012, @somethingrandomwatzit, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whistle1whistle, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife, @y0urm0m12, @zoom1374, @asyouwish-fromcabin3, @magicandrosewaters, @bobbys-not-that-small, @neewtmas (sticking you on just in case my lovely <3)

I don't think I'm missing anyone but there are so many people that I honestly can't say for sure, so if you want to be added to the tag list for the final part (and maybe... other... special posts... that might be written in the future... 👀), then let me know! <3

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

part 11- a thousand candles burn into the night

"When the ashes start to rise and the moon falls from the sky and a thousand candles burn into the night. When the angels softly cry on the flames below the sky, would a thousand souls still pray for you and I?" -Day of the Dead by Hollywood Undead

Masterlist Part 10

Just like the summer air began to cool into autumn winds, Jasmine and Jason began with a heated tension between them that dwindled into a slow simmer of what neither of them wanted to jinx by calling it love. 

Both were aware of how unnatural their connection was, how quick one was able to trust the other with simple thoughts that roll off the tongue- Jazz’s favorite tea, Jason’s favorite book, her younger siblings, his many brothers. It was obvious that Jason held some lingering anger towards those he called family, but it was an old wound, infected yet healing. When it came to more in-depth questions about Jazz’s siblings, Danny and Ellie, there was a sad tinge to the affection. Jazz missed Ellie with every fiber of her being, but her little sister was free as her heart desired. 

Jason spoke at length about his own, eventually admitting his anger issues that had led him to attempted murder on one of the younger boys, Tim, that he deeply regretted. 

Jazz had only to listen, because who else could understand the deeply rooted rage that came with betrayal? 

One slash, two, three

Blood is on your hands already. 

Fourth, fifth slash

Ask the ghosts if honor matters, buried amongst the ash. 

Slash six, seven

Sharpen your love into a weapon

They went out on several dates, each one special and lovely, but Jazz’s favorite was being wrapped in familiar arms as they watched Pride and Prejudice on Jason’s couch. It was a comfortable warmth that lulled the redhead into a deep sleep, the best she had gotten in a long time. 

Jazz was the first to wake, lying on Jason’s firm chest and ear pressed firmly to where she could hear a faint purr from his Proto-Core, she felt no compulsion to move even though there were things she had to do as Regent and as Jasmine. 

She had to talk to Frostbite, because she needed to understand why she was so connected to Jason. It frightened Jazz, to have her emotions so sharpened towards someone she hadn’t known for very long. 

(She was in love.) 

Her own Proto-core purred in tandem with Jason’s, happiness bubbling up in her chest. This was a peace she never wanted to let go, regardless of the reason why the two of them were brought and bound together. 

Jason was in love. 

There was zero doubt in his head or heart that he was fully committed to his darling Jazz, the beautiful woman who understood him in ways no one ever had. With her, the pit remnants were calm and he was happy. 

Happy. 

Sheer happiness was in his grasp, in his arms and resting on his chest as she slept. Her long hair smelled like strawberries and he never wanted to leave. 

Yet, bat-trained paranoia reared its ugly head in moments like these. 

Jasmine Nightingale was, by all accounts, a civilian with a trust fund who cared for her younger brother. No other records were found that could tie either Jazz or Danny to crime, but Jason didn’t want to see them if they existed anyway. He hadn’t even met Danny yet and the kid, despite being prime adoption bait, was already one of Jason’s favorite people. He made Jazz proud with his intelligence and good-natured attitude, so Jason would do his best to form a good relationship with the kid. 

He guessed he should be more concerned with how quickly he fell for his darling, but he wasn’t. It felt right. It felt safe. Like he could trust Jazz with every thought, every dream, every hope, every nightmare and she wouldn’t run away. He wanted her, plain and simple. 

Thankfully Jazz was more or less on the same page as him. 

She never had to say a word about how she felt for him, it was obvious in the way she would gravitate towards him, want to be around him, talk to him, simply be with Jason. How honored he felt to be gifted such attention by Jazz. 

He didn’t know how to tell her about Red Hood though. 

The Nightingales lived outside Crime Alley’s borders, in a shitty neighborhood of Gotham recently claimed by two new vigilantes- Phantom and Regent. 

Jason tried to shove back the horrifying images of a vivisectied Phantom, screaming, sobbing and whimpering, but he would ever be able to forget. 

The video of Regent killing the Fentons was glitched, but cross referenced with the Ghost Files, it was obvious the Regent of Now and Then were the same woman…entity that saved Phantom, no, avenged the ghost kid. 

The fact that the Fentons death prevented a war was karmic justice, in his humble opinion. 

Yet, there was something familiar about the Regent. Something that called to him on a baser level… as if he knew the entity behind the helmet. 

But that was ridiculous…right? 

Right? 

Jazz was going to kill him all the way this time, Danny bemoaned while in flight. He really stuck his foot in it this time and yikes, he really needed to learn to keep his mouth shut. 

He just had to go behind Jazz’s back and give the Ghost Files to Batman instead of Superman or Constantine. Big and blue wasn’t available when Danny found an opportunity and for shame if he wasted it! Sad trench coat man being there was really just a bonus, honestly. 

With the Acts getting the League’s attention, it was time for a desperate move on the part of the GIW. 

They infiltrated Gotham. 

Danny had no idea how they had found a way past the border Lady Gotham kept a tight leash on, but the agents were able to pick up his trail with a lucky break on their end. He had a haunt in Gotham, which meant his ecto-signature was strong in that area and weak in others. A glaring neon sign of where the Phantom often could be found. 

But Danny would never give up his haunt again, not without a fight. 

This haunt didn’t just belong to him, not like Amity had. This had become the home of the Nightingales, the Phantom and the Regent. They had shed blood to claim it and would shed more to keep it. 

If it meant admitting to his mistake, then so be it, that’s where he would start. 

“Bold of you to assume I thought that far ahead.” Was probably not the best response to Jazz’s irate question of ‘Did you even consider what Batman, Mr. Contingencies-out-the-ass and minion-acquisition-instead-of-therapy, would do with the files?’ 

Needless to say, Jazz wasn’t impressed. 

She had been rather happier lately, with her boyfriend Jason constantly in her orbit, but responsibility still weighed on her. 

(Danny’s fault, he was aware, but he still had so much growing up to do before he was ready for the crown.)

Getting the AEA demolished was sure to take some weight from her, even if it would be only the beginning of resolving the repercussions of the United States’ crimes against the Infinite Realms. 

It would be years before it would be considered repaid, the blood shed and existences snuffed out. The deaths of the Dr. Fentons were only a consequence of their actions, not truly recompense for the torture they inflicted on the people of the Realms. 

(Danny never told Jazz, but he knew they didn’t die when the portal was destroyed.)

(He knew his sister had killed their parents to save him.) 

(He still didn’t know how to feel about that.) 

Lady Gotham offered a sad croon as Phantom curled his form under a gargoyle’s wings, the heavy rain an ironic ambiance for his mood.

There was nothing he could do about the GIW in Gotham until they showed themselves and they were doing an unusually good job of keeping on the down low. If it hadn’t been for the frantic screeches of the friendly shades and a few blob ghosts cuddling him for comfort, he would have been caught off-guard by an attack. As long as he stayed out of his haunt for a while, let his signature be caught somewhere else, then Jazz would be able to defend their home until he could deal with the bastards. 

He just needed to wait. 

Jazz had been livid with him admitting his fuck up with the files and deeming the GIW’s presence his fault for claiming a Haunt. With a threat to hug him and make him talk about his feelings until he no longer believed such a lie, Jazz agreed to remain in their Haunt until he could draw some of their forces away. Lady Gotham’s ecto-siganture would be enough to scramble their trackers once further into her city and she would subtly lead her Knights to the agents when able. 

It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough.

Phantom curled his tail around his laid back form, mimicking a cat as he texted Sam and Tucker with updates. They had sworn to visit him during Summer Break, but the Halfa wasn’t holding his breath. Gotham wasn’t safe for them. It wasn’t safe for anyone and that’s coming from a kid who can punt a building into the sun at a moment’s notice. 

Amity was (laughably) the best place for them. 

Phantom wasn’t really paying attention, absentmindly petting a blob ghost that was cuddled into his side, when he was joined by none other than the Red Hood. 

Badass armor and weapons aside, the Hood was an Antihero he admired. The avenged dead sung his praises for all who’d listen. 

And… he was very familiar. 

Red Hood possessed a Proto-core, one he’d sensed before in his own home….with Jazz. 

It couldn’t be. There was no way the Fenton luck could be that wonky that his big sister was dating Red Hood of all people, Jason Todd when unmasked. She had to know right? There was no way Jazz could miss the Proto-core signature of the Once-Revenant they’d housed for a while. Was Jazz okay with Jason’s past? Sure, Red Hood didn’t kill much anymore, but he was still a crime lord who thought severed heads in a duffel bag was a great gift to leave on someone’s doorstep, like a particularly picky cat. 

“Uh, hi?” 

Hood crouched down, rain blocked by his huge body, water droplets dripping off his red helmet. The white lenses gave nothing away as the Anti-hero spoke, “Hey kid. You ok?” 

(Danny was well aware of how gentle and caring Red Hood was towards kids.) 

(He couldn’t wait to be an uncle.) 

“I’m fine, dude. Just chilling.” 

“Under a gargoyle in Gotham?” The disbeliving tone made Phantom snort in laughter, because wow not the scariest concept to a halfa. 

“Hey, it was either this or the sewers. I wouldn’t be caught dead,” Phantom chuckled a bit at his joke. “Down there without hazmat gear and the Anti-Creep stick.” 

Hood snorted, the sound stackity through the modulator, “Fair enough. Don’t get caught by the big bat, ok? He doesn’t like Metas in his city.” 

“Oi, being dead is a meta-cal condition.” 

“Ugh,” Hood groaned, “a punster. You’re not dead, kid.” 

“‘Fraid I am, my good dude. Fourteen and fried alive, zero outta ten, would not recommend.” 

“...You’re a ghost?” 

“Right in one! Name’s Phantom.” the Halfa offered, seeing no point in correcting the Anti-hero. 

“Red Hood.” 

“Dude, I know. The shades sing your praises given half a chance.” 

“Shades?” 

Phantom shrugged, “The restless dead, unable to pass over without a lot of ectoplasm.” 

Hood didn’t ask what ectoplasm was, which surprised the Halfa. Did Batman share the Ghost Files with Red Hood? 

“You’re from Amity Park, right?” 

Phantom cringed at the name of his former haunt, anger bubbling in his gut, “I died there. I haunt Gotham now.” 

“....I’m sorry.” Even with the modulator, Hood sounded genuinely sad for Phantom. 

(Batman definitely shared the Ghost Files with the Anti-Hero.)

“Are you alright here? Do you need help?” 

Phantom shook his head, “The GIW invaded Gotham tracking my Ecto-signature, so I’m leading them away from my Haunt.” He raised an eyebrow, “You should be careful too. You’re a pretty strong liminal, but they’ll still try to capture you.” 

“No, they won’t get me. Phantom, where’s your haunt?” 

If Hood was anyone else, Phantom would keep his mouth shut. A Haunt is sacred, a home for a Fraid, it was not some measly address freely given. Yet, Red Hood was also Jason Todd, Once-Revenant Death-claimed Champion turned Proto-core Liminal dating his older sister. If Jazz trusted him enough to date him, then it was good enough for Phantom to offer him a place in his Fraid. (He really couldn’t wait to be an uncle.)

A/N: This was beta-read by @meditating-cat, thanks!

The little bit at the end there... foreshadowing, perhaps? Ooh... all those baby names I could give a Hardcover kid.

Perhaps, perhaps not. Who knows. I have the end of this series mostly planned out, but it could likely change.

Thanks for reading!

[520cafe]

sour grapes. oversized black tee

you stepped out the bathroom with a new change of clothes particularly, an oversized black shirt. it was warm, soft as cotton and nicely wrapped around your body like a curtain but, it was that familiar scent that made you dizzy and almost drove you crazy. what is this feeling?

dan heng just finished setting up the bed in his room and immediately turned his attention to you once he heard the sound of the doors opening. it then fell silent.

it was the way his face softened at the sight of you wearing his shirt; it was the way his eyes went up and down in awe; it was the way a smile gently graced his lips with no effort of trying to hide it. his blue eyes held a light to them, and it was one of fondness.

“hey, dan heng?…” the slight shakiness in your voice did not hide how your heartbeat felt as if it was fluttering. he only sighed while still keeping the same endearing smile on his face.

“the bed is ready, what do you think?” dan heng stepped aside to give you a closer look. the look in his eyes glistened when he managed to capture your star-struck reaction, like he was admiring a painting that held no flaws.

“ you.. kept all of them.”

the sight before you was a small cluster of plushies neatly lined up on the pillows that possessed a special memory to you. without thinking, you sat on the bed and held one of them in your hands as the events distinctively played out in your mind like a vintage record player.

back when you and dan heng were together, there was one thing or “tradition” that remained unchanged within your past relationship: arcade dates. whenever you were unable to get a plushie from those almost rigged crane machines, it was your look of disappointment that would tug at dan heng’s heart strings and result in you carrying a handful of colourful and adorable plushies at the end of the day, thanks to dan heng.

whenever your eyes followed the dramatic fall of the plushie from the crane slowly losing its grip, dan heng would lightly brush his hand against yours and take over with a determined look on his face, intent on getting you that specific plushie and getting rid of those rain clouds above your head. in a way, it felt as if you were holding dan heng’s warm hand again from the way you tightly held the plushie in your arms, just like how it used to be.

“it’s not like i could just throw all of them away right?” he answered. yet, his voice was rather deep and lazy, steadily feeling relaxed and at peace within your presence. “but it’s getting late, you should get some rest now.”

“yeah.. you’re right,” you placed the plushie on your lap and comfortably rested your chin on top of the plushie’s head. it was as if you shot a cupid’s arrow directly to his heart because now, dan heng could feel his heart racing and pounding like loud bells in his ears. “good night then, dan heng.”

“good night, [name].”

before you could even respond to him, dan heng gave you a small wave as he walked into the bathroom and away from your sight. if you shot the first arrow towards his heart then dan heng must have bounced it back at you because, it was the way your name rolled off perfectly from his voice that made heat rush to the surface of your cheeks. his voice held so much affection and awe towards you just like how it did in the past, and those black and white memories of what was once a fairytale-like relationship were now gradually being filled with vivid colours and being retold to you like a story book. it felt so wrong yet so right.

dan heng heavily brings his hand to his chest while leaning against the door whereas you fell face first into his pillow on the bed. whatever this strange feeling was that caused your heart to feel an unknown nervousness, was the start to your internal snowball of conflicting emotions.

cupid has successfully done the first step to their job.

🍇 SOUR GRAPES 〈 11 oversized black tee

━━ MASTERLIST. ╱ PREV. ╱ NEXT.

╰► SYNOPSIS. after being in the same tight-knit friend group for over a few months now, suspicions begin to rise when march, seele and bronya start to notice the awkward tensions between you and dan heng. little did they know, you and dan heng were once high-school sweethearts who shared a romantic and fairytale-like past where the pages only lasted for a year. this heartbreak led you to meet another unfortunate victim of cupid but that chapter flew away as quick as stardust. yet, it appears that you two were also destined to cross paths once more.

╰► [ a/n ] : AAAAHHHHH woah what’s this i’m back to 2 updates per week?? honestly updates may vary but at least expect an update once per week! hope you all enjoy this chapter of sour grapes! <3

━━ TAGLIST. @lauvwar-r @sunsethw4 @shizu-c @amyena @zephestia @loudeggbananaranch @lunavixia @twistedrxses @shinjuuz @danhenglovebot @flos-veritatis @sammy-hammy @kiwidoves @aeongiies @heartswonder @lilactaro @lunnaeclipse @aquatikk @obervation-subject-753 @vellichxrr6782 @rubberduckieyourtheone @viovya @stayriki @ceylestia @starryeyedkoko @theflameofyoursoul @kalims @liminalimmortal

[gugugyuu]

sleep part v - beomgyu x reader

warnings: very suggestive content, etc.

the house felt quiet inside, the maid was out for the day, visiting her family so you're all alone.

you led beomgyu to the sofa just outside your bedroom where sat down with his eyes wandering across the room, looking at the pictures and books that filled the shelves.

you made him some tea while he's waiting before you excused yourself to change into comfortable clothes.

and when you returned, you found him resting his head, eyes closed, as if trying to find some peace.

you didn't know why but you decided to curled up beside him on the sofa and rested your head on his shoulder.

the quiet between you wasn't uncomfortable, it actually felt safe.

"i've had a hard time sleeping lately," beomgyu said, out out nowhere.

you smiled, closing your eyes. "me too," you admitted, feeling a strange sense of relief in sharing this moment of vulnerability with him.

his heart swelled, his chest felt tight as he felt your presence beside him... so close and comforting, it kind of hurting his heart.

beomgyu wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in just a little tighter.

and you woke up the next morning with beomgyu by your side, still knocked out at the sofa.

small giggle escaped your lips at the sight of him, it's rare to see him peaceful because he's usually loud and energetic.

your amusement became short-lived when you grabbed your phone from the table and immediately noticed 10 missed calls from heuningkai.

"shit." you muttered under your breath, your eyes widening as you checked the time.

12:00 PM

panic gripped you for a moment, realizing how late it was. so without hesitation, you quickly called hueningkai back, apologizing profusely as soon as he picked up. and to your relief, he wasn't upset, he was calm, his was voice gentle as he reassured you it's fine.

"don't worry about it, these things happen," hueningkai said, chuckling lightly. "maybe you should rest a bit more." his words were kind but the guilt still hit you.

meanwhile, beomgyu started to stir next to you, blinking sleepily as he slowly woke up. you greeted him, offering to grab some food for both of you.

he shook his head, running a hand through his messy hair. "nah, i think i need a shower more than food right now."

you laughed at his response, "okay."

beomgyu stood up but kinda hesitated for a moment.

"t- thanks..." he smiled. "sorry..." shaking his head, "i'll see you around." he said, before turning and walking out.

you blinked, completely caught off guard.

thanks? sorry? what was that all about?

the days that followed were... strange. you found yourself avoiding beomgyu, deliberately ignoring his texts, even though a part of you wanted to reply.

something's holding you back. you didn't know if it's confusion, shyness, fear... maybe all.

then came f/n, who approached you abruptly, "i can't believe you," she started, her voice sounded hurt. "he told me he likes you, then he rejected me."

your stomach twisted, confused by her words.

"and now, you're rejecting him?" she added, her voice trembling with emotion.

"what? i-" you stammered but the words wouldn't come.

f/n didn't need you to hear you finish because she had already seen it, she saw how beomgyu's eyes always searched for you, how he was always waiting, hoping to see or hear from you.

she also witnessed how you would dodge him at every chance and rushing out of class the moment it ended, avoiding even the possibility of crossing paths with him.

and without another word, f/n turned on her heel and walked away, shaking her head in disbelief.

you pulled out your phone.

11:30 PM

you: you told f/n you like me that's why you rejected her?

choi beomgyu: sorry. i made that up.

choi beomgyu: I didn't know what to say.

you let out a sigh of relief first, now disappointment is washing all over you, feeling more confused than ever.

11:33 PM

choi beomgyu: where are you?

you stared at his message, your thumb hovering over the keyboard but you didn't hit send... you aren't ready to face him, everything felt a little too complicated.

and you skipped classes the next day, hoping to avoid the inevitable and beomgyu did skipped too exact opposite of your reason, he had been looking for you.

later, you found yourselves in an empty classroom, left alone to clean up as punishment for skipping.

"why would you skip class?" you snapped, irritated by the whole situation. you're frustrated, amplified by the fact that you were stuck here with him, cleaning while everyone else had gone home.

beomgyu glanced at you, not fazed by your tone. "sorry, but why did you?" he shot back.

you huffed, noticing how he was pretending to clean. and before you could say anything else, he suddenly stepped towards you, gently grabbing your arms, forcing you to face him.

you tensed, immediately tried to shake off his touch. "what are you doing?" you asked, sharply.

then eyes searched yours with a serious expression. "are you avoiding me?"

"no!" you replied, rolling your eyes in frustration but you could really feel your patience getting thinner and thinner. "beomgyu, stop..."

"then why does it feel like that?"

your defenses crumbled.

you looked down, feeling your heart hammering in your chest. "because i..." you hesitated, "i think i like you."

the words blurted out before you could stop them. beomgyu's eyes widened, clearly taken aback because that was the last thing he expected to hear.

you immediately regretted it, your face started flushing red with embarrassment.

why would you say that?

you bit your lip, trying to hold back the overwhelming urge to cry, laughing nervously but you sounded so hollow. "i'm sorry... i'm crazy. i don't even know what i'm saying-"

beomgyu leaned in, pressing his lips against yours in a quick, soft kiss.

your eyes widened in shock.

"what-"

he cut you off again, fully capturing your lips. his kiss were more certain and more deliberate now. he pulled back slightly and smiled, only to dive back in.

beomgyu's hands slid to the back of your neck, his fingers lightly brushed your skin and guided your face closer as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss for the third time. this one was slow and passionate, totally stealing the breath from your lungs.

your heart pounded as the world blurred around you...

you wanted to cry.

"i like you more, dummy." he grinned, pulling you on your waist.

go to: previous part || title || masterlist

[iamnot-crazy]

Stowaway Chapter 2

Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader

Info: This is my first time posting a story on Tumblr and my first time writing a x reader.

Summary:

The reader is a slave to a nobleman due to her devil's fruit ability which allows her to control the emotions of the people around her. She flees to bump into Trafalgar Law and boards his ship.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11

A month has passed since you joined the crew and it has been the best month of your life. While the crew was extremely orderly and clean when the captain was around the moment he turned his back they turned into a silly band of pranksters. Despite the captain's serious nature, everyone knows he has the devilish personality of a prankster and retaliates with his pranks whenever one is enacted upon him but will deny it was ever him. 

You have solidified your role as the crew's therapist who everyone goes to when they need an ear which you are happy to lend. You haven't used your powers once on anyone unless it was for a medical reason in which you will put them to sleep so as far as everyone on board is aware your power is to make people fall asleep. You try to offer your ability to law whenever they are forming plans to take on enemies but he will only use it to put people to sleep to keep up with the illusions the crew have placed upon themselves. 

Law is also the only person who knows your secret so you continue to take showers in the dead of night to hide your tattoo until one day Law stood in your path. He stood right outside his office waiting for you to make your normal path to the shower room after everyone was asleep, "Why do you sneak off to the showers every night?" He asked when he spotted you. the glow from his office illuminated his figure but hid his facial expression. 

You paused startled at his appearance in the hall. "I uh like my peaceful showers." You lie looking away from him. 

He just hummed and gestured for you to follow him into his office to which you complied. His office was a mess covered with paperwork and opened books. You could barely find his desk under the stacks of books and the floor was not any clearer but had a path leading to the desk. He sat in his chair, "So are you going to tell me the truth?" he asked crossing his legs and putting his chin in his hands awaiting a response. 

"I have a mark I don't want anyone to see." You admitting. 

He nodded, "May I see?" You blushed the tattoo was on your hip and if you were to show him you would have to unzip your uniform and reveal more than you wished. "It's your slave mark isn't it?" He asked when he noticed you blushing. You nod but do not make any moves to reveal the mark. "Y/N I am a doctor I have seen a lot worse, can you show me?" 

Realizing your captain is correct and persistent you unzip your suit revealing your bra and unzip it down to your waist where the red tattoo was with a dot with three triangles around it sat on your hip. "A celestial dragon mark??" He commented reaching out for the tattoo with shock and horror. You flinched away at the words and went to cover it up. He looked up at your expression to see it shift to horror and your eyes become red. He is surprised no one else noticed your eyes shift color when feeling intense emotions like now but then again the rest of the crew probably isn't looking at your eyes as much as he does. 

"it's ok." he assured grabbing your waist and pulling you back, "He can't hurt you anymore." He pulled back the uniform looking at the tattoo again, "Do you want me to remove it?" 

You froze at the thought, You have seen other freed slaves cover their marks by burning the sun pirate logo over it but removing it you wanted nothing more than to be rid of your past. You looked over at your captain trembling while you nodded your head unable to get the words out. 

He grabbed your hand reassuringly and helped you zip your uniform back up while your arms shook, "Let's go to the medical room where it is a bit more sterile." He said and held your hand while he guided you to the medical room the place you crashed when you first boarded. He grabbed you by the hips and placed you on the medical table before turning to his tools. "get undressed while I get my supplies," he ordered with his back turned.

You shakily pull the zipper of your uniform down and leave it sitting just above your knees. You looked over at the tattoo and all the horrible memories it held until a hand was placed on top of it. The inky hand of your captain. "Do you want to hold my hand?" He asked still covering the tattoo with one hand and holding his other hand out for you which you placed your gloved hand into. "Your real hand." You shook your head knowing your current emotions were intense, "I can handle it, let me share it." He slipped off your glove before placing his hand into your own his eyes immediately filled with tears but he took a breath and sucked them in looking bravely into your eyes to inspire you to do the same.

Still holding your hand he cleans the tattoo with an alcohol wipe before saying, "Room," and you were surrounded by the blue dome of his devil fruit, "Scaple" He used his power to painlessly remove the ink that stained you skin, he kept repeating "Scaple" until there was no more red ink inside of you.

You looked down to see your bare skin and a wave of relief came over you, years of torture seemed to have vanished. You smiled widely with tears in your eyes as you met your captain's eyes who mimicked your expression with an unfitting smile. The most you have seen your captain smile is the devilish smirk he gives when he gains the upper hand in battle or a prank. Your smile turns into laughter at his face and his smile grows more. It wasn't until Law looked down at your bare body that you became flustered and quickly pulled your hand away, your eyes shifted Pink and your face turned red. 

Law instantly turned his face away from yours and turned around. "It's gone now you don't need to sneak off in the middle of the night just for a shower." He coughed keeping his face away as you zip your uniform back up and jumped off the table. 

You walk over to your captain place a small kiss on his cheek and whisper a thank you before walking out the room and to your bed. As you closed the door your back hit the wall and you looked down at your hand that flustered feeling was not your own you could tell. Your ability seemed to have evolved again and this time you could feel your captain's emotions and it was one of arousal.

In the medical room, Law sat with his head in his hands blushing tremendously. 

***

A week had passed and you and your captain didn't speak about the interaction again and he tried to avoid looking at you still trying to decipher if the feeling he had that night was his own.

The crewmates started to notice your comfort levels around them rising now taking showers in the morning still before everyone else had woken but no longer afraid of someone walking in. You also now change into your pajamas with Ikkaku instead of insisting on going to sleep in your uniform. And your fear of tearing your uniform during battle has decreased once you dodge a knife causing it to tear your uniform revealing your mid-drift but confidently continued to fight Law looked intensely at the bare skin where the tattoo was admiring his work as he would say.

But one con arrived with your new-found confidence and that is that you don't walk past Law's office every night allowing him to listen to the small pitter-patter of your steps. One night he was sitting at his desk staring at the door waiting to hear the pitter-patter that he knew would never come. He sighed closing his book ready to call it a night when he heard that familiar sound. the steps stopped at his door and was followed by a soft knock on the door. "Come in." He said as calmly as he could. The door opened slowly revealing you in the doorway. "y/n, how can I help you" he said pretending to be surprised that it was you who had entered.

"Something has been bothering me since the other night," You said walking into the room. Law heartrate jumped thinking you meant the feelings he shared that night.  

You walked in and shuffled some books out of the way of the floor so you could sit in the corner facing him, "How did you know that I was walking to the showers every night after everyone has gone to sleep?" you asked.

Law released a breath and his heart rate returned, "Because you would walk past my office every night."

"But sometimes I would go at 3 in the morning." You stated.

Law just shrugged, "And?"

You shook your head at the insomniac captain of yours, "When do you sleep I always see you at the bridge first thing in the morning."

Law sighed, "Sleeping does not come easy for me," He admitted. 

"Would you like me to help with that?" You asked.

Law shook his head, "I promised you that I would never ask you to use your powers." 

"For anything, I don't want to." You cut him off defiantly, "I want to help you with this."

Law's head snapped at you in surprise, he will admit he has been thinking about the day you calmed him with your powers for a while and that night he was able to get the best sleep he had since he was a child. He searched your eyes to see a beautiful purple of determination and conviction. He was not going to be able to change your mind. He sighed in defeat, "Feeling calm for once would be nice." 

You jumped up in celebration, you removed your glove to reveal the 5 dots shining a color grey and held it up which Law returned by placing his hand on top of yours and instantly relaxed his shoulders and felt the wave of calmness dance over him. You held your hand with him for a full minute to allow the full effects of your feel fruit to take over him and last through the night. 

When you removed your hand he took a deep relaxing breath looking up and smiling at you thankfully. "Thank you, Y/N. Let's go to bed." He got up and opened the door for the two of you turning off the lights. He placed his hand on your back as he guided you back to the bunks thanking you once more before turning to head toward his room where he fell on his bed and immediately fell asleep with no thought swarming his brain. 

The next morning the entire crew noticed their captain in a happier state giving everyone a day off on the beach of the island they just landed on. No one questioned it and quickly took advantage of their day of play. The crew decided to sport the swimwear that they picked up at the last town they went to and have a fun beach day. Law could not keep his eyes off you confidently revealing your stomach.

***

Next Chapter

[tic-toc-clock77]

Tw//Familial Abuse, bullying, slight mentions/implied SA, mentions of physical abuse and neglect, Suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideation

Clockwork is an incredibly frequent insomniac; because she was abused by literally every person in her family, she always had to keep her guard up and that included sleep.

She'd fall asleep in class the next day after pulling an all nighter but her bullies would throw things at her to wake her up. She had to find a very secretive spot during lunch and recesses to sleep which landed her in a bathroom stall by herself most times but of course, the bullies found her there too.

School wasn't safe, home wasn't safe. She had nowhere to go, she knew if she went home she'd be attacked one way or another. If it wasn't being hit in the face with a beer bottle by father, her brother would be breaking the lock she placed on her room that she always had to repair herself. She knew she had to go somewhere but where could she go?

"They'd be happier if I disappeared." She thought bitterly, 2 blocks down from her home. It took her a millisecond to take off running as far away as she could get from that place. She didn't have to get hit, she didn't have to get her cries ignored, her insides wouldn't hurt every morning, even if just for a moment, she could be safe and happy. She was going to take that chance.

Late at night, Natalie found at herself at a park with her drawing book and pens in her hands. The hood of the 11 year olds green jacket was up so nobody would notice her. Her pen scratched the paper as she disembodied limbs and organs spewing out of each hole. There was something freeing about it, taking that pain she'd been forced into and making something out of it.

Sure, the girls at school had found her drawing books once and pasted all the images around school, having written things on them such as "NATALIE'S A FREAK!" In large letters across her art but she paid no mind when she was here. Feeling at peace, at long last, she wanted to find a place to sleep but that dream was dashed when the police cars that'd been circling the area finally caught wind of her.

"There you are, Ms. Ouellette." An officer stated, Natalie hid her book in her bag and began to back up. "Now don't run but I'm afraid your time is up out here. I need to take you back to your parents." Natalie was defeated. She wanted to kick and scream but she knew if she evaded this any longer, the beating would only be worse so she stepped toward the man in the car and got led to the back seat.

Finally home, she stood in front of the door nervously and watched her father fuming from the window to the living room. Her eyebrows immediately furrowed in anger at the man as she pushed the door open, ready to get it over with and gone. "I'm back!" She yelled, her father's attention immediately turning to her. He yanked her by the arm and she prepared but when the first hit landed.

"Clockeye?" Clockwork turned on her side to look up at the face that held the familiar gash and she raised her hand to graze it. "You looked like you were having a nightmare so I woke you up." Toby smiled, placing his hand on her hair. "Oh, uh, yeah. Just some bad memories coming back up." She sits up, letting herself rest on his shoulder.

"You okay with telling me about it?"

"....Maybe not now."

"Alright."

Toby plants a small kiss to her temple and she smiles, resting more comfortably against him.

She felt rested at long last.

[authoralexharvey]

INTERVIEW WITH A WRITEBLR — @nanashi23

Who You Are:

Eon || They/them

I am an ancient hermit living in the suburban deserts of Colorado. Before becoming a hermit, I've did time in the publishing industry, but mostly greasing wheels, not the fun stuff.

What You Write:

What genres do you write in? What age ranges do you write for?

Action, adventure, comedy, contemporary, drama, fantasy, horror, paranormal, psychological, sci-fi, thriller, and tragedy. New adult and adult.

What genre would you write in for the rest of your life, if you could? What about that genre appeals to you?

Science and Speculative fiction. As a queer person in the ADHD propaganda generation, something needs to remind people there is still hope, anger and passion in the world and that experiences cannot be commodified.

What genre/s will you not write unless you HAVE to? What about that genre turns you off?

Mystery, because I just feel like I am not smart enough to make it mysterious. YA because I'm not sure how. Younger children's books because… I like to say fuck. : )

Who is your target audience? Do you think anyone outside of that would get anything out of your works?

Lost, lonely, angry people who like space queers and the occasional jackass. Yes, I think people will get it, especially if they just walk in expecting a good time and not a world shaking adventure.

What kind of themes do you tend to focus on? What kinds of tropes? What about them appeals to you?

Apparently hope? The more I read my own writing the more I realize I write about 9/11, culture wars, fighting against an enemy everyone thinks is dead because 'you won' some arbitrary battle. Tropes are hard for me because I am old. Disaster duos are my favorite one that I can say for sure.

What themes or tropes can you not stand? What about them turn you off?

Very little turns me off - especially if done with taste.

What are you currently working on? How long have you been working on it?

Second book of what might end up being a trilogy. Book is called Starrender, coupled to Silvermoon. I started writing it in 2021. Book 2 I started in May of 2022.

Why do you write? What keeps you writing?

Creativity is compulsory, is my understanding of it. "I just work here," is how I describe it to other writers. I wish I could explain, but for me it's… therapy, escape, fun, joy. What keeps me writing? Me.

How long have you been writing? What do you think first drew you to it?

This is a hard question because I have written as long as I can remember. What first drew me too it? See the above answer. Creativity feels compulsory. I have hyperfantasia, my day dreams are vivid, strong and indulgent.

Where do you get your inspiration from? Is that how you got your inspiration for your current project? If not, where did the inspiration come from?

The easiest answer to this is dreams. My current set started as a dream and was fleshed out with my co-author. Something brand new, shiny. It's evolved a lot beyond that, especially since that dream was from 2013. Other inspiration comes from spite, I suppose? Did I write a trans wizard novel for obvious reasons? Yes. I still haven't made peace with that decision though, I wish I had spent that year working on something I loved more.

What work of yours are you most proud of? Why?

The one I'm publishing in March 2023 - Terms of Light. Above all other things, I feel like it's a love letter to myself and to my spouse. It took me so long to find what home should feel like and I think this really embodies that journey.

Have you published anything? Do you want to?

Yes - and yes. Self published Terms of Light (March 2023). I have been querying and trying to hook an agent since 2013 - no luck so far.

What part of the publishing process most appeals to you? What part least appeals to you?

Trad pub - A marketing team. Self pub - control Both - A physical book in my hands and the ability to hand a book to someone. It's a strange phenomena but when you tell people you have been published and aren't able to hand them a physical book, they get strange. They've done whole studies about it. The perception of something available as free is lesser, even if the content and quality is not. I truly don't care about the money, I care about accessibility to stories that might not make it because they're not "on brand." (Read in 2014, LGBTQ+)

What part of the writing process most appeals to you? What part is least appealing?

Writing is appealing to me. I love it. I hate editing. I don't know why, but much like I dislike revisiting shows, books and other media I've visited before, editing has the same kind of yuck to it. Trying to get over that.

Do you have a writing process? Do you have an ideal setup? Do you write in pure chaos? Talk about your process a bit.

Process is not something I think I would call what I have but… Since most start as a dream, I have a Dream Theater folder. Outline usually comes with the initial brain dump, and by outline I do me, high level, not too detailed vagaries about what's happening, cool things, and notes and thoughts. From there, I wait for a first line to hit me and… write until I'm out of steam. I can usually rock out the first 10 - 14 chapters of something in a month to two months depending on how hot the writing fever is… the middle slog does take it's toll on me. After Draft 1 is done, I force it on some poor alpha reader, and come back in a year when I'm potentially ready to edit it. Editing is it's own thing. I have no process for this, I don't know if I ever will.

Your Thoughts on Writeblr:

How long have you been a writeblr? What inspired you to join the community?

About a year. @winterandwords inspired me, I'm in a Discord server with her and she told me it was "better now."

Shout out some of your favorite writeblrs. How did you find them and what made you want to follow them?

@winterandwords - Because they are an absolute delight. They write everything I've always wanted too and it is a visual and emotional FEAST in my mind. @sergeantnarwhalwrites - That guy rocks, what an encouraging soul! With a great sense of humor. Delightful. No idea how I found them, but glad I did.

What is your favorite part about writeblr?

Interaction!! Even if it's light, it's nice to see some things get notes. I feel less alone, even though I am also able to control my experience a bit more so I'm not inundated with activity.

What do you think writeblr could improve on? How do you think we can go about doing so?

This is a hard one because… short of having more time in everyone's day to read and respond, I don't think things can be improved with what we have.

How do you contribute to the writeblr community? Do you think you could be doing more?

I react, I reblog, I respond when I can. I follow writers that have the same vibe and try and lift them up when I see they may not be doing great. Can I do more? Sure. If I had the emotional energy and time.

What kinds of posts do you most like to interact with?

Writing. Publishing info.

What kind of posts do you most like to make?

Any kind. I'm not particular. I usually do snips, reblogs of fun things as well as writing things, and of course, a little bit of SJW nonsense - because it's Tumblr. Ya gotta.

Finally, anywhere else online we may be able to find you?

Anymore? No where. Twitter disappeared as soon as I started having privacy concerns. I'm building a website but… I'm a slacker ; ). TBC.

[sojutrait]

15 questions for 15 mutuals

ty for the tag my brother @literalite and fellow fnafer @gunthermunch

1. are you named after anyone? my first and middle name are both a play on my older brothers’

2. when was the last time you cried? ngl i don’t remember but it was probably some time this week while listening to my playlists

3. do you have kids? naur god forbid

4. do you use sarcasm a lot? not anymore bc it reminds me of my middle school cringe era 😭😭 the few times i do now i do it in a very obviously lighthearted way

5. what sports do you play/have you played? volleyball and dancing in the past but now i’m in my running and lifting era

6. what's the first thing you notice about other people? height. if i have to look extremely down or up to look at you i will notice

7. eye colour? v dark brown, basically black dkrkdk

8. scary movies or happy endings? scary movies but finding a good scary movie is like finding a needle in a haystack

9. any special talents? there’s sm shit i’ve randomly memorized out of boredom. off the top of my head there’s the entire periodic table, every book of the bible, every state in the united states, and the first 100 numbers of pi. so i have a pretty good memory for dumb shit

10. where were you born? another dimension. a dimension not only of sight and sound, but of mind. a journey into a wondrous land of imagination (the south)

11. what are your hobbies? outside of simblring, i workout occasionally, play card games (i am a master of solitaire) complain on twitter and go feed the ducks around my local pond. oh and youtube args

12. do you have any pets? boy do i. 3 dogs, a cat, a fuckton of snakes and i used to have a lizard may he rest in peace

13. how tall are you? 5’5 ehe

14. fave subject in school? art history and biology

15. dream job? museum job or any job in the art world where i can get rich and party and get paid for it

i tag @orphyd @castawavy @itsmariejanel @sadnesshotline @cheesehair @okruee @leafrue @cowplant-pizza @cas-fulleditmode @moodnamars @homophobictrait

[moongurl95]

Chapter 11 – In the Shadow of Detention

Safely securing the bottle she just filled with Leech Juice, Beatrice glanced along the Lake’s lonely edge, carefully avoiding the littered glass bottles as she studied the new additions that appeared on her Field Guide – there seemed to be another Merlin Trial up ahead on the way back to Hogwarts. It had been easy to miss since she took the Floo Flame back to the castle, but after bidding Grace a quick excuse as to get to where she was now, Beatrice curiously came upon a sealed cave along the Lake’s edge with a rather intricate engraving before its entrance.

Putting two and two together, she’d levitated a nearby stone cube with its matching symbol onto the circular engraving before it took her a second to garner that she then had to cast a spell indicative of the fiery symbol it presented. While using the Fire-making Charm she had in her arsenal was correct, Beatrice was still unsure about entering the now unsealed cavern, fearing it might trap her inside, until she perused how it was suddenly labelled in her Field Guide – a Treasure Vault.

Curiosity got the better of her as she still wound up investigating what lay inside and was rewarded by yet another piece of aged parchment left in a lone chest inside the cavern. She garnered it was enchanted to not crumble in her hands the moment it was unearthed but Beatrice had to wonder what these pieces of paper were for…? Suppose she could ask Professor Weasley about it tomorrow in Transfiguration class, knowing Professor Fig had yet to be back from London.

Quietly mulling over how to inquire about the subject tomorrow whilst not raising the Deputy Headmistress’ suspicions on her ‘extra’ curricular activities, Beatrice was then pulled from her thoughts when the house-elf that led her here with his curiously placed notes suddenly Apparated on top of a wooden barrel she was just about to pass by along the water's edge—

“Thank you for coming all this way.” The one-eared fellow huffed as he hopped off from his elevated stance before looking up towards Beatrice, “The name’s Scrope. Scrope serves the Headmaster. Been in the Black family for years. Apologies for the abundance of notes. Scrope wanted to be sure you weren’t followed.”

“What’s this all about? Your notes mentioned the book I found in the Restricted Section.” Beatrice narrowed her eyes as she warily assessed the house-elf in front of her.

“Scrope can tell you more in exchange for your help. But no one – especially the Headmaster – can know.”

“I’m not so sure about this. I don’t need the Headmaster upset with me.” Nor did Beatrice think it wise for the wizard to know why the new fifth-year was even in the Restricted Section in the first place.

“Oh, the Headmaster won’t be upset. Scrope simply wants to surprise him. Scrope will explain.” The house-elf was quick to assuage her worries before he took a deep breath to talk about his late mistress, “Apollonia Black – may she rest in peace – was a student at Hogwarts over fifty years ago. Before she died, she spoke with passion of pages ripped from a book. Scrope suspects she took them to her private grotto.”

The house-elf nodded his head towards somewhere farther along the coast, now continuing with a solemn look in his eyes, “She was delirious at the end, poor thing. Mistook belladonna for elderberries. Scrope tried to warn her.” His forlorn sigh seemed to signal the end of his explanation but Beatrice still had some questions she needed answers to.

“I’m sorry to hear that. But – how do you benefit if I find the pages?” She was still high-strung from her earlier encounter with Rookwood’s Ashwinders, despite the swim in the Lake’s waters helping ease her nerves a bit, Beatrice was still certain she could not afford to let her guard down – especially outside of Hogwarts’ walls.

“Scrope believes that a treasured Black family ring is also in the grotto. Scrope wishes to give it to the Headmaster.” The house-elf hesitated only for a brief second before confessing, “Apollonia forbade Scrope from entering the grotto long ago. Scrope continues to honour her wishes.”

There was a moment of silence as Beatrice inwardly weighed the situation – this was the only lead she’d gotten about the missing pages after all – yet she felt a sense of unease at being enmeshed in anything that involved the Black family—

“Scrope would not dare ask a student for help. But when Scrope learned you were looking for those pages. Scrope thought you might also find the ring.”

Beatrice breathed out slowly then, before asking the one other question that seemed to be bothering her since receiving the house-elf’s first note, “How did you know that I’d found a book and that it’s missing pages?”

“Scrope and the other house-elves are good at staying out of sight. Scrope hears and sees many things in the castle. Scrope knows how to keep secrets.” That whispered last half may well be meant to assuage Beatrice’s misgivings, yet she was aware how immensely devoted and loyal house-elves can be to their masters.

“Tell me more about this treasured ring.”

Scrope’s fixed somber expression almost seemed to perk up now, “It’s adorned with the Black family crest. The Headmaster would be pleased with Scrope for returning it.”

She still wasn’t sure how much Scrope knew – whether the entrance to the Athenaeum remained to be seen only by Ancient Magic wielders like her – but Beatrice could only breath in now as she came to a decision, “It seems this may help us both. I shall do it.”

“Scrope is relieved. Scrope hoped the young student would be willing to help.” The house-elf now nodded most fervently as he also produced something magically from his hands, “Take this toast to the grotto just down the coast. Place it on the pedestal there.”

This gave Beatrice pause as she was handed the tiny, yet still warm toast in her hand, “Why do I need a toast to get in there?”

“Oh, that was dear Apollonia’s idea. Seems some squids love toast. Scrope is not certain though if this is common knowledge amongst Hogwarts’ students.”

Before Beatrice could process whether the Lake’s Giant Squid was also in charge of guarding a Black family member’s grotto situated by the waters’ coast, the house-elf had already wandered off, “Scrope will wait right here for you. Best of luck finding your pages. And the ring.” He added in emphasis, lest it be forgotten, leaving Beatrice to head to the grotto alone.

She’d already prepared herself for another round of swimming, seeing as Scrope pointed somewhere towards the bottom of the cliffs ahead – but had she not consulted her Field Guide’s Charmed Compass, Beatrice wouldn’t have pinpointed the exact location of the grotto’s entrance.

It was in this instance, while Beatrice lifted the ends of her school robe in one hand and had the Guide open in the other as she followed the golden thread to her destination, that she was caught by surprise as the pages lit aglow before flipping to a newly made journal entry – Wait, why was it showing a Dugbog?

Now ankle deep in the Lake’s waters, Beatrice stopped to assess the page’s entry when she’d felt more than heard the distant rumble of something shifting beneath the water’s surface, the tiny hairs on her nape standing on edge as she took a second to register the movement coming behind what she initially thought was a floating tree branch, before it charged at her –!

She only managed to react fast enough by lurching herself to the nearest rocky embankment, her footing slipping on the slick stones as she landed on her knees, Field Guide digging dully at her side as she rolled on her back, safely securing it before quickly brandishing her wand from her skirt’s pocket, as she leaned back on her elbow. The Dugbog had by now turned around towards her, its mouth now open wide, preparing for its next attack but Beatrice had already read enough from her Guide to know how to counter—

“Levioso!”

Beatrice didn’t have time to observe the amphibian beast levitated on its tongue as she then felt an almost instinctive surge of Magic through her wand arm, making her adjust her stance as she accommodated the large boulder that aggressively made impact on the Dugbog. The slimy, severed tongue that plopped in front of her was enough to make Beatrice gag, but she had to swallow it back as she heard another set of rumbles coming her way again – this time, there were three more emerging from the waters to quite possibly avenge their fallen kin.

Biting back a curse, she winced to stand as the sting of her skinned knee burned against the damp air, blood seeping through the tear in her stocking as she held her wand between her teeth, hurriedly donning the Dragonhide Herbologist Gloves she’d thankfully kept in her skirt pocket, then swiping them across the beast’s slimy tongue, just before digging her hands into each pocket of her enchanted robe. She hoped to Godric Gryffindor that Leander knew what he was talking about earlier in class, before Beatrice pulled out the pair of Chinese Chomping Cabbages and threw them at the charging Dugbogs!

The seemingly sentient plants seemed to target in on their adversaries as the first one was quick to latch onto a Dugbog’s tongue just as it opened its mouth. Beatrice first thought it would get crushed between the beast’s gaping maw but the plant knew when to let go and continue its relentless attacks, much like how even the other Cabbage gnawed on the second Dugbog’s now flailing tongue. That left her with the last one just about to charge at her with brute force.

She already had a bottle of Wiggenweld ready as she dodged the beast with just enough time for her to chug its bitter content, gritting her teeth at the itchy sensation of her skin rapidly healing before she could stand properly, and now focusing on the same Magic she’d cast in Hogsmeade days prior. The tingling sensation through her arms was now turning into a familiar feeling as she fiercely aimed her wand, the vibration racing through her chest as the beast imploded on itself – its tongue the only thing that curiously remained, flopping with a dull ‘smack’ on the rocky embankment.

Only then did Beatrice also notice the leafy remains of her Chinese Chomping Cabbages, both plants now lay unmoving as each successfully had a Dugbog tongue between what remained of their sharp teeth, while the amphibian beasts’ carcasses mostly had their eyes missing as well as a good chunk from their hides. Beatrice now agreed with Leander on how vicious this particular form of vegetation could be – yet it’d be a wiser reason for her to need more in the future.

Breathing deep and not wanting to put good potion ingredients to waste, Beatrice gingerly levitated the slimy Dugbog tongues into one of the glass jars she kept in her enchanted pockets – she’d already thought this would save her a few Galleons than actually just purchasing them, yet Beatrice was still reeling from having to actively fight to obtain these components.

After having cast a quick Reparo on her torn stocking and a cleansing charm to wipe off the slime from her Dragonhide gloves, Beatrice then secured it in her enchanted robe pockets, double checking that no water would break through into its contents before she fully dived back in the lake. Swimming forward with her head above the surface, Beatrice wasn’t quite sure what she’d expect inside the so-called grotto, but she gripped her wand tight in one hand even as she swam – quite prepared for any more threats that may appear.

The welcome touch of the cool waters against her burning skin made her strokes steady as she was greeted by the sight of stalagmites and stalactites that made up the cliff’s interior, her teeth gritted against the bite of cold air as Beatrice slowly trudged to the surface, warily eyeing the lone pedestal in front of a mural of the Giant Squid that occupies the lake. Though the last thing she expected was for it to seemingly come alive the moment she placed the piece of toast onto the pedestal, its depiction of consuming it acting like a key that made the eye of the Giant Squid light up before it crumbled the wall to form a circular entryway.

Running a hand through her wet hair to keep it from sticking to her face, she let the only sound of dripping water from her being echo in the inner chamber of the grotto, the air she breathed damp and coated with mildew as she took in the remaining furniture that made up the dim space. The only light that coalesced the interior came from a still lit lamp on writing desk wherein she spied a worn, dusty journal, the name fancily engraved on its hardbound face not coming as a surprise to Beatrice as to who it once belonged to, though as she skimmed through its weathered pages something caught her eye on one of the last journal entries—

That good for nothing Jackdaw! It wasn’t enough he came back as a headless ghost – he even had the gall to confess about why he sold my ring! Well Richard, not even death can give you the peace of mind to be with that filthy mudblood after I let the Ministry believe she was all to blame: both for the death of a Pure-blood and stealing from the Black family.

Beatrice’s blood ran cold, it wasn’t hard to imagine the Blacks were above accusing a Muggle-born of stealing from them, but to pin an actual murder of a wizard without due evidence? She dreaded the thought of what fate the witch that caught Apollonia’s ire met, all because of a now headless man – Richard Jackdaw… Beatrice’s mind reeled in thought at having to remember if there was one such ghost roaming the halls of Hogwarts, she could only come up with one who was nearly headless…

Eyes sweeping over what remained of the room, Beatrice then did one last cast of Revelio to see if she’d missed any enchantments that she failed to look over, finally spotting a lone, leather chest glowing behind a dressing screen. She tilted her head curiously though at only finding a torn piece of paper inside, presenting a bridge with a lit wand above it that indicated to what looked like floating candles… Another form of a Fire-making Charm perhaps? This was surely a different find from the usual scrolls Beatrice would find in chests, nor did this appear to be connected to the missing pages unless— this was a piece of a map that led to them? She thought it best to hang onto it for now.

Deducing that Apollonia’s grotto had nothing more to offer her, Beatrice swam back to shore where she promptly cast the Hot Air Charm on herself before walking towards where Scrope awaited her return, “Hello Scrope. Thanks to you, I was able to enter Apollonia’s grotto. But I’m sorry to say that I found a half-burnt note from a Richard Jackdaw confessing he sold the Black family ring long ago, the piece of paper crumbled just as I exited…” Beatrice chose to embellish her findings, wanting to hang onto Apollonia’s journal in the meantime to see if she’d come across the identity of the witch who was wrongfully accused of her crimes.

“Sad news indeed. Scrope shall need to think of another way to impress the Headmaster.” The house-elf shook his head woefully, though tutting as he continued, “Hmph. That boy was never good enough for Apollonia.”

“You know of Richard Jackdaw?” Beatrice now asked, intrigued.

“Of course. Scrope knew that boy held a candle for dear Apollonia, but rumour has it another witch snuck him a love potion to steal his attention. But Scrope just thinks that boy is fickle.” The house-elf waved a dismissive hand along his non-existent ear, drawing Beatrice’s own attention to it as the other held out a hand, “Come along now, young student. Scrope will Apparate you back. It was Scrope after all who led you this far away from the castle.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, Scrope, how did you injure your ear?” She’d stalled, mentally preparing herself for the dizzying after-effects that form of travelling would cause.

“The Blacks have a tradition of decapitating their house-elves when their service is no longer required. One day, dear Apollonia was understandably frustrated with Scrope and got a bit too eager with a cleaver. Scrope was able to convince the sweet girl of his value and now views this small injury as a reminder of her good heart.”

Well, that paints a picture, doesn’t it. A cleaver wielding witch, with the other bearing a love potion, both potentially dangerous – though fortunately the first was already deceased – yet all this over a now headless ghost named Richard Jackdaw. If he wasn’t the next lead Beatrice could think of in finding the missing pages, she’d rather not have opened this figurative can of worms to begin with.

Sighing in exasperation, she was just about to reach out for Scrope’s offered hand when a not-so familiar hoot kept getting closer. It wasn’t until an owl had impatiently dropped a note in her outstretched hand did Beatrice have time to read who it was from:

I am holding remedial classes today during Study period. I request you attend so that I may be able to teach you the Disarming Charm next.

– Professor Hecat

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Sebastian flipped through the pages of the book he had in hand, finding interest in the topic of spells being modified using a similar source that created it – much like how some antidotes are created from the same base poison. Oddly enough, the subject reminded him of the curious scribbles he first saw in the Undercroft years ago.

Ominis didn’t know what they were but used it as a source of interest on why he chose Ancient Runes as an elective alongside Arithmancy. But for Sebastian however, he was more interested in the theory of Magic in itself – not surprising as his father was the one who used to teach the subject before his untimely demise.

Personally, he always thought it was a shame that the subject was only taught to 1st years before it was well glossed upon until students decided to restudy the elective again on a more in-depth field in 6th year. Maybe he could take up the subject again after he’d decided what N.E.W.T.s he’d take, but he wasn’t quite decided on his career path just yet, not while Anne was—

“I’d appreciate if we get these books sorted out sometime tomorrow. It’ll be the first weekend off from classes where we’re allowed to go to Hogsmeade, after all. Not to mention I’ve already made plans with someone…”

His focus was pulled from his thoughts then, eyebrow twitching as he decidedly snapped the book he was holding shut, thinking to slip it into his robes for future reading but hesitating on sneaking it away without Professor Fig’s permission – he’d have to take note of the title and ask for Beatrice’s help in borrowing it. Evenly stacking it onto the pile of books he’d been organizing, Sebastian then levelled his gaze on the Ravenclaw Prefect that was assigned to watch over his detention.

“Cheers on that then. Didn’t take you for the type to start chasing after skirts on our first week back in Hogwarts but then again… I really shouldn’t conventionalize you by your House alone.”

That said, what Sebastian only really knew about Andrew Larson was that the boy always seemed close to tears during their first couple years in Hogwarts, only hearing from the vine that the blond would cry for his mum or whoever. Not that it was something he would make fun about, Sebastian himself could empathize what it was like to lose not one, but two parents at a young age.

But then 3rd year came around and he’d kept hearing from Anne about a Ravenclaw Keeper during her own Quidditch tryouts, gone was the boy who only kept his head down during their shared classes and in his place stood a taller boy who exuded a quiet confidence. Sebastian remembered how he couldn’t quite sit straight as he watched his twin during her first official Quidditch match against Ravenclaw, she was doing her best beating the Bludgers around and away from her teammates, but his fingers kept drumming against his thigh the whole game every time his House failed to score a Quaffle through the hoops.

Ultimately, despite their Seeker being the one to catch the Golden Snitch during the round, they still failed to garner enough points to win against their competition, which only made for an even more unforgettable day once Imelda had a conniption in their Common Room right after – going on a rant about Ravenclaw’s new “Golden Keeper”. He himself had observed how the other boy played though, finding it uncanny how the blond somehow knew when and where the Quaffle would be heading at, even dodging some ill-meaning Bludgers headed his way as if the Ravenclaw had known about it seconds away.

Despite the hushed whispers of admiration since that day though, Andrew Larson had remained amicable, with Ominis commenting he was one of the more pleasant Ravenclaws to ask for advice when it came to assignments, and even Anne would mellow down when she’d see the other boy nearby, but for Sebastian? There was just something about him that he couldn’t quite put a finger on, it was an uncanny feeling that made Sebastian decide it was best not to cross paths with the Ravenclaw too often. Which was why he turned down Imelda’s every demand for him to fill in for his twin’s sudden absence from the previous term’s last half of the Quidditch season – a 7th year was more than eager enough to take on Slytherin’s vacant Beater position anyway – which made Sebastian all the more relieved that the sport had been cancelled for the most part this term as he didn’t think he’d be able to hold off Imelda’s persistence in getting him to try out for the team.

Hence why he inadvertently chose to take up duelling instead – he didn’t have anything against flying in general, he just preferred to keep his feet firmly on the ground. In a way, it helped hone his concentration – predicting his opponent’s next set of spells based on their body movement – though he may have admittedly been a bit distracted during his first duel with Beatrice…

“It’s nothing like that, I – well, it’s more like a study session and whatnot, nothing more.” Larson replied, letting out an awkward cough into his closed fist as he ducked behind the stack of books he was also helping to arrange, trying to hide his reddening ears yet Sebastian had already noticed it all the same, prompting a smirk to form on his own features as he saw a sense of semblance of the once bashful classmate he knew of before the Ravenclaw had turned into the unflappable Prefect that stood before him.

“Ah of course, nothing like partaking in some tidbit of knowledge instead of just withholding it after all. Though I’d advise keeping your own set of secrets from the fairer folk, best to give them a sense of mystery.” It was meant to sound teasing, but Larson already seemed prepared on a retort of his own.

“I’d say it’s better to keep your personal proclivities to yourself, instead of sneaking other students into otherwise restricted areas.” The resounding thud as the other boy placed a set of books was deafening as his gaze steadily met Sebastian’s, this made him stand up straight from where he was first just casually leaning against the bookcase as he watched the Ravenclaw seemingly assess him.

“And here I thought you of all people would agree that knowledge should be without its limits –”

“But there is wisdom in knowing when to push those limits, Sallow.” The other sighed, an all too familiar sound of exasperation Sebastian was tired of hearing as the Ravenclaw then looked away, rubbing at his forehead wearily, “I know you’re just trying to help Beatrice, but showing her your way of things might only end up getting you both in trouble the next time.”

Sebastian’s teeth audibly clicked together as he snapped his jaw shut, clenching and unclenching his hands at feeling that familiar wave of annoyance at being told what to do – to stop looking for a cure, that there was no other way to help Anne, yet – His spiraling train of thought slowed at the sudden intrusion of an unfamiliar owl, hooting as it entered through an open window they’d left to air the dust out, he watched it circle the room once before it landed near the other boy to deliver a blue envelope. A letter? What were the chances that it was from Beatrice? Sebastian did not have a name for the bitter taste that thought left in his mouth.

“It seems you’re excused from the rest of today’s detention.”

“What?” The question came out harsher than he was intending as Sebastian’s mind was still reeling from his previous thoughts.

“Professor Hecat requires your attendance in a D.A.D.A. remedial class she’s about to have right now. Though I don’t know why since you’re already top of that class…” Sebastian heard the blond mumble the last part, yet this made him perk up at the thought that Beatrice most likely will be there, suddenly feeling lighter as he rushed to put on his school robe and gather his other belongings, not even bothering to exchange pleasantries with the other boy on his way out.

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Protego or better yet the act of deflecting Expelliarmus in particular was the main topic in today’s class as Sebastian lazily watched Clopton and Imelda’s demonstration. He tried to maintain his focus on Professor Hecat’s subsequent explanation of better forms to maintain a more durable Shield Charm, especially against a well-aimed Expelliarmus, but his eyes kept wandering towards a certain classmate who seemingly wore one of the older variations of their school’s robes. Granted the circumstances of Beatrice’s arrival made her exempt from the usual dress code with whatever spare uniform the school could provide her with, the otherwise garment they’d once considered to be too “House fanatical” did look quite tasteful on her…

As if feeling eyes on her, Beatrice looked up from whatever it was she was writing to instinctively meet his gaze from across the aisle – she blinked once, as if curious as to why he was attending a remedial class of a subject she was sure he was already good at, before Sebastian afforded her a playful wink, earning a smile from her in return that had his stomach flipping just as Hecat passed by between them during her lecture. Sebastian awkwardly sat a bit sideways on his bench in the guise that he was attentively listening but he only continued to quietly observe Beatrice as her attention now stayed on their mentor, he’d already noticed by then how she rarely took notes in their classes unless otherwise told, her green eyes instead would intently focus on how a certain spell would first be executed, before trying her hand at it next, which really says something on how quickly she picks up on spell-casting—

“What are the chances of Protego holding up against a dragon’s fiery breath?”

Hearing that simple question muttered close to him just as Hecat said the last of today’s lecture made Sebastian turn to his other side and see Sweeting eagerly jotting away on her notes based on their professor’s academic explanation. While familiar with the Hufflepuff due to some of their shared classes, Sebastian wasn’t quite sure how to gauge her prowess in D.A.D.A. as they’re usually placed in different sections based on their mastery of a particular subject, however that wouldn’t stop him from sharing any input that might prove useful later on—

“Keep your wand firmly in front of your face, just inches enough away so it would be your arm that’s facing the heat, then plant your feet far apart as you brace your knees for the fumes’ impact.”

His answer stopped Sweeting from her writing as she blinked up owlishly at him as if she wasn’t expecting anyone to reply to her self-muttered thoughts, “But there’s also the possibility that a dragon might use their maw instead. Would a simple Protection charm withstand even that?”

Sebastian shook his head as he proceeded to stand up, “The trick is to never hesitate, one moment of reluctance could prove fatal in any form of defence.” He reiterated, emphasizing with his hands as the Hufflepuff followed him out of their class but not before noticing that her eyes momentarily strayed towards Beatrice who was heading towards the front of the room where Hecat stood waiting – Sebastian barely missing how Oggspire slipped a note into the Ravenclaw’s robe as she passed.

“I hate to see any creature get put down like that, but trolls have no business in Hogsmeade.” Sweeting’s quiet comment had Sebastian raising his brows, but the Hufflepuff had already awkwardly thanked him and was rushing off before he could retort, words caught in his tongue as his brows now furrowed at seeing who came to greet him just outside the classroom’s door.

“And here I thought you had better places to be, Larson.”

“Not until I’ve done my end of this bargain, Sallow. Then we get to decide how we spend our free time afterwards.” His smile was too pleasant in Sebastian’s opinion, catching how the Ravenclaw’s eyes briefly flicked towards the emptying D.A.D.A. classroom, which made him subconsciously step in front the other boy’s line of sight.

“The better you help me in my detention, the soonest we can go our merry ways then.” Sebastian emphasized, crossing his arms in quiet retaliation as to what – or better yet who – the other boy was hoping to meet just before then.

“My thoughts, exactly.” Larson’s smile now almost looked like a grimace as his focus directed towards the Slytherin, shaking his head as he turned around to lead the way. Sebastian relaxed as he also tried to get one last glimpse towards where Beatrice might still be, but the door to their classroom had already closed.

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Recounting the day’s events, Beatrice leaned back on her bed’s frame, gaze wandering from her open journal as she stared out unseeing pass her dorm room’s window. She had the dreamstone Natty asked her to safekeep clutched in her hand, agreeing with the Gryffindor how its cool, smooth surface felt grounding in her palm when she could just barely find her footing in this new, magical community.

Another thing that plagued her mind were her dreams, memories Beatrice thought she’d come to terms with especially upon learning Occlumency, but the past nights seemed to have lasted longer – growing more vivid, as if the stench from that night still clings in the air…

Snapping her journal close as she huddled in the covers of her bed, Beatrice tried not to think of the lingering murmurs that she could now practically feel off her classmates’ minds, closing her eyes and mind off from the echoes of thought. The last of her consciousness worried whether she’d have to ask Sebastian’s friend for any pointers on Legilimency, the Gaunt seemed to keep to himself yet— There was something about him that evoked familiarity, like a forgotten lullaby she could barely remember…

next chapter ⤜⤏

[mathlann]

1, 11, 28, 42, and B for Casimira? Sorry for sending so many, there's so much I want to know 👀

From this ask meme. Thank you! Ask and you shall receive lol.

1. What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

Answered here!

11. How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

She's a seek clarification type of lady. Cas will not have herself looking stupid because she made an assumption she shouldn't have. With anything genuinely important she'll make sure both parties in the conversation agree on what is being asked and what she plans to do before she does it. The exception to this is Marazhai because he will maybe let her get one question in and still won't give a straight answer 80% of the time, so in that case if she still doesn't know by Dodge Answer #2 she just goes with it until she can read whatever cue he's giving. It never ends up being that much of a problem but also he's generally not in charge of stuff like "trade routes" and "making sure the colonies don't implode" so his exception is allowable.

28. Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth? 

She prefers the unpleasant truth. A lie has a high chance of making fools out of everyone involved but an unpleasant truth can at least be worked around and come to something better. Duly note that she is a bit of a hypocrite on this, because she herself is okay with lying if she thinks there's no consequences to it, like telling Heinrix she didn't know anything about the sword shards. And when the need comes for her to approach a difficult topic she will internally grind her teeth and drag her feet to avoid the conversation until something forces her hand.

42. How badly do they want to reach their end goal? 

Her end goal here being: "make the Protectorate less chaotic and get the dynasty under the control," greatly. Cas has never had a great opinion of off-worlders in general and Imperium nobility in particular and so frankly everything that happened after her arrival on Theodora's flagship was a reinforcement of all her biases. Between Theodora's neglect and Calcazar's scheming, Cas hasn't had a peaceful night since she left Iocanthos because there's just so much she needs to do, fix one problem and five more spring up. But if she can actually get things back into some kind of working order her way that will make all the difference (and stick it to a political entity that she very much dislikes, so a mighty bonus).

B. What inspired you to create them?

Oh that's a long and convoluted answer. In short I'd say she's an amalgamation of a lot of character concepts that I've played with off an on since I got the original Rogue Trader TTRPG book a decade or so ago. The CRPG is quite different from any of the FFG 40k games but Casimira being A) high Fellowship, B) Xenos-friendly, and C) probably from Iocanthos (a favorite from Dark Heresy) were going to be givens for me. I'm always looking to play high charisma PCs in general and I also really like having characters that are from the outskirts of Imperium society in some way. Also just for the general concept I'd just finished Catherynne M. Valente's Palimpsest, and I'll say the Casimira in that book is very much her vibe (alone and in parts of her romance w Marazhai) in ways I didn't know when I first grabbed the name off of her.

The rest under the cut because it's long 😅

Mechanically, since Psyker (my usual preference) wasn't fully implemented in EA, the original Cas in EA/first half-playthrough was a Death World/Commissar/Operative (conceptually similar to how I see her older sister actually). That Casimira was more genuinely "good person" Iconoclastic, which didn't quite fit what I was going for but also I didn't really know how the Iconoclast/Heretic split was going to go at the time. This Cas was practical, had some Dogmatic moments, and generally was approaching her role as Rogue Trader by trying to be a decent person/"benevolent noble" more often than not.

Then Yremeryss kicked my ass back to Act 1 and Cas was remade as a Hiver/Noble/Officer, both for the Fellowship bonuses and because at that point I'd decided Marazhai was the one for her and frankly "You. Serve Me." being the Noble's key ability was, uh, fitting for their dynamic. That Cas was going to be from Scintilla, and I made her a bit more spoiled, callous, and scheme-y, very into crime and other light heresies because she's very sure of her power as Rogue Trader and the right to do what she wants.

The current Xenoheretical, actively Anti-Imperium, Chaos dabbler Casimira emerged partway through that playthrough. She became Iocanthan again, an envoy this time, and Hiver still fit with the nomadic background. She got some of her old altruism back but it was more out of pragmatism than genuine feeling and could be overridden if she felt wronged or that her immediate want had a greater benefit. Also her being nominally a Noble but unable to meet the proper expectations of how she should act (according to Imperium standards) became a bigger part of her arc, one that ended up resulting in the Great Heinrix Divorce Arc and her darker turn with Marazhai in the second half of the game. And with all that, the Casimira I have today!

(Honorable mention vibe-wise, Bizet's Carmen, and specifically this performance of "Ramparts of Seville" conceptually influenced quite a bit of how I see her and Heinrix in that they definitely fit the "uptight man married to his job meets a mezzo soprano and they are not compatible and won't end up together but boy will they wreck his fucking life with the time they've got" genre 🤫)

[queen-scribbles]

oooh how about 9 and/or 11 for AJ? your choice if she's with Nate or Adam ;3

9. listening to the other's heartbeat [AJ/Nate] (11 is here with Adam) This is somewhere post-book 3 and definitely pushes toward spicy.

---

It was good, in their line of work, to take peaceful moments when you could get them.

And it didn't get much more peaceful than this one, right here. Abigail smiled, half asleep, as she ran her fingers through Nate's hair. Usually when they cuddled she wound up using him as a pillow, but the reverse was equally grand, she had to admit. The comfortable weight of his head on her chest, arms loosely around her waist, breathing deep and steady like he was about to fall asleep...

She gave a small, contented sigh and traced her fingers along the shell of his ear, down his jaw, then resumed running her fingers through his hair. Lazy, repetitive strokes, nails just grazing his scalp.

Nate made a sound almost like her cat used to upon finding a particularly glorious sunbeam. "I don't think I'll be moving all day..." he mumbled, tipping his head to brush kiss against her chest, just above the neckline of her cami.

Abigail bit her lip, toes curling. "Me, neither. Good thing we have it off, yeah?"

"Mm." He brushed another kiss, light as butterfly wings, just next to the first. "What are you thinking about, ya rouhi?"

"A few things." She hummed as a third kiss followed. "That this is so perfect I'm almost worried I'm dreamin'..."

"Don't say that, we'll wake up," Nate laughed softly.

He matching laugh cut off as the fourth kiss fell in line with the hollow of her throat, her fingers clenching. "...how much I love your hair, it's so soft, and it looks grand grown out..."

He chuckled and continued feathering kisses against her skin. "Noted."

"...an' if you're tryin' t' kiss all m'freckles, it might take a bit longer than an eternity, yeah?"

"For you, AJ, I have that time and more." He reached the far edge of her neckline and shifted slightly higher to start working his way back across with languid kisses to her collarbone punctuating the rest of his words. "And I am a very... patient... man."

"Nate..." Abigail exhaled a shuddering breath and bit her lip, heart hammering in her chest. "Your- Your turn, a chuisle." She ran her fingers through his hair. "What're you thinkin' about?"

"You," Nate replied without hesitation, lifting his head to meet her gaze. The flitters of sunlight turned his brown eyes almost golden and she didn't think she'd seen a more beautiful sight. "How happy I am with you. Content. Settled."

She smiled and reached to smooth a lock of hair hanging in his eyes. "Y' definitely seemed 'bout ready to drift off a moment ago."

"Your heartbeat makes a very soothing lullaby, Abigail." Smug mischief filled his eyes and he dipped his head to kiss the hollow of her throat. "Usually."

Abigail bit her lip harder, arching slightly as her fingers slid through his hair to clench at the nape. "Are you tryin' to fluster me, Agent Sewell?"

Nate chuckled against her skin and she was sure the effect on her heartbeat would deepen that smug look of his. "Now, Agent Jenings, why on earth would I do something like that?"

Her breath caught as he started kissing up her throat. "I... I can think of a few reasons--" A gasping whine when he reached the corner of her jaw. "Nate..."

He lifted his head, giving her a dazzling faux-innocent smile. "Yes, Abigail?"

She didn't so much nudge as yank him in for a kiss by the hand clenched in his hair.

Nate hummed in equal want, equal need as he leaned into it. One arm pressed against the bed, the other hand cradling her jaw, thumb brushing gentle arcs on her cheek.

Abigail's free hand roamed, clutching handfuls of his t-shirt, his arm, before pushing against the mattress to lever herself up until Nate caught on and let her roll them to reversed positions.

Her hair hung in a fiery curtain around them when she finally pulled back. "I love you."

"And I love you," Nate murmured, tucking one side of her hair behind her ear, but leaving the other as a divider from the world.

She leaned close to whisper, "How's my heartbeat now, a chuisle?"

"Intoxicating," he breathed, the single word hitching with challenge, with want, with something deeper. His fingers teased under the hem of her top, sending a shiver up her back.

"Yeah?" Abigail murmured, pressing a kiss just in front of his ear. With her hand braced on his chest in their new position, she could feel the equally madcap rush of his heart, and had to agree with him. It was a heady feeling, knowing you could do that to someone.

"Am I wrong?" His teasing was still slightly breathless as he toyed with her curls.

"Far from it." She kissed the corner of his jaw, felt his heart skip a beat, and it was her turn to smile smugly as she kissed down his jawline. One consequence of vampire superhealing was she couldn't give him hickeys like he occasionally littered across her skin, which was horribly unfair but didn't stop her from trying. She detoured to kiss the juncture of his jaw and neck.

"Ya rouhi-" The words cut off on a gasp. "AJ."

She lifted her head and gave him a faux-innocent smile of her own. "Yes, Nate?"

He stared at her for a moment, lips parted as if about to speak, then pulled her in for a deep, crushing kiss and rolled them back to their original position. "You are a marvel." Kissed her again. "A wonder." Kissed the hollow of her throat, her fingers back in his hair. "Everything." Kissed right at the neckline of her cami and she'd suddenly never wanted to remove an article of clothing more.

A far cry from the peaceful languor of a few minutes ago, but you wouldn't hear her complaining, not in a million years.

As if he'd read her thoughts, Nate slid up the lower edge of her shirt to kiss her stomach.

Abigail whined, arching into it as he ran his mouth along the edge of her ribcage, feathering kissed over her freckles. "Nate-!"

She dragged him up into another kiss; desperate, fierce, even as, by unspoken accord, they each pulled at the other's shirt. They broke the kiss for only a moment to discard the garments before Nate's fingers were tangled in her hair and Abigail's were clutching the back of his neck, drawing each other in for more--

And more, and more, until she was clinging to him and shaking like a leaf in a storm, mouth open in a near-silent cry of his name while he tried--and failed--to muffle his of hers against her neck.

They all but melted back into the pillows, a heap of contentment, panting breaths, and pounding hearts.

Nate gave a breathless laugh." Well, that was..."

"Grand," Abigail finished, slipping one hand between her chin and his chest. "Yeah?"

"Absolutely," he said with a wide smile, tucking her hair back behind her ear. "And now, I think we get to the resting part of our plan that was so delightfully" --he ran his fingers down and back up her spine with a touch so light it made her shiver--"interrupted."

"Also grand," she murmured. He did make a wonderful pillow and she could feel herself drifting. She kissed the center of his chest and settled with his heartbeat in her ear.

As it slowed, she had to agree with his earlier sentiment--that did make a very soothing lullaby.

[b1gwings]

15 Questions for 15* people

haiii i got tagged by @babacontainsmultitudes & @oakay :3 thx for tagging me this is fun !1!!

1. are you named after anyone? I named myself after Clay from the Wings of Fire book series :) I started going by Clay a little over three years ago, I think? When I was thinking about changing my name, I knew I wanted it to be after a character that was really important to me, and Clay checked all the boxes. I think he was the first character I ever looked at for real and went "wow he is so me" LMAO. he's also where my username comes from, too...

2. when was the last time you cried? i want to say it was listening to dndads or taz but i think the real answer is in the middle of finals week after an INCREDIBLY cathartic phone call with my mom

3. do you have kids? no and I don't think I ever want to LMAO

4. what sports do you/have you played? i don't play any sports right now. i played soccer when i was, like, five years old but i HATED it

5. do you use sarcasm? yes but in an autistic way. where allistic people think im being serious and other autistic people know im joking and then they respond to build on the bit and then i can't tell if they're still doing the bit or not. you know

6. what’s the first thing you notice about people? IDK AUGHHGH. i think how someone's hair looks?? if they're wearing any cool jewelry??? im so bad at being aware when im meeting people LMAO

7. what’s your eye color? green-ish grey :]

8. scary movies or happy endings? i don't think these things are opposites but I think happy endings for sure. those little dudes have already gone through so much :( let them ride off into the sunset and live the rest of their lives in peace :(

9. any talents? idk lol ? i consider "talents" to be stuff that you're naturally good at, versus "skills" being things you actually put time into improving or whatever. i'm naturally good at sliding my joints around (sarcasm) and i can do funny voices sometimes (real)

10. where were you born? the swamp (florida, usa)

11. what are your hobbies? drawing, writing, and d&d i think are the main ones right now :] i've been drawing a lot more recently and not feeling super exhausted about it, which has been lovely!!

12. do you have any pets? YES!!! A WONDERFUL LITTLE DOG... her name is Buffy & she's a rescue so we don' tknow what kind of dog she is but she LOOKS like she could be some kind of rat terrier mix ? i love her with my whole entire heart. she's my best friend. lmk if u want me to send u pics of her :3

13. how tall are you? i don't even know. 5'6" i think? im taller than my mom who is 5'4" and shorter than my friend who is 5'8" so we'll go with that

14. favorite subject in school? in high school, art class was my favorite. I adored my teacher; he was the best ever. but i was MISERABLE when i took an art class in my first semester of college. im a creative writing major now, so probably that idk. history & social studies n that kind of stuff has always been super interesting to me, too

15. what is your dream job? i would LOVE to eventually be in some kind of writers' room one day. playing & running D&D games has opened my eyes to just how much I adore storytelling with collaborative aspects. being able to just...make something with other writers...building off of each others' ideas...getting excited about it together... it feels so magical to me.

*anyway i think i have to tag 15 ppl now but idk if i know 15 ppl so im just going to tag as many as i can think of (literally no pressure if u don't wanna do this lol)

@itsbrucey @maxwellamus @flowercrowns-n-punks @kronoose @meteortrails @thedndgoblinwholivesinyourwalls @simonsnow-irl @lemonofthevalley @iersei @raemeh @phillycheesesteakcore @officialgleamstar